And then from time to time little rumours reached her ears which made her aware that, in the teeth of all Mr. Melmotte's social successes, a general opinion that he was a gigantic swindler was rather gaining ground than otherwise. "Your host is a wonderful fellow, by George!" said Lord Nidderdale. "No one seems to know which way he'll turn up at last." "There's nothing like being a robber, if you can only rob enough," said Lord Grasslough,--not exactly naming Melmotte, but very clearly alluding to him. There was a vacancy for a member of parliament at Westminster, and Melmotte was about to come forward as a candidate. "If he can manage that I think he'll pull through," she heard one man say. "If money'll do it, it will be done," said another. She could understand it all. Mr. Melmotte was admitted into society, because of some enormous power which was supposed to lie in his hands; but even by those who thus admitted him he was regarded as a thief and a scoundrel. This was the man whose house had been selected by her father in order that she might make her search for a husband from beneath his wing!

And from time to time little rumours reached her ears which made her aware that, despite Mr. Melmotte's social successes, a general opinion that he was a gigantic swindler was rather gaining ground than otherwise.
"Your host is a wonderful fellow, by George!" said Lord Nidderdale. "No one seems to know which way he'll turn up at last."
There was a vacancy for a member of parliament at Westminster, and Melmotte was to come forward as a candidate.
"If he can manage that I think he'll pull through," she heard one man say. "If money'll do it, it will be done." She understood it all. Mr. Melmotte was admitted into society, because of some enormous power which was supposed to lie in his hands; but even those who admitted him regarded him as a scoundrel. This was the man whose house her father had sent her to, in order to search for a husband!


In her agony she wrote to her old friend Julia Triplex, now the wife of Sir Damask Monogram. She had been really intimate with Julia Triplex, and had been sympathetic when a brilliant marriage had been achieved. Julia had been without fortune, but very pretty. Sir Damask was a man of great wealth, whose father had been a contractor. But Sir Damask himself was a sportsman, keeping many horses on which other men often rode, a yacht in which other men sunned themselves, a deer forest, a moor, a large machinery for making pheasants. He shot pigeons at Hurlingham, drove four-in-hand in the park, had a box at every race-course, and was the most good-natured fellow known. He had really conquered the world, had got over the difficulty of being the grandson of a butcher, and was now as good as though the Monograms had gone to the crusades. Julia Triplex was equal to her position, and made the very most of it. She dispensed champagne and smiles, and made everybody, including herself, believe that she was in love with her husband. Lady Monogram had climbed to the top of the tree, and in that position had been, of course, invaluable to her old friend. We must give her her due and say that she had been fairly true to friendship while Georgiana--behaved herself. She thought that Georgiana in going to the Melmottes had--not behaved herself, and therefore she had determined to drop Georgiana. "Heartless, false, purse-proud creature," Georgiana said to herself as she wrote the following letter in humiliating agony.

In her agony she wrote to her old friend Julia Triplex, now the wife of Sir Damask Monogram. She had been really intimate with Julia Triplex, and had been sympathetic when she made a brilliant marriage. Julia had been without fortune, but very pretty. Sir Damask, though the grandson of a butcher, was a man of great wealth. He kept a yacht, a deer forest, and a moor for pheasants. He shot pigeons at Hurlingham, drove four-in-hand in the park, had a box at every race-course, and was a good-natured fellow.
Julia Triplex made the most of her position as Lady Monogram. She dispensed champagne and smiles, and made everybody, including herself, believe that she was in love with her husband. She had been fairly true in friendship while Georgiana behaved herself. But she thought that Georgiana in going to the Melmottes had not behaved herself, and therefore she had determined to drop her.
"Heartless, false creature," Georgiana said to herself as she wrote the following letter in humiliating agony.


I think you hardly understand my position. Of course you have cut me. Haven't you? And of course I must feel it very much. You did not use to be ill-natured, and I hardly think you can have become so now when you have everything pleasant around you. I do not think that I have done anything that should make an old friend treat me in this way, and therefore I write to ask you to let me see you. Of course it is because I am staying here. You know me well enough to be sure that it can't be my own choice. Papa arranged it all. If there is anything against these people, I suppose papa does not know it. Of course they are not nice. Of course they are not like anything that I have been used to. But when papa told me that the house in Bruton Street was to be shut up and that I was to come here, of course I did as I was bid. I don't think an old friend like you, whom I have always liked more than anybody else, ought to cut me for it. It's not about the parties, but about yourself that I mind. I don't ask you to come here, but if you will see me I can have the carriage and will go to you.

I think you hardly understand my position. Of course you have cut me. Haven't you? And of course I feel it very much. You did not use to be ill-natured, and I do not think that I have done anything that should make an old friend treat me in this way. Of course it is because I am staying here. You may be sure that it is not my own choice. Papa arranged it all. If there is anything against these people, I suppose papa does not know it. Of course they are not nice, nor like anything that I have been used to. But when papa told me that the house in Bruton Street was to be shut up and that I was to come here, of course I did as I was bid. I don't think an old friend like you, whom I have always liked more than anybody else, ought to cut me for it. It's not about the parties, but about yourself that I mind. I don't ask you to come here, but if you will see me I can have the carriage and will go to you.


It was a troublesome letter to get written. Lady Monogram was her junior in age and had once been lower than herself in social position. In the early days of their friendship she had sometimes domineered over Julia Triplex, and had been entreated by Julia, in reference to balls here and routes there. The great Monogram marriage had been accomplished very suddenly, and had taken place,--exalting Julia very high,--just as Georgiana was beginning to allow her aspirations to descend. It was in that very season that she moved her castle in the air from the Upper to the Lower House. And now she was absolutely begging for notice, and praying that she might not be cut! She sent her letter by post and on the following day received a reply, which was left by a footman.

It was a troublesome letter to write. Lady Monogram was her junior, and in the early days of their friendship Georgiana had sometimes domineered over her. The great Monogram marriage had exalted Julia very high, just as Georgiana's own aspirations were beginning to descend. And now she was absolutely begging and praying that she might not be cut!
On the following day a reply was brought by a footman.


Of course I shall be delighted to see you. I don't know what you mean by cutting. I never cut anybody. We happen to have got into different sets, but that is not my fault. Sir Damask won't let me call on the Melmottes. I can't help that. You wouldn't have me go where he tells me not. I don't know anything about them myself, except that I did go to their ball. But everybody knows that's different. I shall be at home all to-morrow till three,--that is to-day I mean, for I'm writing after coming home from Lady Killarney's ball; but if you wish to see me alone you had better come before lunch.

Of course I shall be delighted to see you. I don't know what you mean by cutting. I never cut anybody. We happen to have got into different sets, but that is not my fault. Sir Damask won't let me call on the Melmottes. I can't help that. I did go to their ball, but everybody knows that's different. I shall be at home all tomorrow till three; but if you wish to see me alone you had better come before lunch.


Georgiana condescended to borrow the carriage and reached her friend's house a little after noon. The two ladies kissed each other when they met--of course, and then Miss Longestaffe at once began. "Julia, I did think that you would at any rate have asked me to your second ball."

Georgiana reached her friend's house a little after noon. The two ladies kissed each other, and then Miss Longestaffe at once began.
"Julia, I did think that you would at least have asked me to your second ball."


"Of course you would have been asked if you had been up in Bruton Street. You know that as well as I do. It would have been a matter of course."

"Of course you would have been asked if you had been up in Bruton Street."


"But the people in a house make a great deal of difference, my dear. I don't want to quarrel with you, my dear; but I can't know the Melmottes."

"The people in a house make a great deal of difference, my dear. I don't want to quarrel with you; but I can't know the Melmottes.


"Do you mean to say that you can't ask anybody to your house without asking everybody that lives with that person? It's done every day."


"I would have come with the Primeros, Julia."


"I couldn't do it. I asked Damask and he wouldn't have it. When that great affair was going on in February, we didn't know much about the people. I was told that everybody was going and therefore I got Sir Damask to let me go. He says now that he won't let me know them; and after having been at their house I can't ask you out of it, without asking them too."

I asked Damask and he wouldn't have it. He won't let me know them; and


"I'm very sorry, my dear, but I can't go against my husband."


"Everybody goes to their house," said Georgiana, pleading her cause to the best of her ability. "The Duchess of Stevenage has dined in Grosvenor Square since I have been there."

"Everybody goes to their house," pleaded Georgiana. "The Duchess of Stevenage has dined there.


"We all know what that means," replied Lady Monogram.


"And people are giving their eyes to be asked to the dinner party which he is to give to the Emperor in July;--and even to the reception afterwards."

And people are giving their eyes to be asked to the dinner party which he is to give to the Emperor in July."


"To hear you talk, Georgiana, one would think that you didn't understand anything," said Lady Monogram. "People are going to see the Emperor, not to see the Melmottes. I dare say we might have gone,--only I suppose we shan't now because of this row."

"To hear you talk, Georgiana, one would think that you didn't understand anything," said Lady Monogram. "People are going to see the Emperor, not to see the Melmottes. I dare say we might have gone, only I suppose we shan't now because of this row."


"I don't know what you mean by a row, Julia."


"Well;--it is a row, and I hate rows. Going there when the Emperor of China is there, or anything of that kind, is no more than going to the play. Somebody chooses to get all London into his house, and all London chooses to go. But it isn't understood that that means acquaintance. I should meet Madame Melmotte in the park afterwards and not think of bowing to her."

"Well, it is a row, and I hate rows. Going there to see the Emperor of China doesn't mean acquaintance. I should meet Madame Melmotte in the park afterwards and not think of bowing to her."


"Very well. Then we differ. But really it does seem to me that you ought to understand these things as well as anybody. I don't find any fault with you for going to the Melmottes,--though I was very sorry to hear it; but when you have done it, I don't think you should complain of people because they won't have the Melmottes crammed down their throats."

"Then we differ. But really you ought to understand these things. I don't find any fault with you for staying with the Melmottes, though I was very sorry to hear it; but I don't think you should complain of people because they won't have the Melmottes crammed down their throats."


"Nobody has wanted it," said Georgiana sobbing. At this moment the door was opened, and Sir Damask came in. "I'm talking to your wife about the Melmottes," she continued, determined to take the bull by the horns. "I'm staying there, and--I think it--unkind that Julia--hasn't been--to see me. That's all."

