Full text of "The works of William Makepeace Thackeray"

Google

This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on library shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project

to make the world's books discoverable online.

It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject

to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books

are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.

Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the

publisher to a library and finally to you.

Usage guidelines

Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing tliis resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:

+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.

+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.

+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for in forming people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.

+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.

About Google Book Search

Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web

at |http: //books .google .com/I

»ii ^ Rsn'iuitt*A*i* • •■ i-i ■

jlf^^-^^^^^^' • « « « i

t ' i .!■

J^JTEW

7'' •"^'••jr i

. i

^BVf

i^t'^'D,

iii**t

>^/ f

-^.

\A^-

Y '■■'■•:-

^^:

. THE NEW YORr

^•»«j

VANITY FAIR

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO,

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

\\0Y >■ ..

S^6f

PHILADELPHIA :
J. B. LIPPINCOTT AND CO.

1868.

-..' • -t ' .

-^ /"l ■ " I - .

li^\Ms<:i^

B. W. PROCTER

THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

, » , ^- • .,

I* •«

•4 ^

1 »

•; :• -

• • *

■ . -. i. •

B • • • • •

• ••• ■•• •
* • »• • •

• k • • k

BEFORE THE CURTAIN.

As the Manager of the Performance sits before the curtain
on the boards, and looks into the Fair, a feeling of profound
melancholy 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 bullies
pushing about, 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 buffoons 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 will be
up presently, and he will be turning over head and heels, and
crying, " How are you } "

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 tcucfebs and anius^S'Lifn here and there; — a pretty
child looking at. a gingerbread stall ; a pretty girl blushing
whilst her lover' fajl<5 to. h*er and chooses her fairing ; poor
Tom Fool, y«>ndep bt^hind 'the waggon, mumbling his bone
with the honest famfly -Which lives by his tumbling; but the
general impression is one more melancholy than mirthful.
When you come home, you sit down, in a sober, contempla-
tive, not uncharitable frame of mind, and apply yourself to
your books or your business.

VI BEFORE THE CURTAIN*.

I have no other moral than this to tag to the present
story of " Vanity Fair." Some people consider Fairs immoral
altogether, and eschew such, with their ser\'ants 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 per-
formances. 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 Reeky Puppet has been pro-
nounced to be uncommonly flexible in the joints, and lively
on the wire : the Amelia Doll, though it has had a smaller
circle of admirers, has yet been car\'ed and dressed with the
greatest care by the artist : the Dobbin Figure, though appa-
rently 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 exp^^Sfc .-h^s J^cca spared: and which
Old Nick will fetch away-'afe' 11t«-' ehd VF'.'this lingular per-
formance. •'•. : :.••:: ::*:

And with this, and a profolrf\<!-tK>w''td Kis patrons, the
Manager retires, and the curtaltf niedi '[: \!: : :

London, ^ufte 28, i8.|S.

CONTENTS.

CHAP.
I.

II.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

VIII.

IX.

XI.

XII.

XIII.

XIV.

XV.

XVI.

XVII.

XVIII.

XIX.

XX.

XXI.

XXII.
XXIII.
XXIV.

XXV.

XXVI.

XXVII.

XXVIII.

Chiswick Mall

In which Miss Sharp and Miss Sedley prepare to

OPEN THE Campaign ....
Rebecca is in Presence of the Enemy
The Green Silk Purse ....

Dobbin of Ours

Vauxhall

Crawley of Queen's Crawley

Private and Confidentiai

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 a S
The Letter on the Pincushion .
How Captain Dobbin bought a Piano .
Who Played on the Piano Captain Dobbin
Miss Crawley at Nurse ....
In wiiich Capt^iij IJohrjen i^CTs as the Messenger of
• : .lI'YMcr;.- v * - ; •h . •

A Ql'ARREL ABOUT AN HeIRESS

A Ma^L\G£ VkND Pi\RT OF A HONEYMOON

Captain Dobbin proceeds on his Canvass
In wjii(eU-M«^ CauostuE takes down the Fam
In which all the Principal Personages th

LEAVE Brighton . . . . .
Between London and Chatham .
In which Amelia joins her Regiment .
In which Amelia invades the Low Countries

iortTime

bought

iLY Bible
NK fit to

FAGB

S3
68

lOI

L24

137
157

167
176

185

198

210

221

231
241

248

263
284

293
301

vni

CONTENTS.

CHAP. PAGE

XXIX. Brussels 311

XXX. "The Girl I left behind Me" 325

XXXI. In which Jos Sedley takes care of his Sister . . 335
XXXII. In which Jos takes Flight, and the War is BRorciiT

TO A Close . . . j 34^

XXXIII. In which Miss Crawley's Relations are very anxious

ABOUT Her 366

XXXIV. James Crawley's Pipe is put out 378

XXXV. Widow and Mother 396

LIST OF PLATES.

-•o^

The Note on the Pincushion {Frontispiece),

Vignette Title-page.

Rebecca's Farewell

Mr. Joseph entangled

Mr. Joseph in a State of Excitement

Rebecca makes Acquaintance with a live Baronet

Miss Sharp in her School-Room ....

Miss Crawley's affectionate Relatives .

Mr. Osborne's Welcome to Amelia ....

Lieutenant Osborne and his ardent Love-Letters

An Elephant for Sale

Mr. Sedley at the CoFFEE-HoijiE* .»» - ^ . • ......

Miss Swartz rehearsing for the D2i^s\'t^G-Kot^ .•;:•

Ensign Stubble practising the Art .of Wa?.., ^ ^

A Family Party at Brighton . f\ ;?'

Mrs. O'Dowd at the Flower Market.* I.' \

" *■ " * »■• •

Mrs. Osborne's Carriage sTOPPiN<VTitp.V^>t'
Venus preparing the Armour of Mars ." *
Mr. Jos shaves off his Moustaches .
Mr. James's Pipe put out ....
Major Sugarplums

pagb

95
106

131
136
178

213
225
260
268

310
322

325

364

390
406

VAN ITY FAIR.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER I.

CHISWICK MALL.

HILE the present century was in
its teens, and on one sunshiny
morning in June, there drove
up to the great iron gate of Miss
Finkerton's academy for young
ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large
family coach, with two fat hoises
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 lus bandy legs as soon as the equipage
drew up opposite Miss Finkerton'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-natured
Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself, rising over some geranium-pots in the
window of that lady's own drawing-room.

" It is Mrs. Sedlcy's coach, sister," said Miss Jemima, " Sambo,
the black servant, has just rung the bell ; and the coachman has a
new red waistcoat."

''C

2 VANITY FAIR.

" Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to
Miss Sedley's departure, Miss Jemima?" asked Miss Pinkerton her-
self, that majestic lady ; the Semirarais of Hammersmith, the friend of
Doctor Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Chapone 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 ? Very good — ninety-three [>ounds,
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 Jem mas eyes an autograph le e of her sster. Miss
Pinkerton, was an ob ect of as deep venerat on as wou d have been.
a letter from a so ere gn Only when her pupils qmtted the estab-

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 3

lishment, 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 fol-
lowing effect : —

" The Mall, Chiswkky yuti£i$, 18—.

" Madam, — After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honour and
happiness of preseiiting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a young lady not
unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their polished and refined circle. Those
virtues which characterise the young English 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 miisic, in dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery and
needle-work, she will be found to have realised her friends' fondest wishes. In
'gec^japhy 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 acquirement of that dignified deportment and carriage, so
requisite for every young lady oi fashion.

*• In the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley will be found worthy
of an establishment which has been honoured by the presence of The Great Lexico-
grapher, and the patronage of the admirable Mrs. Chapone. 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,

"Barbara Pinkerton."

"P.S. — Miss Sliarp 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
— the interesting work which 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 £Bu:t, the Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this

1—2

4 VANITY FAIR.

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 t^'O 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 laigest
capitals. " Are you in your senses ? Replace 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. And
so venturing not to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off,
exceedingly flurried and nervous.

Miss Sedley's papa 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
conferring upon her at parting the high honour 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 deserving 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 disconsolate
family to mourn his loss ; so in academies of the male and female
sex it occurs 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 like a lark, or a Mrs. Billington, and
dance like Hillisberg or Parisot ; and embroider beautifully ; and

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 5

spell as well as a Dixonaiy itself; but she had such a kindly,
smiling, tender, gentle, generous heart of her own, as won the love
of eveiybody who came near her, from Minerva herself 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 grand-
daughter) allowed that her figure was genteel ; and as for Miss
Swartz, the rich woolly-haired mulatto from St. Kitt*s, on the day
Amelia went away, she was in such a passion of tears, that they were
obliged to send for Dr. Floss, and half tipsify her with salvolatile.
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 departure ; and, but for fear of her sister, would have gone
oflf in downright hysterics, like the heiress (who paid double) of St.
Kitt*s. Such luxury of grief, 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 liligree iron gates are once closed on
her, she and her awful sister will never issue therefrom into this little
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 little
creature ; and a great 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-
natured a person. As she is not a heroine, there is no need to
describe her person ; indeed I am afraid 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 freshest of smiles, and she had a pair of eyes, which sparkled
with the brightest and honestest good-humour, except indeed when
they filled with tears, and that was a great deal too ofkn ; 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

6 VANITY FAIR.

ever so stupid \ and ^ 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 AJgebra, gave all masters and
teachers particular orders to treat Miss Sedley with the utmost gentle-
ness, as harsh treatment was injurious to her.

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 ..o go home, and yet most wofully sad at leaving school.
For three daj-s 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 grandpapa, 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 affectionate Miss Swartz ; and
the orphan little Laura Martin (who was just in round-hand), took
her friend's hand and said, looking up in her face wistfully, " Amelia,
when I wriie to you 1 shall call you Mamma." All which details, I

have no doubt, Jones, who reads this book at his Club, will pro-
noimce to be excessively foolish, trivial, twaddling, and ultra-senti-
mentaL Yes; I can see Jones at this minute (rather flushed with

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 7

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 " quite true.^^ 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 flowers, and the presents, and the trunks, and
bonnet-boxes of Miss Sedley having been arranged 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 sneer — the hour for parting came ; and the grief of
that moment was considerably lessened by the admirable discourse
which Miss Pinkerton addressed to her pupil. Not that the parting
speech caused Amelia to philosophise, 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
gready before her eyes, Miss Sedley did not ventiure, in her presence,
to give way to any ebullitions of private grief A seed-cake and a
bottle of wine were pro<luced in the drawing-room, as on the solemn
occasions of the visit of parents, and these refreshments being partaken
of, Miss Sedley was at liberty to depart.

" You'll go in and say good-by to Miss Pinkerton, Becky ! " said
Miss Jemima to a young lady of whom nobody took any notice, and
who was coming down stairs 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 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 Roman-nosed head, (on the top of which figured 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 shaking 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 declined to accept the proffered honour; on
which Semiramis tossed up her turban more indignantly than ever.

8 VANITY FAIR.

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," sard
she, embracing Amelia, and scowling the while over the girl's shoulder
at Miss Shaip. " Come away, Becky," said Miss Jemima, pulling the
young woman away in great alarm, and the drawing-room door closed
upon litem for e\'er.

Then came the struggle and parting below. Words refuse to tell
it AH 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 yoopt of Miss Swartz, the pariour-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 At-.

. Sambo of the bandy-legs slammed the canriage-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, 1 — Johnson's Dixonary, you know j
you mustn't leaye us without that Good by. Drive on, coachman.
God bless youLl.".

And the kind creature retreated into the garden, overcome with
emotions.

But, lo I and just as the coach
"III drove off, Miss Sharp put her pale

i'^ faceout of thewindow, and actually

' ^^^ flung the book back into the garden.

This almost caused Jemima to
faint with terror. " Well, I never,"
""i — said she — "what an audacious"
— Emotion prevented her from
completing either sentence. The
carriage rolled away ; the great
gates were closed ; the bell rang
for the dancing lesson. The world
is before the two young ladles ;
and 50, iareweil to Chiswick Mall.

)

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER II.

( WHICH UtSS SHARP AND MISS SEDLEY PREPARE TO OPEN
THE CAMPAIGN.

CHEN Miss Shaq) had performed the heroical act
tentioned in the last chapter, and had seen the
Dixonary flying over the pavement of the little
garden, fall at length at the feet of the astonished
ss Jemima, the young lady's countenance, which
had before worn an almost livid look of hatred,
i?i^unied 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 Sedley 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 arc not got over in that
space of time. Nay, with some persons those awes and tenors of
youth last for ever and ever. I know, for instance, an old gendeman
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. Raine." Fancy had carried him back five and fifty years in the
course of that evening. Dr. Raine 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 bodily to him, even
at the age of threescore and eight, and had said in awful voice, " Boy,
take down your pant " " ? " Well, well. Miss Sedley was
exceedingly alarmed at this act of insubordination.

" How could you do so, Rebecca ? " at last she said, ■ after a
pause.

" Why, do you think Miss Pinkerton will come out and order me
back to the black-hole ? " said Rebecca, laughing.

" No : but "

" I hate the whole house," continued Miss Sharp in a fiiry. " I
hope I may never set eyes on it again. I wish it were in the bottom

lo VANITY FAIR.

of the Thames, I do ; and if Miss Pinkerton were there, I wouldn't
pick her out, that I wouldn't. O how I should like to see her floating
in the water yonder, turban and all, ^lith her train streaming after
her, and her nose like the beak of a wherry."

" Hush ! " cried Miss Sedley.

^* Why, will the black footman tell tales ? " cried Miss Rebecca,
laughing. ** He may go back and tell Miss Pinkerton 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 from you.
I have been made to tend the little girls in the lower schoolroom,
and to talk French to the Misses, until I grew sick of my mother-
tongue. But that talking French to Miss Pinkerton was capital fun,
wasn't it ? She doesn't know a word of French, and was too proud
to confess it I believe it was that which made her part with me ;
and so thank Heaven for French. Vive la Frame! Vive VEmpereur!
Vive Bonaparte r"*

" O 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 though Miss Rebecca Sharp has twice had occasion to thank
Heaven, it has been, in the first place, for ridding her of some person
whom she hated, and secondly, for enabling her to bring her enemies
to some sort of perplexity or confusion ; neither of which 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
world used her ill, said this young misanthropist, and we may be
pretty certain that persons whom all the world treats ill, deserve
entirely the treatment they get. The world is a looking-glass, and
gives back to every man the reflection of his own face. Frown at it,

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. ii

and it will in turn look sourly 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 should all be as
amiable as the heroine of this work. Miss Sedley (whom we have
selected for the very reason that she was the best-natured of all, other-
wise what on earth was to have prevented us from putting up Miss
Swartz, or Miss Crump, or Miss Hopkins, as heroine in her place ?) —
it could not be expected that every one should be of the humble and
gentle temper of Miss Amelia Sedley ; should take every opportunity
to vanquish Rebecca's hard-heartedness and ill-humour ; and, by a
thousand kind words and offices, overcome, for once at least, her
hostility to her kind.

Miss Sharp's father was an artist, and in that quality had given
lessons of drawing at Miss Pinkerton*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 ynxh 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 circum-
stances by marrying a young woman of the French nation, who was
by profession an opera-girl. The humble calling of her female parent.
Miss Sharp never alluded to, but used to state subsequently that the
Elntrechats 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 splendour.

Rebecca's mother had had some education somewhere, and her
daughter spoke French with purity and a Parisian accent It was in
those days rather a rare accomplishment, and led to her engagement
with the orthodox Miss Pinkerton. For her mother being dead, her
^ther, finding himself not likely to recover, after his third attack of
deiirium 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 quarrelled over his corpse.

12 VANITY FAIR.

Rebecca 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, sandy-haired, and with
eyes habitually cast down : when they looked up they were very large,
odd, and attractive ; so attractive, that the Reverend Mr. Crisp, fresh
from Oxford, and curate to the Vicar of Chiswick, the Reverend
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
Church from the school-pew to the reading-desk. This infatuated
young man used sometimes to take tea with Miss Pinkerton, to whom
he had been presented by his mamma, and actually proposed some-
thing 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, and 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
establishment, Rebecca Sharp looked like a child. But she had the
dismal precocity of poverty. Many a dun Jiad she talked to, and
turned away from her 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 was 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.
O why did Miss Pinkerton let such a dangerous bird into her cage ?

The fact is, 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 it^knite; 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

speech made her a present of a doll — wh ch was by the way the
confiscated p operty of M ss Sw nd e J'scove ed surreptit ously
nun ng t in school hoars How the father and daughter laughed
as they trudged home together after the even ng party ( nas oQ
the occas on of th speeches when all the p ofessors were nvited )
and how M ss P nkerton wou d have raged had she seen the can-
cature of herself which the 1 de m m c Rebecca managed to make
out of her doll Becky used to go h ough d a ogues » th t t
fanned the del ght of Newman Street Gera d Street and the ait sts'
quarter and the young pa nters when they came to take the r gin-
and water w th theur lazy dissolute clever jovial semor used

regularly to ask Rebecca if Miss Pinkerton was at home : she was
well known to them, poor soul ! as Mr. LawTence or President West
Once she had the honour to pass a few days at Chiswick ; after which
she brought back Jemima, and erected another doll as Miss Jemmy ;

14 VAMTY FAIR.

for though that honest creature had made and given her jelly and
cake enough for three children, and a seven-shilling piece at parting,
the girl's sense of ridicule was far stronger than her gratitude, and
she sacrificed Miss Jemmy quite as pitilessly as her sister.

The catastrophe came, and she was brought to the Mall as to
her home. The rigid formality of the place suffocatetl her : the
prayers and the meals, the lessons and the walks, which were
arranged with a conventual regularity, oppressed her almost beyond
endurance ; and she looked back to the freedom and the
beggary of the old studio in Soho with so much regret, that every-
body, 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, imtil 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 own 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, othen^ise the praCttlc
and talk of the younger children, with whose care she was chiefly
intrusted, might have soothed and interested her; but she lived
among them two years, and not one was sorry 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 ?

The happiness — the superior advantages of the young women
round about her, gave Rebecca inexpressible pangs of envy. " What
airs that girl gives herself, because she is an Earl's grandndaughtcr,"
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 grand-daughter, for all her fine pedigree ; 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 determined at any rate
to get free from the prison in which she found herself, and now began

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 15

to act for herself, and for the first time to make comiected 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 litde course of study which was
considered necessary for ladies in those days. Her music she
practised 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," Rebecca 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. " J'or five-and-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 have nourished a viper in my
bosom."

" A viperr— 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, w^ith
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 situa-
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, Rebecca hit upon the
before-mentioned plan of answering her in French, which quite routed

i6 VAX/rV FAIR.

the old woman. In order to maintain authorit}- in her school, it
became necessary- to remove this rebel, this monster, this serpent, this
firebrand ; and hearing about this time that Sir Pitt Crawley's family
was in want of a governess, she actually recommended Miss Sharp
for the situation, firebrand and serpent as she n^-as. '* I cannot, cer-
tainly,** 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
conscience, and the indentures were cancelled, and the apprentice
was free. The battle here described in a few lines, of course, lasted
for some months. And as Miss Sedley, being now in her seventeenth
year, was about to leave school, and had a friendship for Miss
Sharp ("'tis the only point in Amelia's beha>'iour," said Minerva,
" which has not been satisfactor}- to her mistress,") Miss Sharp was
invited by her friend to pass a week ^-ith her at home, before die
entered upon her duties as governess in a private family.

Thus the world began for these two 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 Rebecca — (indeed, if the truth must
be told with respect to the Crisp affair, the tart-woman hinted to
somebody, who took an affidavit of the fact to somebody else, that
there was a great deal more than was made public regarding Mr, Crisp
and Miss Sharp, and that his letter was in answer to another letter).
But who can tell you the real truth of the matter ? At all events, if
Rebecca was not beginning the world, she was beginning it over
again.

By the time the young ladies reached Kensington turnpike, Amelia
had not forgotten her companions, but had dried her tears, and had
blushed very much and been delighted at a young officer of the Life
Guards, who spied her as he was riding by, and said, " A dem fine
gal, egad I " and before the carriage arrived in Russell Square, a great
deal of conversation had taken place about the draiiing-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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 17

London. Both he and coachman agreed 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 welcome their young mistress.

You may be sure that she showed Rebecca over every room of the
house, and everything in every one of her drawers ; and her books, and
her piano, and her dresses, and all her necklaces, brooches, laces, and
gimcracks. She insisted upon Rebecca accepting the white cornelian
and the turquoise 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 Rebecca saw the two magnificent Cashmere shawls which
Joseph Sedley had brought home to his sister, she said, with perfect
truth, "that 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, Rebecca, I shall always
be your friend, and love you as a sister — indeed I will."

"Ah, but to have parents, as you have — kind, rich, affectionate
parents, who give you everything you ask for ; and their love, which
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 ! dofft you love him ? you, who say you love everybody ? "

" Yes, of course, I do— only — "

" Only what?-

" Only Joseph doesn't seem to care much whether I love him or
not He gave me two fingers to shake when he arrived af^er 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 checked 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."

■8 yAAvry fair.

" And is your sister-in-law a nice pretty woman ? "
" La ! Joseph is not mairied," said Amelia, laughing again.
Perhaps she had mentioned the fact already to Rebecca, but that
young lady did not appear to have remembered it ; indeed, vowed
and [oxXcsted that she expected to see a number of Amelia's nephews
and nieces. She was quite disappointed that Mr. Sedley was not
mairied ; she was sure Amelia had said he was, and she doted so
on little children.

" I think you must have had enough of them at Chiswicic," 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 young woman, was simply this : — " If
Mr. Joseph Sedley is rich and unmarried, why should 1 not many
him ? I have only a fortnight, to be sure, but there is no harm in
trying." And she determined within herself to make this laudable
attempt. She redoubled her caresses to Amelia; she kissed the
IT white cornelian necklace as she put it on ; and

vowed she would never, never part with it
When the dinner-bell rang she went down
stairs with her aims round her friend's waitt,
as is the habit of young ladies. She was so
agitated at the drawing-room door, that she
could hardly find courage to enter. "Fed
my heart, how it beats, dear I " said she to
her friend

"No, it doesn't," said Amelia. "Come
in, don't be frightened. Papa wont do you
•y any harm."

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER IIL

KEBECCA tS IN PRESENCE OF THE ENEUV.

VERY Stout, pufiyman, in buckskins and Hessian
boots, with several immense neckcloths,
that rose almost to his nose, with a red
striped waistcoat and an apple green coat
with steel buttons almost as lai^e 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 ann-chair, and blushed excessively, and
hid his entire face almost in his neckcloths 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 under the neckcloth,
shaking very much, — " that is, yes, — what abominably cold weather,
Miss ; " — and herewith he fell to poking the &re with all his might,
although it was in the middle of June.

"He's very handsome," whispered Rebecca to Amelia, rather
loud.

" Do you think so ? " 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 respectful 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 ? "

" O heavenly ! " said Miss Sharp, and her eyes went firom the
carpet straight to the chandelier.

Joseph still continued a huge clattering at the poker and tongs,
puffing and blowing the while, and turning as red as bb yellow face

90 VANITY FAIR.

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 I Amelia," cried the brother, in serious alarm, " what
do you mean ? " and plunging with all his might at the bell-rope,
that 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 buggy is at the door. What

is a buggy, papa ? "

" It is a one-horse palanquin," said the old gentleman, who was a
wag in his way.

Joseph at this burst out into a wild fit 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 ? Miss Sharp, I am very happy
to see you. Have you and Emmy been quarrelling already with
Joseph, that he wants to be off ?"

" I promised Bonamy of our service, sir," said Joseph, " to dine
with him."

"O fie I didn't you tell your mother you would dine here?"

" But in this dress it's impossible.**

''Look at him, isn't he handsome enough to dine anywhere,
Miss Sharp?"

On which, of course. Miss Shaq) looked at her friend, 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 Pinker-
ton*s ? " 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 your son's feelings. I have alluded to his buckskins. Ask
Miss Sharp if I haven't? Come, Joseph, be friends with Miss Sharp,
and let us all go to dinner."

"There's a piUau, Joseph, just as you like it, and Papa has
brought home the best turbot in BiUing^te."

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 21

" Come> come, sir, walk down stairs 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 ofil

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 gene-
rally, and with becoming modesty, entrusted by young persons to
their mammas, recollect that Miss Sharp had no kind parent to
arrange these delicate matters for her, and that if she did not get a
husband for herself, there was no one else in the wide world who
would take the trouble off her hands. What causes young people to
** come oui^^ but the noble ambition of matrimony ? What sends
them trooping to watering-places? What keeps them dancing till
five o'clock in the morning through a whole mortal season ? What
causes them to labour at piano-forte 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? 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 ?
Psha ! they want to marry their daughters; and, as honest Mrs. Sedley
has, in the depths of her kind heart, already arranged a score of little
schemes for the settlement of her Amelia, so also had our beloved
but uprotected 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 j and it is a fact, that while she was
dressing 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 some-
where in the background (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 Mogul. Charming Alnaschar

22 VANITY FAIR,

visions I it is the happy privilege of youth to construct jrou, 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 write, in the Bengal division of
the East India Register, as collector of Boggley Wollah, an honour-
able and lucrative post, as everybody knows : in order to know to
what higher posts Joseph rose in the service, the reader is referred
to the same periodical.

Boggley Wollah is situated in a fine, lonely, marshy, jungly
district, famous for snipe-shooting, and where not unfrequently you
may flush a tiger. Ramgunge, where there is a magistrate, is only
forty miles off, and there is a cavalry station about thirty miles
farther ; so Joseph wrote home to his parents, when he took posses-
sion of his collectorship. He had lived 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 returned to Europe, and which was the source of great
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 understand 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 metropolis :
and were it not for his doctor, and the society of his blue-pill,
and his liver complaint, he must have died of loneliness. He was
lazy, peevish, and a bon-vivant; the appearance of a lady frightened
him beyond measure ; hence it was but seldom that he joined the

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 23

paternal circle in Russell Square, where there was plenty of gaiety,
and where the jokes of his good-natured old father frightened his
amour-propre. 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 found
himself again at his three meals a day. He never was well dressed ;
but he took the hugest pains to adorn his big person, and passed
many hours 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 would have his clothes made too
tight, and took care they should be of the most brilliant colours 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 girl ; and perhaps his
extreme shyness was one of the results of his extreme vanity. If
Miss Rebecca can get the better of him, and at her first entrance
into life, she is a young person of no ordinary cleverness.

The first move showed considerable skill. When she called
Sedley a very handsome man, she knew that Amelia would tell her
mother, who would probably tell Joseph, or who, at any rate, would
be pleased by the compliment paid to her son. All mothers are.
If you had told Sicorax 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 — Rebecca 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 straightway
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 ? " We have talked of Joseph Sedley being as vain as a
girL Heaven help us I the girls have only to turn the tables, and

34 VANITY FAIR.

say of one of their own sex, '' She is as vain as a man," and they will
have perfect reason. The bearded creatures are quite as eager for
praise, quite as finikin over their toilettes, quite as proud of their
personal advantages, quite as conscious of their powers of fascination,
as any coquette in the world.

Down stairs, then, they went, Joseph 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 simplicity.
" I must be very quiet," thought Rebecca, " and very much interested
about India."

Now we have heard how Mrs. Sedley had prepared a fine cuny
for her son, just as he liked it, and in the course of dinner a portion
of this dish was offered to Rebecca, " What is it ? " said she, turning
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 Rebecca.
" I am sure everything must be good that comes from there."

" Give Miss Sharp some curry, my dear," said Mr. Sedley,
laughing.

Rebecca had never tasted the dish before.

"Do you find it as good as everything else from India?" said
Mr. Sedley.

, " Oh, excellent ! " said Rebecca, who was suffering tortures with
the cayenne pepper.

" Try a chili with it, Miss Sharp," said Joseph, really interested.

" A chili," 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 blood could
bear it no longer. She laid down her fork. " Water, for Heaven's
sake, water ! " she cried. Mr. Sedley burst out laughing (he was a
coarse man, from the Stock Exchange, where they love all sorts of
practical jokes). "They are real Indian, I assure 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 25

suffered too much. She would have liked to choke old Sedley, but
she swallowed her mortification as well as she had the abominable
cuny 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 Nights. Do you put
cayenne into your cream-tarts in India, sir ? "

Old Sedley began to laugh, and thought Rebecca was a good-
humoured girl. Joseph simply said — "Cream-tarts, Miss? Our
cream is very bad in Bengal. We generally use goats' milk ; and,
'gad, do you know, I've got to prefer it I "

"You won't like everything from India now, Miss Sharp," said
the old gentleman ; but when the hdies had retired after dinner, the
wily old fellow said to his son, "Have a care, Joe; that girl is
setting her cap at you."

" Pooh ! nonsense ! " 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 Mulligatawney — he's a magi-
strate at Budgebudge, and sure to be in council 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 Mulligatawney before the rains.' * Done,' says
I ; and egad, sir — this claret's very good. Adamson's or Car-
bonell's?" ♦ ♦ ♦

A slight snore was the only reply : the honest stock-broker was
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. Gollop, when he came to inquire about the liver and the
blue-pill.

Being an invalid, Joseph Sedley contented himself with a botde
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 h« to himself. " How she looked at me when

36 VAmTY FAIR.

I picked up her handkerchief at dinner! She dropped it twice.
Who's that singing in the drawing-rooro P 'Gad! diall I go up
and see?"

But his modesty came rushing upon him with uncontrollable force.
His lather 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
Jvrty nUves," 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 will he be so shy ? "

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO,

CHAPTER IV.

THE GREEN SILK PURSE.

OOR Joe's panic lasted for two or
three days; during which he did
not visit the house, nor during that
period did Miss Rebecca ever men-
^ tion his name. She was all re-
1 spectful gratitude to Mrs. Sedley ;
1 delighted beyond measure at the
■ Bazaars ; and in a whirl of wonder
at the theatre, whither the good-
natured lady took her. One day,
Amelia had a head-ache, 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 — <fiAyoui never!" and the green eyes
looked up to Heaven and filled with tears ; and Mrs. Sedley could
not but own that hei daughter's friend hod a chaiming kind heart
of her own.

As for Mr. Sedle/s jokes, Rebecca laughed at them with a cordiality
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 Mrs. Blenkinsop by
evincing the deepest sympathy in the raspberry-jam preserving, which
operation was then going on in the Housekeeper's room ; she per-
sisted 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 humi-
lity, 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, Rebecca suddenly came upon one which caused her to burst

23 yAAirr fair.

into tears aztd leave the nxcn. I: vis oc the day visen Joe Sedley
made his secocki appearance.

Ameiia hasteoed after her Erlezu: ^d kaov die caase of this di^laj
of feefaig. aad the good-oar:: red g-.rl cazne bock without her com-
panion, rather asected too. ** Yoa kaov, her £ithcr mu our drawing-
master. Mamma, at Chisvick. azki used to do all die best ports of our
dravings.'*

** My love ! Fm sore I always heard Miss Pinkenon say that he
did DOC touch them — he oolv mwuziiJ :hem7

^ It was called mocnting. M-imnii. Rebecca remembers the
drawing, and her father working at it. and the fhooght of it came
upon her rather suddenly — and so. voa know, s h e *

^ The poor child is all heart." said Mrs. Sedley.

^ I wish she could stav with us another week.** said .\mdia.

^ She*s devilish like Miss Cutler that I used to meet at Dumdom,
only fairer. She's married now to Lance, the Artillery Surgeon. Do
you know. Ma'am, that once Quintin. of the 14th, bet me "^

" O Joseph, we know that ston," said Amelia, laughing. " Never
mind about telling that ; but persuade Mamma to write to Sir Some-
thing Crawley for leave of absence for poor dear Rebecca : — here
she comes, her ejes red m-ith m-eeping."

^ Fm better, now," said the girl mith 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. ^ Gracioas
Heavens! Good Gad! Miss Sharp!"

*' Yes ; how could you be so cruel as to make me eat that horrid
pepper-dish at dinner, the first day I ever saw you ? You are not so
good to me as dear Amelia."

'' He doesn't know you so well," cried Amelia.

'' I defy anybody not to be good to you, my dear," said her
mother.

" The curry was capital ; indeed it was," said Joe, quite gravely.
" Perhaps there was not enough citron juice in it ; — no, there was jm/."

" And the chilis ? "

" 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 29

" I shall take care how I let you 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 litde hand, and drew it back quite
frightened, 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 involuntary, 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 immo-
dest ; but, you see, poor dear Rebecca had all this work to do for
herself. If a person is too poor to keep a servant, though ever so
elegant, he must sweep his own rooms : if a dear girl has no dear
Mamma to settle matters with the young man, she 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 opportunities, and without an
absolute hump, may marry whom she likes. Only let us be thank-
ful that the darlings are like the beasts of the field, and don't know
tlieir own power. They would overcome us entirely if they did.

'*£gad!" bought Joseph, entering 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
considerable femiliarity with the £unily, and as for the girls, they
loved each other like sisters. Young unmarried girls always 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 promise that he, Joseph, would take her to Vauxhall. '' Now," she
said, ** that Rebecca is with us, will be the very time."

" O, 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.

30 VANITY FAIR.

" Well, to-morrow."

" To-morrow your Papa and I dine out," said Mrs. Sedley.

'^ You don't suppose that /'m going, Mrs. Sed. ?" said her husband,
*' and that a woman of your years and size is to catch cold, in such an
abominable damp place?"

" The children must have some one with them," cried Mrs. Sedley.

" Let Joe go," said his father, laughing. " He*s dig enough." At
which speech even Mr. Sambo at the sideboard burst out laughing^
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 up stairs : the dear
creature's fainting. Poor victim ! carry him up ; he's as light as a
feather ! "

" If he stand this, sir, I'm d 1 " roared Joseph.

" Order Mr. Jos's elephant, Sambo !" cried the father. " Send to
Exeter 'Change, Sambo ; " but seeing Jos ready 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 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 Geoiige 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 young ladies of seventeen
know how to blush, and as Miss Rebecca 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 godmother. "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 f?"

" That was years ago," said Amelia.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 31

"It seems like yesterday, don't it, John?*' 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 round with
chintz of a rich and fantastic India pattern, and doubli with calico of
a tender rose-colour ; in the interior of which species of marquee was
a feather-bed, on which were two pillows, on which were two round
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 dear," 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
saying 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 dandified 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 friend 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 bring us over a black daughter-in-
law, my dear. But, mark my words, the first woman who fishes for
him, hooks him."

"She shall go off to-morrow, the little artful creature," said
Mrs. Sedley, with great energy.

"Why not she as well as another, Mrs. Sedley? The girl's a
white face at any rate. / don't care who marries him. Let Joe
please himself"

And presently the voices of the two speakers were hushed, or
were replaced by the gentle but unromantic 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

32 VANITY FAIR.

that the little, humble, grateful, gentle governess, would dare to look
up to such a magnificent personage as the Collector of Boggley
Wollah. 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 their 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,
according to invitation, to dine with Alderman Balls, at Highbury
Bam, 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 occurrence. He and Joseph Sedley drank a fitting quantity of
port-wine, tite-h-tete^ in the dining-room, — during the drinking of
which Sedley told a number of his best Indian stones ; for he was
extremely talkative in man's society ; — ^and afterwards Miss Amelia
Sedley did the honours 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-storm than otherwise,
which had caused them to put off their visit to Vauxhall

Osborne was Sedle/s godson, and had been one of the family
any time these three-and-twenty years. At six weeks old, he had
received from 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
by Joseph Sedley, when the latter was a big, swaggering, hobbadyfaoy,
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 fiury you were in, when I cut
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. SwishtaiFs

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 33

to see me, before you went to India, and giving me half a guinea and
a pat on the head? I always had an idea that you were at least
seven feet high, and was quite astonished at your return 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 Rebecca, 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 Rebecca. Jos Sedley, who
admired his own legs prodigiously, and always wore his ornamental
chaussurcy 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 picture 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 picture 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 Rebecca. " I'll do it
when — when I'm gone." And she dropped her voice, and looked
so sad and piteous, that everybody felt how cruel her lot was, and
how sorry they would be to part with her.

" O that you could stay longer, dear Rebecca," said Amelia.

" Why ? " answered the other, still more sadly. " That I may be
only the more unhap— unwilling to lose you ? " And she turned away
her head. Amelia began to give way to that natural infirmity of
tears which, we have said, was one of the defects of this silly little
thing. George Osborne looked at the two young women with a
touched curiosity ; 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,
who felt at that moment an extraordinary, almost 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

34 VANITY FAIR.

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 Amelia, 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 tHc-
d'tete with Rebecca, at the drawing-room table, where the latter was
occupied in netting a green 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 your sister the dearest creature in the world," said Rebecca.
" Happy the man who wins her ! " With this. Miss Sharp gave a
great sigh.

When ti^x) urrmarried persons get together, and talk upon such
delicate subjects as the i)resent, a great deal of confidence and inti-
macy 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 from 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 apartment
would not have been disturbed had the talking been ever so loud, so
occupied were they with their own pursuits.

Almost for the first time in his life, Mr. Sedley found himself
talking, without the least timidity or hesitation, to a person of the
other sex. Miss Rebecca asked him a great number of questions
about India, which gave him an opportunity of narrating many inte-
resting 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 Scotch-
men whom Lord Minto, the Governor-General, patronised ; and then
he described a tiger-hunt ; and the manner in which the mahout of
his elephant had been pulled off his seat by one of the infuriated

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 35

animals. How delighted Miss Rebecca was at the Government 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-collars ;
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
audacity to ask Miss Rebecca for whom she was knitting the green
silk purse? He was quite surprised and delighted at his own
graceful familiar manner.

" P'or 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. "O

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 distinctly that he stopped, blushed, and blew his nose in great
agitation.

" Did you ever hear anything like your brother's eloquence ? "
whispered Mr. Osborne to Amelia. " Why, your friend has worked
miracles."

