Those who will may follow his remains to the grave, whither they were borne on the appointed day, in the most becoming manner, the family in black coaches, with their handkerchiefs up to their noses, ready for the tears which did not come; the undertaker and his gentlemen in deep tribulation; the select tenantry mourning out of compliment to the new landlord; the neighbouring gentry's carriages at three miles an hour, empty, and in profound affliction; the parson speaking out the formula about "our dear brother departed."

At last his remains were borne to the grave in a becoming manner, the family in black coaches, with their handkerchiefs up to their noses, ready for the tears which did not come; the neighbouring gentry's carriages at three miles an hour, empty, and in profound affliction; the parson speaking the formula about "our dear brother departed."


As long as we have a man's body, we play our Vanities upon it, surrounding it with humbug and ceremonies, laying it in state, and packing it up in gilt nails and velvet; and we finish our duty by placing over it a stone, written all over with lies.


Bute's curate, a smart young fellow from Oxford, and Sir Pitt Crawley composed between them an appropriate Latin epitaph for the late lamented Baronet, and the former preached a classical sermon, exhorting the survivors not to give way to grief and informing them in the most respectful terms that they also would be one day called upon to pass that gloomy and mysterious portal which had just closed upon the remains of their lamented brother.

Bute's curate, a smart young fellow from Oxford, and Sir Pitt Crawley composed between them an appropriate Latin epitaph, and the former preached a classical sermon, exhorting the survivors not to give way to grief.


Then the tenantry mounted on horseback again, or stayed and refreshed themselves at the Crawley Arms.


Then, after a lunch in the servants' hall at Queen's Crawley, the gentry's carriages wheeled off to their different destinations: then the undertaker's men, taking the ropes, palls, velvets, ostrich feathers, and other mortuary properties, clambered up on the roof of the hearse and rode off to Southampton.

Then after a lunch in the servants' hall at Queen's Crawley, the gentry's carriages wheeled off.


Their faces relapsed into a natural expression as the horses, clearing the lodge-gates, got into a brisker trot on the open road; and squads of them might have been seen, speckling with black the public-house entrances, with pewter-pots flashing in the sunshine.


Sir Pitt's invalid chair was wheeled away into a tool-house in the garden; the old pointer used to howl sometimes at first, but these were the only accents of grief which were heard in the Hall of which Sir Pitt Crawley, Baronet, had been master for some threescore years.

The old dog used to howl sometimes at first, but this was the only voice of grief for Sir Pitt Crawley, Baronet.


As the birds were pretty plentiful, and partridge shooting is as it were the duty of an English gentleman of statesmanlike propensities, Sir Pitt Crawley, the first shock of grief over, went out a little and partook of that diversion in a white hat with crape round it.

The new Sir Pitt Crawley went out to do a little partridge shooting.


The sight of those fields of stubble and turnips, now his own, gave him many secret joys.

The sight of those fields of stubble and turnips, now his own, gave him secret joy.


Sometimes, and with an exquisite humility, he took no gun, but went out with a peaceful bamboo cane; Rawdon, his big brother, and the keepers blazing away at his side.

Sometimes he took no gun, but went out with a peaceful bamboo cane, Rawdon his brother blazing away at his side.


Pitt's money and acres had a great effect upon his brother.


The penniless Colonel became quite obsequious and respectful to the head of his house, and despised the milksop Pitt no longer.

The penniless Colonel became quite obsequious, and despised the milksop Pitt no longer.


Rawdon listened with sympathy to his senior's prospects of planting and draining, gave his advice about the stables and cattle, rode over to Mudbury to look at a mare, which he thought would carry Lady Jane, and offered to break her, &c.: the rebellious dragoon was quite humbled and subdued, and became a most creditable younger brother.

Rawdon gave advice about the stables and cattle, rode over to Mudbury to look at a mare for Lady Jane, and became a most creditable younger brother.


He had constant bulletins from Miss Briggs in London respecting little Rawdon, who was left behind there, who sent messages of his own.

He had constant bulletins from Miss Briggs in London about little Rawdon, who sent messages of his own.


Rawdon read these letters to his brother and Lady Jane, who was delighted with them.


The Baronet promised to take charge of the lad at school, and his kind-hearted wife gave Rebecca a bank-note, begging her to buy a present with it for her little nephew.


One day followed another, and the ladies of the house passed their life in those calm pursuits and amusements which satisfy country ladies.

One day followed another in calm pursuits.


The young ladies took exercise on the pianoforte every morning after breakfast, Rebecca giving them the benefit of her instruction.

The young ladies practised the pianoforte every morning, Rebecca giving them the benefit of her instruction.


Then they put on thick shoes and walked in the park or shrubberies, or beyond the palings into the village, descending upon the cottages, with Lady Southdown's medicine and tracts for the sick people there.

Then they walked in the park or shrubberies, or into the village, descending upon the cottages with Lady Southdown's medicine and tracts.


Lady Southdown drove out in a pony-chaise, when Rebecca would take her place by the Dowager's side and listen to her solemn talk with the utmost interest.

Lady Southdown drove out in a pony-chaise, with Rebecca by her side and listening to her with the utmost interest.


She sang Handel and Haydn to the family of evenings, and engaged in a large piece of worsted work, as if she had been born to the business and as if this kind of life was to continue with her until she should sink to the grave in a polite old age, leaving regrets and a great quantity of consols behind her--as if there were not cares and duns, schemes, shifts, and poverty waiting outside the park gates, to pounce upon her when she issued into the world again.

Rebecca sang Handel and Haydn to the family in the evenings, and began sewing a large tapestry, as if she had been born to this life - as if there were not cares and debts and poverty waiting outside the park gates to pounce upon her when she went into the world again.


"It isn't difficult to be a country gentleman's wife," Rebecca thought.


"I think I could be a good woman if I had five thousand a year.

"I could be a good woman if I had five thousand a year.


I could dawdle about in the nursery and count the apricots on the wall.


I could water plants in a green-house and pick off dead leaves from the geraniums.

I could water plants in a greenhouse and pick off dead leaves from the geraniums.


I could ask old women about their rheumatisms and order half-a-crown's worth of soup for the poor.

I could ask old women about their rheumatism and order half-a-crown's worth of soup for the poor.


I shouldn't miss it much, out of five thousand a year.


I could even drive out ten miles to dine at a neighbour's, and dress in the fashions of the year before last.


I could go to church and keep awake in the great family pew, or go to sleep behind the curtains, with my veil down, if I only had practice.


I could pay everybody, if I had but the money.

I could pay everybody, if I only had the money."


This is what the conjurors here pride themselves upon doing.


They look down with pity upon us miserable sinners who have none.


They think themselves generous if they give our children a five-pound note, and us contemptible if we are without one."


And who knows but Rebecca was right in her speculations--and that it was only a question of money and fortune which made the difference between her and an honest woman?

And maybe Rebecca was right - and it was only money which made the difference between her and an honest woman.


If you take temptations into account, who is to say that he is better than his neighbour?


A comfortable career of prosperity, if it does not make people honest, at least keeps them so.


An alderman coming from a turtle feast will not step out of his carriage to steal a leg of mutton; but put him to starve, and see if he will not purloin a loaf.


Becky consoled herself by so balancing the chances and equalizing the distribution of good and evil in the world.


The old haunts, the old fields and woods, the copses, ponds, and gardens, the rooms of the old house where she had spent a couple of years seven years ago, were all carefully revisited by her.

She revisited the old haunts, the fields and woods, the ponds and gardens, the rooms of the old house where she had lived years ago.


She had been young there, or comparatively so, for she forgot the time when she ever WAS young--but she remembered her thoughts and feelings seven years back and contrasted them with those which she had at present, now that she had seen the world, and lived with great people, and raised herself far beyond her original humble station.

She remembered her thoughts and feelings then and contrasted them with the present, now that she had seen the world, and raised herself far beyond her original humble station.


"I have passed beyond it, because I have brains," Becky thought, "and almost all the rest of the world are fools.


I could not go back and consort with those people now, whom I used to meet in my father's studio.


Lords come up to my door with stars and garters, instead of poor artists with screws of tobacco in their pockets.


I have a gentleman for my husband, and an Earl's daughter for my sister, in the very house where I was little better than a servant a few years ago.


But am I much better to do now in the world than I was when I was the poor painter's daughter and wheedled the grocer round the corner for sugar and tea?

But am I much better off than when I was the poor painter's daughter and wheedled the grocer for sugar and tea?


Suppose I had married Francis who was so fond of me--I couldn't have been much poorer than I am now.


I wish I could exchange my position in society, and all my relations for a snug sum in the Three Per Cent.

I wish I could exchange my position in society, and all my relations, for a snug sum in the Three Per Cent Consols."


Consols"; for so it was that Becky felt the Vanity of human affairs, and it was in those securities that she would have liked to cast anchor.