"Nobody has wanted it," said Georgiana, with a sob. At this moment the door was opened, and Sir Damask came in. "I'm talking to your wife about the Melmottes," she continued, determined to take the bull by the horns. "I'm staying there, and I think it - unkind that Julia - hasn't been to see me."


"How'd you do, Miss Longestaffe? She doesn't know them." And Sir Damask, folding his hands together, raising his eyebrows, and standing on the rug, looked as though he had solved the whole difficulty.

"How'd you do, Miss Longestaffe? She doesn't know them." And Sir Damask, folding his hands together, looked as though he had solved the whole difficulty.


[Illustration: Sir Damask solving the difficulty.]


"Oh yes;--she knows you. That's a matter of course. We're delighted to see you, Miss Longestaffe--I am, always. Wish we could have had you at Ascot. But--." Then he looked as though he had again explained everything.

"Oh yes. We're delighted to see you, Miss Longestaffe. Wish we could have had you at Ascot. But-" He looked as though he had again explained everything.


"I've told her that you don't want me to go to the Melmottes," said Lady Monogram.


"Well, no;--not just to go there. Stay and have lunch, Miss Longestaffe."

"Stay and have lunch, Miss Longestaffe."


"Now you're here, you'd better," said Lady Monogram.


"No, thank you. I'm sorry that I have not been able to make you understand me. I could not allow our very long friendship to be dropped without a word."

I'm sorry that I have not been able to make you understand me, Julia. I could not allow our very long friendship to be dropped without a word."


"Don't say--dropped," exclaimed the baronet.

"Don't say dropped," exclaimed the baronet.


"I do say dropped, Sir Damask. I thought we should have understood each other;--your wife and I. But we haven't. Wherever she might have gone, I should have made it my business to see her; but she feels differently. Good-bye."

"I do say dropped, Sir Damask. I thought your wife and I would understand each other; but we haven't. Wherever she might have gone, I should have seen her; but she feels differently. Good-bye."


"Good-bye, my dear. If you will quarrel, it isn't my doing." Then Sir Damask led Miss Longestaffe out, and put her into Madame Melmotte's carriage. "It's the most absurd thing I ever knew in my life," said the wife as soon as her husband had returned to her. "She hasn't been able to bear to remain down in the country for one season, when all the world knows that her father can't afford to have a house for them in town. Then she condescends to come and stay with these abominations and pretends to feel surprised that her old friends don't run after her. She is old enough to have known better."

"It's the most absurd thing I ever knew," said his wife as soon as Georgiana had left. "She couldn't bear to remain down in the country for one season. So she condescends to stay with these abominations and pretends to feel surprised that her old friends don't run after her.


"I suppose she likes parties," said Sir Damask.


"Likes parties! She'd like to get somebody to take her. It's twelve years now since Georgiana Longestaffe came out. I remember being told of the time when I was first entered myself. Yes, my dear, you know all about it, I dare say. And there she is still. I can feel for her, and do feel for her. But if she will let herself down in that way she can't expect not to be dropped. You remember the woman;--don't you?"

I feel for her. But she must expect to be dropped. You remember the woman, don't you?"


"Oh yes, you did. You took me there that night when Prince ---- danced with the girl. Don't you remember the blowsy fat woman at the top of the stairs;--a regular horror?"

The blowsy fat woman at the top of the stairs at the ball; a regular horror?


"Didn't look at her. I was only thinking what a lot of money it all cost."


"I remember her, and if Georgiana Longestaffe thinks I'm going there to make an acquaintance with Madame Melmotte she is very much mistaken. And if she thinks that that is the way to get married, I think she is mistaken again." Nothing perhaps is so efficacious in preventing men from marrying as the tone in which married women speak of the struggles made in that direction by their unmarried friends.

If Georgiana Longestaffe thinks I'm going to make acquaintance with Madame Melmotte she is very much mistaken. And if she thinks that that is the way to get married, she is mistaken again."
Perhaps nothing is so effective in preventing men from marrying, as the tone in which married women speak of these struggles of their unmarried friends.


In the beginning of the last chapter, I informed you exactly _when_ I was born; but I did not inform you _how. No_, that particular was reserved entirely for a chapter by itself; --besides, Sir, as you and I are in a manner perfect strangers to each other, it would not have been proper to have let you into too many circumstances relating to myself all at once. --You must have a little patience. I have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that your knowledge of my character, and of what kind of a mortal I am, by the one, would give you a better relish for the other: As you proceed farther with me, the slight acquaintance, which is now beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity; and that, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship. --_O diem prclarum!_--then nothing which has touched me will be thought trifling in its nature, or tedious in its telling. Therefore, my dear friend and companion, if you should think me somewhat sparing of my narrative on my first setting out--bear with me, --and let me go on, and tell my story my own way: --Or, if I should seem now and then to trifle upon the road, --or should sometimes put on a fool's cap with a bell to it, for a moment or two as we pass along, --don't fly off, --but rather courteously give me credit for a little more wisdom than appears upon my outside; --and as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, or in short, do anything, --only keep your temper.

In the beginning of the last chapter, I informed you exactly when I was born; but I did not inform you how. That is reserved for a chapter by itself; - besides, Sir, as you and I are perfect strangers, it would not be proper to let you into too many circumstances relating to me all at once. You must have a little patience.
I have undertaken, you see, to write not only my life, but my opinions also; hoping and expecting that your knowledge of the one will give you a better relish for the other. As you proceed farther with me, the slight acquaintance, which is now beginning betwixt us, will grow into familiarity; and, unless one of us is in fault, will terminate in friendship. O famous day! - then nothing which has touched me will be thought trifling or tedious.
Therefore, my dear friend and companion, bear with me, and let me tell my story my own way. Or, if I should seem now and then to trifle upon the road - or should sometimes put on a fool's cap with a bell to it - don't fly off, but rather give me credit for a little more wisdom than appears upon my outside; and as we jog on, either laugh with me, or at me, or in short, do anything, only keep your temper.


There are a thousand resolutions, Sir, both in church and state, as well as in matters, Madam, of a more private concern; --which though they have carried all the appearance in the world of being taken, and entered upon in a hasty, hare-brained, and unadvised manner, were, notwithstanding this (and could you or I have got into the cabinet, or stood behind the curtain, we should have found it was so), weighed, poized, and perpended----argued upon--canvassed through----entered into, and examined on all sides with so much coolness, that the GODDESS of COOLNESS herself (I do not take upon me to prove her existence) could neither have wished it, or done it better.

There are a thousand resolutions, Sir, both in church and state, as well as in private concerns, which, though they have the appearance of being taken in a hasty, hare-brained manner, were, however, weighed - argued about - entered into, and examined on all sides with so much coolness, that the Goddess of Coolness herself could not have done it better.


Of the number of these was my father's resolution of putting me into breeches; which, though determined at once, --in a kind of huff, and a defiance of all mankind, had, nevertheless, been _pro'd_ and _conn'd_, and judicially talked over betwixt him and my mother about a month before, in two several _beds of justice_, which my father had held for that purpose. I shall explain the nature of these beds of justice in my next chapter; and in the chapter following that, you shall step with me, Madam, behind the curtain, only to hear in what kind of manner my father and my mother debated between themselves, this affair of the breeches, --from which you may form an idea, how they debated all lesser matters.

One of these was my father's resolution of putting me into breeches; which, though decided in a huff, and a defiance of all mankind, had, nevertheless, been judicially talked over betwixt him and my mother about a month before, in two different beds of justice, which my father had for that purpose.
I shall explain the nature of these beds of justice in my next chapter; and in the chapter following that, you shall step with me, Madam, behind the curtain, to hear how my father and my mother debated this affair of the breeches - from which you may form an idea of how they debated all lesser matters.


Doctor _Slop_ and _Susannah_ filed cross-bills against each other in the parlour; which done, as the cataplasm had failed, they retired into the kitchen to prepare a fomentation for me; --and whilst that was doing, my father determined the point as you will read.

After this, as the cataplasm had failed, Dr. Slop and Susannah retired into the kitchen to prepare a fomentation for me; and meanwhile, my father decided the point as you will read.


It was some time in the summer of that year in which _Dendermond_ was taken by the allies, --which was about seven years before my father came into the country, --and about as many, after the time, that my uncle _Toby_ and _Trim_ had privately decamped from my father's house in town, in order to lay some of the finest sieges to some of the finest fortified cities in _Europe_----when my uncle _Toby_ was one evening getting his supper, with _Trim_ sitting behind him at a small sideboard, --I say, sitting--for in consideration of the corporal's lame knee (which sometimes gave him exquisite pain)--when my uncle _Toby_ dined or supped alone, he would never suffer the corporal to stand; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a proper artillery, my uncle _Toby_ could have taken _Dendermond_ itself, with less trouble than he was able to gain this point over him; for many a time when my uncle _Toby_ supposed the corporal's leg was at rest, he would look back, and detect him standing behind him with the most dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all other causes for five-and-twenty years together --But this is neither here nor there--why do I mention it? ----Ask my pen, --it governs me, --I govern not it.

It was in the summer of that year in which Dendermond was taken by the allies, which was about seven years after my uncle Toby and Trim had gone into the country to lay siege upon the bowling-green to some of the finest fortified cities in Europe.
My uncle Toby was one evening at home having his supper, with Trim sitting behind him - for in consideration of the corporal's lame and painful knee, when my uncle Toby dined, he would never allow the corporal to stand; and the poor fellow's veneration for his master was such that my uncle Toby had some trouble in maintaining this point; for often he would look back and see the corporal standing behind him with the most dutiful respect: this bred more little squabbles betwixt them, than all other causes in five-and-twenty years-
But this is neither here nor there. Why do I mention it? Ask my pen, it governs me - I govern not it.


He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour, with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of sack; 'Tis for a poor gentleman, --I think, of the army, said the landlord, who has been taken ill at my house four days ago, and has never held up his head since, or had a desire to taste anything, till just now, that he has a fancy for a glass of sack and a thin toast, ----_I think_, says he, taking his hand from his forehead, _it would comfort me_.

He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour, with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass of sherry.
''Tis for a poor gentleman - I think, of the army,' said the landlord, 'who was taken ill at my house four days ago, and has had no desire to taste anything, till just now, when he took a fancy for a glass of sherry and thin toast.