" The more the better," said Miss Amelia ; who, like almost all
women who are worth a pin, was a match-maker in her heart, and
would have been delighted that Joseph should carry back a wife to
India. She had, too, in the course of this few days' constant inter-
course, 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 Chis^nck together. For the
affection of young ladies 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.

3—2

36 VANITY FAIR,

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 telling a
fib), " had you heard Rebecca first."

" I give Miss Sharp warning, though," said Osborne, " that, right
or wrong, I consider Miss Amelia Sedley the first singer in the
world."

" You shall hear," said Amelia ; and Joseph Sedley was actually
polite enough to carry the candles to the piano. Osborne hinted
that he should like quite as well to sit in the dark ; but Miss Sedley,
laughing, declined to bear him company any farther, and the two
accordingly followed Mr. Joseph. Rebecca sang far better than her
friend (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 understand in the least, and which George
confessed 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 musical
point of view, but contain numberless good-natured, simple appeals
to the affections, which people understood better than the milk-and-
water lagrimcy sospiri, and feiidtd of the eternal Donizettian music
with which we are favoured now-a-davs.

Conversation of a sentimental sort, befitting the subject, was car-
ried on between the songs, to which Sambo, after he had brought
the tea, the delighted cook, and even 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 sheltered 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.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A NERO.

Hiej nuu-k'd him as he onward prcst.

With bintiTig heut and weary limb ;
Kind voices bade him turn and rest,

And gentle &ccs welcomed him.
The dawn is up — the guest ii gone^

The cottage hearth li blazing still ;
Heaven pity all poor wanderers lone !

Haik to the wiikd upon the hill 1

It was the sentiment of the before-mentioned words, "^Vhen I'm
gone," over again. As she came to the last words, Miss Shaqi's
*' deep4oned voice faltered." Everybody felt the allusion to her
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 perfonnancc of the song, and profoundly touched at its con-
clusion. If he had had the courage ; if George and Miss Sedley had
remained according to the former's proposal, in the farther room,
Joseph Sedley's bachelorhood would have been at an end, and this
work would never have been written.' But at the close of the ditty,
Rebecca quitted the piano, and giving her hand to Amelia, walked
away into the front drawing-room twilight ; and, a: this moment,

38 VAX/TV FAIR.

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 teaspoonful 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 departure. 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 Cutcherry — what a distinguee 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 ? 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 Chis-
wick Mall), and Rebecca was employed upon her yesterday's ivork.
As Joe's buggy drove up, and while, after his usual thundering knock
and pompous bustle at the door, the ex-Collector of Boggley Wollah
laboured upstairs to the drawing-room, knowing glances were tele-
graphed between Osborne and Miss Sedley, and the pair, smiling
archly, looked at Rebecca, who actually blushed as she bent her fair
ringlets over her netting. How her heart beat as Joseph appeared, —
Joseph, puffing from the staircase in shining creaking boots, — Joseph,
in a new waistcoat, red with heat and nervousness, and blushing
behind his wadded neckcloth. It was a ner\ous moment for all;
and as for Amelia, I think she was more frightened than even the
people most concerned.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 39

Sambo, who flung 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 purchase in Covent Garden Market that morning — they were not
as big as the hay-stacks which ladies carry about with them now-a-
days, 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 creature as Amelia, I would purchase all Mr. Lee*s conservatories
out of hand.)

" O heavenly, heavenly flowers ! ** exclaimed Miss Sharp, and
smelt them delicately, 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 billet-doux
hidden among the flowers ; but there was no letter.

" Do they talk the language of flowers at Boggley Wollah,
Sedley ? " 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.
Let's have it for tiffin ; very cool and nice this hot weather."
Rebecca 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, Amelia 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 quivering rapidly under her white slender
fingers.

" ^Vhat a beautiful, byoo-ootiful song that was you sang last night,
clear 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 hum it this
morning, in bed ; I was, upon my honour. Gollop, my doctor, came

VANITY FAIR.

in at eleven (for I'm a sad invalid, you know, and see Gollop every
day), and, 'gad ! there I was, singing away like — a robin."
" O you droll creature ! Do let me hear you sing it."
" Me ? No, you, Miss Sharp ; my dear Miss Sharp, do sing it"
" Not now, Mr. Sedley," said Rebecca, with a sigh. " My spirits
are not equal to it i besides, 1 must finish the purse. Will you help
me, Mr. Sedley?" And before he had time to ask how, Mr. Josej^
Sedley, of the East India Company's service, was actually seated
tHe-^-tiie with a young lady, looking at her with a most killing
expression ; his amis stretched out before her in an imploring
attitude, and his hands bound in a web of green silk, which she
was wiwinding.

In this romantic position Osborne and Amelia found the interesting
pair, when they entered to announce that tiffin 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
Rebecca's hand; and Sedley, too, had communed with his soul, and
said to himself, " 'Gad, I'll pop the question at Vauxhall."

.jytrC^/ ,-„/„„y//.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

N OF OURS.

UFFS fight with Dobbin, and the
unexpected issue of that contest,
will long be remembered by eveiy
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 indi-
cative of puerile contempt) was
the quietest, 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. Swish-
tail'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 corduroys 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 proportion was supplied for the puddings of the estabUsh-
ment), and other commodities. A dreadful day it was for young
Dobbin when one of the youngsters of the school, having run into
the town upon a poaching excursion for hardbake and polonies, espied
the cart of Dobbin & Rudge, Grocery 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 frightful,
and merciless against him. " Hullo, Dobbin," one wag would say,
" here's good news in the paper. Sugars is ris', my boy." Another
would set a sum—" If a pound of mutton-candles cost sevenpence-
halfpenny, how much must Dobbin cost ? " and a roar would follow

42 • VAXITY FAIR,

from all the circle of young knaves, usher and all, who rightly con-
sidered that the selling of goods by retail is a shameful and infamous
practice, meriting the contemju and scorn of all real gentlemen.

" Your 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. William Dobbin retreated to a remote
outhouse in the playground, where he passed a half-holiday in the
bitterest sadness and woe. Who amongst us is there that does not
recollect similar hours of bitter, bitter childish grief? Who feels
injustice ; who shrinks before a slight ; who has a sense of wrong 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 ?

Now, William Dobbin, from an incapacity to acquire the rudi-
ments of the above language, as 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" continually 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 they were. They cut his bed-strings.
They upset buckets 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 fellow but had his jeer and joke at
Dobbin ; and he bore everything quite patiently, and was entirely
dumb and miserable.

Cuff, on the contrary, was the great chief and dandy of the
Swishtail Seminar)'. 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, preferring Mr. Kean to Mr. Kemble. He could 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 ? They said even tlie
Doctor himself was afraid of l:im.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. ' 43

CufF, the unquestioned king of the school, ruled over his subjects,
bullied them, with splendid superiority. This one blacked his
js: that toasted his bread, others would fag out, and give him
s at cricket during whole summer afternoons. " Figs " was the
►w whom he despised most, and with whom, though always
sing him, and sneering at him, he scarcely ever condescended to
I personal communication.

One day in private, the two young gentlemen had had a difference.
;, alone in the school-room, was blundering over a home letter;
n Cuff, entering, bade him go upon some message, of which tarts
; probably the subject

" I can't," says Dobbin ; " I want to finish my letter."
" You cafit ? " says Mr. Cuff, laying hold of that document (in
:h many words were scratched out, many were mis-spelt, on which
been spent I don't know how much thought, and labour, and
s ; for the poor fellow was writing to his mother, who was fond of
, although she was a grocer's wife, and lived in a back parlour in
jnes Street). "You can't V says Mr. Cuff: "I should like to
w why, pray ? Can't you wTite to old Mother Figs to-morrow ? "
" Don't call names," Dobbin said, getting ofif the bench, very
rous.

" Well, sir, will you go ? " crowed the cock of the school.
" Put down the letter," Dobbin replied ; " no gentleman readth
jrth."

** Well, now will you go ? " says the other.

"No, I won't Don't strike, or I'll thmash you," roars out
3bin, springing to a leaden inkstand, and lo6king so wicked, that
Cuff paused, turned down his coat sleeves again, put his hands
• his pockets, and walked away with a sneer. But he never
idled personally with the grocer's boy after that ; though we must
lim the justice to say he always spoke of Mr. Dobbin with con-
pt behind his back.

Some time after this interview, it happened that Mr. Cuff, on a sun-
y afternoon, was in the neighbourhood of poor William Dobbin,
\ was lying under a tree in the play-ground, spelling over a favourite
f of the Arabian Nights which he had — apart from the rest of the
)ol, who were pursuing their various sports— quite lonely, and
ost happy. If people would but leave children to themselves ; if

44 VANITY FAIR.

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 neigh-
bour, and how far more beautiful and sacred are the thoughts of the
poor lad or girl whom you govern likely to be, than those of the dull
and world<orrupted person who rules him ?) — if, 1 say, parents and
masters would leave their children alone a little more, — small harm
would accrue, although a less quantity of as in prasenii might be
acquired.

Well, William Dobbin had for once forgotten the world, and was
away with Sindbad the Sailor in the Valley of Diamonds, or with
Prince Ahmed and the Fairy Peribanou in that delightful cavern

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 45

krhere the Prince found her, and whither we should all like to make a
our ; when shrill cries, as of a little fellow weeping, woke up his
feasant reverie; and looking up, he saw Cuff before him, belabouring
. little boy.

It was the lad who had peached upon him about the grocer's
art ; but he bore little malice, not at least towards the young and
mall. '* How dare you, sir, break the bottle ? " says Cuff to the little
irchin, swinging a yellow cricket-stump over him.

The boy had been instructed to get over the play-ground wall (at
L selected spot where the broken-glass had been removed from the
op, and niches made convenient in the brick) ; to run a quarter of a
nile ; to purchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit ; to brave all the
Doctor's outlying spies, and to clamber back into the play-ground
igain ; during the performance of which feat, his foot had slipt, and
he bottle was broken, and the shrub had been spilt, and his panta-
oons had been damaged, and he appeared before his employer a
)erfectly guilty and trembling, though harmless, wretch.

"How dare you, sir, break it?" says Cuff; "you blundering
ittle thief. You drank the shrub, and now you pretend to have
)roken the bottle. Hold out your hand, sir."

Down came the stump with a great heavy thump on the child's
land. A moan followed. Dobbin looked up. The Prince Peri-
)anou had fled into the inmost cavern with Prince Ahmed : the Roc
lad whisked away Sindbad the Sailor out of the Valley of Diamonds
)ut of sight, far into the clouds: and there was every-day life before
lonest William ; and a big boy beating a little one without cause.

" Hold out your other hand, sir," roars Cuff to his little school-
ellow, whose face was distorted with pain. Dobbin quivered, and
gathered himself up in his narrow old clothes.

" Take that, you little devil ! " cried Mr. Cuff, and down came the
ivicket again on the child's hand. — Don't be horrified, Jadies, every
X)y at a public school has done it. Your children will so do and
)e 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
nuch licensed as the knout in Russia. It would be ungentlemanlike (in
I manner) to resist it. Perhaps Dobbin's foolish soul revolted against
.hat exercise of tyranny ; or perhaps he had a hankering feeling of
evenge in his mind, and longed to measure himself against that

46 VANITY FAIR.

splendid bully and tyrant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp, cir-
cumstance, banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the
place. Whatever may have been his incentive, however, up he
sprang, and screamed out, " Hold off, Cuff; don't bully that child
any more ; or I'll "

" Or you'll what ? " Cuff asked in amazement at this interruption.
" Hold out your hand, you little beast."

" I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life,"
Dobbin said, in reply to the first part of Cuff's 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 Cuff's astonishment was scarcely less. Fancy our late mon^Lrch
George HI. when he heard of the revolt of the North American
colonies : fancy brazen Goliah when little David stepped forward
and claimed a meeting ; and you have the feelings of Mr. Reginald
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 best 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 carriage, and he was rather ashamed of his champion.

Yes, when the hour of battle came, he was almost ashamed to
say, " Go it. Figs ; " and not a single other boy in the place uttered
that cry for the first two or three rounds 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 a
fourth time.

A NOVEL WITHOVT A HERO. 47

As he did not in the least know how to parry the blows that
were aimed at himself, 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 beautiful
Roman nose.

Cuff went down this time, to the astonishment of the assembly.
" Well hit, by Jove," says little Osborne, with the air of a connoisseur,
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 champion
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 as calm
as a quaker. His face being quite pale, his eyes shining open, and
a great cut on his under lip bleeding profusely, gave this young
fellow a fierce and ghastly air, which perhaps struck terror into many
spectators. Nevertheless, his intrepid adversary prepared to close
for the thirteenth time.

If I had the pen of a Napier, or a Bell's Life, I should like to
describe this combat properly. It was the last charge of the Guard
— (that 'is, // would have been, only Waterloo had not yet taken
place) — it was Ne/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-merchgnt 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.
Reginald 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 make
you think he had been their darling champion through the whole

48 VANITY FAIR.

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* — 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 ascendancy
over the boys which his defeat had nearly cost him.

Young Osborne wrote home to his parents an account of the
transaction.

*'*' Sugarcane Hottsfy Richmond^ March^ l8~^

** 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 CuflTft
Dobbin. CufT, 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. Cuff was licking me for breaking a bottle of milk, and Figs wouIdn^t
stand it. We call him Figs because his father is a Grocer — Figs & Rudge,
Thames St., City — I think as he fought for me you ought to buy your Tea &
Sugar at his father's. Cuff goes home every Saturday, but can't this, because he
has 2 Black Eyes. He has a white Pony 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

"Your dutiful Son,

••George Sedley Osborne."

•* P.S. — Give my love to little Emmy. I am cutting her out a Coach in card-
board. Please not a seed-cake, but a plum-cake."

In consequence of Dobbin's victory, his character rose prodi-
giously in the estimation of all his schoolfellows, and the name of
Figs which had been a byword of reproach became as respectable
and popular a nickname as any other in use in the school. " After
all, it's not his fault that his father's a grocer," George Osborne said,
who, though a little chap, had a very high popularity among the
Swishtail youth ; and his opinion was received with great 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 Dobbin's spirit rose with his altered circumstances. He
made 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; "coached" him in
play-hours; carried him triumphantly out of the little-boy class intO'

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 49

the middle-sized form ; and even there got a fair place . for him. It
was discovered, that although dull at classical learning, at mathe-
matics he was uncommonly quick. To the contentment of all he
passed third in algebra, and got a French prize-book at the public
midsummer examination. You should have seen his mother's face
when Telemaque (that delicious romance) was presented to him by
the Doctor in the face of the whole school and the parents and com-
pany, with an inscription to Gulielmo Dobbin. All the boys clapped
hands in token of applause and sympathy. 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 ? 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
affection 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 loved him. 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 per-
fection, 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, \\'ith large
coloured pictures of knights and robbers, in many of which latter you
might read inscriptions to George Sedley Osborne, Esquire, fi-om his
attached friend William Dobbin — the which tokens of homage George
received very graciously, as became his superior merit.

So that when Lieutenant Osborne, coming to Russell 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."

so VANITY FAIR,

" Modesty ! pooh," said the stout gentleman, casting a vainqueur
look at Miss Sharp.

" He is — but you are incomparably more graceful, Sedley," Os-
borne 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 his 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 go^Ti," said good-natured
Mrs. Sedley. " What a gawky it was ! And his sisters are not much
more graceful. Lady Dobbin was at Highbury last night with three
of them. Such figures I ray dears."

" The Alderman 's very rich, isn't he ? " Osborne said archly.
" Don't you think one of the daughters would be a good spec for
me. Ma'am?"

" You foolish creature ! "WTio would take you^ I should like to
know, with your yellow face ? "

" Mine a yellow face ? 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 Miss Amelia only
made a smile and a blush ; and looking at Mr. George Osborne's
pale interesting countenance, and those beautiful black, curling,
shining whiskers, which the young gentleman himself regarded with
no ordinar}"^ complacency, she thought in her little heart, that in His
Majesty's army, or in the wide world, there never was such a face or
such a hero. " I don't care about Captain 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 fiaivete; 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^ mon beau Monsieur t I
think I have your gage," — 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 51

like a lark, and as fresh as a rose — a very tall ungainly geDtletnan,
with lai^e hands and feet, and large ears, set off by a closely cropped
head of black hair, and in the hideous militaiy frogged coat and
cocked-hat of those times, advanced to meet her, and made her one
of the clumsiest bows that was ever perfc^nied by a mortal.

This was no other than Captain William Dobbin, of His Ma-
jesty's Regiment of Foot, returned from yellow fever, in the

West Indies, to which the fortune of the service had ordered his
regiment, whilst 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

52 VANITY FAIR,

him to shake, before he enveloped it in his own, he paused, and
thought — " Well, is it possible — are you the little maid I remember
in the pink frock, such a short time ago — the night I upset the
punch-bowl, just after I was gazetted ? Are you the little girl that
George Osborne said should marry him ? What a blooming young
creature you seem, and what a prize the rogue has got ! " All this
he thought, before 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 conversation in the last page. Dobbin, the despised grocer,
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
knighted. His son had entered the army : and young Osborne
followed presently in the same regiment. They had ser\'ed 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 victoiy
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 surgeon ; helped Rebecca 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 killing 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 Vauxhall.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER VI.

KNOW that the tune I am piping is a very mild
one (although there are some terrific chapters
coming presently), and must beg the good-natured
reader to remember, that we are only discoursing
at present about a stock-broker's family in Russell
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 pr<^ess
of their loves. The argument stands thus —
Osborne, in love with Amelia, has asked an old
- -Ay ^ friend to dinner and to Vauxhall — Jos Sedley is
^^IJi- "^ in love with Rebecca. Will he marry her ? 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 ? 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. SedJey'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
rautton, and Miss Sedley's atvifemme de ckambre refused to go to bed
without a wax candle; such incidents might be made to provoke
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 nevifemmeiU ckambre a professional 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

54 yA.VITy FAIR.

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
hope for no such romance, only a homely story, and must be content
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 a very important one too. Are not there little chapters in
everybody's life, that seem to be nothing, and yet affect all the
rest of 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 Amelia.

Every soul in the coach agreed, that on that night, Jos would
propose to make Rebecca Sharp Mrs. Sedley. The parents at home
had acquiesced in the arrangement, though, between ourselves, old
Mr. Sedley had a feeling very much akin to contempt for his son.
He said he was vain, selfish, lazy, and effeminate. He could not
endure his airs as a man of fashion, and laughed 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 sure 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 him.
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 perpetual
flutter of excitement If she did not speak with Rebecca on the
tender subject, she compensated herself with long and intimate
conversations with Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, who dropped
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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 55

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 stock-broker'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-
natured Mrs. Sedley was brought.

Mr. Sedley was neutral. " Let Jos many whom he likes," he
said ; " it's no affair of mine. This girl has no fortune ; no more had
Mrs. Sedley. She seems good-humoured and clever, and will keep
him in order, perhaps. Better she, my dear, than a black Mrs. Sedley
and a dozen of mahogany grandchildren."

So that everything seemed to smile upon Rebecca's fortunes.
She took J OS'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, driving his greys),
and though nobody said a word on the subject of the marriage,
ever)'body 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 minutes,, and, in the course of a little delicate confidential
conversation, would have extracted the interesting avowal from the
bashful lips of the young man !

Such was the state of affairs as die carriage crossed Westminster-
bridge.

The party was landed at the Royal 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 Rebecca under his arm, George, of
course, took charge of Amelia. She looked as happy as a rose-tree
in sunshine.

"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 through the gate into the gardens with
Rebecca 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 billing to

56 VANITY FAIR.

spoil sport. About Rebecca and Jos he did not care a fig. But he
thought Amelia worthy even of the brilliant George Osborne, and as
he saw that good-looking couple threading the walks to the girl's
delight and wonder, he watched her artless happiness with a sort of
fatherly pleasure. Perhaps he felt that he would have liked to have
something on his own 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 discon-
tented ? And the truth is, that of all the delights of the Gardens ;
of I 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 bouncing cockneys and cockneyesses, and
executed amidst jumping, thumping, 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 inter-
views of young lovers ; the pots 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 daresay, presided even then over the place — Captain William
Dobbin did not take the slightest notice.

He carried about Amelia's white cashmere sliawl, and having
attended under the gilt cockle-shell, while Mrs. Salmon performed
the Battle of Borodino (a savage cantata against the Corsican
upstart, who had lately met with his Russian 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 burst 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. Parties at Vauxhall always did separate, but

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

'twas only to meet again at supper-lime, 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 tite-i-tlte offered no
particular novelty.

But when Miss Rebecca Sharp 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 previously
been to the panorama of Moscow, m here a rude fellow, treading on
Miss Sharp's foot, caused her to fall back with a little shriek into

58 VAX/TV FAIR.

the anns of Mr. Sedley, and this little incident increased the tender-
ness and confidence of that gentleman to such a degree, that he told
her several of his favourite Indian stories over again for, at least, the
sixth time.

" How I should like to see India ! *' said Rebecca.

" Should you ? " said Joseph, with a most killing tenderness ; and
was no doubt about to follow up this artful interrogatory by a question
still more tender (for he puffed and panted a great deal, and Rebecca's
hand, which was placed near his heart, could count the feverish
pulsations of that organ), when, oh, provoking ! the bell rang for the
fireworks, and, a great scuffling and running taking place, these
interesting lovers were obliged 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 amusement not particularly 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 world.

" I should only be de trop^^ said the Captain, looking at them
rather wistfully. " Fd best go and talk to the hermit," — and so he
strolled 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-knoA^Ti
pasteboard Solitary. It wasn't very good fun for Dobbin — and,
indeed, to be alone at Vauxhall, I have found, fi^om my own experi-
ence, 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 imcorked 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 ; everybody
had rack punch at Vauxhall. " Waiter, rack punch."

That bowl of rack punch was the cause of all this history. And
why not a bowl of rack punch as well as any other cause ? Was not
a bowl of prussic acid the cause of fair Rosamond's retiring fi-om the
world ? Was not a bowl of wine the cause of the demise of Alexander
the Great, or, at least, does not Dr. Lempriere say so ? — so did this

.//:.

THB HBW YORK

►UBLIC LIBRARY

TK.MN FOUHOATIfM

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 59

bowl of rack punch influence the fates of all the principal 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 Jos, that fat gourmand^ 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 painful; for he talked and
laughed so loud as to bring scores of listeners round the box, much
to the confusion of the innocent party within it ; and, volunteering to
sing a song (which he did in that maudlin high-key peculiar to gentle-
men in an inebriated state), he almost drew away the audience who
were gathered round the musicians in the gilt scollop-shell, and
received firom 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 gentle-
man, and the young women rose.

**Stop, my dearest diddle-diddle-darling," shouted Jos, now as
bold as a lion, and clasping Miss Rebecca round the waist Rebecca
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 gentieman 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 fiiend'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

6o VANITY FAIR,

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
Canterbury at Lambeth : he would, by Jove ! and 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.

George Osborne conducted the girls home in safety : and when
the door was closed upon them, and as he walked across Russell
Square, laughed so as to astonish the watchman. Amelia looked
very ruefully at her friend, as they went up stairs, and kissed her, and
went to bed without any more talking.

" He must propose to-morrow," thought Rebecca. " He called
me his soul's darling, four times ; he 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
bride's-maid, 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 &c.

Oh, ignorant young creatures ! How little do you know the
effect of rack punch ! What is the rack in the punch, at night, to
the rack in the head of a morning ? To this truth I can vouch as a
man: there is no head-ache in the world like that caused by
Vauxhall 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 abominable mixture.

That next morning, which Rebecca thought was to dawn upon
her fortune, 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 6i

soothed the fever of their previous night's potation. With this mild
bevei^e before Mm, George Osborne found the ex-collector of

Bt^ley Wollah groaning on the sofa at his lodgings. Dobbin was
ab«ady in the room, good-naturedly teiiding his patient of the night
before. The two officers looking at the prostrate Bacchanalian, and
askance at each other, exchanged the most frightful sympathetic
grins. Even Sedley's valet, the most solemn and correct of gentle-
men, 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 uncommon wild last night, sir," he whispered
in confidence to Osborne, as the latter mounted the stair. " He
wanted to fight the 'ackney-coachman, sir. The Capting was obliged
to bring him up stairs m his harms like a babby," A momentary
smile flickered over Mr. Bmsh'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 ? " that young wag began, after surveying
his victim. " No bones broke ? There's a hackney-coachman
down stairs with a black eye, and a tied-up head, vowing he'll have
the law of you."

" What do you mean, — law ? " Sedley faintly asked.

" For thrashing him last night — didn't he, Dobbin ? You hit
out, sir, like Molyneux. The watchman says he never saw a fellow
go down 50 straight. Ask Dobbin."

62 VANITY FAIR.

" 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 civilians had no pluck ; but
ni never get in your way when you are in your cups, Jos."

" I believe Fm 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 Rebecca, 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 niksalliance with a little
nobody — a little upstart governess. " You hit, you poor old fellow ?"
said Osborne. "You terrible? AVhy, man, you couldn'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?"

" A what ?" Jos asked.

"A sentimental song, and calling Rosa, Rebecca, what's her
name, Amelia's little friend — you dearest diddle-diddle-darling ? "
And this ruthless young fellow, seizing 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 ? " Osborne said to his friend'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 patronizing airs, and make fools of us at Vauxhall ? Who's this
little school-girl that is ogling and making love to him ? 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 great hectoring Nabob,
and prevent him from being made a greater fool than he is.
That's why I told him to look out, lest she brought an action
against him."

" I suppose you know best," Dobbin said, though rather dubiously.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 63

" 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 yourself,"
the lieutenant here interrupted his friend; but Captain Dobbin
declined to join Osborne in his daily visit to the young ladies in
Russell 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
looking 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 bed-room on the second-floor, was in
obser\'ation until Mr. Joseph's great form should heave in sight

" Sister Anne is on die 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,
looking 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 down stairs,
bantered her with a great deal of liveliness upon the effect of her
charms on the fat civilian.

" O Miss Sharp ! if you could 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.

" WTiom ? O whom ? 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, with a haughty air and a toss of the head, " I never gave the
existence of Captain Dobbin one single moment s consideration."

64 VANITY FAIR,

" Very good, Miss Shaqj, 1*11 tell him," Osborne said ; and as he
spoke Miss Sharp began to have a feeling of distrust and hatred
towards this young officer, which he was quite unconscious of having
inspired. "/^ is to make fun of me, is he?" thought Rebecca.
" Has he been laughing about me to Joseph ? Has he frightened
him ? Perhaps he won't come." — A film 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 ///^."
And George Osborne, as she walked away — ^and Amelia looked
reprovingly at him — felt some little manly compunction for having
inflicted any unnecessary imkindness upon 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 painful and awkward position last
night My dearest diddle-diddle-darling ! " He was off laughing
again ; and he did it so drolly 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 Vauxhall.

The next day, however, as the two young ladies sate on the sofa,
pretending 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 —

"Dear Amelia, — I send you the Orphan of the Forest I was too ill to come
yesterday. I leave town to-day for Cheltenham. Pray excuse me, if you can, to
the amiable Miss Sharp, for my conduct at Vauxhall, and entreat her to pardon

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 65

■nd fct^ nay troid I may hsTC attend when ddted br that bUl rapper. Ai
•oon ■> I haic lEcovercd, for mf health is Tciy much shaken, I shall go to Scot-
bod Iv nobe iftntithv *"^ am

It was the death-warrant All was over, Amelia did not dare to
look at Rebecca's pale face and burning eyes, but she dropt 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 con-
solation ; on whose shoulder Amelia wept confidentially, and relieved
herself a good deal. " Don't take on, Miss. I didn't like to tell
joa. But none of us in the house have liked her except at fiist. I sor
her with my own eyes reading your Ma's letters. Pinner says she's
always about your trinket-box and drawers, and everybody's drawers,
&nd she's sure she's put your white ribbing into her box."

66 VANITY FAIR.

" I gave it her, I gave it her," Amelia said.

But this did not alter Mrs. Blenkinsop*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 gimcrack 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 merchant,
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,
quite 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 accordingly.

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 gratitude to
Mrs. Sedley, of course ; 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
purse ; and asked permission to consider him for the future as her
kind, kind friend and protector. Her behaviour was so affecting
that he was going to write her a cheque for twenty pounds more ; but
he restrained his feelings : the carriage was in waiting to take him to

♦ It was the author's intention, faithful to history, to depict all the characters
fif this tale in their proper costumes, as they wore Uiem at the commencement of

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

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."

FinaUy came the parting with Miss Amelia, over which picture I
intend to throw a veil. But after a scene in which one person was
in earnest and the other a perfect performer— after the lenderest
caresses, the most pathetic tears, the smelling-bottle, and some of the
very best feelings of the heart, had been called into Kquisitton —
Rebecca and Amelia parted, the former vowing to love her friend
for ever and ever and ever.

1 have not the heart to disfigure my heroes and heroines by costumes so hideous ;
and \ane, on the contrary, engaged a model of rank dressed according lo the

VANITY FAIR.

CHAPTER Vri.

CRAWLEY OF QUEEN's CRAWLEY.

|.r(;^''~^|] MONG the most respected of
i* ' -' the names beginning in C, which
the Court-Guide contained, in
the year i8— , was that of
Crawley, Sir Pitt, Baronet, Great
Gaunt Street, and Queen's Craw-
ley, Hants. This honourable
name had figured constantly also
in the Parliamentary hst for many
yeais, in conjunction with that of
i! ^ ^^ " I ' i a number of other worthy gentle-

men who sat in turns for the

^^^ borough.

ZIt is related, with regard to
the borough of Queen's Crawley,
"^ ™- ^-*=- '*~ that Queen Elizabeth in one of

her progresses, stopping at Craw-
ley to breakfast, was so delighted with some remarkably fine Hamp-
shire beer which was then presented to her by the Crawley of the
day (a handsome gendeman with a trim beard and a good 1^), 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 been 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 with
perfect justice in his elegant way, " Rotten ! 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, first Baronet, of the Tape and Sealing-Wax

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 69

Office in the reign of George II., when he was impeached for pecu-
lation, as were a great number of other honest gentlemen of those
days; and Walpole Crawley was, as need scarcely be said, son of
John Churchill Crawley, named after the celebrated military com-
mander 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 Elizabeth's Crawley, who is represented as
the for^^und of the picture in his forked beard and armour. Out
of his waistcoat, as usual, grows a tree, on the main branches of which
the above 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
Conmioner was in disgrace when the reverend gentleman was bom),
rector of Crawley-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 Crawley, 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 Mudbuiy, by whom
he had two daughters, for whose benefit Miss Rebecca Sharp was
now engaged as govemess. It will be seen that the young lady was
come into a family of very genteel connexions, 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 eriy.
" 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-natured Mr. Sedley had put into a purse for her, and as

70 VANITY FAIR.

soon as she had done wiping her eyes with her handkerchief (which
operation 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 ? But he will be very handsomely
dressed in a court 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 gentle-
folks, and not with vulgar city people : " and she fell to thinking 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 Gaunt Square into Great Gaunt Street,
the carriage at length stopped at a tall gloomy house between two
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 blinds 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 office for him. When the bell was rung, a head appeared
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 Pitt Crawley's ? " says John, from the box.

" Ees," says the man at the door, with a nod.

" Hand down these 'ere trunks 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 feller, and Miss will give you some beef," said John, with a horse-
laugh, for he was no longer respectful to Miss Sharp, as her connexion
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

^"hi

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 71

pockets, advanced on this summons, and throwing Miss Sharp's trunk
over his shoulder, carried it into the house.

" Take this basket and shawly if you please, and open the door,"
said Miss Sharp, and descended from the carriage in much indigna-
tion. " I shall write to Mr. Sedley and infonn him of your conduct,"
said she to the groom.

" Don't," replied that functionary. " I hope you've forgot nothink ?
Miss 'Melia'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 'er" continued John, pointing with his thumb towards
Miss Sharp: "a bad lot, I tell you, a bad lot," and so saying,
Mr. Sedley's groom 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, Rebecca found that apartment not more cheerful than such
rooms usually are, when genteel families are out of town. The
faithful chambers seem, as it were, to mourn the absence of their
masters. The turkey carpet has rolled itself up, and retired sulkily
under the sideboard : the pictures have Hidden their faces behind old
sheets of brown paper : the ceiling lamp is. muffled up in a dismal
sack of brown holland : the window-curtains have disappeared under
all sorts of shabby envelopes : the marble bust of Sir Walpole Crawley
is looking from' its black comer at the bare boards and the oiled fire-
irons, and the empty card-racks over the mantel-piece : the cellaret
has lurked away behind the carpet : the chairs are turned up heads
and tails along the walls : and in the dark comer opposite the statue,
is an old-fashioned crabbed knife-box, locked, .and sitting on a
dumb waiter.

Two kitchen chairs, and a round table, and an attenuated old
poker and tongs were, however, gathered rotrtid the fire-place, as was
a saucepan over a feeble sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese
and bf^d, and a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black
portpr 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 ! /'m Sir Pitt Crawley. Reklect you owe me a pint
for bringing down your luggage. He, he ! Ask Tinker if I aynt.

VANITY FAIR.

Mrs. Tinker, Miss Sharp; Miss Governess, Mrs. Charwoman.
Ho, ho!"

The lady addressed as Mrs. Tinker, at this 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,

" Where's the fardcn ? " 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 iarthings, old Tinker, and your guineas will come
quite nat'ral."

"You may be sure it's Sir Pitt Crawley, young woman," said

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 73

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 politeness. '^ I must be just before I'm
generous."

" He never gave away a farthing in his life," growled Tinker.

" Never, and never will : it's against my principle. Go and get
another chair from 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
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 family. Haw !
haw ! I'm glad Miss Sharp's not hungry, ain't you, Tink ? " And
they fell to upon their 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 pleasure of such a pretty travelling companion
to-morrow."

" He's always at law business," said Mrs. Tinker, taking up the
pot of porter.

"Drink and drink 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 useful 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."

74 VANITY FAIR.

" 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
Pitt Crawley's qualities might be, good or bad, he did not make the
least disguise of them. He talked of himself incessantly, sometimes
in the coarsest and 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 in the morning, he bade her good night.
" You'll 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 off after this benediction, and the solemn Tinker,
rushlight 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 bed-room, where Lady Crawley had slept
her last. The bed and chamber were so funereal and gloomy, you
might have fancied, not only that Lady Crawley died in the room,
but that her ghost inhabited it. Rebecca sprang about the apart-
ment, however, with the greatest liveliness, and had peeped into the
huge wardrobes, and the closets, and the cupboards, and tried the
drawers which were locked, and examined the dreary pictures 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 Rebecca. "Tell me all
about I^dy Crawley and Sir Pitt Crawley, and everybody, my dear
Mrs. Tinker."

But old Tinker was not to be pumped by this little cross-
questioner ; 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. Rebecca lay awake for a
long, long time, thinking of the morrow, and of the new world into
which she was going, and of her chances of success there. The
rushlight flickered in the basin. The mantel-piece 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 pictures
of young lads, one in a college gown, and the other in a red jacket
like a soldier. When she went to sleep, Rebecca chose that one
to dream about.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 75

At four o'clock, on such a roseate summer's morning as even
tnade Great Gaunt Street look cheerful, the faithful Tinker, having
wakened her bedfellow, and bid her prepare for departure, unbarred
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 need-
less to particularize 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 likewise 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 flung 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 mounting the
baronet's baggage on the roof of the coach.

" Keep the box for me, Leader," exclaims the Member of Parlia-
ment to the coachman ; who replied, " Yes, Sir Pitt," with a touch
of his hat, and rage in his soul (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 may be said to be carrying her into
the wide world.

How the young man from Cambridge sulkily put his five 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-humoured —
how the asthmatic gentleman, the prim lady, who declared upon her
sacred honour she had never travelled in a public carriage before
(there is always such a lady in a coach, — ^Alas ! was ; for the coaches,
where are they?), and the fat widow with the brandy-bottle, took
their places inside — ^how the porter asked them all for money, and
got sixpence from the gentleman and five greasy halfpence from the fat

76 VANITY FAIR.

widow — and how the carriage at length drove away — now, threading
the dark lanes of Aldersgate, anon clattering by the Blue Cupola of
Paul's, jingling rapidly by the strangers' entry of Fleet-Market,

which, with Exeter 'Change, has now departed to the world of
shadows — how they passed the White Bear in Piccadilly, and saw
the dew nsing up from the market-gardens of Knightsbridge — how
Tumham-green, Brentford, Bagshot, were passed — need not be told
here. But the writer of these pages, who has pursued in former
days, and in the same bright weather, the same remarkable journey,
cannot but think of it with a sweet and tendw regret Where is the
road now, and its merry incidents of life? Is there no Chelsea or
Greenwich for the old honest pimple-nosed coachmen? I wonder
where are they, those good fellows? Is old Weller alive or dead?
and the waiters, yea, and the inns at which they waited, and the cold
rounds of beef inside, and the stunted ostler, with his blue nose and

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 77

dinldng pail, where is he, and where is his generation? To those
great geniuses now in petticoats, who shall write novels for the
beloved reader's children, these men and things will be as much
l^end and history as Nineveh, or Coeur de Lion, or Jack Sheppard,
For them stage-coaches will have become roniances — a team of four
bays as fabulous as Bucephalus or Black Bess. Ah, how their coats
shone, as the stable-men pulled their clothes off, and away they went
— ah, how their tails shook, as with smoking sides at the stage's
end they demurely walked away into the inn-yard. Alas ! we shall
never heai the horn sing at midnight, or see the pike^tes fly open
any more. Whither, however, is the light four-inside Trafalgar
coach carrying us ? Let us be set down at Queen's Crawley without
further divagation, and see how Miss Rebecca Shaip speeds there.

CHAPTER VIII.

PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL.

Miss Rebtcca Sharp to Mist Amdta Sedley, Rmsdl Square, London.
(Free.— Pitt Crawley.)