It may, perhaps, have struck her that to have been honest and humble, to have done her duty, and to have marched straightforward on her way, would have brought her as near happiness as that path by which she was striving to attain it.

It may, perhaps, have struck her that to have been honest and humble, and to have done her duty, would have brought her equal happiness.


But--just as the children at Queen's Crawley went round the room where the body of their father lay--if ever Becky had these thoughts, she was accustomed to walk round them and not look in.

But if ever Becky had these thoughts, she was accustomed to walk round them and not look in.


She eluded them and despised them--or at least she was committed to the other path from which retreat was now impossible.


And for my part I believe that remorse is the least active of all a man's moral senses--the very easiest to be deadened when wakened, and in some never wakened at all.


We grieve at being found out and at the idea of shame or punishment, but the mere sense of wrong makes very few people unhappy in Vanity Fair.


So Rebecca, during her stay at Queen's Crawley, made as many friends of the Mammon of Unrighteousness as she could possibly bring under control.

During her stay at Queen's Crawley, she made as many friends as she possibly could.


Lady Jane and her husband bade her farewell with the warmest demonstrations of good-will.

Lady Jane and her husband bade her farewell with the warmest good-will.


They looked forward with pleasure to the time when, the family house in Gaunt Street being repaired and beautified, they were to meet again in London.


Lady Southdown made her up a packet of medicine and sent a letter by her to the Rev. Lawrence Grills, exhorting that gentleman to save the brand who "honoured" the letter from the burning.


Pitt accompanied them with four horses in the carriage to Mudbury, having sent on their baggage in a cart previously, accompanied with loads of game.


"How happy you will be to see your darling little boy again!"


Lady Crawley said, taking leave of her kinswoman.


said Rebecca, throwing up the green eyes.


She was immensely happy to be free of the place, and yet loath to go.

She was immensely glad to be free of the place, and yet loath to go.


Queen's Crawley was abominably stupid, and yet the air there was somehow purer than that which she had been accustomed to breathe.


Everybody had been dull, but had been kind in their way.

Everybody had been dull, but kind in their way.


"It is all the influence of a long course of Three Per Cents," Becky said to herself, and was right very likely.

"It is all the influence of a long course of Three Per Cents," Becky said to herself, and was very likely right.


However, the London lamps flashed joyfully as the stage rolled into Piccadilly, and Briggs had made a beautiful fire in Curzon Street, and little Rawdon was up to welcome back his papa and mamma.

However, the London lamps flashed joyfully as the stage-coach rolled into Piccadilly, and Briggs had made a beautiful fire in Curzon Street; and little Rawdon was up to welcome back his papa and mamma.


The Major's visit left old John Sedley in a great state of agitation and excitement.

The Major's visit left old John Sedley in a great state of excitement.


His daughter could not induce him to settle down to his customary occupations or amusements that night.


He passed the evening fumbling amongst his boxes and desks, untying his papers with trembling hands, and sorting and arranging them against Jos's arrival.

He passed the evening fumbling amongst his boxes, untying his papers with trembling hands, and sorting them for Jos's arrival.


He had them in the greatest order--his tapes and his files, his receipts, and his letters with lawyers and correspondents; the documents relative to the wine project (which failed from a most unaccountable accident, after commencing with the most splendid prospects), the coal project (which only a want of capital prevented from becoming the most successful scheme ever put before the public), the patent saw-mills and sawdust consolidation project, &c., &c. All night, until a very late hour, he passed in the preparation of these documents, trembling about from one room to another, with a quivering candle and shaky hands.

He got out his files, his receipts, and his lawyers' letters; the documents relating to the wine project, the coal project, the patent saw-mill, etc., etc. He passed the night in preparing these documents, trembling about from one room to another, with a quivering candle.


Here's the wine papers, here's the sawdust, here's the coals; here's my letters to Calcutta and Madras, and replies from Major Dobbin, C.B., and Mr. Joseph Sedley to the same.


"He shall find no irregularity about ME, Emmy," the old gentleman said.

"He shall find no irregularity, Emmy," the old gentleman said.


"I don't think Jos will care about seeing those papers, Papa," she said.

"I don't think Jos will care about seeing those papers, Papa."


"You don't know anything about business, my dear," answered the sire, shaking his head with an important air.

"You don't know anything about business, my dear," he answered.


And it must be confessed that on this point Emmy was very ignorant, and that is a pity some people are so knowing.


All these twopenny documents arranged on a side table, old Sedley covered them carefully over with a clean bandanna handkerchief (one out of Major Dobbin's lot) and enjoined the maid and landlady of the house, in the most solemn way, not to disturb those papers, which were arranged for the arrival of Mr. Joseph Sedley the next morning, "Mr. Joseph Sedley of the Honourable East India Company's Bengal Civil Service."

He arranged these twopenny documents on a side table, covered them carefully with a clean handkerchief, and solemnly asked the maid not to disturb them.


Amelia found him up very early the next morning, more eager, more hectic, and more shaky than ever.

Amelia found him up very early the next morning, more hectic and shaky than ever.


"I didn't sleep much, Emmy, my dear," he said.


I wish she was alive, to ride in Jos's carriage once again."


She kept her own and became it very well."


And his eyes filled with tears, which trickled down his furrowed old face.


Amelia wiped them away, and smilingly kissed him, and tied the old man's neckcloth in a smart bow, and put his brooch into his best shirt frill, in which, in his Sunday suit of mourning, he sat from six o'clock in the morning awaiting the arrival of his son.

Amelia wiped them away, and smilingly kissed him, and tied the old man's neckcloth; and in his Sunday suit, he sat from six o'clock in the morning awaiting the arrival of his son.


However, when the postman made his appearance, the little party were put out of suspense by the receipt of a letter from Jos to his sister, who announced that he felt a little fatigued after his voyage, and should not be able to move on that day, but that he would leave Southampton early the next morning and be with his father and mother at evening.

However, the postman brought a letter from Jos to his sister, announcing that he felt a little fatigued after his voyage, and should not be able to move on that day, but would leave Southampton early the next morning and be with his father and mother at evening.


Amelia, as she read out the letter to her father, paused over the latter word; her brother, it was clear, did not know what had happened in the family.

Amelia, as she read out the letter, paused over the word mother. Her brother, it was clear, did not know what had happened.


Nor could he, for the fact is that, though the Major rightly suspected that his travelling companion never would be got into motion in so short a space as twenty-four hours, and would find some excuse for delaying, yet Dobbin had not written to Jos to inform him of the calamity which had befallen the Sedley family, being occupied in talking with Amelia until long after post-hour.


There are some splendid tailors' shops in the High Street of Southampton, in the fine plate-glass windows of which hang gorgeous waistcoats of all sorts, of silk and velvet, and gold and crimson, and pictures of the last new fashions, in which those wonderful gentlemen with quizzing glasses, and holding on to little boys with the exceeding large eyes and curly hair, ogle ladies in riding habits prancing by the Statue of Achilles at Apsley House.

There are some splendid tailors' shops in Southampton High Street, in whose windows hang gorgeous waistcoats of silk and velvet, and gold and crimson.


Jos, although provided with some of the most splendid vests that Calcutta could furnish, thought he could not go to town until he was supplied with one or two of these garments, and selected a crimson satin, embroidered with gold butterflies, and a black and red velvet tartan with white stripes and a rolling collar, with which, and a rich blue satin stock and a gold pin, consisting of a five-barred gate with a horseman in pink enamel jumping over it, he thought he might make his entry into London with some dignity.

Jos, although provided with the most splendid waistcoats that Calcutta could furnish, thought he could not go to town until he had one or two of these garments, and selected a crimson satin, embroidered with gold butterflies, and a black and red velvet tartan with white stripes, with which he thought he might make a dignified entry into London.


For Jos's former shyness and blundering blushing timidity had given way to a more candid and courageous self-assertion of his worth.

For Jos's former shyness had given way to a more courageous self-assertion.


"I don't care about owning it," Waterloo Sedley would say to his friends, "I am a dressy man"; and though rather uneasy if the ladies looked at him at the Government House balls, and though he blushed and turned away alarmed under their glances, it was chiefly from a dread lest they should make love to him that he avoided them, being averse to marriage altogether.

Though he was alarmed by the glances of the ladies, it was chiefly from a dread lest they should make love to him that he avoided them, being averse to marriage.


But there was no such swell in Calcutta as Waterloo Sedley, I have heard say, and he had the handsomest turn-out, gave the best bachelor dinners, and had the finest plate in the whole place.

But there was no such swell in Calcutta as Waterloo Sedley, I have heard say.


To make these waistcoats for a man of his size and dignity took at least a day, part of which he employed in hiring a servant to wait upon him and his native and in instructing the agent who cleared his baggage, his boxes, his books, which he never read, his chests of mangoes, chutney, and curry-powders, his shawls for presents to people whom he didn't know as yet, and the rest of his Persicos apparatus.