----If I could neither beg, borrow, or buy such a thing--added the landlord, --I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill. ----I hope in God he will still mend, continued he, --we are all of us concerned for him.

If I could not beg it, I would almost steal it for the poor gentleman, he is so ill. We are all of us concerned for him.'


Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee, cried my uncle _Toby_; and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass of sack thyself, --and take a couple of bottles with my service, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they will do him good.

'Thou art a good-natured soul,' cried my uncle Toby; 'and thou shalt drink the poor gentleman's health in a glass thyself: take a couple of bottles, and tell him he is heartily welcome to them, and to a dozen more if they will do him good.'


Though I am persuaded, said my uncle _Toby_, as the landlord shut the door, he is a very compassionate fellow--_Trim_, --yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his guest too; there must be something more than common in him, that in so short a time should win so much upon the affections of his host; ----And of his whole family, added the corporal, for they are all concerned for him. ----Step after him, said my uncle _Toby_, --do, _Trim_, --and ask if he knows his name.

As the landlord shut the door, my uncle said to Trim: 'I am sure he is a very compassionate fellow, Trim - yet I cannot help thinking that there must be something uncommon in his guest, too, to make the landlord and his family care so much for him. Step after him, Trim, do; and ask if he knows his name.'


----I have quite forgot it truly, said the landlord, coming back into the parlour with the corporal, --but I can ask his son again: ----Has he a son with him then? said my uncle _Toby_. --A boy, replied the landlord, of about eleven or twelve years of age; --but the poor creature has tasted almost as little as his father; he does nothing but mourn and lament for him night and day: ----He has not stirred from the bed-side these two days.

'I have quite forgot it, truly,' said the landlord, on returning with the corporal, 'but I can ask his son. He has a boy of eleven or twelve years of age; - but the poor creature has eaten as little as his father; he does nothing but mourn for him, and has not stirred from the bedside these two days.'


My uncle _Toby_ laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate from before him, as the landlord gave him the account; and _Trim_, without being ordered, took away, without saying one word, and in a few minutes after brought him his pipe and tobacco.

My uncle Toby laid down his knife and fork, and thrust his plate away. Trim brought him his pipe and tobacco.


----Stay in the room a little, said my uncle _Toby_.

'Stay a little,' said my uncle Toby, lighting his pipe.


_Trim!_----said my uncle _Toby_, after he lighted his pipe, and smoak'd about a dozen whiffs. ----_Trim_ came in front of his master, and made his bow; --my uncle _Toby_ smoak'd on, and said no more. ----Corporal! said my uncle _Toby_----the corporal made his bow. ----My uncle _Toby_ proceeded no farther, but finished his pipe.

After he had smoked about a dozen whiffs, he said,
'Trim!


_Trim!_ said my uncle _Toby_, I have a project in my head, as it is a bad night, of wrapping myself up warm in my roquelaure, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman. ----Your honour's roquelaure, replied the corporal, has not once been had on, since the night before your honour received your wound, when we mounted guard in the trenches before the gate of St. _Nicolas_; ----and besides, it is so cold and rainy a night, that what with the roquelaure, and what with the weather, 'twill be enough to give your honour your death, and bring on your honour's torment in your groin. I fear so, replied my uncle _Toby_; but I am not at rest in my mind, _Trim_, since the account the landlord has given me. ----I wish I had not known so much of this affair, --added my uncle _Toby_, --or that I had known more of it: ----How shall we manage it? Leave it, an't please your honour, to me, quoth the corporal; ----I'll take my hat and stick and go to the house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will bring your honour a full account in an hour. ----Thou shalt go, _Trim_, said my uncle _Toby_, and here's a shilling for thee to drink with his servant. ----I shall get it all out of him, said the corporal, shutting the door.

As it is a bad night, I am thinking of wrapping myself up in my cloak, and paying a visit to this poor gentleman.'
'Your honour has not worn your cloak,' replied the corporal, 'since the night before your honour received your wound; and it is so cold and rainy a night, that even with the cloak, 'twill bring on your honour's torment in your groin.'
'I fear so,' replied my uncle Toby; 'but I am not at rest in my mind, Trim, since the landlord's account.'
'Leave it to me, your honour,' quoth the corporal. 'I'll go to the house and reconnoitre, and act accordingly; and I will bring your honour a full account in an hour.'
'Go, Trim,' said my uncle; 'here's a shilling for thee to drink with his servant.'
'I shall get it all out of him,' said the corporal, shutting the door.


My uncle _Toby_ filled his second pipe; and had it not been, that he now and then wandered from the point, with considering whether it was not full as well to have the curtain of the tenaille a straight line, as a crooked one, --he might be said to have thought of nothing else but poor _Le Fever_ and his boy the whole time he smoaked it.

My uncle Toby filled his second pipe; and apart from wondering whether a fortified outwork was as well in a straight line, as a crooked one, - he might be said to have thought of nothing but poor Le Fever and his boy the whole time he smoked it.


------How could you, Madam, be so inattentive in reading the last chapter? I told you in it, _That my mother was not a papist_. ----Papist! You told me no such thing, Sir. --Madam, I beg leave to repeat it over again, that I told you as plain, at least, as words, by direct inference, could tell you such a thing. --Then, Sir, I must have miss'd a page. --No, Madam, --you have not miss'd a word. ----Then I was asleep, Sir. --My pride, Madam, cannot allow you that refuge. ----Then, I declare, I know nothing at all about the matter. --That, Madam, is the very fault I lay to your charge; and as a punishment for it, I do insist upon it, that you immediately turn back, that is, as soon as you get to the next full stop, and read the whole chapter over again. I have imposed this penance upon the lady, neither out of wantonness nor cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore shall make her no apology for it when she returns back: --'Tis to rebuke a vicious taste, which has crept into thousands besides herself, --of reading straight forwards, more in quest of the adventures, than of the deep erudition and knowledge which a book of this cast, if read over as it should be, would infallibly impart with them ----The mind should be accustomed to make wise reflections, and draw curious conclusions as it goes along; the habitude of which made _Pliny_ the younger affirm, "That he never read a book so bad, but he drew some profit from it." The stories of _Greece_ and _Rome_, run over without this turn and application, --do less service, I affirm it, than the history of _Parismus_ and _Parismenus_, or of the Seven Champions of _England_, read with it.

How could you, Madam, be so inattentive? I told you in that last chapter, that my mother was not a papist.
- Papist! You told me no such thing, Sir.
- Madam, I repeat that I told you as plain as words could tell.
- Then I must have missed a page.
- No, Madam, you have not missed a word.
- Then I was asleep, Sir.
- No, Madam. I insist that you immediately turn back, and read the whole chapter over again.
I have imposed this penance upon the lady, not out of cruelty; but from the best of motives; and therefore make her no apology. 'Tis to rebuke a vicious taste which has crept into thousands besides herself, of reading more in quest of the adventures, than of the deep knowledge which a book of this type should impart. The reader should be accustomed to make wise reflections as he goes; a habit which made Pliny the younger affirm, 'That he never read a book so bad that he could not draw some profit from it.'


------But here comes my fair lady. Have you read over again the chapter, Madam, as I desired you? --You have: And did you not observe the passage, upon the second reading, which admits the inference? ----Not a word like it! Then, Madam, be pleased to ponder well the last line but one of the chapter, where I take upon me to say, "It was _necessary_ I should be born before I was christen'd." Had my mother, Madam, been a Papist, that consequence did not follow.[1.1]

But here comes my fair lady. - Have you read over again the chapter, Madam, as I asked? You have: And did you not observe the passage? No? Then, Madam, please ponder well the last line but one, where I say, 'It was necessary I should be born before I was christened.' Had my mother, Madam, been a Papist, that consequence would not follow.


It is a terrible misfortune for this same book of mine, but more so to the Republick of letters; --so that my own is quite swallowed up in the consideration of it, --that this selfsame vile pruriency for fresh adventures in all things, has got so strongly into our habit and humour, --and so wholly intent are we upon satisfying the impatience of our concupiscence that way, --that nothing but the gross and more carnal parts of a composition will go down: --The subtle hints and sly communications of science fly off, like spirits upwards, ----the heavy moral escapes downwards; and both the one and the other are as much lost to the world, as if they were still left in the bottom of the ink-horn.


I wish the male-reader has not pass'd by many a one, as quaint and curious as this one, in which the female-reader has been detected. I wish it may have its effects; --and that all good people, both male and female, from her example, may be taught to think as well as read.


MEMOIRE present Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE[1.2]


_Un Chirurgien Accoucheur, represente Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE, qu'il y a des cas, quoique trs rares, o une mere ne sauroit accoucher, & mme o l'enfant est tellement renferm dans le sein de sa mere, qu'il ne fait paritre aucune partie de son corps, ce qui seroit un cas, suivant les Rituels, de lui confrer, du moins sous condition, le baptme. Le Chirurgien, qui consulte, prtend, par le moyen d'une _petite canulle_, de pouvoir baptiser immediatement l'enfant, sans faire aucun tort la mere. ----Il demand si ce moyen, qu'il vient de proposer, est permis & lgitime, & s'il peut s'en servir dans les cas qu'il vient d'exposer._


[Footnote 1.1: The _Romish_ Rituals direct the baptizing of the child, in cases of danger, _before_ it is born; --but upon this proviso, That some part or other of the child's body be seen by the baptizer: ----But the Doctors of the _Sorbonne_, by a deliberation held amongst them, _April_ 10, 1733, --have enlarged the powers of the midwives, by determining, That though no part of the child's body should appear, ----that baptism shall, nevertheless, be administered to it by injection, --_par le moyen d'une petite canulle_, --Anglic _a squirt_. ----'Tis very strange that St. _Thomas Aquinas_, who had so good a mechanical head, both for tying and untying the knots of school-divinity, --should, after so much pains bestowed upon this, --give up the point at last, as a second _La chose impossible_, --"Infantes in maternis uteris existentes (quoth St. _Thomas!_) baptizari possunt _nullo modo_." --O _Thomas!_ _Thomas!_

- For the Romish rituals direct the baptising of the child, if it is in danger, before it is born; and the Doctors of the Sorbonne have determined that baptism may be administered to the unborn child by injection, using une petite canulle - or in English, a squirt. ('Tis very strange that St. Thomas Aquinas should have rejected this possibility. - 'Infantes in maternis uteris existentes,' quoth he, 'baptizari possunt nullo modo.' - O Thomas! Thomas!)
It is a terrible misfortune for this book of mine - as for all literature - that the vile lust for fresh adventures has got so strongly into our habit. So intent are we upon satisfying the impatience of our desire that nothing but the gross and carnal parts of a book go in. Subtle hints fly off like spirits upwards; the heavy moral escapes downwards; and both are as much lost to the world, as if they were left in the bottom of the ink-well.
I wish that from this reader's example, all good people may be taught to think as well as read.