"MV DEAREST, SWEETEST AMELIA,

" Wiih what mingled joy and sorrow do I take up the pen to write lo 107
dearest friend! Oh, what a change between to-day and yesterday ! N(nv I am
friendless and alone ; yesterday 1 was at home, in the sweet company of a sister,
whom L shall ever, eoir cherish I

"1 will not tell yoa In what tears and sadness I passed the fatal night in
which I separated from you. Yoti went on Tuesday lo joy and happiness, with
your mother xoAyour dtvolid young soldier by your side ; and I thought of yoa all
night, dancing at the Perkin&'s, the prettiest, I am sure, of all the young ladies at
the Ball. I was brought by (he groom in the old cartiaga to Sir Pitt Crawley's
town honse, where, after John the groom had behaved most rudely and insolently
lo me (alas ! 'twas safe to insult poverty and misfortune !), I was given over lo
Sir P. 'sore, and made to ptuf the night in ui old gloomy bed, and by the side of

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 79

a hoirid gloomy old charwoman, who keeps the house. I did not sleep one single
wink the whole night.

•• Sir Pitt is not what we silly girls, when we used to read Cecilia at Chiswick,
imagined a baronet must have been. Anything, indeed, less like Lord Orville
cannot be imagined. Fancy an old, stumpy, short, vulgar, and very dirty man,
in old clothes and shabby old gaiters, who smokes a horrid pipe, and cooks his
own horrid supper in a saucepan. He speaks with a country accent, and swore a .
great deal at the old charwoman, at the hackney coachman who drove us to the
inn where the coach went from, and on which I made the journey otttside for the
greater part of the way,

•• I was awakened at daybreak by the charwoman, and having arrived at the
inn, was at first placed inside the coach. But, when we got to a place called
Leakington, where the rain began to fall very heavily — will you believe it ? — I was
forced to come outside ; for Sir Pitt is a proprietor of the coach, and as a passenger
came at Mudbury, who wanted an inside place, I was obliged to go outside in the
rain, where, however, a young gentleman from Cambridge College sheltered me
very kindly in one of his several great coats.

** This gentleman and the guard seemed to know Sir Pitt very well, and laughed
at him a great deaL They both agreed in calling him an old screw ; which means
a very stingy, avaricious person. He never gives any money to anybody, they
said (and this meanness I hate) ; and the young gentleman made me remark
that we drove very slow for the last two stages on the road, because Sir Pitt
was on the box, and because he is proprietor of the horses for this part of the
journey. * But won't I flog *em on to Squashmore, when I take the ribbons?'
said the young Cantab. *And sarve 'em right. Master Jack,' said the guard.
"When I comprehended the meaning of this phrase, and that Master Jack intended
to drive the rest of the way, and revenge himself on Sir Pitt's horses, of course I
laughed too.

'* A carriage and four splepdid horses, covered with armorial bearings, however,
awaited us at Mudbury, four miles from Queen's Crawley, and we made our
entrance to the baronet's park in state. There is a fine avenue of a mile long
leading to the house, and the woman at the lodge-gate (over the pillars of which
are a serpent and a dove, the supporters of the Crawley arms,) made us a number
of curtsies as she flung open the old iron carved doors, which are something like
those at odious Chiswick.

"'There's an avenue,' said Sir Pitt, *a mile long. There's six thousand
pound of timber in them there trees. Do you call that nothing ? ' He pronoimced
avenue — evenue^ and nothing — nothink^ so droll ; and he had a Mr. Hodson, his
hind from Mudbury, into the carriage with him, and they talked about distraining,
and selling up, and draining and subsoiling, and a great deal about tenants and
frurming — much more than I could understand. Sam Miles had been caught
poaching, and Peter Bailey had gone to the workhouse at last. * Serve him
right,' said Sir Pitt ; 'him and his family has been cheating me on that farm
these hundred and fifty years. ' Some old tenant, I suppose, who could not pay
his rent. Sir Pitt might have said ^he and his family,' to be sure; but rich
baronets do not need to be careful about grammar, as poor governesses must be.

** As we passed, I remarked a beautiful church-spire rising above some old elms

^o VANITY FAIR.

in the park ; and before them, in the midst of a lawn, and some outhouses, an old
red house with tall chimneys covered with ivy, and the windows shining in the sun.
' Is that your church, sir ? ' I said.

'* * Yes, hang it,' (said Sir Pitt, only he used, dear, a muck wicktder ward) ;
'how's Buty, Hodson ? Buty's my brother Bute, my dear — my brother the
parson. Buty and the Beast I call him, ha, ha ! '

'* Hodson laughed too, and then looking more grave and nodding his head,
said, ' I'm afraid he's better. Sir Pitt. He was out on his pony yesterday, looking
at our com.*

'* * Looking after his tithes, hang'un (only he used the same wicked word).
Will brandy and water never kill him ? He's as tough as old whatd3recallum— old
Methusalem.'

'*Mr. Hodson laughed again. *The young men is home from college.
They've whopped John Scroggins till he's well nigh dead.'

** * Whop my second keeper ! * roared out Sir Pitt.

** * He was on the parson's ground, sir,' replied Mr. Hodson ; and Sir Pitt in
a iury swore that if he ever caught 'em poaching on his ground, he'd transport 'em,
by the lord he would. However, he said, * I've sold the presentation of the living,
Hodson ; none of that breed shall get it, I war'nt ; ' and Mr. Hodson said he was
quite right : and I have no doubt from this that the two brothers are at variance —
as brothers often are, and sisters too. Don't you remember the two Miss Scratch-
ley's at Chiswick, how they used always to fight and quarrel — and Mary Box, how
she was always thumping Louisa ?

" Presently, seeing two little boys gathering sticks in the wood, Mr. Hodson
jumped out of the carriage, at Sir Pitt's order, and rushed upon them with his
whip. * Pitch into 'em, Hodson,' roared the baronet ; * flog their little soub out,
and bring 'em up to the house, the vagabonds ; I'll commit 'em as sure as my
name's Pitt.' And presently we heard Mr. Hodson's whip clacking on the
shoulders of the poor little blubbering wretches, and Sir Pitt, seeing that the
malefactors were in custody, drove on to the halL

All the servants were ready to meet us, and

******

** Here, my dear, I was interrupted last night by a dreadful thumping at my
door : and who do you think it was ? Sir Pitt Crawley in his night-cap and
dressing-gown, such a figure ! As I shrank away from such a visitor, he came
forward and seized my candle. *No candles after eleven o'clock. Miss Becky,'
said he. * Go to bed in the dark, you pretty little hussey ' (that is what he called
me), * and unless you wish me to come for the candle every night, mind and be in
bed at eleven.' And with this, he and Mr. Horrocks the butler went off Uughing.
You may be sure I shall not encourage any more of their visits. They let loose
two inmiense blood-hounds at night, which all last night were yelling and howling
at the moon. ' I call the dog Gorer,' said Sir Pitt ; *he's killed a man that dog
has, and is master of a bull, and the mother I used to call Flora ; but now I calls
her Aroarer, for she's too old to bite. Haw, haw ! '

" Before the house of Queen's Crawley, which is an odious old-fashioned red
brick mansion, with tall chinmeys and gables of the style of Queen Bess, there is a
terrace flanked by the family dove and serpent, and on which the great hall-door

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 8i

opms. And oh, my dear, the great hall I am sure is as big and as glum as the
great hall in the dear castle of Udolpho. It has a laige fire-place, in which we
might put half Miss Pinkerton's school, and the grate is big enough to roast an ox
at the very least Round the room hang I doq^t know how many generations of
Crawleys, some with beards and ruffs, some with huge wigs and toes turned out,
some dressed in long straight stays and gowns that look as stiff as towers, and some
with long ringlets, and oh, my dear ! scarcely any stays at all. At one end of the
ball is the great staircase all in black oak, as dismal as may be, and on either side
are tall doors with stags* heads over them, leading to the billiard-room and the
library, and the great yellow saloon and the moming-rooms. I think there are at
least twenty bed-rooms on the first-floor ; one of them has the bed in which Queen
Elizabeth slept ; and I have been taken by my new pupils through all these fine
apartments this morning. They are not rendered less gloomy, I promise you, by
having the shutters always shut ; and there is scarce one of the apartments, but
when the light was let into it, I esqxcted to see a ghost in the room. We have a
school-room on the second fkx>r, with my bed-room leading into it on one side,
and that of the young ladies on the other. Then there are Mr. Pitt's apartments
— Mr. Crawley, he is called — the eldest son, and Mr. Rawdon Crawley's rooms —
he is an officer like somebody, and away with his regiment. There is no want of
room I assure yoo. You might lodge all the people in Russell Square in the house,
I think, and have space to spare.

•* Half an hour after our arrival, the great dinner-bell was rung, and I came
down with my two pupils (they are very thin insignificant little chits of ten and
eight years old). I came down in your dmr muslin gown (about which that odious
Mrs. Pinner was so rude, because you gave it me) ; for I am to be treated as one of
the family, except on company days, when the young ladies and I are to dine up-
stairs.

"Well, the great dinner-bell rang, and we all assembled in the little drawing-
room where my Lady Crawley sits. She is the second Lady Crawley, and mother
of the yoxmg ladies. She was an ironmonger's daughter, and her marriage
was thought a great match. She looks as if she had been handsome once,
and her eyes are always weeping for the loss of her beauty. She is pale and
meagre and high-shouldered ; and has not a word to say for herself, evidently.
Her step-son, Mr. Crawley, was likewise in the room. He was in full dress, as
pompous as an undertxdcer. He is pale, thin, ugly, silent ; he has thin legs, no
chest, hay-coloured whiskers, and straw-coloured hair. He is the very picture
of his sainted mother over the mantel-piece — Griselda of the noble house of
Binkie.

"'This is the new governess, Mr. Crawley,' said Lady Crawley, coming
forward and taking my hand . * Miss Sharp.'

" ' O ! ' said Mr. Crawley, and pushed his head once forward and began again
to read a great pamphlet with which he was busy.

" 'I hope you will be kind to my girls,' said Lady Crawley, with her pink
eyes always full of tears.

" * Law, Ma, of course she will,' said the eldest : and I saw at a glance that I
need not be afraid of that woman.

*' ' My lady is served,' says the Butler in black, in an immense white shirt-

82 VANITY FAIR.

fril!, Ihnt looked as if it h«d been one of the Queen Eliiabeth'i lufts depicted
in the hall ; and so Inking Mr. Crawley's ann, ihe led the -way to the dining-
room, whither I followed with my Utile pupil* in e«ch hand.

" Sir Pitt was already in the room with a silver ju(j. He had just been to the
Ctllai, and was in full dress too ; that is, he had taken his gailers off, and showed
his lillie dumpy legs in black worsted stockings. The sideboard was covered with
gbstening old plate — old cups, both gold and silrer ; old salvei^ and cniel-standt,
like Rundell and Bridge's shop. Eveiylbing on the table was in silver too, and
two rootmen, with red hair and canary-coloured liveries, stood on eitlicr ^de of the
side-board.

" Mr. Crawley said a long grace, and Sir Pitt said amen, and the great silver
dish-covers were removed.

" ' What have we for dinner, Betsy T ' said Ihe Baronet.

" 'Mutton broth, I believe. Sir Pill,' answered Lady Crawley.

" ' Muulint aujc nmrfi,' added the Butler gravely [pronounce, if you please,
moutonfooawy) ; ' and the soup is fiita^e de mouion i VEeoitaiM. The side-dishet
contain jlenmcc at Itrreau natuni, and ehauJUuri rem,'

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 83

*" Mutton's mutton/ said the Baronet, 'and a devilish good thing. What
ship was it, Horrocks, and when did you kill ? *

" *One of the black-faced Scotch, Sir Pitt : we killed on Thursday.*

" • Who took any ? *

" ' Steel, of Mudbury, took the saddle and two legs, Sir Pitt ; but he says the
last was too young and confounded woolly. Sir Pitt.'

** * Will you take samt potage. Miss ah — Miss Blunt?' said Mr. Crawley.

"•Capital Scotch broth, my dear,' said Sir Pitt, * though they call it by a
French name.'

***I believe it is the custom, sir, in decent society,* said Mr. Crawley,
haughtily, ' to call the dish as I have called it ', ' and it was served to us on silver
soup-plates by the footmen in the canary coats, with the nwuton aux navets.
Then *ale and water' were brought, and served to us young ladies in wine-
glasses. I am not a judge of ale, but I can say with a clear conscience I prefer
water.

** While we were enjoying our repast. Sir Pitt took occasion to ask what had
become of the shoulders of the mutton.

** • I believe they were eaten in the servants' hall,' said my lady, humbly.

** 'They was, my lady,' said Horrocks, *and precious little else we get there
neither.*

"Sir Pitt burst into a hoarse laugh, and continued his conversation with
Mr. Horrocks. * That there little black pig of the Kent sow's breed must be
uncommon fat now.'

" *It's not quite busting, Sir Pitt,' said the Butler with the gravest air, at
which Sir Pitt, and with him the young ladies, this time, began to laugh violently.

" *Miss Crawley, Miss Rose Crawley,' said Mr. Crawley, *your laughter strikes
me as being exceedingly out of place.'

" * Never mind my lord,' said the Baronet, * we'll try the porker on Saturday.
Kill un on Saturday morning, John Horrocks. Miss Sharp adores pork, don't
you, Miss Sharp ? '

" And I think this is all the conversation that I remember at dinner. When the
repast was concluded a jug of hot water was placed before Sir Pitt, with a case-
bottle containing, I believe, rum. Mr. Horrocks served myself and my pupils
with three little glasses of wine, and a bumper was poured out for my lady. When
we retired, she took from her work-drawer an enormous interminable piece of
knitting ; the young ladies began to play at cribbage with a dirty pack of cards.
We had but one candle lighted, but it was in a magnificent old silver candlestick,
and after a very few questions from my lady, I had my choice of amusement
between a volume of sermons, anil a pamphlet on the corn-laws, which Mr.
Crawley had been reading before dinner.

" So we sat for an hour imtil steps were heard.

"*Put away the cards, girls,' cried my lady, in a great tremor; * put down
Mr. Crawley's books. Miss Sharp : ' and these orders had been scarcely obeyed,
when Mr. Crawley entered the room.

" * We will resume yesterday's discourse, young ladies,* said he, * and you shall
each read a page by turns ; so that Miss a — Miss Short may have an opportunity
of hearing you ; ' and the poor girls b^an to spell a long dismal sermon delivered

6—2

84 VANITY FAIR.

at Bethesda Chapel, Liverpool, on bdialf of the mission for the Chickasaw Indians.
Was it not a charming evening ?

"At ten the servants were toW to call Sir Pitt and the household to prayers.
Sir Pitt came in first, very much flushed, and rather unsteady in his gait ; and after
him the butler, the canaries, Mr. Crawley's man, three other men, smelling very
much of the stable, and four women, one of whom, I remarked, was very much
over-dressed, and who flui^ me a look of great scorn as she plumped down on
her knees.

•* After Mr. Crawley had done haranguing and expounding, we received our
candles, and then we went to bed ; and then I was disturbed in my writing, as I
have described to my dearest sweetest Amelia.

** Good night A thousand, thousand, thousand kisses !

*^ Saturday. — This morning, at five, I heard the shrieking of the little black
pig. Rose and Violet introduced me to it yesterday ; and to the stables, and to
the kennel, and to the gardener, who was picking fruit to send to market, and
from whom they begged hard a bunch of hot-house grapes ; but he said that
Sir Pitt had numbered every * Man Jack ' of them, and it would be as much as
his place was worth to give any away. The darling girls caught a colt in a
paddock, and asked me if I would ride, and began to ride themsdves, when the
groom, coming with horrid oaths, drove them away.

** Lady Crawley is always knitting the worsted. Sir Pitt is always tipsy, every
night ; and, I believe, sits with Horrocks, the butler. Mr. Crawley always reads
sermons in the evening, and in the morning is locked up in his study, or else rides
to Mudbury, on county business, or to Squashmore, where he preaches, on Wed-
nesdays and Fridays, to the tenants there.

** A hundred thousand grateful loves to your dear papa and mamma. Is your
poor brother recovered of his rack-punch ? Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! How men
should beware of wicked punch !

** Ever and ever thine own

" Rebecca."

Everything considered, I think it is quite as well for our dear
Amelia Sedley, in Russell Square, that Miss Sharp and she are parted.
Rebecca is a droll funny creature, to be sure ; and those descriptions
of the poor lady weeping for the loss of her beauty, and the gentleman
" with hay-coloured whiskers and straw-coloured hair," are very smart,
doubtless, and show a great knowledge of the world. That she
might, when on her knees, have been thinking of something better
than Miss Horrocks's ribbons, has possibly struck both of us. But
my kind reader will please to remember that this history has " Vanity
Fair " for a title, and that Vanity Fair is a very vain, wicked, foolish
place, full of all sorts of humbugs and falsenesses and pretensions.
And while the moialist, who is holding forth on the cover (an accurate

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 85

portrait of your humble servant), professes to wear neither gown nor
bands, but only the very same long-eared livery in which his congre-
gation is arrayed : yet, look you, one is bound to speak the truth as
far as one knows it, whether one mounts a cap and bells or a shovel-
hat ; and a deal of disagreeable matter must come out in the course
of such an undertaking.

I have heard a brother of the story-telling trade, at Naples,
preaching to a pack of good-for-nothing honest lazy fellows by the
sea-shore, work himself up into such a rage and passion with some of
the villains whose wicked deeds he was describing and inventing, that
the audience could not resist it ; and they and the poet together
would burst out into a roar of oaths and execrations against the
fictitious monster of the tale, so that the hat went round, and the
bajocchi tumbled into it, in the midst of a perfect storm of sympathy.

At the little Paris theatres, on the other hand, you will not only
hear the people yelling out ^^Ahgredinl Ah monstre: " and cursing the
tyrant of the play from the boxes ; but the actors themselves positively
refuse to play the wicked parts, such as those oiinfdmes Anglais^ brutal
Cossacks, and what not, and prefer to appear at a smaller salary, in
their real characters as loyal Frenchmen. I set the two stories one
against the other, so that you may see that it is not from mere merce-
nary motives that the present performer is desii:ous to show up and
trounce his villains ; but because he has a sincere hatred of them,
which he cannot keep down, and which must find a vent in suitable
abuse and bad language.

I warn my " kyind friends," then, that I am going to tell a story
of harrowing \'illany and complicated — but, as I trust, intensely
interesting — crime. My rascals are no milk-and-water rascals, I
promise you. When we come to the proper places we won't spare
fine language — No, no ! But when we are going over the quiet
country we must perforce be calm. A tempest in a slop-basin is
absurd. We will reserve that sort of thing for the mighty ocean and
the lonely midnight. The present Chapter is very mild. Others
But we will not anticipate tfwse.

And, as we bring our characters forward, I will ask leave, as a
man and a brother, not only to introduce them, but occasionally to
step down from the platform, and talk about them : if they are good
and kindly, to love them and shake them by the hand : if they are
silly, to laugh at them confidentially in the reader's sleeve: if they are

86 VANITY FAIR.

wicked and heartless, to abuse them in the strongest tcnns which
politeness admits oC

Otherwise you might fancy it was I who was sneering at the
practice of devotion, which Miss Sharp finds so ridiculous ; that it
was I who laughed good-humouredly at the reeling old Sitenus of a
baronet — whereas the laughter comes from one who ha^ no reverence
except for prosperity, and no eye for anything beyond success. Such
people there are living and flourishing in the world — Faithless, Hope-
less, Charityless : let us have at them, dear friends, with might and
main. Some there are, and very successful too, mere quacks and
fools : and it was to combat and expose such as those, no doubt, that
Laughter was made.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER K.

FAMILY PORTRAITS.

I IR Pitt Crawlev was a philosopher with a taste
for what is called low life. His first mar-
liage with the daughter of the noble Binkie
had been made under the auspices of his
parents; and as he often told Lady Crawley
in her life-time she was such a confounded
quarrelsome high-bred jade that when she
died he was hanged if he would ever take
another of her sort, at her ladyship's demise
he kept his promise, and selectedforasecond
wife Miss Rose Dawson, daughter of Mr.
John Thomas Dawson, ironmonger, of
Mudbury. What a happy woman was Rose to be my Lady Crawley 1
l-et us set down the items of her happiness. In the first place,
she gave up Peter Butt, a young man who kept company with her,
and in consequence of his disappointment in love, took to smugghng,
poaching, and a thousand other bad courses. Then she quarrelled,
as in duty bound, with all the friends and intimates of her youth, who,
of course, could not be received by my Lady at Queen's Crawley —
nor did she find in her new rank and abode any persons who were
willing to welcome her. Who ever did ? Sir Huddleston Fuddleston
had three daughters who all hoped to be Lady Crawley. Sir Giles
Wapshot's family were insulted that one of the Wapshot girls had not
the preference in the marriage, and the remaining baronets of the
county were indignant at their comrade's misalliance. Never mind
the commoners, whom we will leave to grumble anonymously.

Sir Pitt did not care, as he said, a brass farden for any one of
them. He had his pretty Rose, and what more need a man require
than to please himself? So he used to get drunk every night: to
beat his pretty Rose sometimes : to leave her in Hampshire when he
went to London for the parliamentary session, witliout a single friend
is the wide world. Even Mrs. Bute Crawley, the rector's wife,

88 VANITY FAIR.

refused to visit her, as she said she would never give the pas to a
tradesman's daughter.

As the only endowments with which Nature had gifted Lady
Crawley were those of pink cheeks and a white skin, and as she had
no sort of character, nor talents, nor opinions, nor occupations, nor
amusements, nor that vigour of soul and ferocity of temper which
often falls to the lot of entirely foolish women, her hold upon Sir
Pitt's affections was not very great Her roses faded out of her
cheeks, and the pretty freshness left her figure after the birth of a
couple of children, and she became a mere machine in her husband's
house, of no more use than the late Lady Crawley's grand piano.
Being a light<omplexioned woman, she wore light clothes, as most
blondes will, and appeared, in preference, in draggled sea-green, or
slatternly sky-blue. She worked that worsted day and night, or other
pieces like it She had counterpanes in the course of a few years to
all the beds in Crawley. She had a small flower-garden, for which
she had rather an affection; but beyond this no other like or disliking.
When her husband was rude to her she was apathetic : whenever he
struck her she cried. She had not character enough to take to
drinking, and moaned about, slip-shod and in curl-papers all day. O
Vanity Fair — Vanity Fair ! This might have been, but for you, a
cheery lass : — Peter Butt and Rose a happy man and wife, in a snug
farm, with a hearty family ; and an honest portion of pleasures, cares,
hopes and struggles : — ^but a title and a coach and four are toys more
precious than happiness in Vanity Fair : and if Harry the Eighth or
Bluebeard were alive now, and wanted a tenth wife, do you suppose
he could not get the prettiest girl that shall be presented this season ?

The languid dulness of their mamma did not, as it may be
supposed, awaken much affection in her little daughters, but they
were very happy in the servants* hall and in the stables ; and the
Scotch gardener having luckily a good wife and some good children,
they got a little wholesome society and instruction in his lodge, which
was the only education bestowed upon them until Miss Sharp came.

Her engagement was owing to the remonstrances of Mr. Pitt
Crawley, the only friend or protector Lady Crawley ever had, and
the only person, besides her children, for whom she entertained a
little feeble attachment Mr. Pitt took after the noble Binkies, from
whom he was descended, and was a very polite and proper gentleman.
When he grew to man's estate, and came back from Christchurch, he

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 89

began to reform the slackened discipline of the hall, in spite of his
&ther, who stood in awe of him. He was a man of such rigid refine-
ment, that he would have starved rather than have dined without a
white neck-cloth. Once, when just from college, and when Horrocks
the butler brought him a letter without placing it previously on a tray,
he gave that domestic a look, and administered to him a speech so
cutting, that Horrocks ever after trembled before him; the whole
household bowed to him : Lady Crawley's curl-papers came off earlier
when he was at home : Sir Pitt's muddy gaiters disappeared ; and if
that incouigible old man still adhered to other old habits, he never
fuddled himself with rum-and- water in his son's presence, and only
talked to his servants in a very reserved and polite manner; and those
persons remarked that Sir Pitt never swore at Lady Crawley while his
son was in the room.

It was he who taught the butler to say, " My lady is served," and
who insisted on handing her ladyship into dinner. He seldom spoke to
her, but when he did it was with the most powerful respect ; and he
never let her quit the apartment, without rising in the most stately
manner to open the door, and making an elegant bow at her egress.

At Eton he was called Miss Crawley ; and there, I am sorry to
say, his younger brother Rawdon used to lick him violently. But
though his parts were not brilliant, he made up for his lack of talent
by meritorious industry, and was never known, during eight years at
school, to be subject to that punishment, which it is generally thought
none but a cherub can escape.

At college his career was of course highly creditable. And here
he prepared himself for public life, into which he was to be introduced
by the patronage of his grandfather. Lord £inkie, by studying the
ancient and modem orators with great assiduity, and by speaking
unceasingly at the debating societies. But though he had a fine flux
of words, and delivered his little voice with great pomposity and
pleasure to himself, and never advanced any sentiment or opinion
which was not perfectly trite and stale, and supported by a Latin
quotation ; yet he failed somehow, in spite of a mediocrity which
ought to have insured any man a success. He did not even get the
prize poem, which all his friends said he was sure of.

After leaving college he became Private Secretary to Lord Binkie,
and was then appointed Attach^ to the Legation at Pumpemickel,
which post he filled with perfect honour, and brought home

90 VANITY FAIR.

despatches, consisting of Strasburg pie, to the Foreign Minister of
the day. After remaining ten years Attach^ (several years after the
lamented Lord Binkie's demise), and finding the advancement slow,
he at length gave up the diplomatic service in some disgust, and
began to turn country gentleman.

He wrote a pamphlet on Malt on returning to England (for he
was an ambitious man, and always liked to be before the public), and
took a strong part in the Negro Emancipation question. Then he
became a friend of Mr. Wilberforce*s, whose politics he admired, and
had that famous correspondence with the Reverend Silas Homblower,
on the Ashantee Mission. He was in London, if not for the Parlia-
ment session, at least in May, for the religious meetings. In the
country he was a magistrate, and an active visitor and speaker among
those destitute of religious instruction. He was said to be paying his
addresses to Lady Jane Sheepshanks, Lord Southdown*s third
daughter, and whose sister. Lady Emily, wrote those sweet tracts,
" The Sailor's True Binnacle," and " The Applewoman of Finchley
Common."

Miss Sharp's account of his employment at Queen's Crawley were
not caricatures. He subjected the servants there to the devotional
exercises before mentioned, in which (and so much the better) he
brought his father to join. He patronised an Independent meeting-
house in Crawley parish, much to the indignation of his uncle the
rector, and to the consequent delight of Sir Pitt, who was induced to
go himself once or twice, which occasioned some violent sermons at
Crawley parish church, directed point-blank at the Baronet's old
gothic pew there. Honest Sir Pitt, however, did not feel the force
of these discourses, as he always took his nap during sermon-time.

Mr. Crawley was very earnest, for the good of the nation and of
the Christian world, that the old gentleman should yield him up his
place in Parliament ; but this the elder constantly refused to do.
Both were of course too prudent to give up the fifteen hundred a
year which was brought in by the second seat (at this period filled by
Mr. Quadroon, with carte-blanche on the Slave question); indeed
the family estate was much embarrassed, and the income drawn from
the borough was of great use to the house of Queen's Crawley.

It had never recovered the heavy fine imposed upon Walpole
Crawley, first baronet, for peculation in the Tape and Sealing Wax
Office. Sir Walpole was a jolly feUow, eager to seize and to spend

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 91

money ("alieni appetens, sui profusus," as Mr. Crawley would
remark with a sigh), and in his day beloved by all the county for the
constant drunkenness and hospitality which was maintained at Queen's
Crawley. The cellars were filled with burgundy then, the kennels
with hounds, and the stables with gallant hunters ; now, such horses
as Queen's Crawley possessed went to plough, or ran in the Trafalgar
Coach ; and it was with a team of these very horses, on an off-day,
that Miss Sharp was brought to the Hall ; for boor as he was. Sir
Pitt was a stickler for his dignity while at home, and seldom drove out
but with four horses, and, though he dined off boiled mutton, had
always three footmen to serve it

If mere parsimony would have made a man rich. Sir Pitt Crawley
might have become very wealthy — if he had been an attorney in a
country town, 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 was unluckily endowed with a good name and a large though
encumbered 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 ground,
whereupon revengeful Nature grudged him the crops which she
granted to more liberal husbandmen. He speculated in every
possible way ; he worked mines ; bought canal-shares ; horsed
coaches ; took government contracts, 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
proper percautions, his coal-mines filled 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 underfeeding and
buying cheap. In disposition he was sociable, and far from being
proud ; nay, he rather preferred 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' daughters : he was

92 VANITY FAIR,

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 was transporting with equal good humour.
His poHteness for the fair sex has already been hinted at by Miss
Rebecca Sharp — in a word, the whole baronetage, peerage, common-
age 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 aristocracy, we
find ourselves obliged to admit the existence of so many ill qualities
in a person whose name is in Debrett

One great cause why Mr. Crawley had such a hold over the
affections of his father, resulted from money arrangements. The
Baronet owed his son a sum of money out of the jointure of his mother,
which he did not find it convenient to pay ; indeed he had an almost
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
wretches wait, and in shifting from court to court and from terra to
term the period of satisfaction. What's the good of being in Parlia-
ment, he said, if you must pay your debts ? Hence, indeed, his
position as a senator was not a little useful to him.

Vanity Fair — Vanity Fair I Here was a man, who could not
spell, and did not 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 enjo)nnent, but what was sordid and foul ; and
yet he had rank, and honours, and power, somehow: and was a
dignitary of the land, and a pillar of the state. He was high sheriff,
and rode in a golden coach. Great ministers and statesmen courted
him; and in Vanity Fair he had a higher place than the most
brilliant genius or spotless virtue.

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 declined the offer, and

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 93

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 rectory, and had once or twice paid the debts of
Rawdon Crawley in his career at college and in the army. Miss
Crawley was, in consequence, an object of great respect when she
came to Queen's Crawley, for she had a balance at her banker's
which would have made her beloved anywhere.

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
bx 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 Mac-
Whirtefs signature to a cheque for five thousand pounds. She
wouldn't miss it, says your wife. She is my aunt, 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, your little girls work endless worsted baskets, cushions, and
footstools for her. What a good fire 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, foiget to go to sleep after dinner, and find yourself all of a
sudden (though you invariably lose) very fond of a rubber. What
good dinners you 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 Mac-
Whirter*s fat coachman, the beer is grown much stronger, and the
consimiption of tea and sugar in the nursery (where her maid takes
her meals) is not regarded in the least Is it so, or is it not so ? I
appeal to the middle classes. Ah, gracious powers ! I wish you
would send me an old aunt — 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 Julia and I would
make her comfortable I Sweet — sweet vision ! Foolish — foolish
dream!

VAN/TV FAIR.

CHAPTER X.

HISS SHARP BEGINS TO MAKE FRIENDS.

ND now, being received as a member of the
amiable family whose portraits we have sketched
in the foregoing pages, it became naturally
Rebecca's duty to make herself, as she said,
agreeable to her benefactors, and to gain their
confidence to the utmost of her power. WTio
can but admire this quality of gratitude in an
unprotected orphan ; and, if there entered some
degree of selfishness into her calculations, who
can say but that her prudence was peifectiy
justifiable? " I am alone in the world," said
the friendless girl. " I have nothing to look
Wf for but what my own labour can bring me ; and
i \-\ while that little pink-faced chit Amelia, with not
half my sense, has ten thousand pounds and
an establishment secure, poor Rebecca (and
^t my figure is far belter than hers) has only
herself and her own wits to trust to. Well, let
us see if my wits cannot provide me with an
honourable maintenance, and if some day or
'-).>j the other I cannot show Miss Amelia my real
superiority over her. Not that I dislike poor
Amelia : who can dislike such a harmless, good-natured creature? —
only it will be a fine day when I can take my 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 all her castles in the air, a husband
was the principal inhabitant Of what else have young ladies to
think, but husbands ? Of what else do their dear mammas think ?
*' I must be my own mamma," said Rebecca ; not without a tingling
consciousness of defeat, as she thought over her Uttle misadventure
with Jos Sedley.

y/y^P

■t £^t. r c^rf.-/-A*

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 95

So she wisely determined to render her position with the Queen's
Crawley family comfortable and secure, and to tliis end resolved to
make friends of every one around her who could at all 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, impossible
to gain it She used to talk to her pupils about their " poor
mamma;" and, though she treated that lady with every demon-
stration of cool respect, it was to the rest of the family that she
wisely directed the chief part of her attentions.

With the young 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 educating themselves ; for what instruction
is more effectual than self-instruction ? The eldest was rather fond
of books, and as there was in the old library at Queen's Crawley
a considerable provision of works of light literature of the last
century, 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, Rebecca was enabled agreeably, and, as
it were, in playing, to impart a great deal of instruction to Miss
Rose Crawley.

She and Miss Rose thus read together many delightful French
and English works, among which may be mentioned those of the
learned Dr. Smollett, of the ingenious Mr. Henry Fielding, of the
graceful and fantastic Monsieur Cr^illon the younger, whom our
immortal poet Gray so much admired, and of the universal Monsieur
dc Voltaire. Once, when Mr. Crawley asked what the young people
were reading, the governess replied " Smollett" " Oh, Smollett,"
said Mr. Crawley, quite satisfied. " His history is more dull, but by
no means so dangerous as that of Mr. Hume. It is history you are
reading?" " 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 purpose of
acquiring the French idiom in conversation^ he was fain to be

96 VANITY FAIR.

content Mr. Crawley, 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 layed 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
engaged in constant batdes. Any of which peccadilloes, if Miss
Sharp 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 construe 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 every-
thing, 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 Mont-
morency."

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 hnigries had
this horrid revolution plunged in poverty ! She had several stories

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 97

about her ancestors ere she had been many months in the house ;
some of which Mr. Crawley happened to find in D'Hozier's dic-
tionary, which was in the library, and which strengthened his
belief in their truth, and in the high-breeding of Rebecca. Are
we to suppose from this ciuriosity and prying into dictionaries, could
our heroine suppose, that Mr. Crawley was interested in her? —
no, only in a fiiendly way. Have we not stated that he was
attached to Lady Jane Sheepshanks ?

He took Rebecca 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 Moor-
fields," 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 Abb^ du Comet, and so
found an excuse for this and other worldly amusement

But it was not only by playing at backgammon with the Baronet,
that the little governess rendered herself agreeable to her employer.
She found many different ways of being useful to him. She read
over, with indefatigable patience, all those law papers, with which,
before she came to Queen's Crawley, he had promised to entertain
her. She volunteered 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 course), 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 horses 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 circumspection
and modesty as not to offend the authorities of the kitchen and
stable, among whom her behavioiur was always exceedingly modest
and affable. She was quite a different person from the haughty, shy^

98 VAX/TV FAIR,

dissatisfied little girl whom we have known previously, and this
change of temper proved great prudence, a sincere desire of
amendment, or at any rate great moral courage on her part
"Whether it was the heart which dictated this new s)'stem of com-
plaisance and humility adopted by our Rebecca, is to be proved by
her after-histor)'. A system of hypocrisy, which lasts through whole
years, is one seldom satisfactorily practised by a person of one-and-
twenty ; however, our readers will recollect, that, though young in
years, our heroine was old in life and experience, and we have
written to no purpose if they have not discovered that she was a
very clever woman.

The elder and younger son of the house of Crawley were, like the
gentleman and lady in the weather-box, never at home together —
they hated each other cordially : indeed, Rawdon Crawley, the
dragoon, had a great contempt for the establishment altogether, and
seldom came thither except when his aunt paid her annual visit

The great good quality of this old kdy has been mentioned. She
possessed seventy thousand pounds, and had almost adopted RawdorL
She disliked her elder nephew exceedingly, and despised him as a
milksop. In return he did not hesitate to state that her soul was
irretrievably lost, and was of opinion that his brother's chance in the
next world was not a whit better. " She is a godless woman of the
world," would Mr. Crawley say ; " she lives with atheists and
Frenchmen. My mind shudders when I think of her awful, awful
situation, and that, near as she is to the grave, she should be so
given up to vanit}', licentiousness, profaneness, and folly." In fact,
the old lady declined altogether to hear his hour's lecture of an
evening ; and when she came to Queen's Crawley alone, he was
obliged to pretermit his usual devotional exercises.

" Shut up your sarraons, Pitt, when Miss Crawley comes down,"
said his father ; " she has written to say that she won't stand the
preachifying."

" O, sir ! consider the servants."

" The servants be hanged," said Sir Pitt ; and his son thought
even worse would happen were they deprived of the benefit of his
instruction.

" Why, hang it, Pitt ! " said the father to his remonstrance. " You
wouldn't be such a flat as to let three thousand a year go out of
the family ? "

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 99

" What is money compared to our souls, sir ?" continued Crawley.

" You mean that the old lady won't leave the money to you ? " —
and who knows but it was Mr. Crawley's meaning ?

Old Miss Crawley was certainly one of the reprobate. She had
a snug little house in Park Lane, and, as she ate and drank a great
deal too much during the season in London, she went to Harrowgate
or Cheltenham for the summer. She was the most hospitable and
jovial of old vestals, and had been a beauty in her day, she said.
(All old women were beauties once, we very well know.) She was a
bd esprit^ and a dreadful Radical for those days. She had been in
France (where St Just, they say, inspired her with an unfortunate
passion), and loved, ever after, French novels, French cookery, and
French wines. She read Voltaire, and had Rousseau by heart; talked
very lightly about divorce, and most energetically of the 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, she 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 needless to say
that Sir Pitt was brought to change his views after the death of the
great Whig statesman.