To make these waistcoats for a man of his size took at least a day.


At length, he drove leisurely to London on the third day and in the new waistcoat, the native, with chattering teeth, shuddering in a shawl on the box by the side of the new European servant; Jos puffing his pipe at intervals within and looking so majestic that the little boys cried Hooray, and many people thought he must be a Governor-General.

At length, he drove leisurely to London on the third day, in the new waistcoat, his native servant shivering on the box next to the new European servant; Jos puffing his pipe at intervals within and looking so majestic that people thought he must be a Governor-General.


HE, I promise, did not decline the obsequious invitation of the landlords to alight and refresh himself in the neat country towns.


Having partaken of a copious breakfast, with fish, and rice, and hard eggs, at Southampton, he had so far rallied at Winchester as to think a glass of sherry necessary.


At Alton he stepped out of the carriage at his servant's request and imbibed some of the ale for which the place is famous.


At Farnham he stopped to view the Bishop's Castle and to partake of a light dinner of stewed eels, veal cutlets, and French beans, with a bottle of claret.

, and at Farnham a light dinner of stewed eels, veal cutlets, French beans, and a bottle of claret.


He was cold over Bagshot Heath, where the native chattered more and more, and Jos Sahib took some brandy-and-water; in fact, when he drove into town he was as full of wine, beer, meat, pickles, cherry-brandy, and tobacco as the steward's cabin of a steam-packet.

He felt cold over Bagshot Heath, and took some brandy-and-water; in fact, when he drove into town he was as full of wine, beer, meat, pickles, cherry-brandy, and tobacco as the steward's cabin of a steam-packet.


It was evening when his carriage thundered up to the little door in Brompton, whither the affectionate fellow drove first, and before hieing to the apartments secured for him by Mr. Dobbin at the Slaughters'.

It was evening when his carriage thundered up to the little door in Brompton.


All the faces in the street were in the windows; the little maidservant flew to the wicket-gate; the Mesdames Clapp looked out from the casement of the ornamented kitchen; Emmy, in a great flutter, was in the passage among the hats and coats; and old Sedley in the parlour inside, shaking all over.

All the faces in the street were in the windows; the maidservant flew to the gate; Emmy, in a great flutter, was in the passage, and old Sedley in the parlour, shaking all over.


Jos descended from the post-chaise and down the creaking swaying steps in awful state, supported by the new valet from Southampton and the shuddering native, whose brown face was now livid with cold and of the colour of a turkey's gizzard.

Jos descended from the post-chaise in great state, supported by his new valet and the shuddering native, who was now


He created an immense sensation in the passage presently, where Mrs. and Miss Clapp, coming perhaps to listen at the parlour door, found Loll Jewab shaking upon the hall-bench under the coats, moaning in a strange piteous way, and showing his yellow eyeballs and white teeth.

bluish-grey with cold, and who created an immense sensation with the Clapps.


For, you see, we have adroitly shut the door upon the meeting between Jos and the old father and the poor little gentle sister inside.

We shall shut the door upon the meeting between Jos and his family.


The old man was very much affected; so, of course, was his daughter; nor was Jos without feeling.

The old man was very much affected; so was his daughter; nor was Jos without feeling.


In that long absence of ten years, the most selfish will think about home and early ties.


Long brooding over those lost pleasures exaggerates their charm and sweetness.


Jos was unaffectedly glad to see and shake the hand of his father, between whom and himself there had been a coolness--glad to see his little sister, whom he remembered so pretty and smiling, and pained at the alteration which time, grief, and misfortune had made in the shattered old man.

Jos was unaffectedly glad to see and shake the hand of his father, between whom and himself there had been a coolness - glad to see his pretty little sister, and pained at the alteration in the shattered old man.


Emmy had come out to the door in her black clothes and whispered to him of her mother's death, and not to speak of it to their father.

Emmy had come to the door in her black clothes and whispered to him of her mother's death, asking him not to speak of it to their father.


There was no need of this caution, for the elder Sedley himself began immediately to speak of the event, and prattled about it, and wept over it plenteously.

However, the elder Sedley himself began immediately to talk of the event, and wept over it.


It shocked the Indian not a little and made him think of himself less than the poor fellow was accustomed to do.

It shocked Jos and made him think about himself less than usual.


The result of the interview must have been very satisfactory, for when Jos had reascended his post-chaise and had driven away to his hotel, Emmy embraced her father tenderly, appealing to him with an air of triumph, and asking the old man whether she did not always say that her brother had a good heart?

After Jos had driven away to his hotel, Emmy embraced her father tenderly, asking the old man whether she did not always say that her brother had a good heart?


Indeed, Joseph Sedley, affected by the humble position in which he found his relations, and in the expansiveness and overflowing of heart occasioned by the first meeting, declared that they should never suffer want or discomfort any more, that he was at home for some time at any rate, during which his house and everything he had should be theirs: and that Amelia would look very pretty at the head of his table--until she would accept one of her own.

Indeed, Joseph Sedley, affected by the humble position in which he found his relations, had declared that they should never suffer want or discomfort any more; that his house and everything he had should be theirs: and that Amelia would look very pretty at the head of his table - until she should accept one of her own.


She shook her head sadly and had, as usual, recourse to the waterworks.


She and her young confidante, Miss Mary, had talked over the matter most fully, the very night of the Major's visit, beyond which time the impetuous Polly could not refrain from talking of the discovery which she had made, and describing the start and tremor of joy by which Major Dobbin betrayed himself when Mr. Binny passed with his bride and the Major learned that he had no longer a rival to fear.

She and young Polly Clapp had talked very fully on the night of the Major's visit, and Polly could not refrain from telling her of the discovery which she had made, and how Major Dobbin had betrayed himself by his tremor of joy when Mr. Binny passed with his bride.


"Didn't you see how he shook all over when you asked if he was married and he said, 'Who told you those lies?'


Oh, M'am," Polly said, "he never kept his eyes off you, and I'm sure he's grown grey athinking of you."

"Oh, Ma'am," she said, "he never kept his eyes off you, and I'm sure he's grown grey athinking of you."


But Amelia, looking up at her bed, over which hung the portraits of her husband and son, told her young protegee never, never, to speak on that subject again; that Major Dobbin had been her husband's dearest friend and her own and George's most kind and affectionate guardian; that she loved him as a brother--but that a woman who had been married to such an angel as that, and she pointed to the wall, could never think of any other union.

But Amelia, looking up at the portraits of her husband and son, told her never to speak on that subject again; that Major Dobbin had been her husband's dearest friend and her own kind guardian; that she loved him as a brother - but that a woman who had been married to such an angel as that could never think of another union.


Poor Polly sighed: she thought what she should do if young Mr. Tomkins, at the surgery, who always looked at her so at church, and who, by those mere aggressive glances had put her timorous little heart into such a flutter that she was ready to surrender at once,--what she should do if he were to die?

Poor Polly sighed: she thought of young Mr. Tomkins, at the surgery, whose glances at church put her timorous little heart into a flutter - what would she do if he were to die?


She knew he was consumptive, his cheeks were so red and he was so uncommon thin in the waist.

She knew he was consumptive, his cheeks were so red and he was so thin.


Not that Emmy, being made aware of the honest Major's passion, rebuffed him in any way, or felt displeased with him.

Not that Emmy felt displeased with the honest Major.


Such an attachment from so true and loyal a gentleman could make no woman angry.

Such an attachment from so loyal a gentleman could make no woman angry.


Desdemona was not angry with Cassio, though there is very little doubt she saw the Lieutenant's partiality for her (and I for my part believe that many more things took place in that sad affair than the worthy Moorish officer ever knew of); why, Miranda was even very kind to Caliban, and we may be pretty sure for the same reason.

Why, Miranda was even kind to Caliban, we may be pretty sure, for the same reason.


Not that she would encourage him in the least--the poor uncouth monster--of course not.

Not that she would encourage the poor uncouth monster - of course not.


No more would Emmy by any means encourage her admirer, the Major.


She would give him that friendly regard, which so much excellence and fidelity merited; she would treat him with perfect cordiality and frankness until he made his proposals, and THEN it would be time enough for her to speak and to put an end to hopes which never could be realized.

She would treat him with perfect cordiality and frankness until he made his proposals, and then it would be time enough for her to speak and put an end to his impossible hopes.


She slept, therefore, very soundly that evening, after the conversation with Miss Polly, and was more than ordinarily happy, in spite of Jos's delaying.

She slept, therefore, very soundly that evening, and was more than ordinarily happy.


"I am glad he is not going to marry that Miss O'Dowd," she thought.


"Colonel O'Dowd never could have a sister fit for such an accomplished man as Major William."