If the reader has the curiosity to see the question upon baptism _by injection_, as presented to the Doctors of the _Sorbonne_, with their consultation thereupon, it is as follows.]

If the reader is curious to see the question upon baptism by injection, as presented to the Doctors of the Sorbonne, with their response thereupon, it is as follows.


[Footnote 1.2: Vide Deventer, Paris edit., 4to, 1734, p. 366.]

(Note: A translation from the French by the abridger follows each section below:)
MEMOIRE present Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE . [Vide Deventer, Paris edit., 4to, 1734, p. 366.]
Un Chirurgien Accoucheur, represente Messieurs les Docteurs de SORBONNE, qu'il y a des cas, quoique trs rares, o une mere ne sauroit accoucher, & mme o l'enfant est tellement renferm dans le sein de sa mere, qu'il ne fait paritre aucune partie de son corps, ce qui seroit un cas, suivant les Rituels, de lui confrer, du moins sous condition, le baptme. Le Chirurgien, qui consulte, prtend, par le moyen d'une petite canulle, de pouvoir baptiser immediatement l'enfant, sans faire aucun tort la mere.


_Le Conseil estime, que la question propose souffre de grandes difficults. Les Thologiens posent d'un ct pour principe, que le baptme, qui est une naissance spirituelle, suppose une premiere naissance; il faut tre n dans le monde, pour renatre en _Jesus Christ_, comme ils l'enseignent. _S. Thomas, 3 part, qust. 88, artic. II_, suit cette doctrine comme une verit constante; l'on ne peut, dit ce S. Docteur, baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, & _S. Thomas_ est fond sur ce, que les enfans ne sont point ns, & ne peuvent tre compts parmi les autres hommes; d'o il conclud, qu'ils ne peuvent tre l'objet d'une action extrieure, pour reevoir par leur ministre, les sacremens ncessaires au salut:_ Pueri in maternis uteris existentes nondum prodierunt in lucem ut cum aliis hominibus vitam ducant; unde non possunt subjici actioni human, ut per eorum ministerium sacramenta recipiant ad salutem. _Les rituels ordonnent dans la pratique ce que les thologiens ont tabli sur les mmes matires, & ils deffendent tous d'une manire uniforme, de baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, s'ils ne font parotre quelque partie de leurs corps. Le concours des thologiens, & des rituels, qui sont les rgles des diocses, paroit former une autorit qui termine la question presente; cependant le conseil de conscience considerant d'un ct, que le raisonnement des thologiens est uniquement fond sur une raison de convenance, & que la deffense des rituels suppose que l'on ne peut baptiser immediatement les enfans ainsi renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, ce qui est contre la supposition presente; & d'un autre ct, considerant que les mmes thologiens enseignent, que l'on peut risquer les sacremens que _Jesus Christ_ a tablis comme des moyens faciles, mais ncessaires pour sanctifier les hommes; & d'ailleurs estimant, que les enfans renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, pourroient tre capables de salut, parcequ'ils sont capables de damnation; --pour ces considerations, & en egard l'expos, suivant lequel on assure avoir trouv un moyen certain de baptiser ces enfans ainsi renferms, sans faire aucun tort la mere, le Conseil estime que l'on pourroit se servir du moyen propos, dans la confiance qu'il a, que Dieu n'a point laiss ces sortes d'enfans sans aucuns secours, & supposant, comme il est expos, que le moyen dont il s'agit est propre leur procurer le baptme; cependant comme il s'agiroit, en autorisant la pratique propose, de changer une regie universellement tablie, le Conseil croit que celui qui consulte doit s'addresser son evque, & qui il appartient de juger de l'utilit, & du danger du moyen propos, & comme, sous le bon plaisir de l'evque, le Conseil estime qu'il faudroit recourir au Pape, qui a le droit d'expliquer les rgles de l'eglise, & d'y droger dans le cas, ou la loi ne sauroit obliger, quelque sage & quelque utile que paroisse la manire de baptiser dont il s'agit, le Conseil ne pourroit l'approuver sans le concours de ces deux autorits. On conseile au moins celui qui consulte, de s'addresser son evque, & de lui faire part de la presente dcision, afin que, si le prelat entre dans les raisons sur lesquelles les docteurs soussigns s'appuyent, il puisse tre autoris dans le cas de ncessit, ou il risqueroit trop d'attendre que la permission ft demande & accorde d'employer le moyen qu'il propose si avantageux au salut de l'enfant. Au reste, le Conseil, en estimant que l'on pourroit s'en servir, croit cependant, que si les enfans dont il s'agit, venoient au monde, contre l'esperance de ceux qui se seroient servis du mme moyen, il seroit ncessaire de les baptiser sous condition; & en cela le Conseil se conforme tous les rituels, qui en autorisant le baptme d'un enfant qui fait parotre quelque partie de son corps, enjoignent nantmoins, & ordonnent de le baptiser sous condition, s'il vient heureusement au monde._

Il demand si ce moyen, qu'il vient de proposer, est permis & lgitime, & s'il peut s'en servir dans les cas qu'il vient d'exposer.
(Translation: A baby may be baptised before it is born, in certain cases, by means of a little tube.)
RESPONSE
Le Conseil estime, que la question propose souffre de grandes difficults. Les Thologiens posent d'un ct pour principe, que le baptme, qui est une naissance spirituelle, suppose une premiere naissance; il faut tre n dans le monde, pour renatre en Jesus Christ, comme ils l'enseignent. S. Thomas, 3 part, qust. 88, artic. II, suit cette doctrine comme une verit constante; l'on ne peut, dit ce S. Docteur, baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, & S. Thomas est fond sur ce, que les enfans ne sont point ns, & ne peuvent tre compts parmi les autres hommes; d'o il conclud, qu'ils ne peuvent tre l'objet d'une action extrieure, pour reevoir par leur ministre, les sacremens ncessaires au salut: Pueri in maternis uteris existentes nondum prodierunt in lucem ut cum aliis hominibus vitam ducant; unde non possunt subjici actioni human, ut per eorum ministerium sacramenta recipiant ad salutem. Les rituels ordonnent dans la pratique ce que les thologiens ont tabli sur les mmes matires, & ils deffendent tous d'une manire uniforme, de baptiser les enfans qui sont renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, s'ils ne font parotre quelque partie de leurs corps. Le concours des thologiens, & des rituels, qui sont les rgles des diocses, paroit former une autorit qui termine la question presente; cependant le conseil de conscience considerant d'un ct, que le raisonnement des thologiens est uniquement fond sur une raison de convenance, & que la deffense des rituels suppose que l'on ne peut baptiser immediatement les enfans ainsi renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, ce qui est contre la supposition presente; & d'un autre ct, considerant que les mmes thologiens enseignent, que l'on peut risquer les sacremens que Jesus Christ a tablis comme des moyens faciles, mais ncessaires pour sanctifier les hommes; & d'ailleurs estimant, que les enfans renferms dans le sein de leurs meres, pourroient tre capables de salut, parcequ'ils sont capables de damnation; -pour ces considerations, & en egard l'expos, suivant lequel on assure avoir trouv un moyen certain de baptiser ces enfans ainsi renferms, sans faire aucun tort la mere, le Conseil estime que l'on pourroit se servir du moyen propos, dans la confiance qu'il a, que Dieu n'a point laiss ces sortes d'enfans sans aucuns secours, & supposant, comme il est expos, que le moyen dont il s'agit est propre leur procurer le baptme; cependant comme il s'agiroit, en autorisant la pratique propose, de changer une regie universellement tablie, le Conseil croit que celui qui consulte doit s'addresser son evque, & qui il appartient de juger de l'utilit, & du danger du moyen propos, & comme, sous le bon plaisir de l'evque, le Conseil estime qu'il faudroit recourir au Pape, qui a le droit d'expliquer les rgles de l'eglise, & d'y droger dans le cas, ou la loi ne sauroit obliger, quelque sage & quelque utile que paroisse la manire de baptiser dont il s'agit, le Conseil ne pourroit l'approuver sans le concours de ces deux autorits. On conseile au moins celui qui consulte, de s'addresser son evque, & de lui faire part de la presente dcision, afin que, si le prelat entre dans les raisons sur lesquelles les docteurs soussigns s'appuyent, il puisse tre autoris dans le cas de ncessit, ou il risqueroit trop d'attendre que la permission ft demande & accorde d'employer le moyen qu'il propose si avantageux au salut de l'enfant.
(Translation: No! If a child is not born it cannot be baptised. Though if you really must, perhaps it can.)


Deliber en _Sorbonne_, le 10 _Avril_, 1733.


A. LE MOYNE. L. DE ROMIGNY. DE MARCILLY.


Mr. _Tristram Shandy's_ compliments to Messrs. _Le Moyne_, _De Romigny_, and _De Marcilly_; hopes they all rested well the night after so tiresome a consultation. --He begs to know, whether after the ceremony of marriage, and before that of consummation, the baptizing all the HOMUNCULI at once, slapdash, by _injection_, would not be a shorter and safer cut still; on condition, as above, That if the HOMUNCULI do well, and come safe into the world after this, that each and every of them shall be baptized again (_sous condition_) ----And provided, in the second place, That the thing can be done, which _Mr. Shandy_ apprehends it may, _par le moyen d'une petite canulle_, and _sans faire aucun tort au pere_.

Mr. Tristram Shandy's compliments to Messrs. Le Moyne, De Romigny, and De Marcilly; he hopes they rested well the night after so tiresome a consultation. He begs to know whether after the ceremony of marriage, and before that of consummation, the baptizing of all the Homunculi at once, slapdash, by injection, would not be a shorter and safer cut still; if they come safe into the world after this, they shall be baptized again.
- Provided that the thing can be done, which Mr. Shandy believes it may, par le moyen d'une petite canulle, and sans faire aucun tort au pere (by means of a tiny tube, and without doing any damage to the father.)