This worthy old lady took a fancy to Rawdon Crawley when 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, was this
young officer. Boxing, rat-hunting, the fives' court, and four-in-hand
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 Regent, had not shown their valour in foreign service yet,
Rawdon Crawley had already (hpropos 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
always thinking of his brother's soul, or of the souls of those who

7— a

100 VANITY FAIR.

differed with him in opinion : it is a sort of comfort which many of
the serious give themselves.

Silly, romantic Miss Crawley, far from being horrified at the
courage of her favourite, always used to pay his debts aAer his duels ;
and would not listen to a word that was whispered against his
morality. " He will sow his wild-oats," she would say, " and is worth
bx more than that puling hypocrite of a brother of his."

blackbkook's dauchteks.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XI.

ARCADIAN SIMFLICrrV.

ESIDES these honest
folks at the Hall (whose
simplicity and sweet
rural purity surely show
the advantage of a
country life over a town
. one), we must intro-
duce the reader to their
relatives and neigh-
bours at the Rectory,
Bute Crawley and his
wife.

The Reverend Bute
Crawley was a tall,
stately, jolly, shovel-hatted man, far more popular in his county than
the Baronet his brother. At college he pulled stroke-oar in the
Christcburch boat, and had thrashed all the best bruisers of the
" town." He carried his taste for boxing and athletic exercises into
private life ; there was not a tight within twenty miles at which he
was not present, nor a race, nor a coursing match, nor a regatta, nor
a ball, nor an election, nor a visitation dinner, nor indeed a good
dinner in the whole county, but he found means to attend it. You
might see his bay-mare and gig-lamps a score of miles away from his
Rectory House, whenever there was any dinner-party at Fuddleston,
or at Roxby, or at Wapshot Hall, or at the great lords of the county,
with all of whom he was intimate. He had a fine voice; sang
" A southerly wind and a cloudy sky ; " and gave the " whoop " in
chorus with general applause. He rode to hounds in a pepper-and-
salt frock, and was one of the best fishermen in the county.

Mis. Crawley, the rector's wife, was a smart little body, who wrote
this worthy divine's sermons. Being of a domestic turn, and keeping
Ae house a great deal with her daughters, she ruled absolutely within

I02 VANITY FAIR,

the rectory, wisely giving her husband full liberty without He was
welcome to come and go, and dine abroad as many days as his
fancy dictated, for Mrs. Crawley was a saving woman and knew the
price of port wine. Ever since Mrs. Bute carried off the young
rector of Queen's Crawley (she was of a good family, daughter of the
late Lieut-Colonel Hector MacTavish, and she and her mother
played for Bute and won him at Harrowgate), she had been a prudent
and thrifty wife to him. In spite of her care, however, he was always
in debt. It took him at least ten years to pay off his college bills
contracted during his father's life time. In the year 179 — , when he
was just clear of these incumbrances, he gave the odds of 100 to i
(in twenties) against Kangaroo, who won the Derby. The rector
was obliged to take up the money at a ruinous interest, and had been
struggling ever since. His sister helped him with a hundred now and
then, but of course his great hope was in her death — ^when " hang it "
(as he would say), '* Matilda must leave me half her money."

So that the Baronet and his brother had every reason which two
brothers possibly can have for being by the ears. Sir Pitt had had
the better of Bute in innumerable family transactions. Young Pitt
not only did not hunt, but set up a meeting-house under his uncle's
very nose. Rawdon, it was known, was to come in for the bulk of
Miss Crawley's property. These money transactions — these specula-
tions in life and death — these silent battles for reversionary spoil —
make brothers very loving towards each other in Vanity Fair. I, for
my part, have known a five-pound-note to interpose and knock up
a half century's attachment between two brethren ; and can't but
admire, as I think what a fine and durable thing Love is among
worldly people.

It cannot be supposed that the arrival of such a personage as
Rebecca at Queen's Crawley, and her gradual establishment in the
good graces of all people there, could be unremarked by Mrs. Bute
Crawley. Mrs. Bute, who knew how many days the sirloin of beef
lasted at the Hall ; how much linen was got ready at the great wash ;
how many peaches were on the south wall ; how many doses her
ladyship took when she was ill — for such points are matters of intense
interest to certain persons in the country — Mrs. Bute, I say, could
not pass over the Hall governess without making every inquiry
respecting her history and character. There was always the best
understanding between the servants at the Rectory and the Hall

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 103

TTiere was always a good glass of ale in the kitchen of the former
place for the Hall people, whose ordinary drink was very small — and,
indeed, the Rector's lady knew exactly how much malt went to every
barrel of Hall beer — ties of relationship existed between the Hall
and Rectory domestics, as between their masters ; and through these
channels each family was perfectly well acquainted with the doings of
the other. That, by the way, may be set down as a general remark.
When you and your brother are friends, his doings are indifferent to
you. When you have quarrelled, all his outgoings and incomings
you know, as if you were his spy.

Very soon then after her arrival, Rebecca began to take a regular
place in Mrs. Crawley's bulletin from the Hall. It was to this
effect : — " The black porker's killed — weighed x stone — salted the
sides — pig's pudding and leg of pork for dinner. Mr. Cramp from
Mudbury, over with Sir Pitt about putting John Blackmore in gaol —
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 I" 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 declared she
was an artful hussey, and had some dreadful designs in view. Thus
the doings at the Hall were the great food for conversation 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 PINKERTON, THE MALL, CHISWICK.

" Rectory^ QueefCs Crawley^ December — .

** My Dear Madam, — Although it is so many years since I profited by your
delightful and invaluable instructions, yet I have ever retained the fondest and most
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 Pinkerton
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 ?) — * Who,* I exclaimed, *can we consult but
the excellent, the incomparable Miss Pinkerton?' In a word, have you, dear

I04 VAN/TV FAIR,

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 hi/ of ycur
choosing.

** My dear husband is pleased to say that he likes everything which cowus from
Miss Pinkertof^s 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 your 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 unity in which it becomes brethren to dwelly 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 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 pupil 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 PINKERTON TO MRS. BUTE CRAWLEY.

" Johnson JJouse, Chiswick^ Dec, 1 8 — ,

"Dear Madam, — I have the honour to acknowledge your polite communi-
cation, to which I promptly reply. 'Tis most gratifying to one in my most arduous
position to find that my maternal cares have elicited a responsive affection ; and to
recognize in the amiable Mrs. Bute Crawley my excellent pupil of former years,
the sprightly and accomplished Miss Martha MacTavish. I am happy to have
under my charge now the daughters of many of those who were your contempo-
raries at my establishment — what pleasure it would give me if your own beloved
young ladies had need of my instructive superintendence !

" Presenting my respectful compliments to Lady Fuddleston, I have the
honour (epistolarily) to introduce to her ladyship my two friends, Miss TufBn 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 instrumental ; 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 Reverend Thomas Tuffin (Fellow of Corpus College, Cambridge,) can
instruct in the Syriac language, and the elements of Constitutional law. But as
she is only eighteen years of age, and of exceedingly pleasing personal appearance,
perhaps this young lady may be objectionable in Sir Huddleston Fuddleston*s
family.

" Miss Letitia Hawky, on the other hand, is not personally well-fovoured.
She is twenty-nine ; her fece is much pitted with the small-pox. She has a halt in
her gait, red hair, and a trifling obliquity of vision. Both ladies are endowed with

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 105

every moral and rdigious virtue. Their terms, of course, are such as their accom-
pltdiments merit. With my most grateful respects to the Reverend Bate 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 to say in her disfavour.
Though her appearance is disagreeable, we cannot control the operations of
nature : and though her parents were disreputable (her fiaither 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 Coimtess, forced to emigrate in the late
revolutionary horrors ; but who, as I have since found, was a person of the very
lowest 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 believe), and I am sure nothing will occur to injure them in the elegant
and refined circle of the eminent Sir Pitt Crawley."

(«

MISS REBECCA 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 mangelwurzel ? 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 school-room ; after school-room, reading and
ivriting 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 amusements my lady looks on with equal placidity. She
lias 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 yours to
understand that, if she chose to be Mrs. Glauber, she was welcome to ornament
the suigery ! I told his impudence that the gilt pestle and mortar was quite
ornament enough ; as if I was bom, indeed, to be a country surgeon's wife ! Mr.
Glauber went home seriously indisposed at his rebuff, took a cooling draught, and
is now quite cured. Sir Pitt applauded my resolution highly ; he would be sorry
to lose his little secretary, I think ; and I believe the old wretch likes me as much
u it is in his nature to like any one. Marry, indeed ! and with a country apothe-
cary, after No, no, one cannot so soon forget old associations, about which

I wiD talk no more. Let us return to Humdrum Hall.

" For some time past it is Humdrum Hall no longer. My dear. Miss Crawley
hu arrived with her fat horses, fat servants, fat spaniel — the great rich Miss
Craniey, with seventy thousand pounds in the five per cents., whom, or I had

io6 VANITY FAIR.

l)etter say wAicA, 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 come into the
country,' she say$ (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 thrown 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 school-room, and fires
to warm ourselves with. Lady Crawley is made to put on the brightest pea-green
in her wardrobe, and my pupils leave off their thick shoes and tight old tartan
pelisses, and wear silk stockings and muslin frocks, as fashionable 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 frightfully, 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 annl'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 Rose's
sake, I am sure! What a charming reconciler and peace-maker money is I

** Another admirable effect of Miss Crawley and her seventy thousand pounds
is to be seen in the conduct of the two brothers Crawley. I mean the baronet
and the rector, not our brothers — but the former,' who hate each other all the
year round, become quite loving at Christmas. I wrote to 3rou last year bow the
abominable horse-racing rector was in the habit of preaching clumsy sermons at as
at church, and how Sir Pitt snored in answer. When Miss Crawley arrives theie
is no such thing as quarrelling heard of— the Hall visits the Rectory, and vice versd
—the parson and the baronet talk about the pigs and the poachers^ luul the county
business, in the most affable manner, and without quarrelling in their cups, I
belie ve^indeed Miss Crawley won't hear of their quarrelling, and vows that she
will leave her money to the Shropshire Crawleys if they offend her. ■ If they were
clever people, those Shropshire Crawleys, they might have it all, I think ; but the
Shropshire Crawley is a clergyman like his Hampshire cousin, and mortally
offended Miss Crawley (who had fled thither in a fit of rage against her imprac-
ticable brethren) by some strait-laced notions of morality. He would have prayers
in the house, I believe.

"•Our sermon-books are shut up when Miss Crawley arrives, and Mr. Pitt,
whom she alwminates, finds it convenient to go to town. On the other hand, the
young dandy — ' blood,' I believe, is the term — Captain Crawley makes his appear-
ance, and I suppose you would like to know what sort of a person he is.

** Well, he is a very large young dandy. He is six feet high, and speaks with
a great voice ; and swears a great deal ; and orders about the servants, who all
adore him nevertheless ; for he is very generous of his money, and the domestics
will do anything for him. Last week the keepers almost killed a bailiff and his
man who came down from London to arrest the Captain, and who were found

//./, -^,„y.^. ,^,:,y:,-„^ ..U,,

'' '"' "^^ YonK

'UBUc

^^Ur

— - .£^«r«

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

107

Intlting ibont the Park wall— they beat them, ducked them, and were gotog to
tboM them for poschers, but the baronet intcTfered.

"The Captain has a hearty contempt for his lather, I can see, and calls him
an old put, an old siab, an old chmo-iacBn, and numbeilesa other pretty names-
He has a dreadful rrputat'on among the ladies. He brings hrs hunteis home with
him, lives with the Squires of the county, asks whom he pleases to dinner, and
Sir Htt dares not say no, forfearof offending Miss Crawley, and missing his legacy
when she dies of her apoplexy. Shall I tell you a compliment the Captain paid
me ! I must, it is so pretty. One evening we actually had a dance ; there was Sir
Hnddleston Fuddleston and his lamily, Sir Giles Wapshot and his young ladies,
and I don't know how many more. Well, I heard him say — ' By jove, she's a
neat little Ally I' meaning your bumble servant ; and he did me the honour to
dance tvro country-dances with me. He gets on pretty gaily with the young
Squires, with whom he drinks, bets, rides, and talks about hunting and shooting ;
bot he says the country girls are bent; indeed, I don't think he is far wrong.
Von should see the contempt with which they look down on poor me 1 When
they dance I sit and play the piano very demurely ; but the other night coming in

rather flushed from the diningioom, and sedng n
out loud that I was the best dancer in the rooii
woold hft*e the 6ddlen from Mndbuiy.

; employed In thi* way. Tie swore
and took a great oath that be

io8 VANITY FAIR.

"Til go and play a country-dance,' said Mrs. Bute Crawley, veiy readily
(she is a little, black-faced old woman in a turban, rather crooked, and with vciy
twinkling eyes) ; and alter the Captain and your poor little Rebecca had performed*
a dance together, do you know she actually did me the honour to compliment me
upon my steps ! Such a thing was never heard of before ; the proud Mrs. Bute
Crawley, first cousin to the Earl of Tiptofi| who won't condescend to visit Lady
Crawley, except when her sister is in the country. Poor Lady Crawley ! during
most part of these gaieties, she is upstairs taking pills.

" Mrs. Bute has all of a sudden taken a great fancy to me. ' My dear Miss
Sharp,' she says, 'why not bring over your girls to the Rectory? — their cousins
will be so happy to see them.' I know what she means. Signor Clementi did
not teach us the piano for nothing ; at which price Mrs. Bute hopes to get a
professor for her children. I can see through her schemes, as though she told
them to me ; but I shall go, as I am determined to make myself agreeable — ^is it
not a poor governess's duty, who has not a friend or protector in the world ? The
Rector's wife paid me a score of compliments about the progress my pupils made^
and thought, no doubt, to touch my heart— poor, simple, country soul ! — as if I
cared a fig about my pupils 1

*' Your India muslin and your pink silk, dearest Amelia, are said to become

me very well. They are a good deal worn now ; but, you know, we poor girls

can't afford des fraiches toilettes, Happy, happy you ! who have but to drive to

St. James's Street, and a dear mother w^ will give you any thing you ask.

Farewell, dearest girl,

** Your affectionate

•* Rebecca.

"P.S. — I wish you could have seen the faces of the Miss Blackbrooks
(Admiral Blackbrook's daughters, my dear), fine young ladies, with dresses from
London, when Captain Rawdon selected poor me for a partner !"

When Mrs. Bute Crawley (whose artifices our ingenious Rebecca
had so soon discovered) had procured from Miss Sharp the promise
of a visit, she induced the all-powerful Miss Crawley to make the
necessary application to Sir Pitt, and the good natured old lady, who
loved to be gay herself, and to see every one gay and happy round
about her, was quite charmed, and ready to establish a reconciliation
and intimacy between her two brothers. It was therefore agreed that
the young people of both families should visit each other frequently
for the future, and the friendship of course lasted as long as the jovial
old mediatrix was there to keep the peace.

"Why did you ask that scoundrel, Rawdon Crawley, to dine?"
said the rector to his lady, as they were walking home through the
park. " / don't want the fellow. He looks down upon us country
people as so many blackamoors. He's never content unless he gets
my yellow-sealed wine, which costs me ten shillings a bottle, hang
him ! Besides, he's such an infernal character — ^he's a gambler — ^he's

€1

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 109

a drunkard — ^he's a profligate in every way. He shot a man in a duel
— ^he's over head and ears in debt, and he's robbed me and mine of
the best part of Miss Crawley's fortune. Waxy says she has him" —
here the Rector shook his fist at the moon, with something very like

an oath, and added, in a melancholious tone — ^** , down in her

will for fifty thousand ; and there won't be above thirty to divide."

" I think she's going," said the Rector's wife. " She was very red
in the fece when we left dinner. I was obliged to unlace her."

**She drank seven glasses of champagne," said the reverend
gentleman, in a low voice ; " and filthy champagne it is, too, that my
brother poisons us with — but you women never know what's what"
We know nothing," said Mrs. Bute Crawley.
She drank cherry-brandy after dinner," continued his Reverence,
and took cura9ao with her coffee. / wouldn't take a glass for a five-
pound note : it kills me with heart-bum. She can't stand it, Mrs.
Crawley — she must go — flesh and blood won't bear it ! and I lay five
to two, Matilda drops in a year."

Indulging in these solemn speculations, and thinking about his
debts, and his son Jim at College, and Frank at Woolwich, and the
four girls, who were no beauties, poor things, and would not have a
penny but what they got from the aunt's expected legacy, the Rector
and his lady walked on for a while.

" Pitt can't be such an infernal villian as to sell the reversion of
the living. And that Methodist milksop of an eldest son looks to
Parliament," continued Mr. Crawley, after a pause.

" Sir Pitt Crawley will do anything," said the Rector's wife. " We
must get Miss Crawley to make him promise it to James."

" Pitt will promise anything," replied the brother. " He promised
he'd pay my college bills, when my father died ; he promised he'd
build the new wing to the Rectory ; he promised he'd let me have
Jibb's field and the Six-acre Meadow — and much he executed his
promises! And it's to this man's son — this scoundrel, gambler,
swindler, murderer of a Rawdon Crawley, that Matilda leaves the
bulk of her money. I say it's un-Christian. By Jove, it is. The
infamous dog has got every vice except hypocrisy, and that belongs
to his brother."

" Hush, my dearest love ! we're in Sir Pitt's grounds," interposed
his wife.

"I say he has got every vice, Mrs. Crawley. Don't, Ma'am,

no VAXITY FAIR.

bully mf. Didn't he shoot Captain Marker? Didn't he rob young
Lord Dovedale at the Cocoa-Tree? Didn't he cross the fight
between Bill Soames and the Cheshire Trump, by which I lost forty
]>ound ? You know he did ; and as for the women, why, you heard
that before me, in my own magistrate's room '*

" For Heaven's sake. Mr. Crawley," said the lady, " spare me the
details."

" And you ask this villain into your house ! " continued the
exasperated Rector. " You, the mother of a young family — ^the wife
of a clergyman of the Church of England. By Jove I"

" Bute Crawley, you are a fool," said the Rector's wife, scornfully.

"Well, Ma'am, fool or not — and I don't say, Martha, I'm so
clever as you are, I never did. But I won't meet Rawdon Crawley,
that's flat, ril go over to Huddleston, that I will, and see his black
greyhound, Mrs. Crawley ; and I'll run Lancelot against him for fifty.
By Jove, I will ; or against any dog in England. But I won't meet
that beast Rawdon Crawley."

" Mr. Crawley, you are intoxicated, as usual," replied his wife.
And the next morning, when the Rector woke, and called for small
beer, she put him in mind of his promise to visit Sir Huddleston
Fuddleston, on Saturday, and as he knew he should have a w^ nighty
it was agreed that he might gallop back again in time for church on
Sunday morning. Thus it will be seen that the parishioners of
Crawley were equally happy in their squire and in their rector.

Miss Crawley had not long been established at the Hall before
Rebecca's fascinations had won the heart of that good-natured
I^ndon rake, as they had of the country innocents whom we have
been describing. Taking her accustomed drive, one day, she
thought fit to order that "that little governess" should accompany
her to Mudbury. Before they had returned Rebecca had made a
conquest of her ; having made her laugh four times, and amused her
during the whole of the little journey.

" Not let Miss Sharp dine at table ! " said she to Sir Pitt, who
had arranged a dinner of ceremony, and asked all the neighbouring
baronets. " My dear creature, do you suppose I can talk about the
nursery with Lady Fuddleston, or discuss justices' business with that
goose, old Sir Giles Wapshot ? I insist upon Miss Sharp appearing.
Let Lady Crawley remain up stairs, if there is no room. But little

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. in

Miss Sharp! Why, she's the only person fit to talk to in the
county !"

Of course, after such a peremptory order as this, Miss Sharp,
the governess, received commands to dine with the illustrious
company below stairs. And when Sir Huddleston had, with great
pomp and ceremony, handed Miss Crawley into dinner, and was
preparing to take his place by her side, the old lady cried out, in
a shrill voice. " Becky Sharp ! Miss Sharp ! Come you and sit
by me and amuse me; and let Sir Huddleston sit by Lady
Wapshot"

When the parties were over, and the carriages had rolled away,
the insatiable Miss Crawley would say, " Come to my dressing-room,
Becky, and let us abuse the company," — ^which, between them, this
pair of friends did perfectly. Old Sir Huddleston wheezed a great
deal at dinner ; Sir Giles Wapshot had a particularly noisy manner
of imbibing his soup, and her ladyship a wink of the left eye ; all
of which Becky caricatured to admiration; as well as the parti-
culars of the night's conversation ; the politics ; the war ; the
quarter-sessions ; the famous run with the H.H., and those heavy
and dreary themes, about which country gentlemen converse. As for
the Misses Wapshots* toilettes and Lady Fuddleston*s famous yellow
hat, Miss Sharp tore them to tatters, to the infinite amusement of
her audience.

" My dear you are a perfect trouvailk^^ Miss Crawley would say.
** I wish you could come to me in London, but I couldn't make a
butt of you as I do of poor Briggs — no, no, you little sly creature ;
you are too clever — Isn't she. Firkin ? "

Mrs. Firkin (who was dressing the very small remnant of hair
which remained on Miss Crawley's pate), flung up her head and said,
" I think Miss is very clever," with the most killing sarcastic air.
In fact, Mrs. Firkin had that natural jealousy which is one of the
main principles of every honest woman.

After rebuffing Sir Huddleston Fuddleston, Mrs. Crawley ordered
that Rawdon Crawley should lead her into dinner every day, and
that Becky should follow with her cushion — or else she would have
Becky's arm and Rawdon with the pillow. " We must sit together,"
she said. " We're the only three Christians in the county, my love "
— in which case, it must be confessed, that religion was at a very
low ebb in the county of Hants.

112 VANITY FAIR.

Besides being such a fine religionist. Miss Crawley was, as
have saidy an Ultra-liberal in opinions and always took occasion to
express these in the most candid manner.

" What is birth, my dear ? " she would say to Rebecca — " Look
at my brother Pitt ; look at the Huddlestons, who have been here
since Henry II., look at poor Bute at the parsonage ; — are any one
of them equal to you in intelligence or breeding ? Equal to you —
they are not even equal to poor dear Briggs, my companion, or Bowls^
my butler. You, my love, are a little paragon — ^positively a little
jewel — You have more brains than half the shire — if merit had its
reward, you ought to be a Duchess — no, there ought to be no
duchesses at all — but you ought to have no superior, and I consider
you, my love, as my equal in every respect ; and — will you put some
coals on the fire, my dear ; and will you pick this dress of mine, and
alter it, you who can do it so well?" So this old philanthropist
used to make her equal run of her errands, execute her millinery, and
read her to sleep with French novels, every night

At this time, as some old readers may recollect, the genteel
world had been thrown into a considerable state of excitement, by
two events, which, as the papers say, might give employment to the
gentlemen of the long robe. Ensign Shafton had run away with
Lady Barbara Fitzurse, the Earl of Bruin's daughter and heiress ;
and poor Vere Vane, a gentleman who, up to forty, had maintained a
most respectable character and reared a numerous family, suddenly
and outrageously left his home, for the sake of Mrs. Rougemont,
the actress, who was sixty-five years of age.

"That was the most beautiful part of dear Lord Nelson's
character," Miss Crawley said. " He went to the deuce for a
woman. There must be good in a man who will do that. I adore
all imprudent matches. — What I like best, is for a nobleman to marry
a miller's daughter, as Lord Flowerdale did — it makes all the women
.so angry — I wish some great man would run away with you, my
dear ; I'm sure you're pretty enough."

"Two post-boys ! — Oh, it would be delightful I" Rebecca owned.

"And what I like next best, is, for a poor fellow to run away
with a rich girl. I have set my heart on Rawdon running away with

some one."

" A rich some one, or a poor some one ?"

" Why, you goose ! Rawdon has not a shilling but what I give

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 113

him. He is criblS de dettes — ^he must repair his fortunes, and succeed
in the world."

" Is he very clever ? " Rebecca asked.

** Clever, my love ? — ^not an idea in the world beyond his horses,
and his regiment, and his hunting, and his play ; but he must succeed
— he's so delightfully wicked Don't you know he has hit a man,
and shot an injured father through the hat only? He's adored in
his regiment ; and all the young men at Wattier's and the Cocoa
Tree swear by him.

When Miss Rebecca Sharp wrote to her beloved friend the
account of the little ball at Queen's Crawley, and the manner in
which, for the first time, Captain Crawley had distinguished her, she
did not, strange to relate, give an altogether accurate account of the
transaction. The Captain had distinguished her a great number of
times before. The Captain had met her in a half-score of walks.
The Captain had lighted upon her in a half-hundred of corridors and
passages. The Captain had hung over her piano twenty times of an
evening (my Lady was now up stairs, being ill, and nobody heeded
her) as Miss Sharp sang. The Captain had ^\Titten her notes (the
best that the great blundering dragoon could devise and spell ; but
duhiess gets on as well as any other quality with women). But when
he put the first of the notes into the leaves of the song she was
singing, the little governess, rising and looking him steadily in the
feure, took up the triangular missive daintily, and waved it about as if
it were a cocked hat, and she, advancing to the enemy, popped the
note into the fire, and made him a very low curtsey, and went
back to her place, and began to sing away again more merrily than
ever.

** What's that ?" said Miss Crawley, interrupted in her after-dinner
doze by the stoppage of the music.

" It's a false note," Miss Sharp said, with a laugh ; and Rawdon
Crawley filmed with rage and mortification.

Seeing the evident partiality of Miss Crawley for the new gover-
ness, how good it was of Mrs. Bute Crawley not to be jealous, and to
welcome the young lady to the Rectory, and not only her, but Rawdon
Crawley, her husband's rival in the Old Maid's five per cents. ! They
became very fond of each other's society, Mrs. Crawley and her
nephew. He gave up hunting : he declined entertainments at Fuddle-
ston : he would not dine with the mess of the depot at Mudbury : his

114 VANITY FAIR.

great pleasure was to stroll over to Crawley parsonage — ^whither Miss
Crawley came too ; and as their mamma was ill, why not the children
with Miss Sharp ? So the children (little dears !) came with Miss
Sharp ; and of an evening some of the party would walk back to-
gether. Not Miss Crawley — she preferred her carriage — but the walk
over the Rectory fields, and in at the little park wicket, and through
the dark plantation, and up the checkered avenue to Queen's Crawley,
was charming in the moonlight to two such lovers of the picturesque
as the Captain and Miss Rebecca.

" O those stars, those stars ! '* Miss Rebecca would say, turning
her twinkling green eyes up towards them. " I feel myself almost a
spirit when I gaze upon them."

"O — ah — Gad — yes, so do I exactly, Miss Sharp," the other
enthusiast replied. " You don't mind my cigar, do you. Miss Sharp ?"
Miss Sharp loved the smell of a cigar out of doors beyond everything
in the world — and she just tasted one too, in the prettiest way pos-
sible, and gave a little puff, and a little scream, and a little giggle,
and restored the delicacy to the Captain ; who twirled his moustadie,
and straightway puffed it into a blaze that glowed quite red in the
dark plantation, and swore — "Jove — aw — Gad — aw — ^it's the finest
segaw I ever smoked in the world aw," for his intellect and conver-
sation were alike brilliant and becoming to a heavy young dragoon.

Old Sir Pitt, who was taking his pipe and beer, and talking to
John Horrocks about a " ship " that was to be killed, espied the pair
so occupied from his study-window, and with dreadful oaths swore
that if it wasn't for Miss Crawley, he'd take Rawdon and bundle im
out of doors, like a. rogue as he was.

" He ^ a bad 'n, sure enough," Mr. Horrocks remarked ; " and
his man Flethers is wuss, and have made such a row in the house-
keeper's room about the dinners and hale, as no lord would make —
but I think Miss Sharp's a match for'n, Sir Pitt," he added, after
a pause.

And so, in truth, she was — for father and son too.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XII.

QUITE A SENTIMENTAL CHAPTER.

E must now take leave of Arcadia, and

I those amiable people practising the nual

virtues there, and travel back to London,

to inquire what has become of Miss

Amelia. " We don't care a fig for her,"

writes some unknown correspondent with

\ a pretty little hand-writing and a pink seal

to her note. " She hfade and insipid,"

; and adds some more kind remarks in

this strain, which 1 should never have

, repeated at all, but that they are in truth

prodigiously complimentaiy to the young

^ lady whom they concern.

Has the beloved reader, in his expe-
■^^ rience of society, never heard similar
^^ remarks by good-natured female Mends ;
who always wonder what you ean see in Miss Smith that is so
lasdnating ; ca what (ouid induce Major Jones to propose for that
silly insignificant simpering Miss Thompson, who has nothing but
her wax-doll face to recommend her? What is there in a pair
of pink cheeks and blue eyes forsooth ? these dear Moralists ask,
and hint wisely that the gifts of genius, the accomplishments of the
mind, the mastery of MangnaU's questions, and a ladylike knowledge
of botany and geology, the knack of making poetry, the power of
tattling sonatas in the Herz-manner, and so forth, are far more
valuable endowments for a female, than those fugitive charms which
a few years will inevitably tarnish. It is quite edifying to hear women
speculate upon the worthlessncss and the duration of beauty.

But though virtue is a much finer thing, and those hapless
creatures who suffer under the misfortune of good looks ought to be
continually put in mind of the fate which awaits them ; and though,
very likely, the heroic female character which ladies admire is a more

ii6 VAyiTY FAIR.

glorious and beautiful object than the kind, fresh, smiling, artless,
tender little domestic goddess, whom men are inclined to worship —
yet the latter and inferior sort of women must have this consolation —
that the men do admire them after all ; and that, in spite of all our
kind friends' warnings and protests, we go on in our desperate error
and folly, and shall to the end of the chapter. Indeed, for my own
part, though I have been repeatedly told by persons for whom I
have the greatest respect, that Miss Brown is an insignificant chit,
and Mrs. ^\^lite has nothing but her petit mincis chiffbnni, and
Mrs. Black has not a word to say for herself ; yet I know that I have
had the most delightful conversations with Mrs. Black (of course, my
dear Madam, they are inviolable): I see all the men in a cluster
round Mrs. White's chair : all the young fellows battling to dance
with Miss Brown ; and so I am tempted to think that to be despised
by her sex is a very great compliment to a woman.

The young ladies in Amelia's society did this for her very satis-
factorily. Yox instance, there was scrarcely any point upon which the
Miss Osbomes, George's sisters, and the Mesdemoiselles Dobbin
agreed so well as in their estimate of her very trifling merits : and
their wonder that their brothers could find any charms in her. '* We
are kind to her," the Misses Osborne said, a pair of fine black-browed
young ladies who had had the best of governesses, masters, and
milliners ; and they treated her with such extreme kindness and
condescension, and patronised her so insufferably, that the poor
litde thing was in fact perfectly dumb in their presence, and to all
outward appearance as stupid as they thought her. She made efiforts
to like them, as in duty bound, and as sisters of her future husband.
She passed ** long mornings " with them — the most dreary and serious
of forenoons. She drove out solemnly in their great family coach
with them, and Miss Wirt their governess, that raw-boned VestaL
They took her to the ancient concerts by way of a treat, and to the
oratorio, and to St Paul's to see the charity children, where in such
terror was she of her fiiends, she almost did not dare be affected
by the hymn the children sang. Their house was comfortable ; their
papa's table rich and handsome ; their society solemn and gented ;
their self-respect prodigious ; they had the best pew at the Foundling ;
all their habits were pompous and orderly, and all their amusements
intolerably dull and decorous. After every one of her visits (and oh
how glad she was when they were over !) Miss Osborne and Miss

A XOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 117

Maria Osborne, and Miss Wirt, the vestal governess, asked each other
with increased wonder, " What could George find in that creature?"

How is this? some carping reader exclaims. How is it that
Amelia, who had such a number of friends at school, and was so
beloved there, comes out into the world and is spumed by her
discriminating sex? My dear sir, there were no men at Miss
Pinkerton*s establishment except the old dancing-master \ and you
would not have had the girls fall out about ///;// 1 When George,
their handsome brother, ran off directly after breakfast, and dined
from home half-a-dozen times a-week, no wonder the neglected
sisters felt a little vexation. When young Bullock (of the firm of
Hulker, Bullock & Co., Bankers, Lombard Street) who had been
making up to Miss Maria the last two seasons, actually asked
Amelia to dance the cotillon, could you expect that the former
young lady should be pleased ? And yet she said she was, like an
artless forgiving creature. ** I'm so delighted you like dear Amelia,"
she said quite eagerly to Mr. Bullock after the dance. "She's
engaged to my brother George \ there's not much in her, but she's the
best-natured and most unaffected young creature : at home we're all
so fond of her." Dear girl ! who can calculate the depth of affection
expressed in that enthusiastic so 1

Miss W^irt and these two affectionate young women so earnestly
and frequently impressed upon George Osborne's mind the enormity
of the sacrifice he was making, and his romantic generosity in
throwing himself away upon Amelia, that I'm not sure but that
he really thought he was one of the most deser\-ing characters
in the British army, and gave himself up to be loved with a good
deal of easy resignation.

Somehow, although he left home every morning, as was stated,
and dined abroad six days in the week, when his sisters believed the
infatuated youth to be at Miss Sedley's apron-strings : he was tiof
always with Amelia, whilst the world supposed him at her feet.
Certain it is that on more occasions than one, when Captain Dobbin
called to look for his friend, Miss Osborne (who was \QTy attentive
to the Captain, and anxious to hear his military stories, and to know
about the health of his dear Mamma), Miss Osborne would laughingly
point to the o[)posite side of the square, and say, " Oh, you must go
to the Sedleys to ask for George ; ice never see him from morning
till night." At which kind of speech the Captain would laugh in

Ii8 VANITY FAIR.

rather an absurd constrained manner, and turn off the conversation,
like a consummate man of the world, to some topic of general
interest, such as the Opera, the Princess last ball at Carlton House,
or the weather — that blessing to society.

" What an innocent it is, that pet of yours," Miss Maria would
then say to Miss Jane, upon the Captain's departure. " Did you see
how he blushed at the mention of poor George on duty ? "

" It's a pity Frederic Bullock hadn't some of his modesty, Maria,"
replies the elder sister, with a toss of her head.

" Modesty ! Awkwardness you mean, Jane. I don't want
Frederic to trample a hole in my muslin frock, as Captain Dobbin
did in yours at Mrs. Perkins'."

"In your frock, he, he! How could he? Wasn't he dancing
with Amelia?"

The fact is, when Captain Dobbin blushed so, and looked so
awkward, he remembered a circumstance of which he did not think
it was necessary to inform the young ladies, viz., that he had been
calling at Mr. Sedley's house already, on the pretence of seeing
George, of course, and George wasn't there, only poor litde Amelia,
with rather a sad wistful face, seated near the drawing-room window,
who, after some very trifling stupid talk, ventured to ask, was there
any truth in the report that the regiment was soon to be ordered
abroad ; and had Captain Dobbin seen Mr. Osborne that day ?

The regiment was not ordered abroad as yet ; and Captain
Dobbin had not seen George. " He was with his sister, most
likely," the Captain said. " Should he go and fetch the truant ? "
So she gave him her hand kindly and gratefully : and he crossed the
square ; and she waited and waited, but George never came.

Poor little tender heart ! and so it goes on hoping and beating,
and longing and trusting. You see it is not much of a life to
describe. There is not much of what you call incident in it Only
one feeling all day — when will he come ? only one thought to sleep
and wake upon. I believe George was playing billiards with Captain
Cannon in Swallow Street at the time when Amelia was asking
Captain Dobbin about him ; for George was a jolly sociable fellow,
and excellent in all games of skill.

Once, after three days of absence, Miss Amelia put on her
bonnet, and actually invaded the Osborne house. "What! leave
our brother to come to us ? " said the young ladies. " Have you

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

119

had a qtiairel, Amelia ? Do tell us ! " No, indeed, there had been
no quarrel. " Who could quarrel with him," says she, with her eyes
filled with tears. She only came over to — to see her dear friends ;
they had not met for so long. And this day she was so perfectly
stupid and awkward, that the Miss Osbomes and their governess,
who stared after her as she went sadly away, wondered more than
ever what George could see in poor little Amelia.

Of course they did. How was she to bare that timid little heart
for the inspeaion of those young ladies with their bold black eyes ?
It was best that it should shrink and hide itself. I know the Miss
Osbomes were excellent critics of a Cashmere shawl, or a pink satin
slip ; and when Miss Turner had hers died purple, and made into a

120 VAyiry fair.

sj)encer ; and when Miss Pickford had her ennine tippet twisted into
a muff and trimmings, I warrant you the changes did not escape the
two intelligent young women before mentioned- But there are things,
look you, of a finer texture than fur or satin, and all Solomon's
glories, and all the wardrobe of the Queen of Sheba; — things whereof
the beauty escaj>es the eyes of many connoisseurs. And there are
sweet modest little souls on which you light, fragrant and blooming
tenderly in quiet shady places ; and there arc garden-ornaments, as
big as brass warming-pans, that are fit to stare the sun itself out of
countenance. Miss Sedlev was not of the sun-flower sort : and I sav
it is out of the rules of all proportion to draw a \-iolet of the size of
a double dahlia.