"She could not be fit for such an accomplished man as Major William."


Who was there amongst her little circle who would make him a good wife?


Not Miss Binny, she was too old and ill-tempered; Miss Osborne?

Not Miss Binny, she was too ill-tempered. Miss Osborne?


Mrs. Osborne could not find anybody to suit the Major before she went to sleep.

She could not find anybody to suit the Major before she went to sleep.


The same morning brought Major Dobbin a letter to the Slaughters' Coffee-house from his friend at Southampton, begging dear Dob to excuse Jos for being in a rage when awakened the day before (he had a confounded headache, and was just in his first sleep), and entreating Dob to engage comfortable rooms at the Slaughters' for Mr. Sedley and his servants.

The same morning a letter came for Major Dobbin at the Slaughters' Coffee-house from Jos in Southampton, begging dear Dob to excuse him for being in a rage the day before (he had a confounded headache), and entreating Dob to book rooms at the Slaughters' for Mr. Sedley and his servants.


The Major had become necessary to Jos during the voyage.


He was attached to him, and hung upon him.


The other passengers were away to London.


Young Ricketts and little Chaffers went away on the coach that day--Ricketts on the box, and taking the reins from Botley; the Doctor was off to his family at Portsea; Bragg gone to town to his co-partners; and the first mate busy in the unloading of the Ramchunder.


Mr. Joe was very lonely at Southampton, and got the landlord of the George to take a glass of wine with him that day, at the very hour at which Major Dobbin was seated at the table of his father, Sir William, where his sister found out (for it was impossible for the Major to tell fibs) that he had been to see Mrs. George Osborne.


Jos was so comfortably situated in St. Martin's Lane, he could enjoy his hookah there with such perfect ease, and could swagger down to the theatres, when minded, so agreeably, that, perhaps, he would have remained altogether at the Slaughters' had not his friend, the Major, been at his elbow.

Once at the Slaughters', though, he could enjoy his hookah with such perfect ease, and could swagger down to the theatres so agreeably that perhaps he would have remained there had not the Major


That gentleman would not let the Bengalee rest until he had executed his promise of having a home for Amelia and his father.

insisted that he should have a home for Amelia and his father.


Jos was a soft fellow in anybody's hands, Dobbin most active in anybody's concerns but his own; the civilian was, therefore, an easy victim to the guileless arts of this good-natured diplomatist and was ready to do, to purchase, hire, or relinquish whatever his friend thought fit.

Dobbin was most active in anybody's concerns but his own; Jos was a soft fellow in anyone's hands, and was ready to do whatever his friend thought fit.


Loll Jewab, of whom the boys about St. Martin's Lane used to make cruel fun whenever he showed his dusky countenance in the street, was sent back to Calcutta in the Lady Kicklebury East Indiaman, in which Sir William Dobbin had a share, having previously taught Jos's European the art of preparing curries, pilaus, and pipes.

His Indian servant was sent back to Calcutta, having taught Jos's European man the art of preparing curries, pilaus and a pipe.


It was a matter of great delight and occupation to Jos to superintend the building of a smart chariot which he and the Major ordered in the neighbouring Long Acre: and a pair of handsome horses were jobbed, with which Jos drove about in state in the park, or to call upon his Indian friends.

Jos had a smart carriage built in which he drove about in state, frequently with


Amelia was not seldom by his side on these excursions, when also Major Dobbin would be seen in the back seat of the carriage.


At other times old Sedley and his daughter took advantage of it, and Miss Clapp, who frequently accompanied her friend, had great pleasure in being recognized as she sat in the carriage, dressed in the famous yellow shawl, by the young gentleman at the surgery, whose face might commonly be seen over the window-blinds as she passed.

At other times old Sedley and his daughter rode out; and Miss Clapp, who accompanied her friend, had great pleasure in being recognized, as she sat in the carriage, by the young gentleman at the surgery.


Shortly after Jos's first appearance at Brompton, a dismal scene, indeed, took place at that humble cottage at which the Sedleys had passed the last ten years of their life.

Shortly after Jos's appearance at Brompton, a dismal scene took place at the Clapps' humble cottage.


Jos's carriage (the temporary one, not the chariot under construction) arrived one day and carried off old Sedley and his daughter--to return no more.

Jos's carriage arrived one day and carried off old Sedley and his daughter - to return no more.


The tears that were shed by the landlady and the landlady's daughter at that event were as genuine tears of sorrow as any that have been outpoured in the course of this history.

The landlady and her daughter shed genuine tears of sorrow


In their long acquaintanceship and intimacy they could not recall a harsh word that had been uttered by Amelia.

; they could not recall a harsh word from Amelia.


She had been all sweetness and kindness, always thankful, always gentle, even when Mrs. Clapp lost her own temper and pressed for the rent.

She had been all sweetness and kindness, even when Mrs. Clapp lost her own temper and pressed for the rent.


When the kind creature was going away for good and all, the landlady reproached herself bitterly for ever having used a rough expression to her--how she wept, as they stuck up with wafers on the window, a paper notifying that the little rooms so long occupied were to let!

When the kind creature was going away, the landlady reproached herself bitterly.


They never would have such lodgers again, that was quite clear.

They would never have such lodgers again, that was quite clear.


After-life proved the truth of this melancholy prophecy, and Mrs. Clapp revenged herself for the deterioration of mankind by levying the most savage contributions upon the tea-caddies and legs of mutton of her locataires.


Most of them scolded and grumbled; some of them did not pay; none of them stayed.


The landlady might well regret those old, old friends, who had left her.


As for Miss Mary, her sorrow at Amelia's departure was such as I shall not attempt to depict.

As for Miss Polly, her sorrow was such as I shall not attempt to depict.


From childhood upwards she had been with her daily and had attached herself so passionately to that dear good lady that when the grand barouche came to carry her off into splendour, she fainted in the arms of her friend, who was indeed scarcely less affected than the good-natured girl.

She had attached herself so passionately to Amelia that when the grand barouche came to carry her off, she fainted in her friend's arms.


Indeed, Amelia loved her like a daughter


During eleven years the girl had been her constant friend and associate.


The separation was a very painful one indeed to her.


But it was of course arranged that Mary was to come and stay often at the grand new house whither Mrs. Osborne was going, and where Mary was sure she would never be so happy as she had been in their humble cot, as Miss Clapp called it, in the language of the novels which she loved.

But it was of course arranged that Polly would come and stay often at the grand new house where Mrs. Osborne was going, and where Polly was sure she could never be so happy as at the Clapps' humble home.


Let us hope she was wrong in her judgement.


Poor Emmy's days of happiness had been very few in that humble cot.

Poor Emmy's days of happiness in that home had been very few.


She never liked to come back to the house after she had left it, or to face the landlady who had tyrannized over her when ill-humoured and unpaid, or when pleased had treated her with a coarse familiarity scarcely less odious.

: the landlady had tyrannized over her when unpaid, and


Her servility and fulsome compliments when Emmy was in prosperity were not more to that lady's liking.

Mrs. Clapp's servility and fulsome compliments about the new house were no more to Emmy's liking.


She cast about notes of admiration all over the new house, extolling every article of furniture or ornament; she fingered Mrs. Osborne's dresses and calculated their price.


Nothing could be too good for that sweet lady, she vowed and protested.


But in the vulgar sycophant who now paid court to her, Emmy always remembered the coarse tyrant who had made her miserable many a time, to whom she had been forced to put up petitions for time, when the rent was overdue; who cried out at her extravagance if she bought delicacies for her ailing mother or father; who had seen her humble and trampled upon her.

Emmy always remembered the coarse tyrant who had made her miserable; who had cried out at her extravagance if she bought delicacies for her ailing parents; who had seen her humble, and trampled upon her.


Nobody ever heard of these griefs, which had been part of our poor little woman's lot in life.


She kept them secret from her father, whose improvidence was the cause of much of her misery.


She had to bear all the blame of his misdoings, and indeed was so utterly gentle and humble as to be made by nature for a victim.


I hope she is not to suffer much more of that hard usage.

I hope Amelia is not to suffer more of that hard usage.


And, as in all griefs there is said to be some consolation, I may mention that poor Mary, when left at her friend's departure in a hysterical condition, was placed under the medical treatment of the young fellow from the surgery, under whose care she rallied after a short period.

And, as in all griefs there is some consolation, I may mention that Polly, when in a hysterical condition at her friend's departure, was placed under the medical treatment of the young fellow from the surgery, in whose care she soon rallied.


Emmy, when she went away from Brompton, endowed Mary with every article of furniture that the house contained, only taking away her pictures (the two pictures over the bed) and her piano--that little old piano which had now passed into a plaintive jingling old age, but which she loved for reasons of her own.

Emmy gave her every bit of furniture that she had at Brompton, only taking away her pictures and her piano - that little old piano which had now passed into a plaintive jingling old age, but which she loved for reasons of her own.