When Jos's fine carriage drove up to the inn door at Chatham, the first face which Amelia recognized was the friendly countenance of Captain Dobbin, who had been pacing the street for an hour past in expectation of his friends' arrival. The Captain, with shells on his frockcoat, and a crimson sash and sabre, presented a military appearance, which made Jos quite proud to be able to claim such an acquaintance, and the stout civilian hailed him with a cordiality very different from the reception which Jos vouchsafed to his friend in Brighton and Bond Street.

When Jos's carriage drove Amelia to the inn at Chatham, the first face she recognized was Captain Dobbin's. He had been pacing the street for an hour waiting for his friends' arrival. The Captain, with a crimson sash and sabre, had such a military appearance that Jos was quite proud to claim acquaintance with him, and he hailed him much more cordially than he had in London.


Along with the Captain was Ensign Stubble; who, as the barouche neared the inn, burst out with an exclamation of "By Jove! what a pretty girl"; highly applauding Osborne's choice. Indeed, Amelia dressed in her wedding-pelisse and pink ribbons, with a flush in her face, occasioned by rapid travel through the open air, looked so fresh and pretty, as fully to justify the Ensign's compliment. Dobbin liked him for making it. As he stepped forward to help the lady out of the carriage, Stubble saw what a pretty little hand she gave him, and what a sweet pretty little foot came tripping down the step. He blushed profusely, and made the very best bow of which he was capable; to which Amelia, seeing the number of the the regiment embroidered on the Ensign's cap, replied with a blushing smile, and a curtsey on her part; which finished the young Ensign on the spot. Dobbin took most kindly to Mr. Stubble from that day, and encouraged him to talk about Amelia in their private walks, and at each other's quarters. It became the fashion, indeed, among all the honest young fellows of the --th to adore and admire Mrs. Osborne. Her simple artless behaviour, and modest kindness of demeanour, won all their unsophisticated hearts; all which simplicity and sweetness are quite impossible to describe in print. But who has not beheld these among women, and recognised the presence of all sorts of qualities in them, even though they say no more to you than that they are engaged to dance the next quadrille, or that it is very hot weather? George, always the champion of his regiment, rose immensely in the opinion of the youth of the corps, by his gallantry in marrying this portionless young creature, and by his choice of such a pretty kind partner.

With the Captain was Ensign Stubble; who, as the barouche approached, exclaimed "By Jove! what a pretty girl!"
Indeed, Amelia, dressed in her wedding-pelisse, flushed with travel and the open air, looked so fresh and pretty as fully to justify the Ensign's compliment. Dobbin liked him for making it. As he helped her out of the carriage, Stubble saw what a pretty little hand she gave him, and what a sweet little foot came tripping down the step. He blushed profusely, and made his very best bow; to which Amelia replied with a smile and a curtsey which finished the young Ensign on the spot.
Dobbin took most kindly to Mr. Stubble from that day, and encouraged him to talk about Amelia. It became the fashion, indeed, among all the honest young fellows of the Regiment to admire Mrs. Osborne. Her artless behaviour and modest kindness won their unsophisticated hearts. George, always the champion of his regiment, rose immensely in their opinion by his gallantry in marrying this portionless, pretty young creature.


In the sitting-room which was awaiting the travellers, Amelia, to her surprise, found a letter addressed to Mrs. Captain Osborne. It was a triangular billet, on pink paper, and sealed with a dove and an olive branch, and a profusion of light blue sealing wax, and it was written in a very large, though undecided female hand.

On her arrival, Amelia, to her surprise, found a letter addressed to her. It was on pink paper, and sealed with a dove and an olive branch, and a profusion of light blue sealing wax, and it was written in a very large female hand.


"It's Peggy O'Dowd's fist," said George, laughing. "I know it by the kisses on the seal." And in fact, it was a note from Mrs. Major O'Dowd, requesting the pleasure of Mrs. Osborne's company that very evening to a small friendly party. "You must go," George said. "You will make acquaintance with the regiment there. O'Dowd goes in command of the regiment, and Peggy goes in command."

"It's Peggy O'Dowd's writing," said George, laughing. And indeed it was a note from Mrs. Major O'Dowd, requesting the pleasure of Mrs. Osborne's company that evening at a small party. "You must go," George said. "O'Dowd goes in command of the regiment, and Peggy just goes in command."


But they had not been for many minutes in the enjoyment of Mrs. O'Dowd's letter, when the door was flung open, and a stout jolly lady, in a riding-habit, followed by a couple of officers of Ours, entered the room.

But minutes later the door was flung open, and a stout jolly lady in a riding-habit, followed by a couple of officers, entered the room.


"Sure, I couldn't stop till tay-time. Present me, Garge, my dear fellow, to your lady. Madam, I'm deloighted to see ye; and to present to you me husband, Meejor O'Dowd"; and with this, the jolly lady in the riding-habit grasped Amelia's hand very warmly, and the latter knew at once that the lady was before her whom her husband had so often laughed at. "You've often heard of me from that husband of yours," said the lady, with great vivacity.

"Sure, I couldn't stop till tay-time. Present me, Garge, my dear fellow, to your lady. Madam, I'm deloighted to see ye; and to present to you me husband, Meejor O'Dowd." The jolly lady grasped Amelia's hand very warmly. "You've often heard of me from that husband of yours," she said with vivacity.


"You've often heard of her," echoed her husband, the Major.


Amelia answered, smiling, "that she had."


"And small good he's told you of me," Mrs. O'Dowd replied; adding that "George was a wicked divvle."


"That I'll go bail for," said the Major, trying to look knowing, at which George laughed; and Mrs. O'Dowd, with a tap of her whip, told the Major to be quiet; and then requested to be presented in form to Mrs. Captain Osborne.


"This, my dear," said George with great gravity, "is my very good, kind, and excellent friend, Auralia Margaretta, otherwise called Peggy."

"This, my dear," said George, "is my very good excellent friend Auralia, otherwise called Peggy."


"Faith, you're right," interposed the Major.


"Otherwise called Peggy, lady of Major Michael O'Dowd, of our regiment, and daughter of Fitzjurld Ber'sford de Burgo Malony of Glenmalony, County Kildare."

"Lady of Major Michael O'Dowd, of our regiment, and daughter of Fitzjurld Ber'sford de Burgo Malony of Glenmalony, County Kildare."


"And Muryan Squeer, Doblin," said the lady with calm superiority.


"And Muryan Square, sure enough," the Major whispered.


"'Twas there ye coorted me, Meejor dear," the lady said; and the Major assented to this as to every other proposition which was made generally in company.

"'Twas there ye coorted me, Meejor dear," the lady said; and the Major assented to this as to every other thing she said.


Major O'Dowd, who had served his sovereign in every quarter of the world, and had paid for every step in his profession by some more than equivalent act of daring and gallantry, was the most modest, silent, sheep-faced and meek of little men, and as obedient to his wife as if he had been her tay-boy. At the mess-table he sat silently, and drank a great deal. When full of liquor, he reeled silently home. When he spoke, it was to agree with everybody on every conceivable point; and he passed through life in perfect ease and good-humour. The hottest suns of India never heated his temper; and the Walcheren ague never shook it. He walked up to a battery with just as much indifference as to a dinner-table; had dined on horse-flesh and turtle with equal relish and appetite; and had an old mother, Mrs. O'Dowd of O'Dowdstown indeed, whom he had never disobeyed but when he ran away and enlisted, and when he persisted in marrying that odious Peggy Malony.

Major O'Dowd, who had served his sovereign gallantly in every quarter of the world, was the most modest and meek of little men, totally obedient to his wife. At the mess-table he sat silently, and drank a great deal. When full of liquor, he reeled silently home. When he spoke, it was to agree with everybody; and he passed through life in perfect good-humour. He had an old mother whom he had never disobeyed except when he ran away and enlisted, and when he married that odious Peggy Malony.


Peggy was one of five sisters, and eleven children of the noble house of Glenmalony; but her husband, though her own cousin, was of the mother's side, and so had not the inestimable advantage of being allied to the Malonys, whom she believed to be the most famous family in the world. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two at Bath and Cheltenham, and not finding a partner for life, Miss Malony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her when she was about thirty-three years of age; and the honest fellow obeying, carried her off to the West Indies, to preside over the ladies of the --th regiment, into which he had just exchanged.

Peggy was one of eleven children of the noble house of Glenmalony; her husband was her cousin on her mother's side. Having tried nine seasons at Dublin and two at Bath without finding a husband, Miss Malony ordered her cousin Mick to marry her when she was about thirty-three; and the honest fellow obeyed.


Before Mrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's (or indeed in anybody else's) company, this amiable lady told all her birth and pedigree to her new friend. "My dear," said she, good-naturedly, "it was my intention that Garge should be a brother of my own, and my sister Glorvina would have suited him entirely. But as bygones are bygones, and he was engaged to yourself, why, I'm determined to take you as a sister instead, and to look upon you as such, and to love you as one of the family. Faith, you've got such a nice good-natured face and way widg you, that I'm sure we'll agree; and that you'll be an addition to our family anyway."

Before Mrs. O'Dowd was half an hour in Amelia's (or indeed in anybody's) company, this amiable lady told all her pedigree to her new friend.
"My dear," said she, good-naturedly, "I meant for Garge to marry my sister Glorvina; she would have suited him entirely. But as he was engaged to yourself, I'm determined to love you as a sister. Faith, I'm sure you'll be an addition to our family."


"'Deed and she will," said O'Dowd, with an approving air, and Amelia felt herself not a little amused and grateful to be thus suddenly introduced to so large a party of relations.

"'Deed and she will," said O'Dowd, and Amelia felt amused and grateful to be thus suddenly introduced to so many relations.


"We're all good fellows here," the Major's lady continued. "There's not a regiment in the service where you'll find a more united society nor a more agreeable mess-room. There's no quarrelling, bickering, slandthering, nor small talk amongst us. We all love each other."

"We're all good fellows in this regiment," the Major's lady continued. "There's no quarrelling, bickering, nor slandthering amongst us. We all love each other."