No, indeed ; the life of a good young girl who is in the paternal
nest as yet, can't have many of those tlirilling incidents to which the
heroine of romance commonly lays claim. Snares or shot may take
off the old birds foraging without — hawks may be abroad, from which
they escape or by whom they suffer ; but the young ones in the nest
have a pretty comfortable unromantic sort of existence in the down
and the straw, till it comes to their turn, too, to get on the wing.
While Becky Sharp was on her own wing in the country, hopping on
all sorts of tnigs, and amid a multiplicity of traps, and pecking up
her food quite harmless and successful, Amelia lay snug in her home
of Russell Scjuare; if she went into the world, it ti-as under the
guickmce of the elders ; nor did it seem that any e\il could befal her
or that opulent cheer)' comfortable home in which she was affection-
ately sheltered. Mamma had her morning duties, and her daily
firive, and the delightful round of visits and shopping which forms
the amusement, or the profession as you may call it, of the rich
London lady. Papa conducted his mysterious operations in the city
— a stirring place in those da}s, when war ^-as raging all over Europe,
and emj)ires were being staked ; when the "Courier" newspaper had
tens of thousands of subscribers ; when one day brought you a battle
of Vittoria, another a burning of Moscow, or a newsman's horn
blowing down Russell Square about dinner-time, announced such a
fact as — '* Ritde of Leipsic — six hundred thousand men engaged —
total defeat of the French — two hundred thousand killed." Old
Sedley once or tiN-ice came home with a very grave face; and no
wonder, when such news as this was agitating all the hearts and all
the Stocks of Europe.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 121

Meanwhile matters went on in Russell Square, Bloomsbury, just
as if matters in Europe were not in the least disorganised. The
retreat from Leipsic made no difference in the number of meals
Mr. Sambo took in the servant's hall ; the allies poured into France, and
the dinner-bell rang at five o'clock just as usual. I don't think poor
Amelia cared anything about Brienne and Montmirail, or was fairly
interested in the war until the abdication of the Emperor ; when she
clapped her hands and said prayers,— oh, how grateful! and flung
herself into George Osborne's arms with all her soul, to the astonish-
ment of every body who witnessed that ebullition of sentiment. The
fact is, peace was declared, Europe was going to be at rest; the
Corsican was overthrown, and Lieutenant Osborne's regiment would
not be ordered on service. That was the way in which Miss Amelia
reasoned. The fate of Europe was Lieutenant George Osborne to
her. His dangers being over, she sang Te Deura. He was her
Europe : her emperor : her allied monarchs and august prince regent.
He was her son and moon ; and I believe she thought the grand
illumination and ball at the Mansion House, given to the sovereigns,
were especially in honour of George Osborne.

We have talked of shift, self, and poverty, as those dismal
instructors under whom poor Miss Becky Sharp got her education.
Now, love was Miss Amelia Sedley's last tutoress, and it was amazing
what progress our young lady made under that popular teacher. In
the course of fifteen or eighteen months' daily and constant attention
to this eminent finishing governess, what a deal of secrets Amelia
learned, which Miss Wirt and the black-eyed young ladies over the
way, which old Miss Pinkerton of Chiswick herself had no cognizance
of ! As, indeed, how should any of those prim and reputable virgins ?
With Misses P. and W. the tender passion is out of the question : I
would not dare to breathe such an idea regarding them. Miss Maria
Osborne, it is true, was " attached " to Mr. Frederic Augustus Bullock,
of the firm of Hulker, Bullock & Bullock; but hers was a most
respectable attachment, and she would have taken Bullock Senior,
just the same, her mind being fixed as that of a well-bred young
woman should be, — upon a house in Park Lane, a country house
at AVimbledon, a handsome chariot, and two prodigious tall horses
and footmen, and a fourth of the annual profits of the eminent
firm of Hulker & Bullock, all of which advantages were represented

122 VANITY FAIR.

in the person of Frederic Augustus. Had orange blossoms been
invented then (those touching emblems of female purity imported by
us from France, where people's daughters are universally sold in
marriage), Miss Maria, I say, would have assumed the spotless wreath,
and stepped into the travelling carriage by the side of gouty, old,
bald-headed, bottle-nosed Bullock Senior ; and devoted her beautiful
existence to his happiness with perfect modesty, — only the old gentle-
man was married already ; so she bestowed her young affections on the
junior partner. Sweet, blooming, orange flowers ! The other day I
saw Miss Trotter (that was), arrayed in them, trip into the travelling
carriage at St. George's, Hanover Square, and Lord Methuselah
hobbled in after. With what an engaging modesty she pulled down
the blinds of the chariot — the dear innocent ! There were half the
carriages of Vanity Fair at the wedding.

This was not the sort of love that finished Amelia's education;
and in the course of a year turned a good young girl into a good
young woman — to be a good wife presently, when the happy time
should come. This young person (perhaps it was very imprudent in
her parents to encourage her, and abet her in such idolatry and silly
romantic ideas) loved, with all her heart, the young officer in his
Majesty's service with whom we have made a brief acquaintance.
She thought about him the very first moment on waking; and his
was the very last name mentioned in her prayers. She never had
seen a man so beautiful or so clever : such a figure on horseback :
such a dancer : such a hero in general. Talk of the Prince's bow !
what was it to George's ? She had seen Mr. Brummell, whom every
body praised so. Compare such a person as that to her George !
Not amongst all the beaux at the Opera (and there were beaux in
those days with actual opera hats) was there any one to equal hinL
He was only good enough to be a fairy prince; and oh, what
magnanimity to stoop to such a humble Cinderella ! Miss Pinkerton
would have tried to check this blind devotion very likely, had she
been Amelia's confidante ; but not with much success, depend upon
it. It is in the nature and instinct of some women. Some are made
to scheme, and some to love ; and I wish any respected bachelor that
reads this may take the sort that best likes him.

While under this overpowering impression, Miss Amelia neglected
her twelve dear friends at Chiswick most cruelly, as such selfish people
commonly will do. She had but tliis subject, of course, to think

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 123

about ; and Miss Saltire was too cold for a confidante, and she
couldn't bring her mind to tell Miss Swartz, the woolly-haired young
heiress from St. Kitt's. She had little Laura Martin home for the
holidays; and my belief is, she made a confidante of her, and
promised that Laura should come and live with her when she was
married, and gave Laura a great deal of information regarding the
passion of love, which must have been singularly useful and novel to
that little person. Alas, alas ! I fear poor Emmy had not a well-
regulated mind.

What were her parents doing, not to keep this little heart from
beating so fast ? Old Sedley did not seem much to notice matters.
He was graver of late, and his City affairs absorbed him. Mrs. Sedley
was of so easy and uninquisitive a nature, that she wasn't even
jealous. Mr. Jos. was away, being besieged by an Irish widow at
Cheltenham. Amelia had the house to herself — ah ! too much to
herself sometimes — not that she ever doubted ; for, to be sure, George
must be at the Horse-Guards ; and he can't always get leave from
Chatham ; and he must see his friends and sisters, and mingle in
society when in town (he, such an ornament to every society !) ; and
when he is with the regiment, he is too tired to write long letters. I
know where she kept that packet she had — and can steal in and out
of her chamber like lachimo — like lachimo ? No — that is a bad
part I will only act Moonshine, and peep harmless into the bed
where faith and beauty and innocence lie dreaming.

But if Osborne's were short and soldierlike letters, it must be
confessed, that were Miss Sedley's letters to Mr. Osborne to be
published, we should have to extend this novel to such a multiplicity
of volumes as not the most sentimental reader could support ; that
she not only filled sheets of large paper, but crossed them with the
most astonishing perverseness ; that she wrote whole pages out of
poetry-books without the least pity ; that she underlined words and
passages with quite a frantic emphasis ; and, in fine, gave the usual
tokens of her condition. She wasn't a heroine. Her letters Z£/^^ full
of repetition- She wrote rather doubtful grammar sometimes, and
in her verses took all sorts of liberties with the metre. But oh,
mesdames, if you are not allowed to touch the heart sometimes in
spite of syntax, and are not to be loved until you all know the difference
between trimeter and tetrameter, may all Poetry go to the deuce, and
every schoolmaster perish miserably I

lAXITV FAIR.

CHAPTER XIII.

SENTIMENTAL A

i OTHERWISE.

FEAR the gentleman to whom Miss
Amelia's letters were addressed was
mthcr an obdurate critic Such a
number of notes followed Lieutenant
Osborne about the country, that he
became almost ashamed of the jokes
of his mess-room companions regard-
ing them, and ordered his servant
never to deliver them, except at his
private apartment He was seen
lighting his cigar with one, to the
horror of Captain Dobbin, who, it is
my belief, would have given a bank-note for the document

For some time George strove to keep the liaison a secret There
j.'(7j a woman in the case, that he admitted. " And not the first
cither," said F'nsign Spooney to Ensign Stubbles. " That Osborne's
a de^'il of a fellow. There was a judge's daughter at Demerara went
almost mad about him ; then there was that beautiful quadroon girl,
Miss Pye, at St. Vincent's, you know; and since he's been home, they
say he's a regular Don Giovanni, by Jove."

Stubbles and Spooney thought that to be a " regular Don
Giovanni, by Jove" was one of the finest qualities a man could
possess ; and Osborne's reputation was prodigious amongst the young
men of the regiment. He was famous in field-sports, famous at a
song, famous on parade ; free with his money, which was bountifully
supplied by his father. His coats were better made than any man's
in the regiment, and he had more of them. He was adored by the
men. He could drink more than any officer of the whole mess,
including old Heavj-top, the colonel. He could spar better than
Knuckles, the private (who would have been a corporal but for his
drunkenness, and who had been in the prize-ring) ; and was the best
batter and bowler, out and out, of the regimental club. He rode his

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 125

own horse, Greased Lightning, and won the Garrison cup at Quebec
races. There were other people besides Amelia who worshipped
him. Stubbles and Spooney thought him a sort of Apollo ; Dobbin
took him to be an Admirable Crichton ; and Mrs. Major 0*Dowd
acknowledged he was an elegant young fellow, and put her in mind
of Fitzjurld Fogarty, Lord Castlefogarty*s second son.

Well, Stubbles and Spooney and the rest indulged in most
romantic conjectures regarding this female correspondent of Osborne's,
—opining that it was a Duchess in London who was in love with
him, — or that it was a General's daughter, who was engaged to
somebody else, and madly attached to him, — or that it was a
Member of Parliament's lady, who proposed four horses and an
elopement, — or that it was some other victim of a passion delight-
fully exciting, romantic, and disgraceful to all parties, on none of
which conjectures would Osborne throw the least light, leaving his
young admirers and friends to invent and arrange their whole
history.

And the real state of the case would never have been known at
all in the regiment but for Captain Dobbin's indiscretion. The
Captain was eating his breakfast one day in the mess-room, while
Cackle, the assistant-surgeon, and the two above-named worthies
were speculating upon Osborne's intrigue — Stubbles holding out that
the lady was a Duchess about Queen Charlotte's court, and Cackle
vowing she was an opera-singer of the worst reputation. At this
idea Dobbin became so moved, that though his mouth was full of
eggs and bread-and-butter at the time, and though he ought not to
have spoken at all, yet he couldn't help blurting out, " Cackle, you're
a stupid fool. You're always talking nonsense and scandal.
Osborne is not going to run off with a Duchess or ruin a milliner.
Miss Sedley is one of the most charming young women that ever
lived. He's been engaged to her ever so long ; and the man who
calls her names had better not do so in my hearing." With which,
turning exceedingly red, Dobbin ceased speaking, and almost choked
himself with a cup of tea. The story was over the regiment in half-
an-hour ; and that very evening Mrs. Major O'Dowd wrote off to her
sister Glorvina at O'Dowdstown not to hurry from Dublin, — ^young
Osborne being prematurely engaged already.

She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriate speech over
a glass of whisky-toddy that evening, and he went home perfectly

126 VANITY FAIR,

furious to quarrel with Dobbin, (who had declined Mrs. Major
O'Dowd's party, and sat in his own room playing the flute, and, I
believe, writing poetry in a very melancholy manner) — to quand
with Dobbin for betraying his secret

" Who the deuce asked you to talk about my afiairs," Osborat
shouted indignantly. " Why the devil is all the regiment to know
that I am going to be married ? Why is that tattling old harridan,
Peggy O'Dowd, to make free with my name at her d— d supper-
table, and advertise my engagement over the three kingdoms?
After all, what right have you to say I am engaged, or to meddle in
my business at all, Dobbin ? "

" It seems to me," — Captain Dobbin began.

" Seems be hanged, Dobbin," his junior interrupted him. " I
am under obligations to you, I know it, a d — d deal too well too ]
but I won't be always sermonised by you because you're five years
ray senior. I'm hanged if I'll stand your airs of superiority and
infernal pity and patronage. Pity and patronage ! I should like to
know in what I'm your inferior ? "

" Are you engaged ? " Captain Dobbin interposed.

" What the devil's that to you or any one here if I am ? "

" Are you ashamed of it ? " Dobbin resumed.

" What right have you to ask me that question, sir ? I should
like to know," George said.

" Good God, you don't mean to say you want to break off? "
asked Dobbin, starting up.

" In other words, you ask me if I'm a man of honour," said
Osborne, fiercely ; " is that what you mean ? You've adopted such
a tone regarding me lately that I'm if I'll bear it any more."

"What have I done? I've told you you were neglecting a
sweet girl, George. I've told you that when you go to town
you ought to go to her, and not to the gambling-houses about
St. James's."

" You want your money back, I suppose," said George, with a
sneer.

" Of course I do — I always did, didn't I ? " says Dobbin. " You
speak like a generous fellow."

" No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon " — ^here Geoige inter-
posed in a fit of remorse ; " you have been my firiend in a hundred
ways, Heaven knows. You've got me out of a score of scrapes.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 127

When Crawley of the Guards won that sum of money of me I should
have been done but for you : I know I should. But you shouldn't deal
so hardly with me ; you shouldn't be always catechising me. I am very
fond of Amelia ; I adore her, and that sort of thing. Don't look angry.
She's faultless ; I know she is. But you see there's no fun in winning
a thing unless you play for it Hang it : the regiment's just back
from the West Indies, I must have a little fling, and then when
I'm married 111 reform ; I will upon my honour, now. And — I say
— Dob— don't be angry with me, and I'll give you a hundred next
month, when I know my father will stand something handsome ; and
m ask Heavytop for leave, and I'll go to town, and see Amelia
to-morrow — ^there now, will that satisfy you ? "

" It is impossible to be long angry with you, George," said the
good-natured Captain ; " and as for the money, old boy, you know
if I wanted it you'd share your last shilling with me."

*'That I would, by Jove, Dobbin," George said, with the
greatest generosity, though by the way he never had any money
to spare.

" Only I wish you had sown those wild oats of yours, George.
If you could have seen poor little Miss Emmy's face when she asked
me about you the other day, you would have pitched those billiard-
balls to the deuce. Go and comfort her, you rascal. Go and write
her a long letter. Do something to make her happy j a very Httle
will."

" I believe she's d — d fond of me," the Lieutenant said, with a
self-satisfied air ; and went off to finish the evening with some jolly
fellows in the mess-room.

Amelia meanwhile, in Russell Square, was looking at the moon,
which was shining upon that peaceful spot, as well as upon the
square of the Chatham barracks, where Lieutenant Osborne was
quartered, and thinking to herself how her hero was employed.
Perhaps he is visiting the sentries, thought she; perhaps he is
bivouacking; perhaps he is attending the couch of a wounded
comrade, or studying the art of war up in his own desolate chamber.
And her kind thoughts sped away as if they were angels and had
wings, and flying down the river to Chatham and Rochester, strove

to peep into the barracks where George was All things

considered, I think it was as well the gates were shut, and the sentry
allowed no one to pass ; so that the poor little white-robed angel

VAXITY FAIR.

could not hear the songs those young fellows were roaring over the

whisky-punch.

The day after the little conversation at Chatham barracks, young
Osbome, to show thai he would be as good as his word, prepared to
go to town, thereby incurring Captain Dobbin's applause. " I should
have liked to make her a little present," Osbome said to his friend in
confidence, " only I am quite out of cash until my father tips up."
But Dobbin would not allow this good nature and generosity to be'
balked, and so accommodated Mr. Osbome witji a few pound notes,
which the latter took after a little faint scruple.

And I dare say he would have bought something very handsome
for Amelia; only, getting off the coach in Fleet Street, he was
attracted by a handsome shirt-pin in a jeweller's window, which he
could not resist ; and having paid for that, had very little money to

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 129

spare for indulging in any further exercise of kmdness. Never mind :
you may be sure it was not his presents Amelia wanted. When he
came to Russell Square, her &ce lighted up as if he had been
sunshine. The little cares, fears, tears, timid misgivings, sleepless
fancies of I don't know hbw many days and nights, were forgotten,
under one moment's influence of that familiar, irresistible smile. He
beamed on her from the drawing-room door — magnificent, with
ambrosial whiskers, like a god. Sambo, whose face as he announced
Captain Osbin (having conferred a brevet rank on that young officer)
blaxed with a sympathetic grin, saw the little girl start, and flush,
and jump up from her watching-place in the window ; and Sambo
retreated : and as soon as the door >^as shut, she went fluttering to
Lieutenant George Osborne's heart as if it was the only natural home
for her to nestle in. Oh, thou poor panting little soul ! The very
finest tree in the whole forest, with the straightest stem, and the
strongest arms, and the thickest foliage, wherein you choose to build
and coo, may be marked, for what you know, and may be down with
a crash ere long. What an old, old simile that is, between man and
timber!

In the meanwhile, George kissed her very kindly on her forehead
and glistening eyes, and was very gracious and good ; and she thought
his diamond shirt-pin (which she had not known him to wear before)
the prettiest ornament ever seen.

The observant reader, who has marked our young Lieutenant's
previous behaviour, and has preserved our report of the brief con-
versation which he has just had with Captain Dobbin, has possibly
come to certain conclusions regarding the character of Mr. Osborne.
Some cynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties to a love-
transaction : the one who loves and the other who condescends to
be so treated. Perhaps the love is occasionally on the man's side 1
perhaps on the lady's. Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere this
mistaken insensibility for modesty, dullness for maiden-reserve, mere
vacuity for sweet bashfulness, and a goose, in a word, for a swan.
Perhaps some beloved female subscriber has arrayed an ass in the
splendour and glory of her imagination ; admired his dullness as
manly simplicity ; worshipped his selfishness as manly superiority ;
treated his stupidity as majestic gravity, and used him as the brilliant
feiry Titania did a certain weaver at Athens. I think I have seen

I30 VANITY FAIR.

such comedies of errors going on in the world. But this is certain,
that Amelia believed her lover to be one of the most gallant and
brilliant men in the empire : and it is possible Lieutenant Osborne
thought so too.

He i^-as a little wild : how many young men are ; and don't girls
like a rake better than a milksop ? He hadn't sown his wild oats as
yet, but he would soon : and quit the army now that peace was pro-
claimed; the Corsican monster locked up at Elba; promotion by
consequence over ; and no chance left for the display of his undpubted
military talents and valour : and his allowance, with Amelia's settle-
ment, would enable them to take a snug place in the country some-
where, in a good sporting neighbourhood ; and he would hunt a
little, and farm a litde ; and they would be very happy. As for
remaining in the army as a married man, that was impossible. Fancy
Mrs. George Osborne in lodgings in a county town ; or, worse still,
in the East or West Indies, ^^ith a society of officers, and patronized
by Mrs. Major O'Dowd ! Amelia died with laughing at Osborne's
stories about Mrs. Major O'Dowd. He loved her much too fondly
to subject her to that horrid woman and her vulgarities, and the rough
treatment of a soldier's wife. He didn't care for himself — ^not he ;
but his dear little girl should take the place in society to which, as
his wife, she was entitled : and to these proposals you may be sure
she acceded, as she would to any other from the same author.

Holding this kind of conversation, and building numberless castles
in the air (which Amelia adorned with all sorts of flower-gardens,
rustic walks, country churches, Sunday schools, and the like ; while
George had his mind's eye directed to the stables, the kennel, and
the cellar), this young pair passed away a couple of hours very
pleasantly ; and as the Lieutenant had only that single day in town,
and a great deal of most important business to transact, it was pro-
posed that Miss Emmy should dine with her future sisters-in-law.
This invitation was accepted joyfully. He conducted her to his
sisters ; where he left her talking and prattling in a way that asto-
nished those ladies, who thought that George might make something
of her ; and he then went off to transact his business.

In a word, he went out and ate ices at a pastry-cook's shop in
Charing Cross; tried a new coat in Pall Mall; dropped in at the
Old Slaughters', and called for Captain Cannon; played eleven
games at billiards with the Captain, of which he won eight, and

'"'^'SbSL,

^''^^Z'

«>Nf

. >^v J>/-rt//<:^ (/■>-■ ■U:rf/itr' ^ ■ J^^/^^a-

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 131

returned to Russell Square half-an-hour late for dinner, but in very
good humour.

It was not so with old Mr. Osborne. When that gentleman came
from the city, and was welcomed in the drawing-room by his daughters
and the elegant Miss Wirt, they saw at once by his face — which was
puffy, solemn, and yellow at the best of times — ^and by the scowl and
twitching of his black eye-brows, that the heart within his large white
waistcoat was disturbed and uneasy. When Amelia stepped forward
to salute hnn, -which she always did with great trembling and timidity,
he gave a siurl^ grunt of recognition, and dropped the little hand out
of his great rhu^te* paw without any attempt to hold it there. He
looked round gloomil^ at^ his eldest daughter ; who, comprehending
the mftjnSijg of his look^ which asked unmistakeably, " Why the devil
is sMgh^ffki " said at- once 9—

''GS&rge is in town^^Papa; and has gone to the Horse Guards,
and %HI be back to diih^r."

*^0\ie is, is he ? I.won't-have the dinner kept waiting for Aim,
Jane ;* with which this worthy man lapsed into hiis particular chair,
and thien the utter silence in his genteel, well-furnished drawing-room,
was only interrupted* by the alarmed ticking of the great French
doct : » •

When that chronometer, which was surmounted by a cheerful
brass group of the sacrifice of Iphigenia, tolled five in a heavy
cathedral tone, Mr. Osborne pulled the bell at his right hand

violently, and the butler rushed up.

" D&ner ! " roared Mr." Osborne.

" Mr. George isn't come' in, sir,** interposed the man.

" Danm Mr. George, sir. Am I master of the house ? Dinner !'*
Mr. Osborne scowled. Amelia trembled. A telegraphic communi-
cation of eyes passed between the other three ladies. The obedient
bell in the lower regions began ringing the announcement of the
meal. The tolling over, the head of the family thrust his hands into
the great tail-pockets of his great blue coat and brass buttons, and
without waiting for a further announcement, strode down stairs alone,
scowling over his shoulder at the four females.

" What's the matter now, my dear ? " asked one of the other, as
they rose and tripped gingerly behind the sire.

" I suppose the funds are falling," whispered Miss Wirt ; and so^

9—2

132 yA\/Ty FAIR.

trembling and in silence, this hushed female company followed tneir
dark leader. They took their places in silence. He growled out a
blessing, which sounded as gruffly as a curse. The great silver
dish-covers were removed. Amelia trembled in her place, for she
was next to the awful Osborne, and alone on her side of the table —
the gap being occasioned by the absence of George.

" Soup ? " says Mr. Osborne, clutching the ladle, fixing his eyes
on her, in a sepulchral tone ; and having helped her and the rest, did
not speak for a while.

** Take Miss Sedle}'*s plate away," at last he said " She can't
eat the soup — no more can I. " It's beastly. Take a^-ay the sou]),
Hicks, and to-morrow turn the cook out of the house, Jane."

Having concluded his observations upon the soup, Mr. Osborne
made a few curt remarks respecting the fish, also of a savage and
satirical tendency, and cursed Billingsgate with an emphasis quite
worthy of the place. Then he lapsed into silence, and swaUowed
sundry glasses of wine, looking more and more terrible, till a brisk
knock at the door told of George's arrival, when everybody began
to rally.

** He could not come before. General Daguilet had kept him
waiting at the Horse Guards. Never mind soup or fish. Give him
anything — he didn't care what Capital mutton— capital everything."
His good humour contrasted with his father's severity ; and he rattled
on unceasingly during dinner, to the delight of all — of one especially,
who need not be mentioned.

As soon as the young ladies had discussed the orange and the
glass of wine which formed the ordinary conclusion of the dismal
banquets at Mr. Osborne's house, the signal to make sail for the
drawing-room was given, and they all arose and departed. Amelia
hoped George would soon join them there. She be^m playing some
of his favourite waltzes (then newly imported) at the great carved-
legged, leather-cased grand piano in the drawing-room overhead.
This little artifice did not bring him. He was deaf to the waltzes ;
they grew fainter and fainter ; the discomfited performer left the huge
instrument presently ; and though her three friends performed some
of the loudest and most brilliant new pieces of their repertoire^ she
did not hear a single note, but sate thinking, and boding evil. Old
Osborne's scowl, terrific alwaj's, had never before looked so deadly
to her. His eyes followed her out of the room, as if she had been

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 133

gmlty of something. When they brought her coffee, she started as
though it were a cup of poison which Mr. Hicks, the butler, wished
to propose to her. What mystery was there lurking? Oh, those
women ! They nurse and cuddle their presentiments, and make dar-
lings of their ugliest thoughts, as they do of their deformed children.

The gloom on the paternal countenance had also impressed
Geoige Osborne with anxiety. With such eyebrows, and a look so
decidedly bilious, how was he to extract that money from the
governor, of which George was consumedly in want ? He began
praising his father's wine. That was generally a successful means of
cajoling the old gentleman.

" We never got such Madeira in the West Indies, sir, as yours.
Colonel Heavytop took off three bottles of that you sent me down,
under his belt the other day."

"Did he?" said the old gentleman. **It stands me in eight
shillings a bottle."

"Will you take six guineas a dozen for it, sir?" said George,
with a laugh. "There's one of the greatest men in the kingdom
wants some."

" Does he ? " growled the senior. " Wish he may get it."

"When General Daguilet was at Chatham, sir, Heavytop gave
him a breakfast, and asked me for some of the wine. The General
liked it just as well — wanted a pipe for the Commander-in-Chief.
He's his Royal Highness's right-hand man."

" It is devilish fine wine," said the Eyebrows, and they looked
more good-humoured ; and George was going to take advantage of
this complacency, and bring the supply question on the mahogany \
when the father, relapsing into solemnity, though rather cordial in
manner, bade him ring the bell for claret. " And we'll see if that's
as good as the Madeira, George, to which his Royal Highness is
welcome, I'm sure. And as we are drinking it, I'll talk to you
about a matter of importance."

Amelia heard the claret bell ringing as she sat nervously up-stairs.
She thought, somehow, it was a mysterious and presentimental bell.
Of the presentiments which some people are always having, sonte
surely must come right.

" What I want to know, George," the old gentleman said, after
slowly smacking his first bumper. " What I want to know is, how
you and — ah — that little thing up-stairs, are carrying on ? "

13+ VANITY FAIR.

<< I thinic, sir, it's not hard to see,** George said^ with a self-satisfied
grin. " Pretty clear, sir. — What capital wine ! "

" \\'hat d'you mean, pretty clear, sir ?"

" Why, hang it, sir, don't push me too hard. I'm a modest man.
I — ah — I don't set up to be a lady-killer ; but I do own that she's as
devilish fond of me as she can be. Anybody can see that with half
an eye."

" And you yourself? "

" Why, sir, didn't you onJer me to marry her, and ain't I a good
boy? Haven't our Papas settled it ever so long ?"

" A pretty boy, indeed. Haven't I heard of your doings, sir,
with Lord Tarquin, Captain Crawley of the Guards, the Honourable
Mr. Deuceace and that set Have a care, sir, have a care."

The old gentleman pronounced these aristocratic names with the
greatest gusto. Whenever he met a great man he grovelled before
him, and my-lorded him as only a free-bom Briton can do. He
came home and looked out his history in the Peerage : he introduced
his name into his daily conversation ; he bragged about his Lordship
to his daughters. He fell down prostrate and basked in him as a
Neapolitan beggar does in the sun. George was alarmed when he
heard the names. He feared his father might have been informed
of certain transactions at play. But the old moralist eased him by
saying serenely : —

" Well, well, young men will be young men. And the comfort
to me is, George, that living in the best society in England, as
I hope you do ; as I think you do ; as my means will allow you
to do—"

" Thank you, sir," says George, making his point at once. " One
can't live with these great folks for nothing ; and my purse, sir, look
at it;" and he held up a little token which had been netted by
Amelia, and contained the very last of Dobbin's pound notes.

" You shan't want, sir. The British merchant's son shan't want,
sir. My guineas are as good as theirs, George, my boy ; and I
don't grudge 'em. Call on Mr. Chopper as you go through the
City to-morrow ; he'll have something for you. I don't grudge
money when I know you're in good society, because I know that
good society can never go wrong. There's no pride in me. I was
a humbly bom man — ^but you have had advantages. Make a good
use of 'em. Mix with the young nobility. There's many of 'em who

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 135

cran't spend a dollar to your guinea, my boy. And as for the pink
bonnets (here from under the heavy eyebrows there came a knowing
and not very pleasing leer) — ^why boys will be boys. Only there's
one thing I order you to avoid, which, if you do not, I'll cut you off
with a shilling, by Jove ; and that's gambling, sir."

" Oh, of course, sir," said George.

"But to return to the other business about Amelia: why shouldn't
you marry higher than a stockbroker's daughter, George — that's what
I want to know ? "

" It's a family business, sir," says George, cracking filberts. "You
and Mr. Sedley made the match a himdred years ago."

" I don't deny it ; but people's positions alter, sir. I don't deny
that Sedley made my fortune, or rather put me in the way of acquiring,
by my own talents and genius, that proud position, which, I may say,
I occupy in the tallow trade and the City of London. I've shown
my gratitude to Sedley ; and he's tried it of late, sir, as my cheque-
book can show. George ! I tell you in confidence I don't like the
looks of Mr. Sedley's affairs. My chief clerk, Mr. Chopper, does
not like the looks of *em, and he's an old file, and knows 'Change as
well as any man in London. Hulker & Bullock are looking shy
at him. He's betn dabbling on his own account I fear. They say
the Jeune Amdie was liis, which was taken by the Yankee Privateer
Molasses. And that's flat, — unless I see Amelia's ten thousand down
you don't marry her. I'll have no lame duck's daughter in my family.
Pass the wine, sir — or ring for coffee."

With which Mr. Osborne spread out the evening paper, and
George knew from this signal that the colloquy was ended, and
that his Papa was about to take a nap.

He hurried up-stairs to Amelia in the highest spirits. What was
it that made him more attentive to her on that night than he had
been for a long time — ^more eager to amuse her, more tender, more
brilliant in talk ? Was it that his generous heart warmed to her at
the prospect of misfortune ; or that the idea of losing the dear little
prize made him value it more ?

She lived upon the recollections of that happy evening for many
days afterwards, remembering his words; his looks; the song he
sang; his attitude, as he leant over her or looked at her from a
distance. As it seemed to her, no night ever passed so quickly at
Mr. Osborne's house before ; and for once this young person was

136 VAAVry FAIR.

almost provoked to be angry by the premature anival of Mr. Sambo
with her shawl.

George came and took a tender leave of her the next morning ;
and then hurried off to the City, where he visited Mr. Chopper, his
Other's head man, and received from that gentleman a document
which he exchanged at Hulker's & Bullock's for a whole pocket-full
of money. As George entered the house, old John Scdley was
passing out of the banker's parlour, looking very dismal, ^t his
godson was much too elated to mark the worthy stockbroker's
depression, 01 the dreary eyes which the kind old gentleman cast
upon him. Young Bullock did not come grinning out of the parlour
with him as had been his wont in former years.

And as the swinging doors of Hulker, Bullock & Co. closed
upon Mr. Sedley, Mr. Quill, the cashier (whose benevolent occupa-
tion it is to hand out crisp bank-notes from a drawer and dispense
sovereigns out of a copper-shovel), winked at Mr. Driver, the cleA
at the desk on his right Mr. Driver winked again.
" No go," Mr. D. whispered.

" Not at no price," Mr. Q. said. " Mr. George Osborne, sir, how
will you take it ? " Geoi^e crammed eagerly a quantity of notes
into his pockets, and paid Dobbin fifty pounds that very evening
at mess.

That very evening Amelia wrote him the tendcrest of long letters.
Her heart was overflowing with tenderness, but it still foreboded
evil What was the cause of Mr, Osborne's dark looks? she asked.
Had any difference arisen between him
and her papa? Her pocxpapa returned
so melancholy from the City, that all
were alarmed about him at home — is
fine, there were four pages of loves and
fears and hopes and forebodings.

" Poor little Emmy — dear little Emmy: ,

How fond she is of me," George laidf

as he perused the missive — "and Gad,

-' what a head-ache that mixed punch has

/ given me ! " Poor little Emmy, indeed.

_ J,/,„-,„/ 'M'C),,,- „„y/,., ,^X„/ '!;^ '!■//.,..

v.'.^ NE'A' ro?.K
IPUiiLiC LIBRARY!

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XIV.

HISS CRAWLEY AT HOME.

BOUT this time there drove up to
an exceedingly snug and well ap-
pointed house in Park Lane, a
travelling chariot with a lozenge on
the panels, a discontented female
in a green veil and crimped curls
on the rumble, and a large and
confidential man on the box. It
was the equipage of our friend Miss
Crawley, returning from Hants.
, The carnage windows were shut;
the fat spaniel, whose bead and
tongue ordinarily lolled out of one of them, reposed en the lap of
the discontented female. When the vehicle stopped, a large round
bundle of shawls was taken out of the carriage by the aid of various
domestics and a young lady who accompanied the heap of cloaks.
That bundle contained Miss Crawley, who was conveyed up-stairs
forthwith, and put into a bed and chamber warmed properly as for
the reception of an invalid. Messengers went off for her physician
and medical man. They came, consulted, prescribed, vanished.
The young companion of Miss Crawley, at the conclusion of their
interview, came in to receive their instructions, and administered
those antiphlogistic medicines which the eminent men ordered.

Captain Crawley of the Life Guards rode up from Knightsbridge
Barracks the next day ; his black charger pawed the straw before his
invalid aunt's door. He was most affectionate in his inquiries
regarding that amiable relative. There seemed to be much source
of apprehension. He found Miss Ctawley's maid (the discontented
female) unusually sulky and despondent ; he found Miss Briggs, her
dame de compagnie, in tears alone in the drawing-room. She had
hastened home, hearing of her beloved fiiend's illness. She wished
to fly to ber conch, that couch which she, firiggs, had so often

138 VANITY FAIR,

smoothed in the hour of sickness. She was denied admission to
Miss Crawley's apartment. A stranger was administering her
medicines — a stranger from the country — an odious Miss . . .-—
tears choked the utterance of the dame de compagnie, and she
buried her crushed affections and her poor old red nose in her pocket
handkerchief.

Rawdon Crawley sent up his name by the sulky femme de
chambre, and Miss Crawley's new companion, coming tripping down
from the sick-room, put a little hand into his as he stepped forward
eagerly to meet her, gave a glance of great scorn at the bewildered
Briggs, and beckoning the young Guardsman out of the back
drawing-room, led him down stairs into that now desolate dining-
parlour, where so many a good dinner had been celebrated.

Here these two talked for ten minutes, discussing, no doubt, the
symptoms of the old invalid above stairs ; at the end of which period
the parlour-bell was rung briskly, and answered on that instant by
Mr. Bowls, Miss Crawley's large confidential butler (who, indeed,
happened to be at the keyhole during the most part of the inter-
view) ; and the Captain coming out, curling his moustachios, mounted
the black charger pawing among the straw, to the admiration of the
little blackguard boys collected in the street. He looked in at the
dining-room window, managing his horse, which curvetted and capered
beautifully — for one instant the young person might be seen at the
window, when her figure vanished, and, doubtless, she went up stairs
again to resume the affecting duties of benevolence.

Who could this young woman be, I wonder ? That evening a
little dinner for two persons was laid in the dining-room — when
Mrs. Firkin, the lady's maid, pushed into her mistress's apartment,
and bustled about there during the vacancy occasioned by the
departure of the new nurse — and the latter and Miss Briggs sat
down to the neat little meal.

Briggs was so much choked by emotion that she could hardly
take a morsel of meat. The young person carved a fowl with the
utmost delicacy, and asked so distinctly for egg-sauce, that poor
Briggs, before whom that delicious condiment was placed, started,
made a great clattering with the ladle, and once more fell back in
the most gushing hysterical state.

" Had you not better give Miss Briggs a glass of wine ?" said the
person to Mr. Bowls, the lai^e confidential man. He did so. Briggs

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 139

seized it mechanically, gasped it down convulsively, moaned a little,
and began to play with the chicken on her plate.

" I think we shall be able to help each other," said the person
with great suavity : " and shall have no need of Mr. Bowls*s kind
services. Mr. Bowls, if you please, we will ring when we want you."
He went down stairs, where, by the way, he vented the most horrid
curses upon the unoffending footman, his subordinate.

" It is a pity you take on so, Miss Briggs," the young lady said,
with a cool, slightly sarcastic, air.

" My dearest friend is so ill, and wo— -0—0 — on't see me," gurgled
out Briggs in an agony of renewed grief.

" She's not very ill any more. Console yourself, dear Miss Briggs.
She has only overeaten herself— that is all. She is greatly better. She
will soon be quite restored again. She is weak from being cupped
and from medical treatment, but she will rally immediately. Pray
console yourself, and take a little more wine."

" But why, why won't she see me again ? " Miss Briggs bleated
out "Oh, Matilda, Matilda, after three-and-twenty years* tender-
ness ! is this the return to your poor, poor Arabella ? "

" Don't cry too much, poor Arabella," the other said (with ever
so little of a grin); " she only won't see you, because she says you
don't nurse her as well as I do. It's no pleasure to me to sit up all
night. I wish you might do it instead."

" Have I not tended that dear couch for years ? " Arabella said,
" and now "

" Now she prefers somebody else. Well, sick people have these
fancies, and must be humoured. When she's well I shall go."

" Never, never," Arabella exclaimed, madly inhaling her salts-bottle.

" Never be well or never go. Miss Briggs ? " the other said, with

the same provoking good-nature. " Pooh — she will be well in a

fortnight, when I shall go back to my little pupils at Queen's Crawley,

and to their mother, who is a great deal more sick than our friend.

You need not be jealous about me, my dear Miss Briggs. I am a

pKX)r little girl without any friends, or any harm in me. I don't want

to supplant you in Miss Crawley's good graces. She will forget me

a week after I am gone : and her affection for you has been the work

of years. Give me a little wine if you please, my dear Miss Briggs,

and let us be friends. I'm sure I want friends."