She was a child when first she played on it, and her parents gave it her.


It had been given to her again since, as the reader may remember, when her father's house was gone to ruin and the instrument was recovered out of the wreck.


Major Dobbin was exceedingly pleased when, as he was superintending the arrangements of Jos's new house--which the Major insisted should be very handsome and comfortable--the cart arrived from Brompton, bringing the trunks and bandboxes of the emigrants from that village, and with them the old piano.

Major Dobbin was exceedingly pleased when, as he was superintending the move to Jos's new house, the cart arrived from Brompton, bringing trunks and the old piano.


Amelia would have it up in her sitting-room, a neat little apartment on the second floor, adjoining her father's chamber, and where the old gentleman sat commonly of evenings.

Amelia wanted it up in her sitting-room on the second floor, next to her father's chamber.


When the men appeared then bearing this old music-box, and Amelia gave orders that it should be placed in the chamber aforesaid, Dobbin was quite elated.

When the men appeared bearing the piano, Dobbin was quite elated.


"I'm glad you've kept it," he said in a very sentimental manner.


"I was afraid you didn't care about it."


"I value it more than anything I have in the world," said Amelia.


The fact was, as he had bought it himself, though he never said anything about it, it never entered into his head to suppose that Emmy should think anybody else was the purchaser, and as a matter of course he fancied that she knew the gift came from him.

The fact was, as he had bought it himself, it never entered into his head to suppose that Emmy should think anybody else was the purchaser. He thought that she knew the gift came from him.


he said; and the question, the great question of all, was trembling on his lips, when Emmy replied--

he said; and the question, the great question of all, was trembling on his lips, when Emmy replied:


"Can I do otherwise?--did not he give it me?"


"I did not know," said poor old Dob, and his countenance fell.

"I did not know," said poor old Dob, and his face fell.


Emmy did not note the circumstance at the time, nor take immediate heed of the very dismal expression which honest Dobbin's countenance assumed, but she thought of it afterwards.

Emmy did not heed this at the time, but she thought of it afterwards.


And then it struck her, with inexpressible pain and mortification too, that it was William who was the giver of the piano, and not George, as she had fancied.

And then it struck her, with inexpressible pain and mortification, that it was William who was the giver of the piano, and not George.


It was not George's gift; the only one which she had received from her lover, as she thought--the thing she had cherished beyond all others--her dearest relic and prize.

It was not, as she had thought, George's gift; her dearest relic.


She had spoken to it about George; played his favourite airs upon it; sat for long evening hours, touching, to the best of her simple art, melancholy harmonies on the keys, and weeping over them in silence.

She had spoken to it about George; played his favourite airs upon it; sat for long evening hours, touching melancholy harmonies on the keys, and weeping over them in silence.


The next time that old Sedley asked her to play, she said it was shockingly out of tune, that she had a headache, that she couldn't play.

The next time old Sedley asked her to play, she said it was shockingly out of tune, that she had a headache, that she couldn't play it.


Then, according to her custom, she rebuked herself for her pettishness and ingratitude and determined to make a reparation to honest William for the slight she had not expressed to him, but had felt for his piano.

Then she rebuked herself for her pettish ingratitude and determined to make up for the slight she had not expressed to honest William, but had felt for his piano.


A few days afterwards, as they were seated in the drawing-room, where Jos had fallen asleep with great comfort after dinner, Amelia said with rather a faltering voice to Major Dobbin--

A few days afterwards, as they were seated in the drawing-room, where Jos had fallen asleep after dinner, Amelia said falteringly to Major Dobbin


, "I have to beg your pardon for something."


I never thanked you for it when you gave it me, many, many years ago, before I was married.

I never thanked you for it when you gave it me, many, many years ago.


She held out her hand, but the poor little woman's heart was bleeding; and as for her eyes, of course they were at their work.

She held out her hand, but the poor little woman's heart was bleeding.


"Amelia, Amelia," he said, "I did buy it for you.


I think I loved you from the first minute that I saw you, when George brought me to your house, to show me the Amelia whom he was engaged to.

I think I loved you from the first minute that I saw you, when George took me to meet you.


You were but a girl, in white, with large ringlets; you came down singing--do you remember?--and we went to Vauxhall.

You were only a girl, in white, with ringlets; you came down singing - do you remember? - and we went to Vauxhall.


Since then I have thought of but one woman in the world, and that was you.


I think there is no hour in the day has passed for twelve years that I haven't thought of you.

No hour in the day has passed for twelve years that I haven't thought of you.


I came to tell you this before I went to India, but you did not care, and I hadn't the heart to speak.

I came to tell you this before I went to India, but I hadn't the heart to speak.


You did not care whether I stayed or went."


"No, only indifferent," Dobbin continued desperately.


"I have nothing to make a woman to be otherwise.

"I have nothing to make a woman be otherwise.


You are hurt in your heart at the discovery about the piano, and that it came from me and not from George.

You are hurt at discovering that the piano came from me and not from George.


I forgot, or I should never have spoken of it so.


It is for me to ask your pardon for being a fool for a moment, and thinking that years of constancy and devotion might have pleaded with you."

beg your pardon for being a fool for a moment, and thinking that years of constancy and devotion might have pleaded with you."


"It is you who are cruel now," Amelia said with some spirit.


"George is my husband, here and in heaven.


I am his now as when you first saw me, dear William.


It was he who told me how good and generous you were, and who taught me to love you as a brother.


Have you not been everything to me and my boy?


Our dearest, truest, kindest friend and protector?

our dearest, truest, kindest friend and protector?


Had you come a few months sooner perhaps you might have spared me that--that dreadful parting.

Had you come a few months sooner perhaps you might have spared me that - that dreadful parting from my boy.


Oh, it nearly killed me, William--but you didn't come, though I wished and prayed for you to come, and they took him too away from me.


Be his friend still and mine"--and here her voice broke, and she hid her face on his shoulder.

Be his friend still and mine-" and here her voice broke, and she hid her face on his shoulder.


The Major folded his arms round her, holding her to him as if she was a child, and kissed her head.

The Major folded his arms round her, as if she was a child, and kissed her head.


"I will not change, dear Amelia," he said.


Only let me stay near you and see you often."


And so William was at liberty to look and long--as the poor boy at school who has no money may sigh after the contents of the tart-woman's tray.

And so William was at liberty to look and yearn - just as the poor schoolboy with no money may sigh after the contents of the tart-woman's tray.


The news of the great fights of Quatre Bras and Waterloo reached England at the same time.


The Gazette first published the result of the two battles; at which glorious intelligence all England thrilled with triumph and fear.

, all England thrilled with triumph and fear;


Particulars then followed; and after the announcement of the victories came the list of the wounded and the slain.

for then came the list of the wounded and the slain.


Who can tell the dread with which that catalogue was opened and read!

Who can tell the dread with which that catalogue was read!


Fancy, at every village and homestead almost through the three kingdoms, the great news coming of the battles in Flanders, and the feelings of exultation and gratitude, bereavement and sickening dismay, when the lists of the regimental losses were gone through, and it became known whether the dear friend and relative had escaped or fallen.

Exultation and gratitude were followed by sickening dismay.


Anybody who will take the trouble of looking back to a file of the newspapers of the time, must, even now, feel at second-hand this breathless pause of expectation.

Anybody who looks back at the newspapers of the time must, even now, feel this breathless pause of expectation.


The lists of casualties are carried on from day to day: you stop in the midst as in a story which is to be continued in our next.


Think what the feelings must have been as those papers followed each other fresh from the press; and if such an interest could be felt in our country, and about a battle where but twenty thousand of our people were engaged, think of the condition of Europe for twenty years before, where people were fighting, not by thousands, but by millions; each one of whom as he struck his enemy wounded horribly some other innocent heart far away.


The news which that famous Gazette brought to the Osbornes gave a dreadful shock to the family and its chief.

The news which the Gazette brought to the Osbornes gave them a dreadful shock.


The girls indulged unrestrained in their grief.

The girls indulged in unrestrained grief.


The gloom-stricken old father was still more borne down by his fate and sorrow.

The gloom-stricken old father was still more weighed down by sorrow.


He strove to think that a judgment was on the boy for his disobedience.


He dared not own that the severity of the sentence frightened him, and that its fulfilment had come too soon upon his curses.

He dared not own that the severity of the sentence frightened him, and that its fulfilment had come too soon after his curses.


Sometimes a shuddering terror struck him, as if he had been the author of the doom which he had called down on his son.

Sometimes a shuddering terror struck him, as if he had been the author of his son's doom.


There was a chance before of reconciliation.


The boy's wife might have died; or he might have come back and said, Father I have sinned.


There was no hope of reconciliation now.


He stood on the other side of the gulf impassable, haunting his parent with sad eyes.