"Especially Mrs. Magenis," said George, laughing.


"Mrs. Captain Magenis and me has made up, though her treatment of me would bring me gray hairs with sorrow to the grave."

"Mrs. Captain Magenis and me has made up, though her treatment of me would bring me grey hairs."


"And you with such a beautiful front of black, Peggy, my dear," the Major cried.

"And you with such beautiful black locks, Peggy, my dear," the Major cried.


"Hould your tongue, Mick, you booby. Them husbands are always in the way, Mrs. Osborne, my dear; and as for my Mick, I often tell him he should never open his mouth but to give the word of command, or to put meat and drink into it. I'll tell you about the regiment, and warn you when we're alone. Introduce me to your brother now; sure he's a mighty fine man, and reminds me of me cousin, Dan Malony (Malony of Ballymalony, my dear, you know who mar'ied Ophalia Scully, of Oystherstown, own cousin to Lord Poldoody). Mr. Sedley, sir, I'm deloighted to be made known te ye. I suppose you'll dine at the mess to-day. (Mind that divvle of a docther, Mick, and whatever ye du, keep yourself sober for me party this evening.)"

"Hould your tongue, Mick, you booby. Them husbands are always in the way, Mrs. Osborne, my dear; and I often tell my Mick he should never open his mouth but to give the word of command, or to put meat and drink into it. Introduce me to your brother now; sure he's a mighty fine man. Mr. Sedley, sir, I'm deloighted to be made known te ye. I suppose you'll dine at the mess today."


"It's the 150th gives us a farewell dinner, my love," interposed the Major, "but we'll easy get a card for Mr. Sedley."

"It's a farewell dinner, my love," interposed the Major, "but we'll easy get a card for Mr. Sedley."


"Run Simple (Ensign Simple, of Ours, my dear Amelia. I forgot to introjuice him to ye). Run in a hurry, with Mrs. Major O'Dowd's compliments to Colonel Tavish, and Captain Osborne has brought his brothernlaw down, and will bring him to the 150th mess at five o'clock sharp--when you and I, my dear, will take a snack here, if you like." Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concluded, the young Ensign was trotting downstairs on his commission.

"Ensign Simple, run with Mrs. Major O'Dowd's compliments to Colonel Tavish, and Captain Osborne has brought his brothernlaw down, and will bring him to the mess at five o'clock." Before Mrs. O'Dowd's speech was concluded, the young Ensign was trotting downstairs.


"Obedience is the soul of the army. We will go to our duty while Mrs. O'Dowd will stay and enlighten you, Emmy," Captain Osborne said; and the two gentlemen, taking each a wing of the Major, walked out with that officer, grinning at each other over his head.

"Obedience is the soul of the army. We will go to our duty while Mrs. O'Dowd will stay and enlighten you, Emmy," Captain Osborne said; and the two gentlemen walked out with the Major, grinning at each other.


And, now having her new friend to herself, the impetuous Mrs. O'Dowd proceeded to pour out such a quantity of information as no poor little woman's memory could ever tax itself to bear. She told Amelia a thousand particulars relative to the very numerous family of which the amazed young lady found herself a member. "Mrs. Heavytop, the Colonel's wife, died in Jamaica of the yellow faver and a broken heart comboined, for the horrud old Colonel, with a head as bald as a cannon-ball, was making sheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there. Mrs. Magenis, though without education, was a good woman, but she had the divvle's tongue, and would cheat her own mother at whist. Mrs. Captain Kirk must turn up her lobster eyes forsooth at the idea of an honest round game (wherein me fawther, as pious a man as ever went to church, me uncle Dane Malony, and our cousin the Bishop, took a hand at loo, or whist, every night of their lives). Nayther of 'em's goin' with the regiment this time," Mrs. O'Dowd added. "Fanny Magenis stops with her mother, who sells small coal and potatoes, most likely, in Islington-town, hard by London, though she's always bragging of her father's ships, and pointing them out to us as they go up the river: and Mrs. Kirk and her children will stop here in Bethesda Place, to be nigh to her favourite preacher, Dr. Ramshorn. Mrs. Bunny's in an interesting situation--faith, and she always is, then--and has given the Lieutenant seven already. And Ensign Posky's wife, who joined two months before you, my dear, has quarl'd with Tom Posky a score of times, till you can hear'm all over the bar'ck (they say they're come to broken pleets, and Tom never accounted for his black oi), and she'll go back to her mother, who keeps a ladies' siminary at Richmond--bad luck to her for running away from it! Where did ye get your finishing, my dear? I had moin, and no expince spared, at Madame Flanahan's, at Ilyssus Grove, Booterstown, near Dublin, wid a Marchioness to teach us the true Parisian pronunciation, and a retired Mejor-General of the French service to put us through the exercise."

And, now having her new friend to herself, Mrs. O'Dowd poured out such a quantity of information as no poor little woman's memory could bear. She told Amelia a thousand details of the regimental family.
"Mrs. Heavytop, the Colonel's wife, died in Jamaica of the yellow faver and a broken heart, for the horrud old Colonel was making sheep's eyes at a half-caste girl there. Mrs. Magenis, though without education, was a good woman, but she had the divvle's tongue, and would cheat her own mother at whist. Mrs. Captain Kirk turns up her lobster eyes at the idea of an honest game (although me father and me cousin the Bishop played whist every night of their lives). Mrs. Bunny's in an interesting situation - faith, she always is - and has given the Lieutenant seven already. And Ensign Posky's wife, who joined two months before you, my dear, has quarl'd with Tom Posky a score of times, till you can hear'm all over the barrack; and Tom's never accounted for his black oi, and she'll go back to her mother at Richmond."


Of this incongruous family our astonished Amelia found herself all of a sudden a member: with Mrs. O'Dowd as an elder sister. She was presented to her other female relations at tea-time, on whom, as she was quiet, good-natured, and not too handsome, she made rather an agreeable impression until the arrival of the gentlemen from the mess of the 150th, who all admired her so, that her sisters began, of course, to find fault with her.

Of this incongruous family our astonished Amelia found herself suddenly a member: with Mrs. O'Dowd as an elder sister. She was presented to her other female relations at tea-time; and being quiet, good-natured, and not too handsome, she made an agreeable impression until the arrival of the gentlemen, who all admired her; so that her sisters began, of course, to find fault with her.


"I hope Osborne has sown his wild oats," said Mrs. Magenis to Mrs. Bunny. "If a reformed rake makes a good husband, sure it's she will have the fine chance with Garge," Mrs. O'Dowd remarked to Posky, who had lost her position as bride in the regiment, and was quite angry with the usurper. And as for Mrs. Kirk: that disciple of Dr. Ramshorn put one or two leading professional questions to Amelia, to see whether she was awakened, whether she was a professing Christian and so forth, and finding from the simplicity of Mrs. Osborne's replies that she was yet in utter darkness, put into her hands three little penny books with pictures, viz., the "Howling Wilderness," the "Washerwoman of Wandsworth Common," and the "British Soldier's best Bayonet," which, bent upon awakening her before she slept, Mrs. Kirk begged Amelia to read that night ere she went to bed.

"I hope Osborne has sown his wild oats," said Mrs. Magenis to Mrs. Bunny.
"If a reformed rake makes a good husband, sure she'll have a fine chance with Garge," said Mrs. O'Dowd.


But all the men, like good fellows as they were, rallied round their comrade's pretty wife, and paid her their court with soldierly gallantry. She had a little triumph, which flushed her spirits and made her eyes sparkle. George was proud of her popularity, and pleased with the manner (which was very gay and graceful, though naive and a little timid) with which she received the gentlemen's attentions, and answered their compliments. And he in his uniform--how much handsomer he was than any man in the room! She felt that he was affectionately watching her, and glowed with pleasure at his kindness. "I will make all his friends welcome," she resolved in her heart. "I will love all as I love him. I will always try and be gay and good-humoured and make his home happy."

But the men rallied round their comrade's pretty wife, and paid her their court with soldierly gallantry, making her eyes sparkle. George was proud of her popularity, and pleased with the graceful, gay manner with which she received the gentlemen's attentions. And he - so handsome in his uniform! She felt him watching her, and glowed with pleasure at his kindness.
"I will make all his friends welcome," she resolved. "I will always try and be gay and good-humoured and make his home happy."


The regiment indeed adopted her with acclamation. The Captains approved, the Lieutenants applauded, the Ensigns admired. Old Cutler, the Doctor, made one or two jokes, which, being professional, need not be repeated; and Cackle, the Assistant M.D. of Edinburgh, condescended to examine her upon leeterature, and tried her with his three best French quotations. Young Stubble went about from man to man whispering, "Jove, isn't she a pretty gal?" and never took his eyes off her except when the negus came in.

The regiment indeed adopted her with acclaim. Young Stubble kept whispering, "Jove, isn't she a pretty gal?" and never took his eyes off her.


As for Captain Dobbin, he never so much as spoke to her during the whole evening. But he and Captain Porter of the 150th took home Jos to the hotel, who was in a very maudlin state, and had told his tiger-hunt story with great effect, both at the mess-table and at the soiree, to Mrs. O'Dowd in her turban and bird of paradise. Having put the Collector into the hands of his servant, Dobbin loitered about, smoking his cigar before the inn door. George had meanwhile very carefully shawled his wife, and brought her away from Mrs. O'Dowd's after a general handshaking from the young officers, who accompanied her to the fly, and cheered that vehicle as it drove off. So Amelia gave Dobbin her little hand as she got out of the carriage, and rebuked him smilingly for not having taken any notice of her all night.

As for Captain Dobbin, he never spoke to her the whole evening. But he and Captain Porter took Jos, who was in a very maudlin state, back to the hotel. Having put him into the hands of his servant, Dobbin loitered about, smoking his cigar before the inn door. George had meanwhile brought his wife away from Mrs. O'Dowd's. Amelia gave Dobbin her hand as she got out of the carriage, and rebuked him smilingly for not having taken any notice of her all night.


The Captain continued that deleterious amusement of smoking, long after the inn and the street were gone to bed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-room windows, and shine out in the bedroom close at hand. It was almost morning when he returned to his own quarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships in the river, where the transports were already taking in their cargoes preparatory to dropping down the Thames.