The placable and soft-hearted Briggs speechlessly pushed out her

140 VANITY FAIR.

hand at this appeal ; but she felt the desertion most keenly for all
that, and bitterly, bitterly moaned the fickleness of her Matilda. At
the end of half an hour, the meal over, Miss Rebecca Shaqp (for such,
astonishing to state, is the name of her who has been described
ingeniously as " the person " hitherto), went up-stairs again to her
patient's rooms, from which, with the most engaging politeness, she
eliminated poor Firkin. " Thank you, Mrs. Firkin, that will quite
do ; how nicely you make it ! I will ring when anything is wanted.**
"Thank you ;" and Firkin came down stairs in a temj>est of jealousy,
only the more dangerous because she was forced to confine it in her
own bosom.

Could it be the tempest which, as she passed the landing of the
first floor, blew open the drawing-room door ? No ; it was stealthily
opened by the hand of Briggs. Briggs had been on the watch. Briggs
too well heard the creaking Firkin descend the stairs, and the clink
of the spoon and gruel-basin the neglected female carried.

" Well, Firkin ? " says she, as the other entered the apartment
"Well, Jane?"

" Wuss and wuss. Miss B.," Firkin said, wagging her head.

" Is she not better then ? "

" She never spoke but once, and I asked her if she felt -a little
more easy, and she told me to hold my stupid tongue. Oh, Miss R,
I never thought to have seen this day ! " And the water-works again
began to play.

" What sort of a person is this Miss Sharp, Firkin ? I little
thought, while enjoying my Christmas revels in the elegant home of
my firm friends, the Reverend Lionel Delamere and his amiable
lady, to find a stranger had taken my place in the affections of
my dearest, my still dearest Matilda ! " Miss Briggs, it will be
seen by her language, was of a literary and sentimental turn, and had
once published a volume of poems — " Trills of the Nightingale " —
by subscription.

" Miss B., they are all infatyated about that young woman,"
Firkin replied. " Sir Pitt wouldn't have let her go, but he daredn't
refuse Miss Crawley anything. Mrs. Bute at the Rectory jist as bad —
never happy out of her sight. The Capting quite wild about her.
Mr. Crawley mortial jealous. Since Miss C. was took ill, she won't
have nobody near her but Miss Sharp, I can't tell for where nor for
why ; and I think somethink has bewidged everybody."

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 141

Rebecca passed that night in constant watching upon Miss

Cranrley; the next night the old lady slept so comfortably, that

^W)ecca had time for several hours' comfortable repose herself on the

*o&, at the foot of her patroness's bed ; very soon, Miss Crawley was

«o well that she sat up and laughed heartily at a perfect imitation of

Miss Briggs and her grief, which Rebecca described to her. Briggs*

•'ecping snuffle, and her manner of using the handkerchief, were so

^^ompletely rendered, that Miss Crawley became quite cheerful, to

^e admiration of the doctors when they visited her, who usually

^ound this worthy woman of the world, when the least sickness

^^tacked her, under the most abject depression and terror of

death.

Captain Crawley came every day, and received bulletins from
*Iiss Rebecca respecting his aunt's health. This improved so
^pidly, that poor Briggs was allowed to see her patroness; and
persons with tender hearts may imagine the smothered emotions of
ttiat sentimental female, and the affecting nature of the interview.

Miss Crawley liked to have Briggs in a good deal soon. Rebecca
\ised to mimic her to her face with the most admirable gravity,
thereby rendering the imitation doubly picquante to her worthy
patroness.

The causes which had led to the deplorable illness of Miss
Crawley, and her departure from her brother's house in the country,
were of such an unromantic nature that they are hardly fit to be
explained in this genteel and sentimental novel. For how is it
possible to hint of a delicate female, living in good society, that she
ate and drank too much, and that a hot supper of lobsters profusely
enjoyed at the Rectory was the reason of an indisposition which
Miss Crawley herself persisted was solely attributable to the
dampness of the weather ? The attack was so sharp that Matilda —
as his Reverence expressed it — ^was very nearly " off the hooks ; " all
the family was in a fever of expectation regarding the will, and
Rawdon Crawley was making sure of at least forty thousand pounds
before the commencement of the London season. Mr. Crawley sent
over a choice parcel of tracts, to prepare her for the change from
Vanity Fair and Park Lane for another world ; but a good doctor from
Southampton being called in in time, vanquished the lobster which
was so nearly fatal to her, and gave her sufficient strength to enable

142 VANITY FAIR.

her to return to London. The baronet did not disguise his exceeding
mortification at the turn which affairs took.

While everybody was attending on Miss Crawley, and messengers
every hour from the Rectory were carrying news of her health to the
affectionate folks there, there was a lady in another part of the
house, being exceedingly ill, of whom no one took any notice at all 5
and this was the lady of Crawley herself. The good doctor shoolc
his head after seeing her; to which visit Sir Pitt consented, as
could be paid without a fee ; and she was left fading away in b
lonely chamber, with no more heed paid to her than to a weed i
the park.

The young ladies, too, lost much of the inestimable benefit
of their governess's instruction. So affectionate a nurse was Miss
Sharp, that Miss Crawley would take her medicines from no other
hand. Firkin had been deposed long before her mistress's depar-
ture from the country. That faithful attendant found a gloomy
consolation on returning to London, in seeing Miss Briggs suflferthe
same pangs of jealousy and undergo the same faithless treatment to
which she herself had been subject.

Captain Rawdon got an extension of leave on his aunt's illness,
and remained dutifully at home. He was always in her antechamber.
(She lay sick in the state bed-room, into which you entered by the
little blue saloon). His father was always meeting him there ; or if he
came do\*'n the corridor ever so quietly, his father's door was sure to
open, and the hyaena face of the old gentleman to glare out What
was it set one to watch the other so ? A generous rivahy, no doubt,
as to which should be most attentive to the dear sufferer in the state
bed-room. Rebecca used to come out and comfort both of them ;
or one or the other of them rather. Both of these worthy gentlemen
were most anxious to have news of the invalid from her little
confidential messenger.

At dinner — to which meal she descended for half an hour — she
kept the peace between them : after which she disappeared for the
night ; when Rawdon would ride over to the depot of the 150th at
Mudbury, leaving his Papa to the society of Mr. Horrocksand his rum
and water. She passed as weary a fortnight as ever mortal spent in
Miss Crawley's sick-room ; but her little nerves seemed to be of iron,
and she was quite unshaken by the duty and the tedium of the sick-
chamber.

A NOVEL WITHOUT 4 HERO, 143

She never told until long afterwards how painful that duty was ;
how peevish a patient was the jovial old lady; how angry; how
sleepless ; in what horrors of death ; during what long nights she
lay moaning, and in almost delirious agonies respecting that future
world which she quite ignored when she was in good health. —
Picture to yourself, oh fair young reader, a worldly, selfish, graceless,
thankless, religionless old woman, writhing in pain and fear, and
without her wig. Picture her to yourself, and ere you be old, learn
to love and pray !

Sharp watched this graceless bedside with indomitable patience.
Nothing escaped her ; and, like a prudent steward, she found a use
for everything. She told many a good story about Miss Crawley's
illness in after days, — stories which made the lady blush through her
artificial carnations. During the illness she was never out of temper;
always alert ; she slept light, having a perfectly clear conscience ; and
could take that refreshment at almost any minute's warning. And
so you saw very few traces of fatigue in her appearance. Her face
might be a trifle paler, and the circles round her eyes a little blacker
than usual ; but whenever she came out from the sick-room she was
always smiling, fresh, and neat, and looked as trim in her little
dressing-gown and cap, as in her smartest evening suit.

The Captain thought so, and raved about her in uncouth convul-
sions. The barbed shaft of love had penetrated his dull hide. Six
weeks — appropinquity — opportunity — had victimised him completely.
He made a confidante of his aunt at the Rectory, of all persons in the
world. She rallied him about it ; she had perceived his folly ; she
warned him ; she finished by owning that little Sharp was the most
clever, droll, odd, good-natured, simple, kindly creature in England.
Rawdon must not trifle with her affections, though — dear Miss
Crawley would never pardon him for that ; for she, too, was quite
overcome by the little governess, 'and loved Sharp like a daughter.
Kawdon must go away — go back to his regiment and naughty
London, and not play with a poor artless girl's feelings.

Many and many a time this good-natured lady, compassionating
the forlorn life-guardsman's condition, gave him an opportunity of
seeing Miss Sharp at the Rectory, and of walking home with her, as
we have seen. When men of a certain sort, ladies, are in love, though
they see the hook and the string, and the whole apparatus with which
they are to be taken, they gorge the bait nevertheless — they must

144 VANITY FAIR.

come to it — they must swallow it — and are presently struck and
landed gasping. Rawdon saw there was a manifest intention on
Mrs. Bute's part, to captivate him with Rebecca. He was not veiy
wise ; but he was a man about town, and had seen several seasons
A light dawned upon his dusky soul, as he thought, through a speech
of Mrs. Bute's.

" Mark my words, Rawdon,'' she said. " You will have Miss Shaip
one day for your relation."

" What relation, — my cousin, hey, Mrs. Bute ? Francis sweet CD
her, hey ? " inquired the waggish officer.

" More than that," Mrs. Bute said, with a flash from her blad
eyes.

" Not Pitt ?— He sha'n't have her. The sneak a'n't worthy of ha
He's booked to Lady Jane Sheepshanks."

" You men perceive nothing. You silly, blind creature — if any-
thing happens to Lady Crawley, Miss Sharp will be your mother-in-
law ; and thafs what will happen."

Rawdon Crawley, Esquire, gave vent to a prodigious whistle, in
token of astonishment at this announcement He couldn't deny it
His father's evident liking for Miss Sharp had not escaped him. He
knew the old gentleman's character well ; and a more imscnipulous
old — whyou — he did not conclude the sentence, but walked home,
curling his moustachios, and convinced he had found a clue to
Mrs. Bute's mystery.

" By Jove, it's too bad," thought Rawdon, " too bad, by Jove ! I
do believe the woman wants the poor girl to be ruined, in order that
she shouldn't come into the family as Lady Crawley."

When he saw Rebecca alone, he rallied her about his father's
attachment in his graceful way. She flung up her head scorafrilly,
looked him full in the face, and said, —

*' Well, suppose he is fond of me. I know he is, and others tea
You don't think I am afraid of him, Captain Crawley ? You don't
suppose I can't defend my own honour," said the little womaxiy looking
as stately as a queen.

" O, ah, why — give you fair warning — look out, you know — that's
all," said the moustachio-t^^iddler.

" You hint at something not honourable, then ? " said she, flashing

out

" O — Gad — really— Miss Rebecca," the heavy dragoon interposed.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 145

^ Do you suppose I have no feeling of self-respect, because I am
poor and friendless, and because rich people have none ? Do you
think, because I am a governess, I have not as much sense, and
feeling, and good breeding as you gentle-folks in Hampshire? I'm
a Montmorency. Do you suppose a Montmorency is not as good as
a Crawley ? "

When Miss Sharp was agitated, and alluded to her maternal
relatives, she spoke with ever so slight a foreign accent, which
gave a great charm to her clear ringing voice. "No," she con-
tinued, kindling as she spoke to the Captain ; '* I can endure
poverty, but not shame — ^neglect, but not insult ; and insult from —
from yau.*^

Her feelings gave way, and she burst into tears.
"Hang it. Miss Sharp — Rebecca — by Jove — upon my soul, I
wouldn't, for a thousand pounds. Stop, Rebecca ! "

She was gone. She drove out with Miss Crawley that day. It
was before the latter's illness. At dinner she was unusually brilliant
and lively ; but she would take no notice of the hints, or the nods, or
the clumsy expostulations of the humiliated, infatuated guardsman.
Skirmishes of this sort passed perpetually during the litde campaign
— tedious to relate, and similar in result. The Crawley heavy cavalry
was maddened by defeat, and routed every day.

If the baronet of Queen's Crawley had not had the fear of losing
his sister's legacy before his eyes, he never would have permitted his
dear girls to lose the educational blessings which their invaluable
governess was conferring upon them. The old house at home seemed
a desert without her, so useful and pleasant had Rebecca made her-
self there. Sir Pitt's letters were not copied and corrected; his
books not made up ; his household business and manifold schemes
n^lected, now that his little secretary was away. And it was easy to
see how necessary such an amanuensis was to him, by the tenor and
spelling of the numerous letters which he sent to her, entreating her
and commanding her to return. Almost every day brought a frank
from the baronet, enclosing the most lu^ent prayers to Becky for her
return, or conveying pathetic statements to Miss Crawley, regarding
the neglected state of his daughters' education ; of which documents
Miss Crawley took very little heed.

Miss Briggs was not formally dismissed, but her place as com-

146 l\4\/ry FAIR.

pan ion was a sinecure and a derision ; and her company was the ftt
>]aniel in the drawing-room, or occasionally the discontented FirtiB
in the housekeeper s cIoseL Nor though the old lady would by no
means hear of Rebecca s departure, was the latter regularly installed
in ofnce in Park Lane. Like many wealthy people, it was Wm
Crawley's habit to accept as much service as she could get from bar
inferiors : and good-naturedly to take leave of them when she no
longer found them useful. Gratitude among certain rich folks ii
scarcely natural or to be thought of. The}* take needy people's
serxiccs as their (!ue. Nor have >*ou. O poor parasite and humble
hanger-on, much reason to complain ! Your friendship for Dives is
about as sincere as the return which it usually get& It is money yoo
love, and not the man : and were Crcesus and his footman to change
places you know, you {toor rogue, who would have the benefit of your
allegiance.

And I am not sure. that, in spite of Rebecca's simplicity asd
activity, and gentleness and untiring good humour, the shrewd old
London lady, upon whom these treasures of friendship were lavished,
had not a lurking suspicion all the while of her affectionate nunc
and fricnil. It must have often crossed Miss Crawley's mind that
nobwiy does anything for nothing. If she measured her own feeling
towards the world, she must have been preitj- well able to gauge
those of the world towards herself : and perhaps she reflected, that it
is the ordinar)- lot of people to have no friends if they themselves
care for nobo<iv.

Well, meanwhile Becky \*"as the greatest comfort and convenience
to her, and she gave her a couple of new gowns, and an old necklace
and shawl, and showed her friendship by abusing all her intimate
acquaintances to her new confidante (than which there can't be
a more touching proof of regard), and meditated vaguely some
great future benefit — to marry her perhaps to Clump, the apothecary,
or to settle her in some advantageous way of life ; or, at any rate, to
send her back to Queen s Crawley when she had done with her, and
the full London season had begun.

WTien Miss Crawley was convalescent and descended to the
drawing-room, Becky sang to her. and otherwise amused her; when
she was well enough to drive out, Becky accompanied her. And
amongst the drives which they took, whither, of all places in the
world, did Miss Crawley's admirable good-nature and friendship

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 147

kaally induce her to penetrate, but to Russell Square, Bloomsbury,
d the house of John Sedley, Esquire.

Ere that event, many notes had passed, as may be imagined,
etween the two dear friends. During the months of Rebecca's stay
I Hampshire, the ' eternal friendship had (must it be owned ?)
offered considerable diminution, and grown so decrepit and feeble
ritfa old age as to threaten demise altogether. The fact is, both
pils had their own real affairs to think of: Rebecca her advance
vhh her employers — Amelia her own absorbing topic. When the
eiro girls met, and flew into each other's arms with that impetuosity
vfaich distinguishes the behaviour of young ladies towards each
odier, Rebecca performed her part of the embrace with the most
perfect briskness and energy. Poor little Amelia blushed as she
kissed her friend, and thought she had been guilty of something
?ery like coldness towards her.

Their first interview. was but a very short one. Amelia was just
Ready to go out for a walk. Miss Crawley was waiting in her
carriage below, her people wondering at the locality in which they
band themselves, and gazing upon honest Sambo, the black
footman of Bloomsbury, as one of the queer natives of the place.
But when Amelia came down with her kind smiling looks (Rebecca
must introduce her to her friend, Miss Crawley was longing to see
lier, and was too ill to leave her carriage) — when, I say, Amelia
came down, the Park Lane shoulder-knot aristocracy wondered
more and more that such a thing could come out of Bloomsbury ;
uid Miss Crawley was fairly captivated by the sweet blushing face
rf the young lady who came forward so timidly and so gracefully to
pay her respects to the protector of her friend.

" What a complexion, my dear. What a sweet voice ! " Miss
Crawley said, as they drove away westward after the little interview.
" My dear Sharp, your young friend is charming. Send for her to
Park Lane, do you hear ? " Miss Crawley had a good taste. She
liked natural manners — a little timidity only set them off. She
liked pretty faces near her; as she liked pretty pictures and nice
china. She talked of Amelia with rapture half-a-dozen times that
day. She mentioned her to Rawdon Crawley, who came dutifully to
partake of his aunt's chicken.

Of course, on this Rebecca instantly stated, that Amelia was
engaged to be married — to a Lieutenant Osborne — z very old flame.

148 VAy/TV FAIR.

" Is he a man in a line-regiment ? " Captain Crawley asked,
remembering after an efi'ort, as became a guardsman, the number of
the regiment, the — th.

Rebecca thought that was the regiment " The Captain*s name,"
she said, ** was Captain Dobbin."

** A lanky gawky fellow," said Crawley, " tumbles over evay-
body. I know him ; and Osbome*s a goodish-looking fellow, with
large bhck whiskers?"

** Enormous/* Miss Rebecca Sharp said, " and enormously proud
of them, I assure you."

Captain Rawdon Crawley burst into a hoarse laugh by way (rf"
reply ; and being pressed by the ladies to explain, did so ^"hen
the explosion of hilarity was over. " He fancies he can play at
billiards," said he. ** I won t^o hundred of him at the Cocoa
Tree. He play, the young flat ! He'd have played for anything
that day, but his friend Captain Dobbin carried him off, hang him ! "

" Rawdon, Rawdon, don't be so wicked," Miss Crawley remarked,
highly pleased.

" Why, ma*am, of all the young fellows IVe seen out of the line,
I think this fellow's the greenest Tarquin and Deuceace get what
money they like out of him. He'd go to the deuce to be seen with
a lord. He pays their dinners at Greenwich, and they invite the
company."

*• And very pretty company too, I dare say."

"Quite right, Miss Sharp. Right, as usual. Miss Sharp. Un-
common pretty company, — haw, haw ! " and the Captain laughed
more and more, thinking he had made a good joke.

" Rawdon, don't be naughty ! " his aunt Exclaimed.

" Well, his father's a city man — immensely rich, they say. Hang
those city fellows, they must bleed ; and I've not done with him )'et,
I can tell you. Haw, haw ! "

" Fie, Captain Crawley ; I shall warn Amelia. A gambling
husband ! "

" Horrid, ain't he, hey ? " the Captain said with great solemnity ;
and then added, a sudden thought having struck him ; — " Gad, I
say, ma'am, we'll have him here."

" Is he a presentable sort of a person ? " the aimt inquired.

" Presentable ? — oh, very- well. You wouldn't see any difference,**
Captain Crawley answered. " Do let's have him, when you begin to

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 149

see a few people ; and his whatdyecallem — his inamorato — eh,
Miss Sharp ; that's what you call it — comes. Gad, Til write him a
note, and have him; and I'll try if he can play picquet as well as
billiards. \Vhere does he live, Miss Sharp ? "

Miss Sharp told Crawley the Lieutenant's town address ; and a
few days after this conversation, Lieutenant Osborne received a
letter, in Captain Rawdon's school-boy hand, and enclosing a note
of invitation from Miss Crawley.

Rebecca despatched also an invitation to her darling Amelia,
who, you may be sure, was ready enough to accept it when she
heard that George was to be of the party. It was arranged that
Amelia was to spend the morning with the ladies of Park Lane,
where all were very kind to her. Rebecca patronised her with calm
superiority : she was so much the cleverer of the two, and her friend
so gentle and unassuming, that she always yielded when anybody
chose to command, and so took Rebecca's orders with perfect
meekness and good humour. Miss Crawley's graciousness was also
remarkable. She continued her raptures about littie Amelia, talked
about her before her -face as if she were a doll, or a servant, or
a picture, and admired her with the most benevolent wonder
possible. I admire that admiration which the genteel world some-
times extends to the commonalty. There is no more agreeable object
in life than to see May Fair folks condescending. Miss Crawley's
prodigious benevolence rather fatigued poor little Amelia, and I am
not sure that of the three ladies in Park Lane she did not find honest
Miss Briggs the most agreeable. She sympathised with Briggs as
with all neglected or gentle people : she wasn't what you call a
woman of spirit

George came to dinner — a repast en garfon with Captain Crawley.

The great family coach of the Osbomes transported him to Park
Lane from Russell Square ; where the young ladies, who were not
themselves invited, and professed the greatest indifference at that
slight, nevertheless looked at Sir Pitt Crawley's name in the baronetage ;
and learned everything which that work had to teach about the
Cra^wley family and their pedigree, and the Binkies, their relatives,
&c., &c. Rawdon Crawley received George Osborne with great
frankness and graciousness : praised his play at billiards : asked him
when he would have his revenge : was interested about Osborne's
regiment : and would have proposed picquet to him that very evening.

.y. VASTTY FAIR.

b'-t M -is CriT-'tT ihsiiit-iiT r'rrra-ie xzt r^^^^h*'— j ^

^:c -:^;^T:ec bj his gallaiu

fir !*•; -ext. -s.-ciewr.-rrr : ij *,-:•: i i; i •■jr« ±ai CawlcT tuii to sdL
i.- : :: rrf r..- j: --.c Pirc . iz.d :o Lr.e iisrit'ie-- aad to pass die
t-.-r"_-j x.v. >::re ;: -?^ :-=-•: "^^ -"HTir a r" roc're aoc oo dutrto
tr.i: ircrr. >[^i Soilcy.* Cnwiir siji, w-.rh i knowing winL
-M:-.Tr-:-.* :i.:r "1 3:«:c =7 b:c.xr. -J-jrcxh. Osborne." he was

O=o:r-.c -^lir. : in i.tr : '::^ Tiiild -.jci Cnwlcr with pleasure:
irA ±rt '^ncz. »r.-rr. i-.tv =:ec -Jie =«: iat. pniaed his new mtnids
r..jr=**=:Lir.jh:}: — i? .le n:xr.: w.-Ji lerrect hocescj — ind introduced
•L--r. -.3 --l-re^ or :':■..- t:'-.-^ =:^ ot -J-.c irs ushon, vhose acqujint-
ar.:c .r:.rzzr,^'.y -z'^'.t-i zr* ij=Lz'.t y :'^-^ -Officer.

•• H j*-i 1.^:* Mrs :?--!.-:.. ':y-r:e->yt?^ Osborne inquired of his
fr.er.: :ver -Jitrlr *-.-t. *.-J- i ii:: : ie: m. *- Good-unxred little girl
•:--ii D-:^ =:-•= i-.: >:- ^t- 1: '>iesc i Cnwley ? Miss Scdlev liked
her i z»l ceil liri ytir."

<::dr :i--: Cn^ley . xke-i ^^ivj^tly i: -jie Lieoreoint out of his little
t'.it c>es. iT.i wiMhc-i r.:^ w'r.tr. he we-: up :o resume his acquaint-
ir. :e w-.± the fiir ^ y. trr.e>s. Her co- iuct in;r5t have relieved Crawley
i: -jiere wtlj ir.y jril: -iy iz ±e bi>soc: ot thit bfe-gunisniaii.

Wr.er. ^-.e y:-:r* =en wez: up stiirs^ and after Osborne's intro-
d-ictiori :o Miis Cnwley. he w^Ikeri up to Rebecca writh a patroa-
bir.z. eaiv s* a^er. He w-is coin* :o be kind to her and protect her.
He would even shake han 15 with her. as a friend of Amelia's ; and
saj-lnr. -Ah, Miss Sh-irp : how-cy-^ioo ? " held oat his left hand
towards her. expecur^ ihii she wxxild be qaite confounded at the
hor.our.

Miss ^r.^rp pG- out her rl^t foretozer. and gave him a litde nod,
50 cool ani killing, that Rawdoa Crawley, watching the (^wrations
from the other room, could hardly restrain his laughter as he saw the
Lie-^tenant's endre discomnmre : the stan he gave, the pause, and the
penect clumsiness with which he at length condescended to talrf> the
nr-zer which was ooered for his embrace.

•• She'd beat the deviL by Jove :" the Captain saidL in a rapture ;
and the Lieutenant, by way of beginning the conversation, agreeably
aiked Rebecca how she liked her new place.

- My place ?" said Miss Sharp, coolly, •• how kind of you to

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 151

remind me of it ! It's a tolerably good place : the wages are pretty
good— not so good as Miss Wirfs, I believe, with your sisters in
Kussell Square. How are those young ladies ?— not that I ought to
ask."

" Why not ? " Mr. Osborne said, amazed.

"Why, they never condescended to speak to me, or to ask
me into their house, whilst I was staying with Amelia ; but we
poor governesses, you know, are used to slights of this sort"

*' My dear Miss Sharp ! " Osborne ejaculated.

"At least in some families," Rebecca continued. "You can't
think what a difference there is though. We are not so wealthy
in Hampshire as you lucky folks of the City, fiut then I am

152 VAX/TV FAIR.

in a 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 qufite 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 liked the City ^unilies pretty well," he said,
haughtily.

" Last year you mean, when I was fresh from that horrid vulgar
school ? Of course I did. Doesn't every girl like to come home
for the hoHdays ? 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 Amelia, 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
humour ; but oh these cjueer odd City people ! And Mr. Jos. —
how is that wonderful Mr. Joseph ? "

** It seems to me you didn't dislike that wonderful Mr. Joseph
last year," Osborne said kindly.

** How severe of you ! Well, entre muSy 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 say, "Indeed, how
very obliging ! "

"What an honour 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? 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 Fm frank and open; considering
all things, it was very kind of you to allude to the circumstance
— very kind and polite. Amelia dear, Mr. Osborne and I were
talking about your poor brother Joseph. How is he ? "

Thus was George utterly routed. Not that Rebecca was in the
right; but she had managed most successfully to put him in the

A XOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, \r^i

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 success 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 counsel
you to be on the look-out"

" Thank you, my boy," said Crawley, with a look of peculiar
gratitude. "YouVe wide awake, I see." And George went off,
thinking Crawley was quite right.

He told Amelia of what he had done, and how he had counselled
Rawdon Crawley — a devilish good, straight-forward fellow — to be
on his guard against that little sly, scheming Rebecca.

" Against whom f " Amelia cried.

" Your friend the Governess. — Don't look so astonished."

"O George, what Aave you done?" Amelia said. For her
woman's eyes, which Love had made sharp-sighted, had in one
instant discovered a secret which was invisible to Miss Crawley,
to poor virgin Briggs, and gtbove all, to the stupid peepers of that
young whiskered prig, Lieutenant Osborne.

For as Rebecca was shawling her in an upper apartment, where
these two friends had an opportunity for a little of that secret talking
and conspiring which forms the delight of female life, Amelia,
coming up to Rebecca, and taking her two little hands in hers,
said, " Rebecca, I see it alL"

Rebecca 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.

154 VANITY FAIR.

Some short period after the above events, and Miss Rebecca
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 indicate the worthy
baronet's demise. It was a feminine hatchment, and indeed a few
years back had served as a funeral 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 lived
in retirement somewhere in the back premises of Sir Pitt's mansion.
It re-appeared now for poor Rose Dawson. Sir Pitt was a widower
again. The arms quartered on the shield along with his own were
not, to be sure, poor Rose'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 written under the coat, flanked by the
Crawley Dove and Serpent Arms and Hatchments, Resurgam. —
Here is an opportunity for moralising !

Mr. Crawley had tended that otherwise friendless bed-side. 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 wife. 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 found time, nevertheless, to call often in
Park Lane, and to despatch many notes to Rebecca, entreating her,
enjoining her, commanding her to return to her young pupils in the
country, who were now utterly without companionship during their
mother's illness. But Miss Crawley would not hear of her 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 mgoHmeni
lasted her attachment was prodigious, and she clung still with the
greatest energy to Rebecca.

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 oflf my party for the 3rd," Miss Crawley

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 155

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," Rawdon remarked, with his usual regard for his elder
brother. Rebecca said nothing. She seemed by far the gravest and
most impressed of the family. She left the room before Rawdon
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 Rebecca 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 I " and
the baronet's knock followed this announcement.

" My dear, I can't see him. I won't see him. Tell Bowls not at
home, or go down stairs 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," Rebecca 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 stedfastly, that Rebecca 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 still 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."

" 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 all goes wrong. It's not the same place. All my accounts
has got muddled agin. You must come back. Do come back. Dear
Becky, do come."

" Come — as what, sir ? " Rebecca gasped out

156

VANITY FAIR.

" Come as Lady Crawley, if you like," the baronet said, grasping
his crape hat. " There ! will that zatusfy you ? Come back and be
my wife. 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 ? "

" Oh, Sir Pitt ! " Rebecca 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 your own way. I'll make you a zettlement. I'll do everything
reglar. Look year ! " and the old man felt down on his knees and
leered at her like a satyr.

Rebecca started back a picture 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.

" Oh, Sir Pitt I " she said. " Oh, sir — I — I'm married already."

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XV.

aiCH REBECCA'S HUSBAND APPEARS FOR A SHORT TIME.

VERY 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
-Uty to be more frightened than she was when she made her
" Married ; you're joking," the Baronet cried, after the first
1 of rage and wonder. " You're making vun of me, Becky,
ver go to many you without a shilling to your vortune?"
rried ! married ! " Rebecca said, in an agony of tears — her
jking with emotion, her handkerchief up to her ready eyes,
igainst the mantel-piece — a figure of woe fit to melt the most
heart. " O Sir Pitt, -dear Sir Pitt, do not think me ui^ratefiil
our goodness to mc. It is only your generosity that has
my secret."

lerosity be hanged ! " Sir Pitt roared out. " Who is it tu,
I're married ? Where was it ? "

me come back with you to [he country, sir ! Let me watch
as faithfully as ever ! Don't, don't separate me from dear
Crawley ! "

; feller has left you, has he?" the Baronet said, beginning,
ncied, to comprehend. " Well, Becky — come back if you
)u can't eat your cake and have it. Any ways I made you

TtJ

hare h mB toot
her beait:

Tiri I zz-r.^ :r vr.11 T-ni 1.^^'* 'lijc :

VI- lliL TTT-:;! >- r'—i ZCCZT lUCk bjZi

attempt

to Qaeen's
re TOc js mtiucilr. vhen
ct yocr btric Rebecca.
t fins with
sr: let me — ktme

a> most tragioL

E5 sc6 » suisi\. looked uf^

.- -■••=-

■sit" — ^^'ir;^ n.; i.:i:r rceiief. izii )Lsf Cmrier ssLSed in.

v.-r. r-SLz: iZ'i V^i. rsr.^;j;5w *b: hirooed by cSanoe to be at
zr.t yir'.z^^ ixc >;i:c irrir ne rcrooK xad Rebecca entered the

iTir^rt::- zjii ilf.: jetf!i irrjifsmTj. rirxs^i tae ker-liole. tbe old
z-ir.'^irz^iz. '.r:<mzt ":ef:r; -^r: rrvirness. irid hsd heard the generous
: ::;.:si: ^'-iz it niii i^r. I: vi^^ scirvntZy oct of his moadu when
Mr^ F-kz- i^i M:„^5 rr.;;^ ^1 >rei=»i zp the soiis, had nished
:-:: -jie iriv^-r:.:^ v!:=re Miss Cnwler was reading the French

iscocading intel%eDce that
:o Miss Sharp. And if you
calc-iliie ±t ±=Li ::>T the iirove di^oc-e ^> tike place — the time for
Brl^i irA Firk:n :o ±t to the crrwi::^-rDoni — the time for Miss
Crawley to be asronishe'd. arid to ctot her vohmie of Piganlt le
Brin — ar.d the dme for her to conie down stais — vou will see
how exactly accurate this histon- is. and how Miss Crawlev must
have appeared at the very instant when Rebecca had assumed the
attimde of huiniMt\-.

*• It is the lady on the ground, and not the gentleman," Miss
Crawlev said, with a look and voice of great scorn. *• Thev told me
that yim were on your knees. Sir Pitt : do kneel once more, and let
me see this prett)- couple ! "

" I have thanked Sir Pitt Crawley, ma'am," Rebecca said, rising,
'' and have told him that — that I never can become Lady Crawley."

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 159

"Refused him !" Miss Crawley said, more bewildered than ever,
triggs and Firkin at the door opened the eyes of astonishment and
he lips of wonder

*' Yes — refused," Rebecca continued, with a sad, tearful voice.

" And am I to credit my ears that you absolutely proposed to
ler. Sir Pitt?" the old lady asked.

" Ees," said the Baronet, " I did."

" And she refused you as she says ? "

" Ees," Sir Pitt said, his features on a broad grin.

" It does not seem to break your heart at any rate," Miss Crawley
remarked.

"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 penni-
less governess, and burst out laughing because she refiised to marry

i6o VANITY FAIR.

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 favourite Pigault le Brun.

"I'm glad you think it good sport, brother," she continued,
groping wildly through this amazement

" Vamous," said Sir Pitt " \Vho'd ha* thought it ! what a sly
little devil ! what a little fox it waws ! " he muttered to himself,
chuckling with pleasure.

"WTio'd have thought what?" cries Miss Crawley, stamping
with her foot " Pray, Miss Sharp, are you waiting for the Prince
Regent'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 all loved me, and been so kind to the poor orphan —
deserted — girl, and am / to feel nothing ? O my friends ! O my
benefactors ! may not my love, my life, my duty, try to repay the
confidence you have shown me ? Do you grudge me even gratitude,
Miss Crawley? 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 up-stairs, she went up to her
apartment ; while Briggs and Miss Crawley, in a high state of excite-
ment, 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 aU."

--/ NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 16 1

The t^'o ladies in the dining-room (where worthy Miss Briggs was
delighted to be admitted once more to a confidential conversation
'^^th her patroness) wondered to their hearts* content at Sir Pitt's
coffer, and Rebecca's refusal; Briggs very acutely suggesting that
Xlicre must have been some obstacle in the shape of a previous
•attachment, otherwise no young woman in her senses would ever
liave refused so advantageous a proposal.

** You would have accepted it yourself, wouldn't you, Briggs ? "
3iiiss Crawley said, kindly.

"Would it not be a privilege to be Miss Crawley's sister?"
Xriggs replied, with 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 liberal 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 pompous 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 your-
self, 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, beautifiil in their illegibility,
she cherished in her old desk up-stairs). " 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'll set him up in a shop ; or order my portrait of
him, you know ; or speak to my cousin, the Bishop— and I'll dottr

i62 VANITY FAIR,

Becky, and we'll have a wedding, Briggs, and you shall make the
breakfast, and be a bride's maid.*'

Briggs declared that it would be delightful, and vowed that her
dear Miss Crawley was always kind and generous, and went up to
Rebecca's bed-room to console her and prattle about the offer, and
the refusal, and the cause thereof; and to hint at the generous
intentions of Miss Crawley, and to find out who w^as the gentleman
that had the mastery of Miss Sharp's heart

Rebecca was very kind, ver}' affectionate and affected — ^responded
to Briggs' offer of tenderness with grateful fervour — owned there was
a secret attachment — a delicious myster)- — what a pity Miss Briggs
had not remained half a minute longer at the key-hole! Rebeca
might, perhaps, have told more : but five minutes after Miss Briggs'
arrival in Rebecca's apartment. Miss Crawley actually made her
appearance there — an unheard of honour ; — her impatience had
overcome her ; she could not wait for the tardy operations of her
ambassadress: so she came in person, and ordered Briggs out of
the room. And expressing her approval of Rebecca's conduct, she
asked particulars 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 honoured her, (for he was in the habit of making his
feelings known in a ver}" 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, jon 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 j what
are the private reasons ? There is some one ; who is it that has
touched your heart?"

Rebecca cast down her eyes, and o\\Tied 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."

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 163

" My poor dear child/' cried Miss Crawley, who was always
c^uite ready to be sentimental, " is our passion unrequited, then ?
Are we pining in secret ? Tell me all,, and let me console you."

" I wish you could, dear Madam," Rebecca said in the same
teaiftd 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
dear ? 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-
miserable. But O ! love me always — promise you will love me
dways." 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
protegee, blessing and admiring her as a dear, artless, tender-hearted,
affectionate, incomprehensible 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 feelings 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 bed-room, 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 confidante 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
should have been so near her, and she actually obliged to decline it.
In this natural emotion every properly regulated mind will certainly
share. What good mother is there that would not commiserate a

II— 2

i64 VANITY FAIR.

penniless spinster, who might have been my lady, and have shared
four thousand a year ? What well-bred young person b there in all
Vanity Fair, who will not feel for a hard-working, ingenious, meri-
torious girl, 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 court, or has
his wife had a fortune left her ? Miss Toady explained presently,
with that simplicity which distinguishes all her conduct. "You
know," she said, " Mrs. Briefless is granddaughter of Sir John
Redhand, lyho is so ill at Cheltenham that he can't last six months.
Mrs. Briefless's papa succeeds ; so you see she will be a baronet's
daughter." And Toady asked Briefless and his wife to dinner the
very next week.

If the mere chance of becoming a baronet's daughter can procure
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 d3ring
so soon ? She was one of those sickly women that might have lasted
these ten years — Rebecca 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 insufferable 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 th6 opera; and I would have been presented next season.
All this might have been; and now — now all was doubt and
mystery.