George stood on the other side of the gulf impassable, haunting his parent with sad eyes.


He remembered them once before so in a fever, when every one thought the lad was dying, and he lay on his bed speechless, and gazing with a dreadful gloom.

He remembered him once in a fever, when everyone thought the lad was dying, and he lay on his bed speechless.


how the father clung to the doctor then, and with what a sickening anxiety he followed him: what a weight of grief was off his mind when, after the crisis of the fever, the lad recovered, and looked at his father once more with eyes that recognised him.

how the father clung to the doctor with sickening anxiety: what a weight of grief was off his mind when the lad recovered.


But now there was no help or cure, or chance of reconcilement: above all, there were no humble words to soothe vanity outraged and furious, or bring to its natural flow the poisoned, angry blood.

But now there was no help or cure; above all, there were no humble words to soothe outraged vanity and poisoned, angry blood.


And it is hard to say which pang it was that tore the proud father's heart most keenly--that his son should have gone out of the reach of his forgiveness, or that the apology which his own pride expected should have escaped him.

It is hard to say which pang tore the proud father's heart most keenly - that his son should have gone out of the reach of his forgiveness, or that he could never receive any apology.


Whatever his sensations might have been, however, the stern old man would have no confidant.


He never mentioned his son's name to his daughters; but ordered the elder to place all the females of the establishment in mourning; and desired that the male servants should be similarly attired in deep black.

never mentioned his son's name to his daughters; but ordered the elder to go into mourning.


All parties and entertainments, of course, were to be put off.


No communications were made to his future son-in-law, whose marriage-day had been fixed: but there was enough in Mr. Osborne's appearance to prevent Mr. Bullock from making any inquiries, or in any way pressing forward that ceremony.

No communications were made to his future son-in-law, whose marriage-day had been fixed: but Mr. Osborne's appearance prevented Mr. Bullock from asking about the wedding.


He and the ladies whispered about it under their voices in the drawing-room sometimes, whither the father never came.


He remained constantly in his own study; the whole front part of the house being closed until some time after the completion of the general mourning.


About three weeks after the 18th of June, Mr. Osborne's acquaintance, Sir William Dobbin, called at Mr. Osborne's house in Russell Square, with a very pale and agitated face, and insisted upon seeing that gentleman.

After about three weeks, Sir William Dobbin called at Mr. Osborne's house with a very pale and agitated face, and insisted upon seeing him.


Ushered into his room, and after a few words, which neither the speaker nor the host understood, the former produced from an inclosure a letter sealed with a large red seal.

Ushered into his room, Sir William produced a letter with a large red seal.


"My son, Major Dobbin," the Alderman said, with some hesitation, "despatched me a letter by an officer of the --th, who arrived in town to-day.

"My son, Major Dobbin," the Alderman said with some hesitation, "sent me a letter which arrived today.


My son's letter contains one for you, Osborne."


The Alderman placed the letter on the table, and Osborne stared at him for a moment or two in silence.

The Alderman placed the letter on the table, and Osborne stared at him for a moment in silence.


His looks frightened the ambassador, who after looking guiltily for a little time at the grief-stricken man, hurried away without another word.

His looks frightened the messenger, who hurried away without another word.


The letter was in George's well-known bold handwriting.


It was that one which he had written before daybreak on the 16th of June, and just before he took leave of Amelia.

It was the one which he had written before daybreak on the 16th of June.


The great red seal was emblazoned with the sham coat of arms which Osborne had assumed from the Peerage, with "Pax in bello" for a motto; that of the ducal house with which the vain old man tried to fancy himself connected.

The great red seal was emblazoned with the sham coat of arms which Osborne had taken from the Peerage;


The hand that signed it would never hold pen or sword more.


The very seal that sealed it had been robbed from George's dead body as it lay on the field of battle.

the very seal that had impressed it had been robbed from George's dead body as it lay on the battlefield.


The father knew nothing of this, but sat and looked at the letter in terrified vacancy.


Have you ever had a difference with a dear friend?


How his letters, written in the period of love and confidence, sicken and rebuke you!


What a dreary mourning it is to dwell upon those vehement protests of dead affection!


What lying epitaphs they make over the corpse of love!


What dark, cruel comments upon Life and Vanities!


Most of us have got or written drawers full of them.


They are closet-skeletons which we keep and shun.


Osborne trembled long before the letter from his dead son.


He had been too proud to acknowledge the tenderness which his heart felt.

He had been too proud to acknowledge the tenderness he felt.


He only said, that on the eve of a great battle, he wished to bid his father farewell, and solemnly to implore his good offices for the wife--it might be for the child--whom he left behind him.

He only said, that on the eve of a great battle, he wished to bid his father farewell, and solemnly to implore his good offices for the wife - and perhaps the child - whom he left behind.


He owned with contrition that his irregularities and his extravagance had already wasted a large part of his mother's little fortune.

He confessed that his extravagance had already wasted a large part of his mother's little fortune.


He thanked his father for his former generous conduct; and he promised him that if he fell on the field or survived it, he would act in a manner worthy of the name of George Osborne.

He thanked his father for his former generous conduct; and he promised him that whether he fell on the field or survived it, he would act in a manner worthy of the name of George Osborne.


His English habit, pride, awkwardness perhaps, had prevented him from saying more.


His father could not see the kiss George had placed on the superscription of his letter.

His father could not see the kiss George had placed on the address of his letter.


Mr. Osborne dropped it with the bitterest, deadliest pang of balked affection and revenge.

Mr. Osborne dropped it with the bitterest pang of balked affection and revenge.


His son was still beloved and unforgiven.


About two months afterwards, however, as the young ladies of the family went to church with their father, they remarked how he took a different seat from that which he usually occupied when he chose to attend divine worship; and that from his cushion opposite, he looked up at the wall over their heads.

About two months afterwards, however, as the young ladies of the family went to church with their father, they remarked how he took a different seat from usual; and that he looked up at the wall over their heads.


This caused the young women likewise to gaze in the direction towards which their father's gloomy eyes pointed: and they saw an elaborate monument upon the wall, where Britannia was represented weeping over an urn, and a broken sword and a couchant lion indicated that the piece of sculpture had been erected in honour of a deceased warrior.

The young women gazed in that direction, and saw an elaborate monument upon the wall, with Britannia weeping over an urn, and a broken sword and a couchant lion: signs that the sculpture was in honour of a dead warrior.


The sculptors of those days had stocks of such funereal emblems in hand; as you may see still on the walls of St. Paul's, which are covered with hundreds of these braggart heathen allegories.


There was a constant demand for them during the first fifteen years of the present century.


Under the memorial in question were emblazoned the well-known and pompous Osborne arms; and the inscription said, that the monument was "Sacred to the memory of George Osborne, Junior, Esq., late a Captain in his Majesty's --th regiment of foot, who fell on the 18th of June, 1815, aged 28 years, while fighting for his king and country in the glorious victory of Waterloo.

Under the memorial were emblazoned the pompous Osborne arms, and the inscription: "Sacred to the memory of George Osborne, late a Captain in his Majesty's -th regiment of foot, who fell on the 18th of June, 1815, aged 28 years, while fighting for his king and country in the glorious victory of Waterloo.


The sight of that stone agitated the nerves of the sisters so much, that Miss Maria was compelled to leave the church.

The sight of that stone agitated the sisters so much that Miss Maria had to leave the church.


The congregation made way respectfully for those sobbing girls clothed in deep black, and pitied the stern old father seated opposite the memorial of the dead soldier.

The congregation made way respectfully for the sobbing girls, and pitied the stern old father.


the girls said to themselves as soon as their ebullition of grief was over.


Much conversation passed too among the acquaintances of the Osborne family, who knew of the rupture between the son and father caused by the former's marriage, as to the chance of a reconciliation with the young widow.


There were bets among the gentlemen both about Russell Square and in the City.


If the sisters had any anxiety regarding the possible recognition of Amelia as a daughter of the family, it was increased presently, and towards the end of the autumn, by their father's announcement that he was going abroad.

Their anxiety that Amelia might be recognised as one of the family was increased towards the end of the autumn, by their father's announcement that he was going abroad.


He did not say whither, but they knew at once that his steps would be turned towards Belgium, and were aware that George's widow was still in Brussels.

He did not say where, but they knew at once that he would go to Belgium; and Amelia was still in Brussels.


They had pretty accurate news indeed of poor Amelia from Lady Dobbin and her daughters.


Our honest Captain had been promoted in consequence of the death of the second Major of the regiment on the field; and the brave O'Dowd, who had distinguished himself greatly here as upon all occasions where he had a chance to show his coolness and valour, was a Colonel and Companion of the Bath.

Our honest Captain Dobbin had been promoted to Major after the battle; and the brave O'Dowd, who had distinguished himself greatly, was a Colonel and Companion of the Bath.