The Captain kept smoking, long after everyone had gone to bed. He watched the lights vanish from George's sitting-room windows, and shine out in the bedroom. It was almost morning when he returned to his own quarters. He could hear the cheering from the ships in the river, where the transports were taking in their cargoes before moving down the Thames.


We must suppose little George Osborne has ridden from Knightsbridge towards Fulham, and will stop and make inquiries at that village regarding some friends whom we have left there. How is Mrs. Amelia after the storm of Waterloo? Is she living and thriving? What has come of Major Dobbin, whose cab was always hankering about her premises? And is there any news of the Collector of Boggley Wollah? The facts concerning the latter are briefly these:

We must now make inquiries at Fulham about some friends whom we have left there. How is Mrs. Amelia? Is she living and thriving? What has become of Major Dobbin? And is there any news of the Collector of Boggley Wollah? The facts about him are briefly these:


Our worthy fat friend Joseph Sedley returned to India not long after his escape from Brussels. Either his furlough was up, or he dreaded to meet any witnesses of his Waterloo flight. However it might be, he went back to his duties in Bengal very soon after Napoleon had taken up his residence at St. Helena, where Jos saw the ex-Emperor. To hear Mr. Sedley talk on board ship you would have supposed that it was not the first time he and the Corsican had met, and that the civilian had bearded the French General at Mount St. John. He had a thousand anecdotes about the famous battles; he knew the position of every regiment and the loss which each had incurred. He did not deny that he had been concerned in those victories--that he had been with the army and carried despatches for the Duke of Wellington. And he described what the Duke did and said on every conceivable moment of the day of Waterloo, with such an accurate knowledge of his Grace's sentiments and proceedings that it was clear he must have been by the conqueror's side throughout the day; though, as a non-combatant, his name was not mentioned in the public documents relative to the battle. Perhaps he actually worked himself up to believe that he had been engaged with the army; certain it is that he made a prodigious sensation for some time at Calcutta, and was called Waterloo Sedley during the whole of his subsequent stay in Bengal.

Our worthy friend Joseph Sedley returned to India not long after his escape from Brussels, soon after Napoleon had been confined to St. Helena. To hear Mr. Sedley talk on board ship, you would have supposed that he had confronted the French General personally. He had a thousand tales about the famous battles; he knew the position of every regiment. He did not deny that he had carried despatches for the Duke of Wellington. He described what the Duke did and said at Waterloo with such accurate knowledge that it was clear he must have been by the conqueror's side throughout the day. Perhaps he actually worked himself up to believe that he had been engaged with the army; certainly he made a sensation for some time at Calcutta, and was called Waterloo Sedley during his stay in Bengal.


The bills which Jos had given for the purchase of those unlucky horses were paid without question by him and his agents. He never was heard to allude to the bargain, and nobody knows for a certainty what became of the horses, or how he got rid of them, or of Isidor, his Belgian servant, who sold a grey horse, very like the one which Jos rode, at Valenciennes sometime during the autumn of 1815.


Jos's London agents had orders to pay one hundred and twenty pounds yearly to his parents at Fulham. It was the chief support of the old couple; for Mr. Sedley's speculations in life subsequent to his bankruptcy did not by any means retrieve the broken old gentleman's fortune. He tried to be a wine-merchant, a coal-merchant, a commission lottery agent, &c., &c. He sent round prospectuses to his friends whenever he took a new trade, and ordered a new brass plate for the door, and talked pompously about making his fortune still. But Fortune never came back to the feeble and stricken old man. One by one his friends dropped off, and were weary of buying dear coals and bad wine from him; and there was only his wife in all the world who fancied, when he tottered off to the City of a morning, that he was still doing any business there. At evening he crawled slowly back; and he used to go of nights to a little club at a tavern, where he disposed of the finances of the nation. It was wonderful to hear him talk about millions, and agios, and discounts, and what Rothschild was doing, and Baring Brothers. He talked of such vast sums that the gentlemen of the club (the apothecary, the undertaker, the great carpenter and builder, the parish clerk, who was allowed to come stealthily, and Mr. Clapp, our old acquaintance,) respected the old gentleman. "I was better off once, sir," he did not fail to tell everybody who "used the room." "My son, sir, is at this minute chief magistrate of Ramgunge in the Presidency of Bengal, and touching his four thousand rupees per mensem. My daughter might be a Colonel's lady if she liked. I might draw upon my son, the first magistrate, sir, for two thousand pounds to-morrow, and Alexander would cash my bill, down sir, down on the counter, sir. But the Sedleys were always a proud family." You and I, my dear reader, may drop into this condition one day: for have not many of our friends attained it? Our luck may fail: our powers forsake us: our place on the boards be taken by better and younger mimes--the chance of life roll away and leave us shattered and stranded. Then men will walk across the road when they meet you--or, worse still, hold you out a couple of fingers and patronize you in a pitying way--then you will know, as soon as your back is turned, that your friend begins with a "Poor devil, what imprudences he has committed, what chances that chap has thrown away!" Well, well--a carriage and three thousand a year is not the summit of the reward nor the end of God's judgment of men. If quacks prosper as often as they go to the wall--if zanies succeed and knaves arrive at fortune, and, vice versa, sharing ill luck and prosperity for all the world like the ablest and most honest amongst us--I say, brother, the gifts and pleasures of Vanity Fair cannot be held of any great account, and that it is probable . . . but we are wandering out of the domain of the story.

His agents had orders to pay one hundred and twenty pounds yearly to his parents at Fulham. It was the couple's chief support; for old Mr. Sedley's speculations did not succeed. He tried to be a wine-merchant, a coal-merchant, and a lottery agent; he sent round prospectuses, and ordered a new brass plate for the door, and talked pompously about making his fortune. But Fortune never came back to the feeble old man. His friends dropped off, weary of buying dear coals and bad wine from him. He used to go of nights to a little club at a tavern, where he talked about millions, what Rothschild was doing, and Baring Brothers.
"I was better off once, sir," he told everybody. "My son, sir, is chief magistrate of Ramgunge in Bengal. I might draw upon my son, sir, for two thousand pounds tomorrow. But the Sedleys were always a proud family."


Had Mrs. Sedley been a woman of energy, she would have exerted it after her husband's ruin and, occupying a large house, would have taken in boarders. The broken Sedley would have acted well as the boarding-house landlady's husband; the Munoz of private life; the titular lord and master: the carver, house-steward, and humble husband of the occupier of the dingy throne. I have seen men of good brains and breeding, and of good hopes and vigour once, who feasted squires and kept hunters in their youth, meekly cutting up legs of mutton for rancorous old harridans and pretending to preside over their dreary tables--but Mrs. Sedley, we say, had not spirit enough to bustle about for "a few select inmates to join a cheerful musical family," such as one reads of in the Times. She was content to lie on the shore where fortune had stranded her--and you could see that the career of this old couple was over.

Had Mrs. Sedley been a woman of energy, she would have taken in boarders. The broken Sedley would have acted well as a boarding-house carver and steward. But Mrs. Sedley had not spirit enough for that. She was content to lie on the shore where fortune had stranded her; and you could see that the career of this old couple was over.


I don't think they were unhappy. Perhaps they were a little prouder in their downfall than in their prosperity. Mrs. Sedley was always a great person for her landlady, Mrs. Clapp, when she descended and passed many hours with her in the basement or ornamented kitchen. The Irish maid Betty Flanagan's bonnets and ribbons, her sauciness, her idleness, her reckless prodigality of kitchen candles, her consumption of tea and sugar, and so forth occupied and amused the old lady almost as much as the doings of her former household, when she had Sambo and the coachman, and a groom, and a footboy, and a housekeeper with a regiment of female domestics--her former household, about which the good lady talked a hundred times a day. And besides Betty Flanagan, Mrs. Sedley had all the maids-of-all-work in the street to superintend. She knew how each tenant of the cottages paid or owed his little rent. She stepped aside when Mrs. Rougemont the actress passed with her dubious family. She flung up her head when Mrs. Pestler, the apothecary's lady, drove by in her husband's professional one-horse chaise. She had colloquies with the greengrocer about the pennorth of turnips which Mr. Sedley loved; she kept an eye upon the milkman and the baker's boy; and made visitations to the butcher, who sold hundreds of oxen very likely with less ado than was made about Mrs. Sedley's loin of mutton: and she counted the potatoes under the joint on Sundays, on which days, dressed in her best, she went to church twice and read Blair's Sermons in the evening.

I don't think they were unhappy. Perhaps they were a little prouder in their downfall than in their prosperity. Mrs. Sedley was always a great person for her landlady, Mrs. Clapp. The Irish maid's bonnets and ribbons, her sauciness, her idleness, her reckless prodigality of candles, amused the old lady almost as much as the doings of her former household, when she had a regiment of female domestics. And besides Betty, Mrs. Sedley had all the maids in the street to superintend.
On Sundays


On that day, for "business" prevented him on weekdays from taking such a pleasure, it was old Sedley's delight to take out his little grandson Georgy to the neighbouring parks or Kensington Gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. Georgy loved the redcoats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others with Waterloo medals on their breasts, to whom the old grandfather pompously presented the child as the son of Captain Osborne of the --th, who died gloriously on the glorious eighteenth. He has been known to treat some of these non-commissioned gentlemen to a glass of porter, and, indeed, in their first Sunday walks was disposed to spoil little Georgy, sadly gorging the boy with apples and parliament, to the detriment of his health--until Amelia declared that George should never go out with his grandpapa unless the latter promised solemnly, and on his honour, not to give the child any cakes, lollipops, or stall produce whatever.

, it was old Sedley's delight to take his little grandson Georgy to the neighbouring parks or Kensington Gardens, to see the soldiers or to feed the ducks. Georgy loved the redcoats, and his grandpapa told him how his father had been a famous soldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and others wearing Waterloo medals, to whom the old grandfather pompously presented the child as the son of Captain Osborne, who died gloriously on the glorious eighteenth. He spoiled little Georgy, sadly gorging the boy until Amelia declared that George should never go out with his grandpapa unless the latter promised solemnly not to give the child any cakes or lollipops.