But Rebecca was a young lady of too much resolution and eneigy
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 tiuned her whole attention towaixis die future,

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 165

ivhich 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
same 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 Rebecca 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 repeate'dly-expressed
fondness for Rebecca herself. She is so fond of him, Rebecca
thought, that she will forgive him an3rthing : she is so used to me that
I don't think she could be comfortable without me : when the Eclair-
cissement comes there will be a scene, and hysterics, and a great
quarrel, and then a great reconciliation. At all events, what use was
there in dela)ring ? 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 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 was blown over.
In this state of meditation she wrote the following letter : —

Dearest Friend, — The great crisis which we have debated about so often is
cowu. Half of my secret is known, and I have thought and thought, until I am
quite sure that now is the time to reveal tki whole 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— O, 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
Rebecca. She will be shaken when she first hears the news. But need we fear
anything beyond a momentary anger ? I think not : / am sure not. She dotes
upon you so (you naughty, good-for-nothing man), that she would pardon you
anything: and, indeed, I believe, the next place in her heart is mine : and that
she would be miserable without me. Dearest ! something tells me we shall
conquer. You shall leave that odious regiment : quit gaming, racing, and be a

i66 r.-J.V/ri' FAIR.

~vJ ivr J anil we tball oil live in Paik Lane, and ma tjitlt shall t«ave u$ all bci

I ,lull in- an! «lk tn-morr-.w ai j in the usoa] place. If Slisi B. accom-
; anin me. y^i muM cume li> liinner, nml brinj; an answer, and put it in the third
\uluine uf I'orteus's Sennons. But, al all events, come lu your oun K.

T<, Mi,i Eiua Slyirs

At Mr. Barnet's, SaJJler, Kni^h'.fbrid^f.

.\nd I mist there is no reader of this little story who has not
discertiment enough to [>erceive that the Miss Eliza Styles (an old
schoolfellow, Rel>ecca saiil. niih whom she had resumed an active
torresixjndence of late, atwl who uscil to fetch these letters from (he
.saddler's), wore brass spurs, an<l large curling muscochios, and was
indeed no oiher than Cajjtain Rawdon Crawley.

^1 NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE LETTER ON THE PINCUSHION.

OV/ they were married is not of
the slightest consequence to any-
body. What is to hinder a
Captain who is a major, and a
young lady who is of age, from
[jurchasing a license, and uniting
themselves at any church in this
town ? W ho needs to be told
ih-it if a woman has a will she
\\\\\ assuredly find a nay? — My
belief IS that one daj when
Miss Shirp had gone to pass the
forenoon «ith her dear fnend
MibS Amelia Sedley m Russell
bjuare a hd> \ery like her
might have been seen entering
a church in the Cit) in com
pany with a gentleman with
JjLd mustachios who after a
an hour a intLr a! escorted her back to the hackney
iiting and that this was a quiet bndal party
lo on earth after the daily experience we ha^e can ques
obability of a gendcman martying anybody ? How many
; and learned have married their cooks? Did not Lord
self, the most prudent of men, make a mn-,iway match ?
Achilles and Ajax both in love with their sen'ant
ind are we to expect a heavy dragoon with strong desires
brains, who had never controlled a passion in his life,
prudent all of a sud<len, and to refuse to pay any
an indulgence to which he had a mind? If people
; prudent marriages, what a stop to population there

i6J VANITY FAIR.

It seems to me, for my part, that Mr. Rawdon's marriage was one
of the honestest actions which we shall have to record in any portion
of that gentleman's biography which has to do with the present
histOF}'. No one ^^ill say it is unmanly to be captivated by a woman,
or, being captivated, to marry her ; and the admiration, the delight,
the passion, the wonder, the unbounded confidence, and frantic
adoration with which, by degrees, this big warrior got to regard
the little Rebecca, were feelings which the ladies at least will pro-
nounce were not altogether discreditable to him. A\Tien 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 used to revolve her jokes
in his mind, and explode over them half an hour afterwards in the
street, to the surprise 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 infallible grace and
wisdom. ** How she sings, — how she paints," thought he. " How
she rode that kicking mare at Queen's Crawley ! " And be 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 ever}' day in the world many an
honest Hercules at the apron-strings of Omphale, and great whiskered
Samsons prostrate in Dalilah's lap ?

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 tlie third volume of Porteus. Rebecca easily found a
means to get rid of Briggs, her companion, and met her faithfiil
friend in " the usual place " on the next day. She had thought over
matters at night, and communicated to Rawdon the result of her
determinations. He agreed, of course, to every thing ; was quite
sure that it was all right : that what she proposed was best ; that
Miss Crawley would infallibly relent, or "come round," 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-

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 169

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 determined, and very prudentiy, 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 off
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 little. He ordered in a piano, and half a nursery-
house full 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
unhappiness preying upon her, the sweetness and silence with which
slie bore her affliction, made Miss Crawley much more tender than
usual An event of this nature, a marriage, 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
marriage season ; and though I have never seen the bridegroom's
male friends give way to tears, or the beadles and oflSciating 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 litde faces in their little useless pocket-
handkerchiefs ; and heaving, old and young, with emotion. WTien my
friend, the fashionable John Pimlico, married the lovely Lady Belgravia
Green Parker, the excitement was so general, that even the little snuffy
old pew-opener who let me into the seat was in tears. And wherefore ?
I inquired of my own soul : s/ie was not going to be married

170 VAyiTV FAIR.

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 bugh-
ingly of Sir Pitt's proposal, ridiculed it as the foolish fancy of an old
man ; and her eyes filled with tears, and Briggs's heart with unutter-
able 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 ver)'
often. Briggs, you may go when vou like. But as for you, my dear,
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, ayowed all, and been
forgiven in a twinkling. But that good chance was denied to the
young couple, doubtless in order that this story might be written, in
which numbers of their wonderful adventures are narrated — adven-
tures which could never have occurred to them if they had been
housed and sheltered under the comfortable uninteresting forgiveness
of Miss Crawley.

Under Mrs. Firkin's orders, in the Park Lane establishment, was
a young 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 presented 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 daresay it
would come out that she was aware of certain arrangements, which
have a great deal to do with this history. At any rate she purchased
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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 171

Shaq) 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 sun rose as usual, and at the usual hour Betty Martin, the ui>stairi
maid, knocked at the door of the governess's bed-chamber.

No answer was returned, and she knocked again. Silence was
still uninterrupted ; and Betty, with the hot water; opened the door
and entered the chamber.

The little white dimity 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 twilled like a lady's nightcap — lay a letter. It had
been reposing there probably 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 turned 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? 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, " O, 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
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
addressed 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 aflection. Claims even superior to those of my benefactress call me
hence. I go to my duty — to my husband. Yes, I am married. My husband
commands 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

172 VANITY FAIR.

pillow — that pillow that I have so often soothed in dckness— that I loi^ 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 ! When Sir Pitt deigned to offer me his hand,
an honour of which my beloved Miss Crawley said I was daervimg (my blesnngi
go with her for judging the poor orphan worthy to be hrr tister !) I told Sir Pitt
that I was already a wife. Even he forgave me. But my courage failed me» when
I should have told him all — tliat I could not be his wife, for I was his daughter I
I am wedded to the best and most generous of men — Miss Crawley's Rawdoo is
my Rawilon. At his command I open my lii>s, and follow him to our homble
home, as I would through the 'world. O, my excellent and kind friend, intercede
with my Rawdon's beloved aunt for him and the poor girl to whom all >lif nMt
race have shown such nttparalleleil 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 Crawley."

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 surprise of Firkin, clasping her dressing-gown around
her, the wisp of hair floating dishevelled behind her, the littie curl-
papers still sticking in bunches round her forehead, Briggs sailed down
to Mrs. Bute with the letter in her hand containing the wonderful news.

" Oh, Mrs. Firkin," gasped Betty, " sech a business. Miss Sharp
have a gone and run away with the Capting, and they're off to Gretny
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 Mrs. 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 sht should have arrived at such a time to
assist poor dear Miss Crawley in supporting the shock — that Rebeca
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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 173

Miss Crawley's eyes to the real character of this %vicked 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 Shaq)
read the "Morning Post" to her, or otherwise amusing herself or
dawdling. The conspirators below agreed that they would spare the
dear lady'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 Mrs, 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 friends for bad news ? 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.

" 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. " O 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 ? " cried out Miss Crawley.

174 VAXITY FA in.

" She won't come in soon. Prepare yourself, dear fnend— she's
gone out for a long time — she's — she's gone altogether."

** Gracious goodness, and who's to make my chocolate? 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 ? '* 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.'*

** O Ma'am — prepare her, Miss Briggs — she's married to Rawdon
Crawley."

*' Rawdon married — Rebecca — 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 marr}\ tliinking 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 ? "

" 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.

She had scarcely been 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?" he said, coming in. "^^^lere•s her
traps ? She's coming with me to Queen's Crawley."

" Have you not heard the astonishing intelligence regarding her
surreptitious union ? " Briggs asked.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. i75

•* What's that to me ? " Sir Pitt asked. " I know she's married.
Ilut makes no odds.. Tell her to come doA^ii 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 Rawdon's union with her ? "

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 mad-
man 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 Horrocks, 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 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 wonderfully ; the
new rings glittered on her little hands, and the new watch ticked at
her waist ; " suppose she don't come round, eh, Becky ? "

" /'// make your fortune," she said ; and Dalikih patted Samson's
cheek.

" You can do anything," he said, kissing the little hand. " By Jove
you can ; and we'll drive down to the .Star and Garter, and dine, by
Jove."

176

VAyiTY FAIR.

CHAPTER X\'IL

now CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT A PIANa

F there is any exhibition in all Vanity Far
which Satire and Sentiment can visit aim 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 propriety : it is at one
of those public assemblies, a crowd of whidi
are advertised every day in the last page rf
the " Times '* newspaper, and over which the
late Mr. (leorge 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 moralizing must have thought,
with a sensation and interest not a little startling and queer, of the
day when their turn shall come too, and Mr. Hammerdown will sell
by the orders of Diogenes's assignees, or will be instructed by the
executors, to offer to public competition, the library, furniture, 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 arc
in the family vault : the statuaries are cutting an inscription veraciously
commemorating his virtues, and the sorrows of his heir, who is dis-
posing of his goods. WTiat guest at Dives's table can pass the familiar
house without a sigh ? — the familiar house of which the lights used
to shine so cheerfully at seven o'clock, of which the hall-doors
opened so readily, of which the obsequious servants, as you passed
up the comfortable stair, sounded your name from landing to landing,
until 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 177

friendly men who slandered and hated each other everywnere else !
He was pompous, but with such a cook what would one not swallow ?
he was rather dull, perhaps, but would not such wine make any
conversation pleasant ? We must get some of his Burgundy at any
price, the mourners cry at his club. " I got 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 with 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-curtains, poking
into the feathers, shampooing the mattresses, and clapping the ward-
robe drawers to and fro. Enterprising young housekeepers are
measuring the looking-glasses and hangings to see if they will suit the
new mknage, — (Snob will brag for years that he has purchased this or
that at Dives's sale,) and Mr. Hammerdown is sitting on the great
mahogany dining-tables, in the dining-room below, waving the ivory
hammer, and employing all the artifices of eloquence, enthusiasm,
enti^eaty, reason, despair; shouting to his people; satirizing Mr. Davids
for his sluggishness ; inspiriting Mrs. Moss into action ; imploring,
commanding, bellowing, until down comes the hammer like fate, and
we pass to the next lot O 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
fumiture 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 pur-
chased for his master, who knew them very well, 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 stock-brokers from the city. And now the public being
invited to the purchase of minor objects, it happened that the orator

178

VANITY FAIR.

on the table wai expatiating on tbe merits of a picture, which be
sought to rectMnmend to his audience : it was by no means so select or
niunerous 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, filowman, and let the company examine this lot"
A long, pale, militaiy-looking gentleman, s«Ued demurely at tbe
mahogany table, could not help grinning as this valuable lot <m
shown by Mr. Blowman. " Turn the elephant to the C^>t3Di,
Blowman. What shall we say, sir, for the elephant?" but tbe
Captain, blushing in a very huiried and discomfited manner, turned
away his head, and the auctioneer repeated his discomposure.

" Shall we say twenty guineas for this woi^ of an ? — fifteen, bn,
name your ovm price. The gentleman without the elephant is
worth five pound."

" I wonder it aint come down with him," said a professional wa^
" he's any how a precious big one ; " at which (for the elephacl-
rider was represented as of a very stout figure) there was a genenl
giggle in tbe room.

" Don't be trying to deprecate the value of the lot, Mr. Moss,"
Mr. Hammerdown said ; " kt the company examine it as a worii of
art — the attitude of the gallant animal quite according to natur' ; die
gentleman in a nankeen-jacket, his gun in his hand, is going to die
chase ; in the distance a banyhann-tree and a pagody, most likely
resemblances of some interesting spot in our famous Eastern
How much for, this lot? Come, gentlemen, don't
,.>.;, keep me here all day."

Some one bid five shillings, at
which the militaiy gentleman looked
towards tbe quarter from which this
splendid oSex had come, and then
ERW another officer with « young lad;
on his aim, who both appeared to be
highly. amused with the scene, and to
H^om, finally, this lot was knocked
down for half-a-guinea. He at the
table looked more surprised and dis-
composed than ever when he spied
this pair, and his head sank into bis

f; '

I ii'i

tv III' ll

f jfir

f^noB^s

^ -jI

1^^

rli

[jM

T^V

n'lv

' r^

fli /

i^k

■X -//^./,„y /■, r -^4-_ y

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 179

dlitaiy collar, and he turned his back upon them, so as to avoid
lem altogether.

Of all the other articles which Mr. Hammerdown had the honour
\ offer for public competition that day it is not our purpose to make
lendon, save of one only, a little square piano, which came down
om the upper regions of the house (the state grand piano having
^en disposed of previously) ; this the young lady tried with a rapid
id skilful hand (making the officer blush and start again), and for
when its turn came, her agent began to bid.

But there was an opposition here. The Hebrew aide-de-camp in
e service of the officer at the table bid against the Hebrew gentle-
an employed by the elephant purchasers, and a bri$k battle ensued
'er this little piano, the combatants being greatly encouraged by
r. Hammerdown.

At last, when the competition had been prolonged for some time,
e elephant captain and lady desisted from the race; and the
immer coming down, the auctioneer said : — " Mr. Lewis, twenty-
'€,** and Mr. Lewis's chief thus became the proprietor of the little
uare piano. Having effected the purchase, he sate up as if he was
eatly relieved, and the unsuccessful competitors catching a glimpse
him at this moment, the lady said to her friend,

" Why, Rawdon, it's Captain Dobbin."

I suppose Becky was discontented with the new piano her
Lsband had hired for her, or perhaps the proprietors of that ipstru-
ent had fetched it away, declining farther credit, or perhaps she
id a particular attachment for the one which she had first tried
• purchase, recollecting it in old days, when she used to play upon
, in the little sitting-room of our dear Amelia Sedley.

The sale was at the old house in Russell Square, where we
issed some evenings together at the beginning of this story. Good
xi John Sedley was a ruined man. His name had been proclaimed
\ a defaulter on the Stock Exchange, and his bankruptcy and
^mmercial extermination had followed. Mr. Osborne's butler came
> buy some of the famous port wine to transfer to the cellars over
le way. As for one dozen well-manufactured silver spoons and
>iks at per oz., and one dozen dessert ditto ditto, there were three
oung stockbrokers (Messrs. Dale, Spiggot, and Dale, of Thread-
eedle-street, indeed), who having had dealings with the old man,

12 — 2

i8o VAXITV FAIR.

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 kwc
to good Mrs. Sedley ; and with respect to the piano, as it had been
Amelia's, and as she might miss it and want one now, and as
Captain William Dobbin couM no more play upon it than he could
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 Road — one of those streets which
have the finest romantic names — (this was called St Adelaide Villas,
Anna-Maria Road, West), where the houses look like baby-houses;
where the people, looking out of the first-floor windows, must
infallibly, as you think, sit with their feet in the parlours ; where die
shrubs in the little gardens in front, bloom with a perennial display
of little children's pinafores, little red socks, caps, &c. (polyandiia
I>olygynia); whence you hear the sound of jingling spinets and
women singing ; where little porter pots hang on the railings sunning
themselves ; whither of evenings you see city clerks padding wearily:
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, when
the announcement of the family-misfortune reached hinu 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 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 litde
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 fiadlure,
was on the receipt of the packet of forks and spoons with the young
stockbroker's 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
offered for her in spite of all. He married Miss Louisa Cutts
(daughter of Higham and Cutts, the eminent corn-factors) with a

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 18 1

handsome fortune in 1820; and is now living in splendour, and with
a numerous family, at his elegant villa, Muswell Hill. 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 ^unily 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. Rebecca 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 Rawdon, 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 billiards with him. He'd be
what I call usrfui 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 gentle-
man 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 lodgement in the house at Park Lane ; his letters were sent
back 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 augured evil from the continued presence of Mrs. Bute.

" Gad, I begin to perceive now why she was always bringing us
together at Queen's Crawley," Rawdon said.

" What an artful little woman ! " ejaculated Rebecca.

"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 kiss 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

i82 VAX/TV FAIR.

opinion she had of him ; listened with inde&tigable complacenqr to
his stones of the stable and the mess ; laughed at all his jokes ; felt the
greatest interest in Jack Spatterdash, whose caMiorse had come down,
and Bob Martingale, who had been taken up in a gambling-hoose,
and Tom Cinqbars, who was going to ride the steeple-chase. When
he came home she ^'as alert and happy : when he went out she
pressed him to go : when he stayed at home, she played and sang ibr
him, made him good drinks, superintended his dinner, wanned his
slippers, and steeped his soul in comfort The best of women (I
have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites. We don't knot
how much they hide from us : how watchful they are when they seem
most artless and confidential : how often those frank smiles which thej
wear so easily, are traps to cajole or elude or disarm — I don't mean
in your mere coquettes, but your domestic models, and paragons of
female \nrtue. Wlio has not seen a woman hide the dulness of a stupid
husband, or coax the fury of a sa\'age one ? We accept this amiable
slavishness, and praise a woman for it : we call this pretty treadieiy
truth. A good housewife is of necessity a humbug ; 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 maa
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 people 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 rektions won't cry fie upon me," Becky said, with
rather a bitter laugh ; and she was quite contented to wait until 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 husband's male companions who were admitted
into her little dining-room. These were all charmed with her. The
little dinners, the laughing and chatting, the music afterwards,
delighted all who participated in these enjoyments. Major Martingale
never thought about asking to see the marriage license. Captain
Cinqbars was perfectly enchanted with her skill in making punch.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 183

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 for-
sook her for a moment, and Crawley's reputation as a fire-eating and
jealous warrior, was a further and complete defence to his little wife.
> There are gentlemen of very good blood and fashion in this city,
who never have entered a lady's drawing-room ; so that though
Rawdon Crawley's marriage might be talked about in his county,
where, of course, 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 with 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 ? " " My dear fellow," I heard Jack
once say, "I owe money in every capital in Europe." The end
must come some day, but in the meantime Jack thrives as much £CS
ever ; people are glad enough to shake him by the hand, ign6re the
little dark stories that are whispered- every now and then against him,
and pronounce him a good-natured, jovial, reckless fellow.

Truth obliges us to confess that Rebecca had married a gentleman
of this order. Everything was plentiful in his house but ready
money, of which their mhmge pretty early felt the want; and
reading 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

1 84 rA\/ry fair.

into the bugg>% her picture under her arm in great glee " ThcyVe
like \'ultures after a battle.**

'' Don't know. Never ^-as in action, my dear. Ask Martingale;
he was in Spain, aide-de-camp to General Blazes.**

•* He was a ver>' kind old man, Mr. Sedley,** Rebecca said ; " I'm
really sorr}- he's gone wrong.**

" O stockbrokers — bankrupts — ^used to it, you know," Rawdon
replied, cutting a fly off the horse's ear.

** I wish we could have afforded some of the plate, Rawdon,'*
the wife continued sentimentally. " Five-and-t^*enty 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-callem — * Osborne/ will cry off now, I suppose, since
the family is smashed. How cut up your pretty little friend will be;
hey, Becky ? "

" I daresay she'll recover it ; " Becky said, with a smile— and
they drove on and talked about something else.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XVIir.

WHO PLAYED ON THE PIANO CAPTAIN DOBBIN BOUGHT?

UR surprised 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 Corsi-
can upstart, were flying from Pro-
vence, where they had perched
after a brief sojourn in Elba, and
from steeple to steeple until 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 fhought so quiet, that
even the whirring and flapping of
those mighty wings would pass unobserved there P

"Napoleon has landed at Cannes." Such hews might create
a panic at Vienna, and cause Russia to drop his cards, and take
Prussia into a comer, and Talleyrand and Meltemich to wag their
heads together, while Prince Hardenberg, and even the present
Marquis of Londonderry, were puzzled ; but how was this intelli-
gence to affect a young lady in Russell Square, before whose door
the watchman 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 enor-
mous cane : who was always cared for, dressed, put to bed, and
watched over by ever so many guardian angels, with and without
wages. Bon Dim, I say, is it not hard that the fateful rush of the
great Imperial struggle can't take place without affecting a poor little

1 86 VANITY FAIR.

harmless girl of eighteen, who is occupied in billing and cooing, or
working muslin collars in Russell Square ? You, too, kindly, homely
flower! — is the great roaring war tempest coming to sweep you
down, here, although cowering \mder the shelter of Holbom ? Yes ;
Napoleon is flinging his last stake, and poor little Emmy Sedle/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
\VTiat need to particularize? If success is rare and slow, evay-
body 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-natured mistress pursuing, quite unsus-
piciously, 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 behindhand ; John Sedley, who
had come home very late from the city, sate silent at the chinmey
side, while his wife was prattling to him ; Enmiy 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 many her I'm sure :
and there's Captain Dobbin who, I think, would— only I hate all
army men. Such 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 encouragement, and you'll see. We
must have a party, Mr. S. Why don't you speak, John? Shall
I say Tuesday fortnight? Why don't you answer? Good God,
John, what has happened?"

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 hmb, and almost fell He thought the

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 187

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 office 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 hundred words of incoherent love and tenderness ; her
^thfiil voice and simple caresses wrought this sad heart up to an
inexpressible delight and anguish, and cheered and solaced his over-
burdened 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 expected
it — in a general confession — only once did the faithful wife give way
to emotion.

" 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 will be open where there is no sympathy, or has call to speak
to those who never can understand ? Our gentle Amelia was thus
solitary. She had no confidante, so to speak, ever since she had
anything to confide. She could not tell 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 George 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 poor little martyr tell
these daily struggles and tortures? 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 piure bashful maiden was too modest, too
tender, too trustful, too weak, too much woman to recall it We are
Turks with the affections of our women; and have made them

1 88 VA.Wry FAIR.

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 follow 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 Russell 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
ofuhose worthy people were discharged with that punctuality which
men frequently show 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 whidi
now ensued, and harassed the feelings of the humiliated old
gentleman so severely, that in six weeks he oldened more than he
had done for fifteen years before — the most determined and obstinate

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 189

seemed to be John Osborne, his old friend and neighbour — ^John
Osborne, whom he had set up in life — ^who was under a hundred
obligations to him — ^and whose son was to many Sedley*s daughter.
Any one of these circumstances would account for the bitterness of
Osborne's opposition.

When one man has been under 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 account for your
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
your 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 — other-
wise he, the persecutor, is a wretch himself.

And as a general rule, which may make all creditors 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
hopeless; 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.
*f Do\**n 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 has not remarked the readiness with which the closest of
friends and honestest of men suspect and accuse each other of
cheating when they fall out on money matters ? Everybody does it
Everybody is right, I suppose, and the world is a rogue.

Then Osborne had the intolerable sense of former benefits to
goad and irritate him : these are always a cause of hostility
aggravated. Finally, he had to break oflf the match between
Scdley's daughter and his son ; and as it had gone very far indeed,
and as the poor girl's happiness and perhaps character were com-
promised, it was necessary to show the strongest reasons for the

I90 VANITY FAIR.

rupture, and for John Osborne to prove John Sedley to be a veiy
bad character indeed

At the meetings of creditors, then, he comported himself with a
savageness and scorn towards Sedley, which ahnost 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 vilipending the
poor innocent girl as the basest and most artful 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 Russell 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 were
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 wrongly, 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 large 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.

Whenever old John Sedley thought of the affair between Geoige
and Amelia, or alluded to it, it was with bitterness almost as great as
Mr. Osborne himself had shown. He cursed Osborne and his family

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 191

as heartless, wicked, and ungrateful 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 nurse 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
remembrances 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.

To death she looked with inexpressible longing. Then, she
thought, I shall alwa3rs be able to follow him. I am not praising
her conduct or setting her up as a model for Miss Bullock to imitate.
Miss R knows how to regulate her feehngs better than this poor
little creature. Miss R 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 snapt 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 married as they do in France, where the lawyers are the
bridesmaids and confidantes. At any rate, never have any feelings

192 VAXITY FAIR.

which may make you uncomfortable, or make any promises whidi
you cannot at any required moment command and withdraw. That 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 jeopardied. Such criminal imprudence
Mrs. Smith never knew of; such horrid familiarities Mrs. Brown had
always condemned, and the end might be a warning to htr daughters.
" Captain Osborne of course, could not marry a bankrupt's daughter,"
the Miss Dobbins 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
marriage? Dare any soul on earth breathe a word against the
sweetest, the purest, the tenderest, the most angelical of young
women ? "

" La, William, 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 most 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 yourself, William ? " 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 ? 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 wish 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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 193

hiss, and shriek, and cackle. There, get away — don't begin to cry.
I only said you were a couple 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 — anything you like, only do, da leave
Miss Sedley alone."

Anything like William's- infatuation about that silly little flirting,
ogling thing was never known, the mamma and sisters agreed together
in thinking : and they trembled lest, her engagement being 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 Emperor
comes in to perform a part in this domestic comedy of Vanity Fair
which we are now playing, and which would never have been enacted
indthout the intervention of this august mute personage. It was he
that ruined the Bourbons and Mr. John Sedley. It was he whose
arrival in his capital called up all France in arms to defend him
there; and all Europe to oust him. While the French nation and
army were swearing fidelity round the eagles irt the Champ de Mai,
four mighty European hosts were getting in motion for the great
chasse a Vaigle; 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 delight and enthusiasm, which everybody
can understand 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 could 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 Spoony
looked to get their companies without purchase. Before the end of
the campaign (which she resolved to share), Mrs. Major O'Dowd

194 yA^7^Y fair,

hoped to write herself Mrs. Colonel 0*Dowd, C.R 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 thrilling through the country and army in conse-
quence of this news was so great, that private matters were little
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 — ^-as 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
cast down by good old Mr. Sedley*s catastrophe. He tried his new
uniform, which became him very handsomely, on the day when the
first meeting of the creditors of the imfortunate gentleman took
place. His father told him of the wicked, rascally, shameful conduct
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 hone
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 ? 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, whidi
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

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 195

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
hi 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 which 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. A.

" I shall often play upon the piano— your piano. It was like you to send it**

Dobbin was very soft-hearted. 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 con-
sider unmanly. He swore that Amelia was an angel, to which
Osborne said aye with all 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.

AVhat 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 himself, he
blushed with remorse and shame, as the remembrance of his own
selfishness and indifference contrasted with that perfect purity. For
a while, glory, war, everything was forgotten, and the pair of friends
talked about her only.

" Where are they ?" 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? 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 Amelia too, yesterday, before he

^3— ^

196 VANITY FAIR,

came down 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 with great sympathy — condoled with her losses
and privations, and agreed in reprehending the cruel conduct of
Mr. Osborne towards his firi^t benefactor. WTien she had eased
her overflowing 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
down stairs.

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 minute 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 very kind of you to come
and see us — and we like our new house very much. And I — I think
I'll go up-stairs, Mamma, for I'm not very strong." And with this,
and a curtsey and a smile, the poor child went her way. The
mother, as she led her up, cast back looks of anguish towards
Dobbin. The good fellow wanted no such append. 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
no more.

There was a buxom Irish servant-girl, who performed all 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,

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 197

)r even to be aware of the attempts the other was making in her
avour.

Four hours after the talk between Dobbin and Osborne, this
«rvant-maid came into Amelia's room, where she sate as usual,
)rooding silently over her letters — her little treasures. The girl,
nniling, and looking arch and happy, made many trials to attract
)Oor 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 —
lomebody — sure, here's a new letter for you — don't be reading them
)ld ones any more." And she gave her a letter, which Emmy took,
ind read.

" I must see you," the letter said. " Dearest Emmy — dearest
ove — dearest wife, come to me."

George and her mother were outside, waiting until she had read
he letter.

VANITY FAIR.

CHAPTER XIX.

MISS CRAWLEY AT NURSE.

£ have seen how Mrs. Firidn,
the lady's maid, as soon as
any event of importance to
the Crawley family came 10
her knowledge, felt bound to
communicateit to Mis. Bute
Crawley, at the Rectoiy;
and have before mentioned
how particularly kind and
attentive that good-natured
lady was to Miss Crawley's
confidential ser\'aiit She
had been a gracious friend
to Mrs, Briggs, the com-
panion, 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 sai*
that " fine words butter no parsnips ? " Half the parsnips of societ>^
nre served and rendered palatable with no other sauce. As th^
immortal Alexis Soyer can make more delicious soup for a halfpenny
than an ignorant cook can concoct with pounds of vegetables aoitf
meat, so a skilful artist will make a few simple and pleasing phrases'
go farther than ever so much substantial benefit-stock in the hand*"
of a mere bungler. Nay, we know that substantial benefits ofterp-
sicken some stomachs ; whereas, most will digest any amount of fine-
words, and be always eager for more of the same food. Mrs. Sutes^

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 199

had told Briggs and Firkin so often of the depth of her affection
for them ; and what s/u 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 grati-
tude and confidence as if Mrs. Bute had loaded them with the
most expensive favours.

Rawdon 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 oflf hi^ 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 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 by a thousand acts of kindness and politeness,
showed her appreciation of Briggs ; and if she made Firkin a
twopenny-halfpenny present, accompanied it with so many com-
pliments, that the two-pence-halfpenny was transmuted into gold
in the heart of the grateful waiting-maid, who, besides, was looking
forwards quite contentedly to same prodigious benefit which
must happen to her on the day when Mrs. Bute came in to
her fortune.

The different conduct of these two people is pointed out respect-
fully to the attention of persons commencing the world. Praise
everybody, I say to such : never be squeamish, but speak out your
compliment both point blank in a man's face, and behind his back,
when you know there is a reasonable chance of his hearing it again.
Never lose a chance of saying a kind word. As Collingwood never
saw a vacant place in his 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 Rawdon Crawley's prosperity, he was only
obeyed with sulky acquiescence ; when his disgrace 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.

200 VAX/rV FAIR.

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 subnlit without
a struggle ; and felt that she must prepare for that combat, and be
incessantly watchful against assault, or mine, or surprise.

In the first place, though she held the town, was she sure of the
principal inhabitant? 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
unbearable," the candid rector's wife o^^-ned 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 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 unprincipled 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 daresay she was very unwell after the sudden family event, which
might ser>'e to shake stronger ner\es than hers. At least, Mrs. Bute
thought it was her duty to inform the physician, and the apothecary,
and the dame-de-compagnie, and the domestics, that Miss Crawley
was in a most critical state, and that they were to act accordingly.
She had the street laid knee-deep with straw ; and the knocker put by
with Mr. Bowls's plate. She insisted that the Docter should call
twice a day ; and deluged her patient with draughts every two hours.
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 without seeing Mrs. Bute's beady eyes
eagerly fixed on her, as the latter sat steadfast in the arm-chair by the
bed-side. They seemed to lighten in the dark (for she kept the
curtains closed) as she moved about the room on velvet paws like a

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 201

cat. There Miss Crawley lay for days — ever so many days — Mrs,
Bute reading books of devotion to her : for nights, long nights, during
vhich 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 rushl ght 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? 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 terrors
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,

202 VANITY FAIR,

without preaching, the truth may surely be borne in mind, that the
bustle, and triumph, and laughter, and gaiety which Vanity Fair
exhibits in public, do not always pursue the performer into private
life, and that the most dreary depression of spirits and dismal repent-
ances sometimes overcome him. Recollection of the best ordained
banquets will scarcely cheer sick epicures. Reminiscences of the
most becoming dresses and brilliant ball-triumphs will go very little
way to console faded beauties. Perhaps statesmen, at a particular
period of existence, are not much gratified at thinking over the most
triumphant divisions ; and the success or the pleasure of yesterday
become 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. O brother wearers of motley! Are there not
moments when one grows sick of grinning and tumbling, and the
jingling of cap and bells? 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 flare, and the noise, and the gaiety, and be perfectly
miserable in private.

"If that poor man of mine had a head on his shoulders,"
Mrs. Bute Crawley thought to herself, "how useful he might be,
under 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 and knowledge of Rawdon'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
CaptaiiL . She knew how the unhappy Lord Dovedale, whose mamma

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 203

had taken a house at Oxford, so that he might be educated there, and
"^vfao 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 pounds. 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 Crawley; gave her the
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 compunction for the victim whom her tongue was immolating ; nay,
very likely thought her act was 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 unfor-
tunate wretch of a Rawdon Crawley, that the mere truth was enough
to condemn him, and that all inventions of scandal were quite super-
fluous pains on his friends' parts.

Rebecca, too, being now a relative, came in for the fiiUest share
of Mrs. Bute's kind inquiries. This indefatigable pursuer of truth
(having given strict orders that the door was to be denied to all
emissaries or letters from Rawdon), took Miss Crawley's carriage, and
drove to her old friend Miss Pinkerton, at Minerva House, Chiswick
Mally to whom she announced the dreadful intelligence of Captain
Rawdon's seduction by Miss Sharp, and from whom she got sundry
strange particulars regarding the ex-governess's birth and early history.
The firiend 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 firom 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 arrist's
pen was that in which, from his dying bed, he recommended his
orphan child to Miss Pinkerton's protection. There were juvenile
letters and petitions from Rebecca, too, in the collection, imploring

204 VANITY FAIR,

aid for her father, or declaring her own gratitude. Perhaps in Vamty
Fair there arc no better satires than letters. Take a bundle of yoor
dear friend's of ten years back — your dear friend whom you hate now.
Look at a file of your sister's ! how you clung to each other till you
quarrelled about the twenty pound legacy! Get down the round-hand
scrawls of your son who has half broken your heart with selfish
undutifulness since; or a parcel of your own, breathing endless ardour
and lc)\'e eternal, which were sent back by your mistress when she
married the Nabob— your mistress for whom you now care no more
than for Queen Elizabeth. Vows, love, promises, confidences,
gratitude, how (luecrly they read after a while ! There ought to be a
law in Vanity Fair ordering the destruction of ever)* written document
(except receipted tradesmen's bills) after a certain brief and proper
interval. Those fjuacks and misanthropes who advertise indeliaWe
Japan ink, should be made to perish along with their wicked dis-
coveries. The best ink for Vanity Fair use would be one that faded
utterly in a couple of days, and left the paper clean and blank, so
that you might ^Tite on it to somebody else.

From Miss Pinkerton's the indefatigable Mrs. Bute followed the
track of Sliarp and his daughter back to the lodgings in Greek Street,
which the defunct painter had occupied ; and where portraits of the
landlady in white satin, and of the husband in brass buttons, done
by Sharp in lieu of a quarter's rent, still decorated the parlour walls.
Mrs. Stokes was a communicative person, and quickly told all she
knew about Mr. Sharp ; how dissolute and poor he was ; how good-
natured and amusing ; how he was always hunted by baiUffs and
duns ; how, to the landlady's horror, though she never could abide
the woman, he did not man*)' his wife till a short time before her
death ; and what a queer little wild vixen his daughter was ; how she
kept them all laughing with her fun and mimicry ; how she used to
fetch the gin from the public-house, and was known in all the studios
in the quarter — in brief, Mrs. Bute got such a full account of her new
niece's parentage, education, and behaviour as would scarcely have
pleased Rebecca, had the latter known that such inquiries were being
made concerning her.

Of all these industrious researches Miss Crawley had the full
benefit. Mrs. Rawdon Crawley was the daughter of an opera-girl.
She had danced herself. She had been a model to the painters. She
was brought up as became her mother's daughter. She drank gin

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 205'

Ah her father, &c. &c. It was a lost woman who was married to a
St man ; and the moral to be inferred from Mrs. Bute's tale was,,
at the knavery of the pair was irremediable, and that no properly-
Mnducted person should ever notice them again.

These were the materials which prudent Mrs. Bute gathered
^ether in Park Lane, the provisions and ammunitions as it were
tth which she fortified the house against the siege which she knew
lat Rawdon and his wife would lay to Miss Crawley.

But if a fault may be found with her arrangements, it is this, that
le was too eager : she managed rather too well ; undoubtedly she
lade Miss Crawley more ill than was necessary ; and though the old
ivalid succumbed to htr authority, it was so harassing and severe,
[lat the victim would be inclined to escape at the very first chance
rhich fell in her way. Managing women, the ornaments of their sex,
—women who order everything for everybody, and know so much
>etter than any person concerned what is good for their neighbours,
lon't sometimes speculate upon the possibility of a domestic revolt,
it upon other extreme consequences resulting from their overstrahied
uthority.

Thus, for instance, Mrs. Bute, with the best intentions no doubt
n the world, and wearing herself to death as she did by foregoing
leep, dinner, fresh air, for the sake of her invalid sister-in-law, carried
icr conviction of the old lad/s illness so far that she almost managed
icr into her coffin. She pointed out her sacrifices and their results
me day to the constant apothecary, Mr. Clump.

" I am sure, my dear Mr. Clump," she said, " no efforts of mine
lave been wanting to restore our dear invalid, whom the ingratitude
)f her nephew has laid on the bed of sickness. / never shrink from
)ersonal discomfort : / never refuse to sacrifice myself"

" Your devotion, it must be confessed, is admirable," Mr. Clump
ays, with a low bow ; " but — "

" I have scarcely closed my eyes since my arrival : I give up
ileep, health, every comfort, to my sense of duty. When my poor
fames was in the small-pox, did I allow any hireling to nurse him ?