Very many of the brave --th, who had suffered severely upon both days of action, were still at Brussels in the autumn, recovering of their wounds.

Very many of the brave regiment were still at Brussels in the autumn, recovering from their wounds.


The city was a vast military hospital for months after the great battles; and as men and officers began to rally from their hurts, the gardens and places of public resort swarmed with maimed warriors, old and young, who, just rescued out of death, fell to gambling, and gaiety, and love-making, as people of Vanity Fair will do.

The city was a vast military hospital for months after the great battles; and as men and officers began to recover, the gardens and public places swarmed with maimed warriors, old and young, who fell to gambling, and gaiety, and love-making, as people of Vanity Fair will do.


Mr. Osborne found out some of the --th easily.

Mr. Osborne easily found some of the -th


He knew their uniform quite well, and had been used to follow all the promotions and exchanges in the regiment, and loved to talk about it and its officers as if he had been one of the number.


On the day after his arrival at Brussels, and as he issued from his hotel, which faced the park, he saw a soldier in the well-known facings, reposing on a stone bench in the garden, and went and sate down trembling by the wounded convalescent man.

the day after his arrival at Brussels, as he came out from his hotel facing the park, he saw a soldier in the well-known outfit, reposing on a stone bench, and went and sat down by him, trembling.


"Were you in Captain Osborne's company?"


he said, and added, after a pause, "he was my son, sir."


The man was not of the Captain's company, but he lifted up his unwounded arm and touched his cap sadly and respectfully to the haggard broken-spirited gentleman who questioned him.

The man was not of the Captain's company, but he touched his cap sadly and respectfully to the haggard gentleman.


"The whole army didn't contain a finer or a better officer," the soldier said.

"The whole army didn't contain a finer officer," the man said.


"The Sergeant of the Captain's company (Captain Raymond had it now), was in town, though, and was just well of a shot in the shoulder.


His honour might see him if he liked, who could tell him anything he wanted to know about--about the --th's actions.

could tell his honour anything he wanted to know about the regiment's actions.


But his honour had seen Major Dobbin, no doubt, the brave Captain's great friend; and Mrs. Osborne, who was here too, and had been very bad, he heard everybody say.

But his honour had seen Major Dobbin, no doubt, the brave Captain's great friend; and Mrs. Osborne, who was here too, and had been very bad.


They say she was out of her mind like for six weeks or more.

They say she was out of her mind for six weeks or more.


But your honour knows all about that--and asking your pardon"--the man added.


Osborne put a guinea into the soldier's hand, and told him he should have another if he would bring the Sergeant to the Hotel du Parc; a promise which very soon brought the desired officer to Mr. Osborne's presence.

Osborne put a guinea into the soldier's hand, and told him he should have another if he would bring the Sergeant to the Hotel du Parc; a promise which very soon brought the officer.


And the first soldier went away; and after telling a comrade or two how Captain Osborne's father was arrived, and what a free-handed generous gentleman he was, they went and made good cheer with drink and feasting, as long as the guineas lasted which had come from the proud purse of the mourning old father.


In the Sergeant's company, who was also just convalescent, Osborne made the journey of Waterloo and Quatre Bras, a journey which thousands of his countrymen were then taking.

In the Sergeant's company, Osborne travelled to Waterloo and Quatre Bras, a journey which thousands of his countrymen were then taking.


He took the Sergeant with him in his carriage, and went through both fields under his guidance.

He took the Sergeant in his carriage, and went through both fields under his guidance.


He saw the point of the road where the regiment marched into action on the 16th, and the slope down which they drove the French cavalry who were pressing on the retreating Belgians.

He saw the road where the regiment marched into action on the 16th, and the slope down which they drove the French cavalry.


There was the spot where the noble Captain cut down the French officer who was grappling with the young Ensign for the colours, the Colour-Sergeants having been shot down.

There was the spot where the noble Captain cut down the French officer who was grappling with the young Ensign for the colours.


Along this road they retreated on the next day, and here was the bank at which the regiment bivouacked under the rain of the night of the seventeenth.

Along this road they retreated on the next day, and here was the bank at which the regiment bivouacked under the rain on the night of the 17th.


Further on was the position which they took and held during the day, forming time after time to receive the charge of the enemy's horsemen and lying down under the shelter of the bank from the furious French cannonade.

Further on was the position which they held during the day, sheltering under the bank from the furious French cannonade.


And it was at this declivity when at evening the whole English line received the order to advance, as the enemy fell back after his last charge, that the Captain, hurraying and rushing down the hill waving his sword, received a shot and fell dead.

And when the English line received the order to advance, it was here that the Captain, cheering and rushing down the hill waving his sword, received a shot and fell dead.


"It was Major Dobbin who took back the Captain's body to Brussels," the Sergeant said, in a low voice, "and had him buried, as your honour knows."

"Major Dobbin took back the Captain's body to Brussels," the Sergeant said, in a low voice, "and had him buried, as your honour knows."


The peasants and relic-hunters about the place were screaming round the pair, as the soldier told his story, offering for sale all sorts of mementoes of the fight, crosses, and epaulets, and shattered cuirasses, and eagles.

Relic-hunters were screaming round the pair as the soldier told his story, offering mementoes of the fight for sale.


Osborne gave a sumptuous reward to the Sergeant when he parted with him, after having visited the scenes of his son's last exploits.


had already seen his son's burial-place.


Indeed, he had driven thither immediately after his arrival at Brussels.

Indeed, he had driven there immediately after his arrival at Brussels.


George's body lay in the pretty burial-ground of Laeken, near the city; in which place, having once visited it on a party of pleasure, he had lightly expressed a wish to have his grave made.


And there the young officer was laid by his friend, in the unconsecrated corner of the garden, separated by a little hedge from the temples and towers and plantations of flowers and shrubs, under which the Roman Catholic dead repose.

, in the unconsecrated corner of the garden, separated by a little hedge from the temples and flowers under which the Roman Catholic dead reposed.


It seemed a humiliation to old Osborne to think that his son, an English gentleman, a captain in the famous British army, should not be found worthy to lie in ground where mere foreigners were buried.

It seemed a humiliation to old Osborne to think that his son, an English gentleman and captain, should not be found worthy to lie in ground where mere foreigners were buried.


Which of us is there can tell how much vanity lurks in our warmest regard for others, and how selfish our love is?


Old Osborne did not speculate much upon the mingled nature of his feelings, and how his instinct and selfishness were combating together.

Old Osborne did not speculate much upon his own mingled selfish feelings.


He firmly believed that everything he did was right, that he ought on all occasions to have his own way--and like the sting of a wasp or serpent his hatred rushed out armed and poisonous against anything like opposition.

He firmly believed that everything he did was right, and that he ought to have his own way - and his hatred rushed out armed and poisonous against any opposition.


He was proud of his hatred as of everything else.


Always to be right, always to trample forward, and never to doubt, are not these the great qualities with which dullness takes the lead in the world?

Always to be right, always to trample forward, and never to doubt; are not these the great qualities with which dullness takes the lead in the world?


As after the drive to Waterloo, Mr. Osborne's carriage was nearing the gates of the city at sunset, they met another open barouche, in which were a couple of ladies and a gentleman, and by the side of which an officer was riding.

After the drive to Waterloo, as Mr. Osborne's carriage was nearing the gates of the city at sunset, they met another barouche, in which were a couple of ladies and a gentleman, with an officer riding alongside.


Osborne gave a start back, and the Sergeant, seated with him, cast a look of surprise at his neighbour, as he touched his cap to the officer, who mechanically returned his salute.


It was Amelia, with the lame young Ensign by her side, and opposite to her her faithful friend Mrs. O'Dowd.

It was Amelia, with the lame young Ensign and her faithful friend Mrs. O'Dowd.


It was Amelia, but how changed from the fresh and comely girl Osborne knew.


Her pretty brown hair was parted under a widow's cap--the poor child.


Her eyes were fixed, and looking nowhere.


They stared blank in the face of Osborne, as the carriages crossed each other, but she did not know him; nor did he recognise her, until looking up, he saw Dobbin riding by her: and then he knew who it was.

They stared blank in the face of Osborne, as the carriages passed each other, but she did not know him; nor did he recognise her, until looking up, he saw Dobbin riding by her: and then he knew who it was.


He did not know how much until he saw her there.


When her carriage had passed on, he turned and stared at the Sergeant, with a curse and defiance in his eye cast at his companion, who could not help looking at him--as much as to say "How dare you look at me?


It is she who has tumbled my hopes and all my pride down."


"Tell the scoundrel to drive on quick," he shouted with an oath, to the lackey on the box.

"Tell the scoundrel to drive on quick," he shouted with an oath to the lackey on the box.


A minute afterwards, a horse came clattering over the pavement behind Osborne's carriage, and Dobbin rode up.