Between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a sort of coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy--for one evening in George's very early days, Amelia, who had been seated at work in their little parlour scarcely remarking that the old lady had quitted the room, ran upstairs instinctively to the nursery at the cries of the child, who had been asleep until that moment--and there found Mrs. Sedley in the act of surreptitiously administering Daffy's Elixir to the infant. Amelia, the gentlest and sweetest of everyday mortals, when she found this meddling with her maternal authority, thrilled and trembled all over with anger. Her cheeks, ordinarily pale, now flushed up, until they were as red as they used to be when she was a child of twelve years old. She seized the baby out of her mother's arms and then grasped at the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her, furious, and holding the guilty tea-spoon.

Between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy. For one evening in George's very early days, Amelia ran upstairs to the nursery at the cries of the child, who had been asleep until that moment - and there found Mrs. Sedley surreptitiously giving him Daffy's Elixir. Amelia, the gentlest of everyday mortals, trembled all over with anger. Her pale cheeks flushed up; she seized the baby from her mother's arms and grasped the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her, and holding the guilty tea-spoon.


Amelia flung the bottle crashing into the fire-place. "I will NOT have baby poisoned, Mamma," cried Emmy, rocking the infant about violently with both her arms round him and turning with flashing eyes at her mother.

Amelia flung the bottle crashing into the fire-place. "I will not have baby poisoned, Mamma," she cried, turning with flashing eyes at her mother.


"Poisoned, Amelia!" said the old lady; "this language to me?"


"He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr. Pestler sends for him. He told me that Daffy's Elixir was poison."

"He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr. Pestler sends. He told me that Daffy's Elixir was poison."


"Very good: you think I'm a murderess then," replied Mrs. Sedley. "This is the language you use to your mother. I have met with misfortunes: I have sunk low in life: I have kept my carriage, and now walk on foot: but I did not know I was a murderess before, and thank you for the NEWS."

"Very good: you think I'm a murderess," replied Mrs. Sedley. "This is the language you use to your mother. I have sunk low in life: but I did not know I was a murderess, and thank you for the news."


"Mamma," said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears--"you shouldn't be hard upon me. I--I didn't mean--I mean, I did not wish to say you would do any wrong to this dear child, only--"

"Mamma," said the poor girl, who was always ready for tears, "I didn't mean - I did not wish to say you would do any wrong to the dear child, only-"


"Oh, no, my love,--only that I was a murderess; in which case I had better go to the Old Bailey. Though I didn't poison YOU, when you were a child, but gave you the best of education and the most expensive masters money could procure. Yes; I've nursed five children and buried three; and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and teething, and measles, and hooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, and with accomplishments at Minerva House--which I never had when I was a girl--when I was too glad to honour my father and mother, that I might live long in the land, and to be useful, and not to mope all day in my room and act the fine lady--says I'm a murderess. Ah, Mrs. Osborne! may YOU never nourish a viper in your bosom, that's MY prayer."

"Oh, no, my love, only that I was a murderess. Though I didn't poison you, when you were a child, but gave you the best education money could buy. Yes; I've nursed five children and buried three; and the one I loved the best of all, and tended through croup, and measles, and whooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters, regardless of expense, which I never had when I was a girl - says I'm a murderess."


"Mamma, Mamma!" cried the bewildered girl; and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts. "A murderess, indeed! Go down on your knees and pray to God to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do." And Mrs. Sedley tossed out of the room, hissing out the word poison once more, and so ending her charitable benediction.

"Mamma, Mamma!" cried the bewildered girl; and the child in her arms set up a frantic chorus of shouts.
"Pray to God to cleanse your wicked ungrateful heart, Amelia, and may He forgive you as I do." And Mrs. Sedley tossed out of the room.


Till the termination of her natural life, this breach between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The quarrel gave the elder lady numberless advantages which she did not fail to turn to account with female ingenuity and perseverance. For instance, she scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards. She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs. Osborne might be offended. She asked her daughter to see and satisfy herself that there was no poison prepared in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy. When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. SHE never ventured to ask whether the baby was well or not. SHE would not touch the child although he was her grandson, and own precious darling, for she was not USED to children, and might kill it. And whenever Mr. Pestler came upon his healing inquisition, she received the doctor with such a sarcastic and scornful demeanour, as made the surgeon declare that not Lady Thistlewood herself, whom he had the honour of attending professionally, could give herself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedley, from whom he never took a fee. And very likely Emmy was jealous too, upon her own part, as what mother is not, of those who would manage her children for her, or become candidates for the first place in their affections. It is certain that when anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy, and that she would no more allow Mrs. Clapp or the domestic to dress or tend him than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature which hung up over her little bed--the same little bed from which the poor girl had gone to his; and to which she retired now for many long, silent, tearful, but happy years.

Till the end of her life, this breach between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The elder lady scarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks. She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs. Osborne might be offended. She asked her daughter to satisfy herself that there was no poison in the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy. When neighbours asked after the boy's health, she referred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. She would not touch the child although he was her own precious darling, for she might kill him.
And whenever Mr. Pestler called, she received the doctor with such a sarcastic manner that he declared that even Lady Thistlewood could not give herself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedley, from whom he never took a fee. Very likely Emmy was jealous too, as what mother is not, of those who would manage her children for her. When anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy; and she would no more allow Mrs. Clapp to tend him than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature, which hung in the room to which she retired now for many silent, tearful, but happy years.


In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Here it was that she tended her boy and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with a constant passion of love. The elder George returned in him somehow, only improved, and as if come back from heaven. In a hundred little tones, looks, and movements, the child was so like his father that the widow's heart thrilled as she held him to it; and he would often ask the cause of her tears. It was because of his likeness to his father, she did not scruple to tell him. She talked constantly to him about this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and wondering child; much more than she ever had done to George himself, or to any confidante of her youth. To her parents she never talked about this matter, shrinking from baring her heart to them. Little George very likely could understand no better than they, but into his ears she poured her sentimental secrets unreservedly, and into his only. The very joy of this woman was a sort of grief, or so tender, at least, that its expression was tears. Her sensibilities were so weak and tremulous that perhaps they ought not to be talked about in a book. I was told by Dr. Pestler (now a most flourishing lady's physician, with a sumptuous dark green carriage, a prospect of speedy knighthood, and a house in Manchester Square) that her grief at weaning the child was a sight that would have unmanned a Herod. He was very soft-hearted many years ago, and his wife was mortally jealous of Mrs. Amelia, then and long afterwards.

In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Here she tended her boy and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with a constant passion of love. The elder George returned in him somehow, only improved, as if come back from heaven. In a hundred little ways the child was so like his father that her heart thrilled. She talked constantly to him about this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and wondering child. To her parents she never talked about this matter, but into little George's uncomprehending ears she poured her sentimental secrets.


Perhaps the doctor's lady had good reason for her jealousy: most women shared it, of those who formed the small circle of Amelia's acquaintance, and were quite angry at the enthusiasm with which the other sex regarded her. For almost all men who came near her loved her; though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell you why. She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor wise over much, nor extraordinarily handsome. But wherever she went she touched and charmed every one of the male sex, as invariably as she awakened the scorn and incredulity of her own sisterhood. I think it was her weakness which was her principal charm--a kind of sweet submission and softness, which seemed to appeal to each man she met for his sympathy and protection. We have seen how in the regiment, though she spoke but to few of George's comrades there, all the swords of the young fellows at the mess-table would have leapt from their scabbards to fight round her; and so it was in the little narrow lodging-house and circle at Fulham, she interested and pleased everybody. If she had been Mrs. Mango herself, of the great house of Mango, Plantain, and Co., Crutched Friars, and the magnificent proprietress of the Pineries, Fulham, who gave summer dejeuners frequented by Dukes and Earls, and drove about the parish with magnificent yellow liveries and bay horses, such as the royal stables at Kensington themselves could not turn out--I say had she been Mrs. Mango herself, or her son's wife, Lady Mary Mango (daughter of the Earl of Castlemouldy, who condescended to marry the head of the firm), the tradesmen of the neighbourhood could not pay her more honour than they invariably showed to the gentle young widow, when she passed by their doors, or made her humble purchases at their shops.

Most men who came near her loved her; though they would be at a loss to tell you why. She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor extraordinarily handsome. But she charmed every one of the male sex, as invariably as she awakened the scorn and incredulity of her own sisterhood. I think it was her weakness which was her principal charm - a kind of sweet submission, which seemed to appeal to men for sympathy and protection. In the regiment, the young officers would have leapt to fight round her; and so it was in the little circle at Fulham, where she interested and pleased everybody.


Thus it was not only Mr. Pestler, the medical man, but Mr. Linton the young assistant, who doctored the servant maids and small tradesmen, and might be seen any day reading the Times in the surgery, who openly declared himself the slave of Mrs. Osborne. He was a personable young gentleman, more welcome at Mrs. Sedley's lodgings than his principal; and if anything went wrong with Georgy, he would drop in twice or thrice in the day to see the little chap, and without so much as the thought of a fee. He would abstract lozenges, tamarinds, and other produce from the surgery-drawers for little Georgy's benefit, and compounded draughts and mixtures for him of miraculous sweetness, so that it was quite a pleasure to the child to be ailing. He and Pestler, his chief, sat up two whole nights by the boy in that momentous and awful week when Georgy had the measles; and when you would have thought, from the mother's terror, that there had never been measles in the world before. Would they have done as much for other people? Did they sit up for the folks at the Pineries, when Ralph Plantagenet, and Gwendoline, and Guinever Mango had the same juvenile complaint? Did they sit up for little Mary Clapp, the landlord's daughter, who actually caught the disease of little Georgy? Truth compels one to say, no. They slept quite undisturbed, at least as far as she was concerned--pronounced hers to be a slight case, which would almost cure itself, sent her in a draught or two, and threw in bark when the child rallied, with perfect indifference, and just for form's sake.

Mr. Linton, the doctor's young assistant, openly declared himself her slave. He was a personable young gentleman, and if anything went wrong with Georgy, he would drop in twice or thrice in the day to see the little chap, without thinking of a fee. He would bring Georgy lozenges, and made such sweet mixtures for him that it was quite a pleasure to the child to be ailing. He and Dr. Pestler sat up two whole nights by the boy in that awful week when Georgy had the measles; and when you would have thought, from the mother's terror, that there had never been measles in the world before. Did they sit up for little Polly Clapp, the landlord's daughter, who caught the disease from Georgy? No. They pronounced hers a slight case, which would cure itself, and sent her a draught or two.