" You did what became an excellent mother, my dear Madam —
he best of mothers ; but — "

'^ As the mother of a family and the wife of an English clergy-

2o6 VANITY FAIR.

man, I humbly trust that my principles are good,** Mrs. Bute said,
with a happy solemnity of conviction ; '* and, as long as Natnre
supports me, never, never, Mr. Clump, will I desert the post of duty.
Others may bring that gray head with sorrow to the bed of sicknes
(here Mrs. Bute, waving her hand, pointed to one of old Miss
Crawley's coffee-coloured fronts, which was perched on a stand in
the dressing-room), but / ^^nll never quit it Ah, Mr. Clump I
I fear, I know, that that couch needs spiritual as well as medical
consolation."

"What I was going to observe, my dear Madam," — ^here the
resolute Clump once more interposed with a bland air — ^" what I was
going to observe when you gave utterance to sentiments which do
you so much honour, was that I think you alarm yourself needlessly
about our kind friend, and sacrifice your own health too prodigally
in her favour."

" I would lay down my life for my duty, or for any member of"
my husband's family," Mrs. Bute interposed.

" Yes, Madam, if need were ; but we don't want Mrs. But&
Crawley to be a martyr," Clump said gallantly. " Dr. Squills an4-
myself have both considered Miss Crawley's case with every anxict)^
and care, as you may suppose. We see her low-spirited and nervous ^
family events have agitated her."

" Her nephew will come to perdition," Mrs. Crawley cried.

" Have agitated her : and you arrived like a guardian angel, m;
dear Madam, a positive guardian angel, I assure you, to soothe hi
under the pressure of calamity. But Dr. Squills and I were thinking
that our amiable friend is not in such a state as renders confinement^
to her bed necessary. She is depressed, but this confinements
perhaps adds to her depression. She should have change, fiesi:*'
air, gaiety ; the most delightful remedies in the pharmacopoeia,.
Mr. Clump said, grinning and showing his handsome teeth. " Per—
suade her to rise, dear Madam; drag her from her couch and
her low spirits ; insist upon her taking little drives. They will-
restore the roses too to your cheeks, if I may so speak to Mrs. Bute
Crawley."

" The sight of her horrid nephew casually in the Park, where I
am told the wretch drives with the brazen jjartner of his crimes,
Mrs. Bute said (letting the cat of selfishness out of the bag ^*
secrecy), "would cause her such a shock, that we should have ^

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 207

Dg her back to bed again. She must not go out, Mr. Clump.
t shall not go out as long as I remain to watch over her. And as
my health, what matters it ? I give it cheerfully, sir. I sacrifice
It the altar of my duty."

"Upon my word, Madam," Mr. Clump now said bluntly, "I
Jo't answer for her life if she remains locked up in that dark room,
le b so nervous that we may lose her any day ; and if you wish
iptain Crawley to be her heir, I warn you frankly. Madam, that
w are doing your very best to serve him."

" Gracious mercy ! is her life in danger ? " Mrs. Bute cried.
Why, why, Mr. Clump, did you not inform me sooner ? "

The night before, Mr. Clump and Dr. Squills had had a consul ta-
*n (over a bottle of wine at the house of Sir Lapin Warren, whose
ly was about to present him with a thirteenth blessing), regarding
iss Crawley and her case.

"What a httle harpy that woman from Hampshire is, Clump,**
Uills remarked, " that has seized upon old Tilly Crawley. Devilish
Qd Madeira,"

" What a fool Rawdon Crawley has been," Clump replied, " to

and marry a governess ! There was something about the girl, too."

"Green eyes, fair skin, pretty figure, famous frontal develop-
int," Squills remarked. " There is something about her ; and
siwley was a fool. Squills."

" A d fool — always was," the apothecary replied.

** Of course the old girl will fling him over," said the physician,
d after a pause added, " She'll cut up well, I suppose."

" Cut up," says Clump with a grin ; " I wouldn't hare her cut up
r two hundred a year."

"That Hampshire woman will kill her in two months, Clump,
IT boy, if she stops about her," Dr. Squills said. " Old woman ;
II feeder ; nervous subject ; palpitation of the heart ; pressure on the
ain ; apoplexy ; off she goes. Get her up, Squills ; get her out : or
wouldn't give many weeks' purchase for your two hundred a year."
nd it was acting upon this hint that the worthy apothecary spoke
ith so much candour to Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Having the old lady under her hand : in bed : with nobody near,
[rs. Bute had made more than one assault upon her, to induce her
> alter her will. But Miss Crawley's usual terrors regarding death
'creased greatly when such dismal propositions were made to her,

2o8 I'A.Viry FAIR.

and Mrs. Bute saw that she must get her patient into cheerful spirits
and health before she could hope to attain the pious object which
she had in view. Whither to take her was the next puzzle. The
only place where she is not likely to meet those odious Rawdons is
at church, and that won*t amuse her, Mrs. Bute justly felt ^^V^'t
must go and visit our beautiful suburbs of London," she then
thought ** I hear they are the most picturesque in the world ;" and
so she had a sudden interest for Hampstead, and Homsey, and found
that Dulwich had great charms for her, and getting her victim into
her carriage, drove her to those rustic spots, beguiling the littic
journeys with conversations about Rawdon and his wife, and telling
every stor}' to the old lady which could add to her indignation
against this pair of reprobates.

Perhaps Mrs. Bute pulled the string unnecessarily tight For
though she worked up Miss Crawley to a proper dislike of her
disobedient nephew, the invalid had a great hatred and secret tenor
of her victimizer, and panted to escape from her. After a brief
space, she rebelled against Highgate and Homsey utterly. She
would go into the Park. Mrs. Bute knew they would meet the
abominable Rawdon there, and she was right One day in the
ring, Rawdon*s stanhope came in sight ; Rebecca was seated by him.
In the enemy's equipage Miss Crawley occupied her usual place,
with Mrs. Bute on her left, the poodle and Miss Briggs on the back
seat. It was a ner\ous moment, and Rebecca's heart beat quick as
she recognized the carriage ; and as the two vehicles crossed each
other in a line, she clasped her hands, and looked towards the
spinster with a face of agonised attachment and devotion. Rawdoo
himself trembled, and his face grew purple behind his dyed musta-
chios. Only old Briggs was moved in the other carriage, and cast
her great eyes nervously towards her old friends. Miss Crawley's^
bonnet was resolutely turned towards the Serpentine. Mrs. But^
happened to be in ecstacies with the poodle, and was calling him ^
little darling, and a sweet little zoggy, and a pretty pet. Th^
carriages moved on, each in his line.

" Done, by Jove," Rawdon said to his wife.

" Try once more, Rawdon," Rebecca answered. " Could not yots
lock your wheels into theirs, dearest ? "

Rawdon had not the heart for that manoeuvre. When th^
carriages met again, he stood up in his stanhope; he raised hi^

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 209

and ready to doff his hat ; he looked with all his eyes. But this
[me Miss Crawley's face was not turned away ; she and Mrs. Bute
ooked him full in the face, and cut their nephew pitilessly. He
ank back in his seat with an oath, and striking out of the ring,
lashed away desperately homewards.

It was a galkmt and decided triumph for Mrs. Bute. But she felt
he danger of many such meetings, as she saw the evident nervous-
less of Miss Crawley ; and she determined that it was most necessary
or her dear friend's health, that they should leave town for a while,
md recommended Brighton very strongly.

VANITY FAIR.

CHAPTER XX.

IN WHICH CAPTAIN DOBBIN ACTS AS THE MESSENGER OF HYUEN-

ITHOUT knowing how, Captain
William Dobbin found himself
the great promoter, arranger, and
manager of the match between
George Osborne and AmeKa.
Bui for him it never would hive
taken place : he could not but
confess as much to himself, and
smiled rather bitterly as he
thought that he of all men in
the world should be the person
upon whom the care of this mar-
riage had fallen. But though in-
deed the conducting of this n^o-
tiation was about as painM a
task as could be set to him, yet
when he had a duty to perform, Captain Dobbin was accustomed to
go through it without many words or much hesitation : and, having
made up his mind completely, that if Miss Sedley was balked of h«
husband she would die of the disappointment, he was determined to
use all his best endeavours to keep her alive.

I forbear to enter into minute particulars of the interview between
George and Amelia, when the former was brought back to the feet (or
should we venture to say the arms?) of his young mistress by the
intervention of his friend honest William. A much harder heart than
George's would have melted at the sight of that sweet face so sadly
ravaged by grief and despair, and at the simple tender accents in
which she told her little broken-hearted story ; but as she did not
feint when her mother, trembling, brought Osborne to her ; and as
she only gave relief to her overcharged grief, by laying her head on
her lover's shoulder and there weeping for a while the most tender,
copious, and refreshing tears — old Mrs. Sedley, too greatly relieved,

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 211

thought it was best to leave the young persons to themselves ; and
so quitted Emmy crying over George's hand, and kissing it humbly,
as if he were her supreme chief and master, and as if she were
quite a guilty and unworthy person needing every favour and grace
from him.

This prostration and sweet unrepining obedience exquisitely
touched and flattered George Osborne. He saw a slave before him
in that simple yielding faithful creature, and his soul within him
thrilled secretly somehow at the knowledge of his power. He would
be generous-minded. Sultan as he was, and raise up this kneeling
Esther and make a queen of her : besides, her sadness and beauty
touched him as much as her submission, and so he cheered her, and
raised her up and forgave her, so to speak. All her hopes and
feelings, which were d>'ing and withering, this her sun having been
removed from her, bloomed again and at once, its light being
restored. You would scarcely have recognized the beaming little
face upon Amelia's pillow that night as the one that was laid there
the night before, so wan, so lifeless, so careless of all round about.
The honest Irish maid-servant, delighted with the change, asked leave
to kiss the face that had grown all of a sudden so rosy. Amelia put
her arms round the girl's neck and kissed her with all her heart, like
a child. She was little more. She had that night a sweet refreshing
sleep, like one — and what a spring of inexpressible happiness as
she woke in the morning sunshine !

'* He will be here again to-day," Amelia thought " He is the
greatest and best of men." And the fact is, that George thought
he was one of the generousest creatures alive : and that he was
making a tremendous sacrifice in marrying this young creature.

While she and Osborne were having their delightful tlte-^-tete
above stairs, old Mrs. Sedley and Captain Dobbin were conversing
below upon the state of the affairs, and the chances and future
arrangements of the young people. Mrs. Sedley having brought the
two lovers together and left them embracing each other with all their
might, like a true woman, was of opinion that no power on earth would
induce Mr. Sedley to consent to the match between his daughter and
tlie son of a man who had so shamefully, wickedly, and monstrously
treated him. And she told a long story about happier days and their
earlier splendours, when Osborne lived in a very humble way in the
Mew Road, and his wife was too glad to receive some of Jos*s little

14—2

212 VA.yiTy FAIR,

baby things, with which Mrs. Sedley accommodated her at the birth
of one of Osborne's own children. The fiendish ingratitude of that
man, she was sure, had broken Mr. S/s heart : and as for a marriage,
he would never, never, never, nri'cr consent

" They must run away together, Ma'am," Dobbin said, laughing,
*' and follow the example of Captain Rawdon Crawley, and Miss
£nun/s friend the little governess." Was it possible ? Well she
never ! Mrs. Sedley was all excitement about this news. She wished
that Blenkinsop were here to hear it : Blenkinsbp always mistrusted
that Miss Sharp. — What an escape Jos had had ! and she described
the already well-known* love-passages between Rebecca and the Col-
lector of Boggley Wollah.

It was not, however, Mr. Sedley 's wrath which Dobbin feared, so
much as that of the other parent concerned, and he owned that he
had a very considerable doubt and anxiety respecting the behaviour
of the black-browed old tyrant of a Russia merchant in Russell
Square. He has forbiddea the match peremptorily Dobbin thought
He knew what a savage determined man Osborne was, and how he
stuck by his word. ** The only chance George has of reconcile-
ment,** argued his friend, " is by distinguishing himself in the coming
campaign. If he dies they both go together. If he fails in distinc-
tion — ^what then? He has some money from his mother, I have
heard — enough to purchase his majority — or he must sell out and go
and dig in Canada, or rough it in a cottage in the country." With
such a partner Dobbin thought he would not mind Siberia — and,
strange to say, this absurd and utterly imprudent young fellow never
for a moment considered that the want of means to keep a nice
carriage and horses, and of an income which should enable its pos-
sessors to entertain their friends genteelly, ought to operate as bare to
the union of George and Miss Sedley.

It was these weighty considerations which made him think too
that the marriage should take place as quickly as possible. Was he
anxious himself, I wonder, to have it over? — as people, when death
has occurred, like to press forward the funeral, or when a parting is
resolved upon, hasten it It is certain that Mr. Dobbin, having taken
the matter in hand, ^^-as most extraordinarily eager in the conduct of
it He urged on George the necessity of immediate action : he
showed the chances of reconciliation i^-ith his father, which a &vour-
able mention of his name in the Gazette must bring about If need

7/" '^"

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO, 213

were he would go himself and brave both the fathers in the business.
At all events, he besought George to go through with it before the
orders came, which everybody expected, for the departure of the
regiment from England on foreign service.

Bent upon these hymeneal projects, and with the applause and
consent of Mrs. Sedley, who did not care to break the matter per-
sonally to her husband, Mr. Dobbin went to seek John Sedley at his
house of call in the City, the Tapioca Coffee-house, where, since his
own offices were shut up, and fate had overtaken him, the poor
broken down old gentleman used to betake himself daily, and write
letters and receive them, and tie them up into mysterious bundles,
several of w^hich he carried in the flaps of his coat. I don't know
anything more dismal than that business and bustle and mystery of a
ruined man : those letters from the wealthy which he shows you :
those worn greasy documents promising support and offering con-
dolence which he places wistfully before you, and on which he builds
his hopes of restoration and future fortune. My beloved reader has
no doubt in the course of his experience been waylaid by many such
a luckless companion. He takes you into the corner; he 'has his
bundle of papers out of his gaping coat pocket; 'and the tape off, and
the string in his mouth, and the favourite letters selected and laid
before you ; and who does not know the sad eager half-crazy look
which he fixes on you with his hopeless eyes ?

Changed into a man of this sort, Dobbin found the once florid,
jovial, and prosperous John Sedley. His coat, that used to be so
glossy and trim, was white at Ihe seams, and the buttons showed the
copper: His face had fallen in, and was unshorn ; his frill and neck-
cloth hung limp under his bagging waistcoat When he used to treat
the boys in old days at a coffee-house, he would shout and laugh
louder than anybody there, and have all the waiters skipping round
him ; it was quite painful to see how humble and civil he was to
John of the Tapioca, a blear-eyed ' old attendant in dingy stockings
and cracked pumps, whose business it was to sen^e glasses of wafers,
and bumpers of ink in pewter, and slices of paper to the frequenters
of this dreary house of entertainment, where nothing else seemed to
be consumed. As for William Dobbin, whom he had tipped
repeatedly in his youth, and who had been the old gentleman's butt
on a thousand occasions, old Sedley gave his hand to him in a very
hesitating humble manner now, and called him " Sir." A feeling of

214 VAX/rV FAIR

shame and remorse took possession of William Dobbin as the
broken old man so received and addressed him, as if he himself
had been somehow guilty of the misfortunes which had brought
Sedley so low.

" I am very glad to see you, Captain Dobbin, sir," says he, after
a skulking look or two at his visitor (whose lanky figure and military
appearance caused some excitement likewise to tiiinkle in the blear
eyes of the waiter in the cracked dancing pumps, and awakened the
old bdy in black, who dozed among the mouldy old coffee-cups
in the bar). " How is the worthy alderman, and my lady, your
excellent mother, sir ? " He looked round at the waiter as he said,
" My lady," as much as to say, " Hark ye, John, I have friends still,
and persons of rank and reputation, too." "Are you come to do
anything, in my way, sir ? My young friends. Dale and Spiggot do
all my business for me now, until my new offices are ready ; for I'm
only here temf)orarily, you know, Captain. \Miat can we do for you,
sir ? Will you like to take anything ? "

Dobbin, with a great deal of hesitation and stuttering, protested
that he was not in the least hungr>' or thirsty ; that he had no
business to transact ; that he only came to ask if Mr. Sedley was
well, and to shake hands with an old friend ; and, he added, with a
desperate perversion of truth, " My mother is very well — that is,
she's been ver}- unwell, and is only waiting for the first fine day to go
out and call upon Mrs. Sedley. How is Mrs. Sedley, sir ? I hope
she's quite well." And here he paused, reflecting on his own con-
summiLte hypocrisy; for the day was as fine, and the simshine
as bright as it ever is in Coffin Court, where the Tapioca Coffee-
house is situated : and Mr. Dobbin remembered that he had seen
Mrs. Sedley himself only an hour before, having driven Osborne
down to Fulham in his gig, and left him there tHe-a-t^e with
Miss Amelia.

" My wife will be very happy to see her ladyship," Sedley replied,
pulling out his papers. " I've a very kind letter here from your
father, sir, and beg my respectful compliments to him. Lady D. will
find us in rather a smaller house than we were accustomed to receive
our friends in ; but it's snug, and the change of air does good to my
daughter, who was suffering in town rather — you remember little
Emmy, sir?— yes, suffering a good deal." The old gentleman's eyes
were wandering as he spoke, and he was thinking of something

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 215

else, as he sate thrumming on his papers and fumbling at the
worn red tape.

" You're a military man," he went on j "I ask you, Bill Dobbin,
could any man ever have speculated upon the return of that Corsican
scoundrel from Elba? When the allied sovereigns were here last
year, and we gave 'em that dinner in the City, sir, and we saw the
Temple of Concord, and the fireworks, and the Chinese bridge in
St James's Park, could any sensible man suppose that peace wasn't
really concluded, after we'd actually sung Ts Dcum for it, sir ? I ask
you, William, could I suppose that the Emperor of Austria was a
damned traitor — a traitor, and nothing more? I don't mince
words — a double-faced infernal traitor and schemer, who meant to
have his son-in-law back all along. And I say that the escape
of Boney from Elba was a damned imposition and plot, sir, in which
half the powers of Europe were concerned, to bring the funds down,
and to ruin this country. That's why I'm here, William. That's
why my name's in the Gazette. Why, sir ? — because I trusted the
Emperor of Russia and the Prince Regent. Look here. Look at
my papers. .Look what the funds were on the ist of March — what
the French fives were when I bought for the account. And what
they're at now. There was collusion, sir, or that villain never would
have escaped, ^\^le^e was the English Commissioner who allowed
him to get away? He ought to be shot, sir — brought to a court-
martial, and shot, by Jove."

"We're going to hunt Boney out, sir," Dobbin said, rather
alarmed at the fury of the old man, the veins of whose forehead
began to swell, and who sate drumming his papers with his clenched
fisL " We are going to hunt him out, sir — the Duke's in Belgium
already, and we expect marching orders every day."

" Give him no quarter. Bring back the villain's head, sir.
Shoot the coward down, sir," Sedley roared. " I'd enlist myself,

by ; but I'm a broken old man — ruined by that damned

scoundrel — and by a parcel of swindling thieves in this country
whom I made, sir, and who are rolling in their carriages now," he
added, with a break in his voice.

Dobbin was not a little affected by the sight of this once kind old
friend, crazed almost with misfortune and raving with senile anger.
Pity the fallen gentleman : you to whom money and fair repute are
the chiefest good \ and so, surely, are they in Vanity Fair.

2i6 VANITY FAIR.

** Yes," he continued, "there are some vipers that you warm, and
they sting you afterwards. There are some beggars that you put on
horseback, and they're the first to ride you down. You know whom
I mean, William Dobbin, my boy. I mean a purse-proud villain in
Russell Square, whom I knew without a shilling, and whom I pray
and hope to see a beggar as he was when I befriended him."

" I have heard something of this, sir, from my friend Geoige,"
Dobbin said, anxious to come to his point " The quarrel between
you and his father has cut him up a great deal, sir. Indeed, I*m the
bearer of a message from him."

" O, t/iafs your errand, is it ? " cried the old man, jumping up.
" WTiat ! perhaps he condoles A^-ith me, does he ? Very kind of him,
the stiff backed prig, with his dandified airs and West-end swagger.
He's hankering about my house, is he still? If my son had the
courage of a man, he'd shoot him. He's as big a villain as his
father. I won't have his name mentioned in my house. I curse
the day that ever I let him into it ; and I'd rather see my daughter
dead at my feet than married to him."

** His father's harshness is not George's fault, sir. Your daughter's
love for him is as much your doing as his. Who are you, that you
are to play with two young people's affections and break their hearts
at your will ? "

" Recollect it's not his father that breaks the match off," old Sedley
cried out " It's I that forbid it That family and mine are separated
for ever. I'm fallen low, but not so low as that : no, no. And so
you may tell the whole race — son, and father, and sisters, and all."

" It's my belief, sir, that you have not the power or the right to
separate those two," Dobbin answered in a low voice ; " and that if
you don't give your daughter your consent it will be her duty to
marry without it There's no reason she should die or live
miserably because you are wrong-headed. To my thinking she's just
as much married as if the banns had been read in all the churches in
London. And what better answer can there be to Osborne's charges
against you, as charges there are, than that his son claims to enter
your family and marry your daughter ? "

A light of something like satisfaction seemed to break over old
Sedley as this point was put to him : but he still persisted that with
his consent the marriage between Amelia and George should never
take place.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 217

" We must do it without," Dobbin said, smiling, and told Mr.
Sedley, as he had told Mrs. Sedley in the day, before, the story of
Rebecca's elopement with Captain Crawley. It evidently amused
the old gentleman. " You're terrible fellows, you Captains," said he,
tying up his papers ; and his face wore something like a smile upon
it, to the astonishment of the blear-eyed waiter who now entered, and
had never seen such an expression upon Sedley's countenance since
he had used the dismal coffee-house.

The idea of hitting his enemy Osborne such a blow soothed,
perhaps, the old gentleman : and, their colloquy presently ending, he
and Dobbin parted pretty good friends.

" My sisters say she has diamonds as big as pigeons' eggs," George
said laughing. " How they must set off her complexion ! A perfect
illumination it must be when her jewels are on her neck. Her jet-
black hair is as curly as Sambo's. I dare say she wore a nose-ring
when she went to court ; and with a plume of feathers in her top-knot
she would look a perfect Belle Sauvage."

George, in conversation with Amelia, was rallying the appearance
of a young lady of whom his father and sisters had lately made the
acquaintance, and who was an object of vast respect to the Russell
Square family. She was reported to have I don't know how many

2i8 VANITY FAIR.

plantations in the West Indies ; a deal of money in the funds ; and
three stars to her name in the East India stockholders' list She had
a mansion in Surrey, and a house in Portland Place. The name of
the rich West India heiress had been mentioned with applause in the
Morning Post. Mrs. Haggistoun, Colonel Haggistoun*s widow, her
relative, " chaperoned " her, and kept her house. She was just from
school, where she had completed her education, and George and his
sisters had met her at an evening party at old Hulker*s house,
Devonshire Place (Hulker, Bullock, and Co. were long the correspon-
dents of her house in the West Indies), and the girls had made the
most cordial advances to her, which the heiress had received with
great good humour. An ori)han in her position — with her money —
so interesting ! the Misses Osborne said. They were full of their
new friend when they returned from the Hulker ball to Miss Wirt,
tlieir companion; they had made arrangements for continually meeting,
and had the carriage and drove to see her the very next day. Mrs.
Haggistoun, Colonel Haggistoun's widow, a relation of Lord Binkie,
and always talking of him, struck the dear unsophisticated girls as
rather haughty, and too much inclined to talk about her great rela-
tions : but Rhoda was ever}'thing they could wish — the frankest,
kindest, most agreeable creature — wanting a little polish, but so good-
natured. The girls Christian-named each other at once.

" You should have seen her dress for court, Emmy," Osborne
cried, laughing. " She came to my sisters to show it off, before she
was presented in state by my Lady Binkie, the Haggistoun*s kins-
woman. She's related to every one, that Haggistoun. Her diamonds
blazed out like Vauxhall on the night we were there. (Do you
remember Vauxhall, Emmy, and Jos singing to his dearest diddle
iddle arling ?) Diamonds and mahogany, my dear ! think what an
advantageous contrast — and the white feathers in her hair — I mean
in her wool. She had ear-rings like chandeliers; you might have
lighted 'em up, by Jove — and a yellow satin train that streeled after
her like the tail of a comet."

" How old is she ? " asked Emmy, to whom George was rattling
away regarding this dark paragon, on the morning of their re-union —
rattling away as no other man in the world surely could.

" Why, the Black Princess, though she has only just left school,
must be two or three and twenty. And you should see the hand she
writes ! Mrs. Colonel Haggistoun usually writes her letters, but in a

A JMOVEL. WITHOUT A HERO, 219

>ment of confidence, she put pen to paper for my sisters ; she spelt
in satting, and Saint James's, Saint Jams.''

" Why, surely it must be Miss Swartz, the parlour boarder," Emmy
d, remembering that good-natured young Mulatto girl, who had
en so hysterically affected when Amelia left Miss Pinkerton's
idemy.

" The very name," George said. " Her father was a German Jew
a slave-owner they say — connected with the Calmihal Islands in
ne way or other. He died last year, and Miss Pinkerton has
ished her education. She can play two pieces on the piano ; she
ows three songs ; she can write when Mrs. Haggistoun is by to
i\\ for her ; and Jane and Maria already have got to love her as a
ter."

" I wish they would have loved me," said Emmy, wistfully.
rhey were always very cold to me."

** My dear child, they would have loved you if you had had two
ndred thousand pounds," George replied. "That is the way in
lich they have been brought up. Ours is a ready-money society. We
e among bankers and city big-wigs, and be hanged to them, and
ery man, as he talks to you, is jingling his guineas in his pocket
lere is that jackass Fred Bullock, is going to marry Maria — there's
>ldmore, the East India Director, there's Dipley, in the tallow trade
our trade," George said, with an uneasy laugh and a blush. " Curse
5 whole pack of money-grubbing vulgarians ! I fall asleep at their
jat heavy dinners. I feel ashamed in my father's great stupid
rties. I've been accustomed to live with gentlemen, and men of
* world and fashion, Emmy, not with a parcel of turtle-fed trades-
?n. Dear little woman, you are the only person of our set who
er looked, or thought, or spoke like a lady : and you do it because
u're an angel and can't help it Don't remonstrate. You are
t only lady. Didn't Miss Crawley remark it, who has lived in the
St company in Europe ? And as for Crawley, of the Life Guards,
ng it, he's a fine fellow : and I like him for marrying the girl he
d chosen."

Amelia admired Mr. Crawley very much, too, for this , and trusted
rbecca would be happy with him, and hoped (with a laugh) Jos
►uld be consoled. And so the pair went on prattling, as in quite
rly days. Amelia's confidence being perfectly restored to her,
>ugh she expressed a great deal of pretty jealousy about Miss

220 I'AX/ry FAIR.

Swanz, and professed to be dreadfully frightened — ^like a h\"pocrite
as she was — lest George should forget her for the heiress and her
money and her estates in Saint Kitts. But the i3Cl is, she was a great
deal too happy to have fears or doubts or misgivings of any sort : and
having George at her side again, was not afraid* of any heiress or
beauty, or indeed of any sort of danger.

When Captain Dobbin came back in the afternoon to these
people — which he did i»-ith a great deal of sympathy for them — it did
his heart good to see how Amelia had grown young again — ^how she
laughed, and chiqjed, and sang familiar old songs at the piano,
which were only interrupted by the bell from without proclaiming
Mr. Sedley's return from the Cit>', before whom George received a
signal to retreat

Beyond the first smile of recognition — and even that was an
hj'pocrisy, for she thought his arrival rather provoking — Miss Sedk}'
did not once notice Dobbin during his visit But he was content, so
that he saw her happy ; and thankful to have been the means o!
making her so.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO.

CHAPTER XXI.

A QUARREL ABOUT AN HEIRESS.

OVE may be felt for any young
lady endowed with such qualities
as Miss Swartz possessed ; and a
great dream of ambition entered
into old Mr. Osborne's soul, which
she was to realize. He encou-
raged, with the utmost enthusiasm
and friendliness, his daughters'
amiable attachment to the young
heiress, and protested thai it gave
I him the sincerest pleasure as a
father to see the love of his girls
so well disposed.

" You won't find," he would say
to Miss Rhoda, " that splendour
and rank to which you are accus-
d at the West End, my dear Miss, at our humble mansion in
all Square. My daughters are plain, disinterested girls, but their
i are in the right place, and they've conceived an attachment
3U which does them honour — I say, which does them honour.
plain, simple, humble British merchant — an honest one, as my
cted friends Hulker and Bullock will vouch, who were the cor-
ndents of your late lamented father. You'll find us a united,
e, happy, and I think I may say repected, family — a plain
a plain people, but a warm welcome, my dear Miss Rhoda —
a, let me say, for my heart warms to you, it does really. I'm a
man, and I like you. A glass of Champagne 1 Hicks, Cham-
; to Miss Swartz."

here is little doubt that old Osborne believed all he said, and
he girls were quite earnest in their protestations of affection for
Swattz. People in Vanity Fair fasten on to rich folks quite
ally. If the simplest people are disposed to look not a little

-» ■>'^

VAXITY FAIR.

kindly on great Prosperity (for I defy any member of the British
public to say that the notion of Wealth has not something awful and
pleasing to him ; and you, if you are told that the man next you at
dinner has got half a million, not to look at him with a certain
interest :)— if the simple look benevolently on money, how much
more do your old worldlings regard it ! Their affections rush out to
meet and welcome money. Their kind sentiments awaken spon-
taneously towards the interesting possessors of it. I know some
respectal)lc people who don't consider themselves at liberty to indulge
in friendship for any individual who has not a certain competency, or
place in society. They give a loose to their feelings on proper
occasions. And the proof is, that the major part of the Osborne
family, who had not, in fifteen years, been able to get up a hearty
regard for Amelia Setlley, became as fond of Miss Svvartz in the
course of a single evening as the most romantic advocate of friend-
ship at first-sight could desire.

What a match for (George she'd be (the sister and Miss Wirt
agreed), and how much better than that insignificant little Amelia I
Such a dashing young fellow as he is, with his good looks, rank, and
accomplishments, would be the very husband for her. Visions of
balls in Portland Place, presentations at Court, and introductions to
half the peerage, filled the minds of the young ladies ; who talked of
nothing but George and his grand actjuaintances to their beloved
new friend.

Old Osborne thought she would be a great match, too, for his son.
He should leave the army ; he should go into Parliament ; he should
.cut a figure in the fashion and in the state. His blood boiled ^ivith
honest British exultation, as he saw the name of Osborne ennobled in
the person of his son, and thought that he might be the progenitor of
a glorious line of baronets. He worked in the City and on 'Change,
until he knew everything relating to the fortune of the heiress, how
her money was placed, and where her estates lay. Young Fred
Bullock, one of his chief informants, would have liked to make a bid
for her himself (it was so the young banker expressed it), only he was
booked to Maria Osborne. But not being able to secure her as a
wife, the disinterested Fred quite approved of her as a sister-in-law.
" Let George cut in directly and win her," was his advice. " Strike
while the iron's hot, you know — while she's fresh to the town : m a
few weeks some d fellow from the West End will come in with a

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 223

title and a rotten rent-roll and cut all us City men out, as Lord
Fitzrufus did last year with Miss Grogram, who was actually engaged
to Podder, of Podder & Brown's. The sooner it is done the better,
Mr. Osborne ; them's my sentiments," the wag said ; though, when
Osborne had left the bank parlour, Mr. Bullock remembered Amelia,
and what a pretty girl she was, and how attached to George Osborne ;
and he gave up at least ten seconds of his valuable time to regretting
the misfortune which had befallen that unlucky young woman.

While thus George Osborne's good feelings, and his good friend
and genius, Dobbin, were carrying back the truant to Amelia's feet,
George's parent and sisters were arranging this splendid match for
him, which they never dreamed he would resist

When the elder Osborne gave what he called " a hint," there was
no possibility for the most obtuse to mistake his meaning. He called
kicking a footman down-stairs, a hint to the latter to leave his service.
With his usual frankness and delicacy he told Mrs. Haggistoun that
he would give her a cheque for five thousand pounds on the day his
son was married to her ward ; and called that proposal a hint, and
considered it a very dexterous piece of diplomacy. He gave George
finally such another hint regarding the heiress ; and ordered him to
marry her out of hand, as he would have ordered his butler to draw a
cork, or his clerk to write a letter.

This imperative hint disturbed George a good deal. He was in
the very first enthusiasm and delight of his second courtship of
Amelia, which was inexpressibly sweet to him. The contrast of her
manners and appearance with those of the heiress, made the idea of
a union with the latter appear doubly ludicrous and odious. Carriages
and opera-boxes, thought he ; fancy being seen in them by the side
of such a mahogany charmer as that ! Add to all, that the junior
Osborne was quite as obstinate as the Senior : when he wanted a
thing, quite as firm in his resolution to get it ; and quite as violent
when angered, as his father in his most stem moments.

On the first day when his father formally gave him the hint that
he was to place his affections at Miss Swartz's feet, George temporised
with the old gentleman. " You should have thought of the matter
sooner, sir," he said. " It can't be done now, when we're expecting
every day to go on foreign service. Wait till my return, if I do
return ; " and then he represented, that the time when the regiment
was daily expecting to quit England, was exceedingly ill-chosen : that

224 VA.V/rV FAIR.

the few days or weeks during which they were still to remain at home,
must be devoted to business and not to love-making : time enough
for that when he came home with his majority ; ** for, I promise you,"
said he, with a satisfied air, " that one way or other you shall read the
name of George Osborne in the Gazette,"

The father's reply to this w^ founded upon the information which
he had got in the City : that the West End chaps would infallibly
catch hold of the heiress if any delay took place : that if he didn't
marry Miss S., he might at least have an engagement in writing, to
come into effect when he returned to England ; and that a man who
could get ten thousand a year by staying at home, was a fool to risk
his life abroad.

" So that you would have me shown up as a coward^ sir, and Our
name dishonoured for the sake of Miss Swartz's money," George
interposed.

This remark staggered the old gentleman ; but as he had to reply
to it, and as his mind was nevertheless made up, he said, ^ You ^ill
dine here to-morrow, sir, and every day Miss SiK'artz comes, you will
be here to pay your respects to her. If you want for money, call
upon Mr. Chopper." Thus a new obstacle was in George's way, to
interfere with his 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 pursue, wc
know already. And as for Osborne, when he was once bent on a
thing, 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 re-
garding her (which, strange to say, her friend and chaperon did not
divulge), and, taking all the young ladies' flattery for genuine senti-
ment, and being, as we have before had occasion to show, of a very
warm and impetuous nature, 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 Russell 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 air at once swaggering and melancholy, languid and fierce.

HBW

mir

OMUC UBW«

Slbm.

AiT^n.

Up»»X

iL£2fd;i£Ar»»Wi

/^'/, /f,,/'^' ;.-»'.•// /.j/^/^ ^^/ M^ -:l^>a/'tMy '■l:

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. 225

He looked like a man who liad passions, secrets, and private harrow-
ing griefs and adventures. His voice was rich and deep. He would
say it was a wann 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 trampled 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 begun
to do their work, and to curl themselves round the affections of
Miss Swartz.

Whenever there was a chance of meeting him in Russell Square,
that simple and good-natured young woman was quite' in a flurry to
see her dear Miss Osbomes. 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 bint from his father, and a short time
before the hour of dinner, he was lolling upon a sofa in the drawing-
room in a very becoming and perfectly natural attitude of mefan-s
choly. He had been, at his father's request, to Mr. Chopper ia the
City, (the old gentleman, though he gave great sums to his son/
would never specify any fixed allowance for him, and rewarded hint
only as he was in the humour). He had then been to ])ass threa
hours with Amelia, his dear little 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 &vburite ambet-coloured satin, with turquoise bracelets, rcfimt-
less rings, flowers, feathers, and all sorts of tags and gimcracks, about
as el^antly 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 starchy with her humble soft

226 VANITY FAIR.

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 ear-rings
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 firom
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. Yoii 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?"
Miss Swartz asked-

" That sweet thing from the Cabinet," the sisters said.

** WeVe 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.

" O, 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 concluded the
ditty with George's applause, (for he remembered that 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 comer.

" Lor ! " cried Miss Swartz, spinning swiftly round on the music-
stool, " is it my Amelia ? Amelia that was at Miss P's at Hammer-
smith ? 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 p>apa, 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.

A NOVEL WITHOUT A HERO. ,27

"Are you a friend of Amelia's?" George said, bouncing up
"God blcas you for it, Miss Swanz. Don't believe what the girls
say. Sh^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 it<ilt 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 Hke her, go and see her, Miss Swartz ;
she wants friends now ; and I say, God bless everybody who
befriends 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 I George I " one of the sisters cried imploringly.

228 VAyiTV FAIR.

*' I say," George said fiercely, " I thank ever}'body who loves
Amelia Set! — " He stoj)ped. Old Osborne was in the room with a
flice livid with rage, and eyes like hot coals.

Though George had stopj)ed in his sentence, yet, his blood being
up, he was not to be cowed by all the generations of Osborne;
rallying instantly, he replied to the bullying look of his father, uith
another so indicative of resolution and defiance, that the elder man
quailed in his turn, and looked away. He felt that the tussle was
coming. " Mrs. Haggistoun, let me take you down to dinner," he
said. ** Give your ami to Miss Swartz, George," and they marched

" Miss Swartz, I love Amelia, and we*ve be^n engaged almost all
our lives," Osborne said to his partner ; 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 made an attack, but resist it; and
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 aj)petite 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 full
in the face, as if to say, ** Gentlemen of the Guard, fire first." The
old 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 person's name before
Miss Swartz to-day, in my drawing-room ? I ask you, sir, how dare
you do it ? "

" Stop, sir," says George, " don't say dare, sir. Dare isn't a word
to be used to a Captain in