A minute afterwards, a horse came clattering up behind Osborne's carriage; it was Dobbin.


His thoughts had been elsewhere as the carriages passed each other, and it was not until he had ridden some paces forward, that he remembered it was Osborne who had just passed him.


Then he turned to examine if the sight of her father-in-law had made any impression on Amelia, but the poor girl did not know who had passed.


Then William, who daily used to accompany her in his drives, taking out his watch, made some excuse about an engagement which he suddenly recollected, and so rode off.


She did not remark that either: but sate looking before her, over the homely landscape towards the woods in the distance, by which George marched away.

She was looking into the distance, to the woods where George had marched away.


cried Dobbin, as he rode up and held out his hand.


Osborne made no motion to take it, but shouted out once more and with another curse to his servant to drive on.

Osborne made no move to take it, but shouted out with another curse to his servant to drive on.


Dobbin laid his hand on the carriage side.


"No," replied the other, "from your son"; at which Osborne fell back into the corner of his carriage, and Dobbin allowing it to pass on, rode close behind it, and so through the town until they reached Mr. Osborne's hotel, and without a word.

"No, from your son." At this Osborne fell back into the corner of his carriage, and Dobbin rode close behind it through the town until they reached Mr. Osborne's hotel.


There he followed Osborne up to his apartments.


George had often been in the rooms; they were the lodgings which the Crawleys had occupied during their stay in Brussels.


"Pray, have you any commands for me, Captain Dobbin, or, I beg your pardon, I should say MAJOR Dobbin, since better men than you are dead, and you step into their SHOES?"

"Pray, have you any commands for me, Captain Dobbin, or, I beg your pardon, MAJOR Dobbin, since better men than you are dead, and you step into their shoes?"


said Mr. Osborne, in that sarcastic tone which he sometimes was pleased to assume.


"Make it short, sir," said the other with an oath, scowling at his visitor.

"Make it short, sir," said the other with an oath, scowling.


"I am here as his closest friend," the Major resumed, "and the executor of his will.

"I am here as his closest friend, and the executor of his will.


Are you aware how small his means are, and of the straitened circumstances of his widow?"


"I don't know his widow, sir," Osborne said.


But the gentleman whom he addressed was determined to remain in good temper, and went on without heeding the interruption.

But Dobbin was determined to remain in good temper, and went on.


"Do you know, sir, Mrs. Osborne's condition?


Her life and her reason almost have been shaken by the blow which has fallen on her.

Her life and almost her reason have been shaken by the blow which has fallen on her.


It is very doubtful whether she will rally.


There is a chance left for her, however, and it is about this I came to speak to you.


Will you visit the parent's offence upon the child's head?


or will you forgive the child for poor George's sake?"


Osborne broke out into a rhapsody of self-praise and imprecations;--by the first, excusing himself to his own conscience for his conduct; by the second, exaggerating the undutifulness of George.

Osborne broke out into a rhapsody of self-praise for his own conduct and imprecations against the undutifulness of George.


No father in all England could have behaved more generously to a son, who had rebelled against him wickedly.

George had rebelled against him wickedly.


He had died without even so much as confessing he was wrong.

He had died without confessing he was wrong.


Let him take the consequences of his undutifulness and folly.

Let him take the consequences of his folly.


As for himself, Mr. Osborne, he was a man of his word.

As for himself, Mr. Osborne was a man of his word.


He had sworn never to speak to that woman, or to recognize her as his son's wife.


"And that's what you may tell her," he concluded with an oath; "and that's what I will stick to to the last day of my life."

He concluded with an oath; "And that's what I will stick to till the last day of my life."


There was no hope from that quarter then.


The widow must live on her slender pittance, or on such aid as Jos could give her.

The widow must live on her slender pittance, or such aid as Jos could give her.


"I might tell her, and she would not heed it," thought Dobbin, sadly: for the poor girl's thoughts were not here at all since her catastrophe, and, stupefied under the pressure of her sorrow, good and evil were alike indifferent to her.

"I might tell her, and she would not heed it," thought Dobbin sadly: for the poor girl was stupefied by sorrow; good and evil were alike indifferent to her.


So, indeed, were even friendship and kindness.

So, indeed, were friendship and kindness.


She received them both uncomplainingly, and having accepted them, relapsed into her grief.

She received them both uncomplainingly, and relapsed into her grief.


Suppose some twelve months after the above conversation took place to have passed in the life of our poor Amelia.

*
Suppose some twelve months after the above conversation to have passed in the life of our poor Amelia.


She has spent the first portion of that time in a sorrow so profound and pitiable, that we who have been watching and describing some of the emotions of that weak and tender heart, must draw back in the presence of the cruel grief under which it is bleeding.

She has spent the first portion of that time in a sorrow so profound and pitiable, that we must draw back.


Tread silently round the hapless couch of the poor prostrate soul.


Shut gently the door of the dark chamber wherein she suffers, as those kind people did who nursed her through the first months of her pain, and never left her until heaven had sent her consolation.

Shut gently the door of the dark chamber wherein she suffers, as those kind people did who nursed her through the first months of her pain.


A day came--of almost terrified delight and wonder--when the poor widowed girl pressed a child upon her breast--a child, with the eyes of George who was gone--a little boy, as beautiful as a cherub.

Then a day came - of almost terrified delight and wonder - when the poor widowed girl pressed a child upon her breast - a child with George's eyes - a little boy, as beautiful as a cherub.


What a miracle it was to hear its first cry!


How she laughed and wept over it--how love, and hope, and prayer woke again in her bosom as the baby nestled there.

How she laughed and wept over it - how love, and hope, and prayer woke again in her bosom as the baby nestled there.


The doctors who attended her, and had feared for her life or for her brain, had waited anxiously for this crisis before they could pronounce that either was secure.

The doctors who had feared for her life or sanity could at last pronounce that both were secure.


It was worth the long months of doubt and dread which the persons who had constantly been with her had passed, to see her eyes once more beaming tenderly upon them.

It was worth the long months of doubt and dread for her friends to see her eyes once more beaming tenderly upon them.


It was he who brought her back to England and to her mother's house; when Mrs. O'Dowd, receiving a peremptory summons from her Colonel, had been forced to quit her patient.

It was he who brought her back to England, to her mother's house, when Mrs. O'Dowd was forced to leave and go with her Colonel.


To see Dobbin holding the infant, and to hear Amelia's laugh of triumph as she watched him, would have done any man good who had a sense of humour.


William was the godfather of the child, and exerted his ingenuity in the purchase of cups, spoons, pap-boats, and corals for this little Christian.

William was the child's godfather, and exerted his ingenuity in the purchase of cups, spoons, and coral rattles and teething toys.


How his mother nursed him, and dressed him, and lived upon him; how she drove away all nurses, and would scarce allow any hand but her own to touch him; how she considered that the greatest favour she could confer upon his godfather, Major Dobbin, was to allow the Major occasionally to dandle him, need not be told here.

How his mother nursed the babe, and lived upon him; how she would scarce allow any hand but her own to touch him; how she considered that the greatest favour she could confer upon Major Dobbin, was to allow him to dandle the baby, need not be told here.


She enveloped the feeble and unconscious creature with love and worship.

: she enveloped him with love and worship.


It was her life which the baby drank in from her bosom.


Of nights, and when alone, she had stealthy and intense raptures of motherly love, such as God's marvellous care has awarded to the female instinct--joys how far higher and lower than reason--blind beautiful devotions which only women's hearts know.

Of nights, and when alone, she had stealthy and intense raptures of motherly love - joys far higher and lower than reason - blind beautiful devotions which only women's hearts know.


It was William Dobbin's task to muse upon these movements of Amelia's, and to watch her heart; and if his love made him divine almost all the feelings which agitated it, alas!

William Dobbin mused upon this, and watched her heart; and if his love made him understand almost all the feelings in it, alas!


he could see with a fatal perspicuity that there was no place there for him.

he could see that there was no place there for him.


And so, gently, he bore his fate, knowing it, and content to bear it.


I suppose Amelia's father and mother saw through the intentions of the Major, and were not ill-disposed to encourage him; for Dobbin visited their house daily, and stayed for hours with them, or with Amelia, or with the honest landlord, Mr. Clapp, and his family.

I suppose Amelia's father and mother saw through the Major's intentions, and were inclined to encourage him; for Dobbin visited their house daily, and stayed for hours with them, or with the honest landlord, Mr. Clapp, and his family.


He brought, on one pretext or another, presents to everybody, and almost every day; and went, with the landlord's little girl, who was rather a favourite with Amelia, by the name of Major Sugarplums.

He brought presents to everybody, almost every day; the landlord's little girl called him Major Sugarplums.


It was this little child who commonly acted as mistress of the ceremonies to introduce him to Mrs. Osborne.


She laughed one day when Major Sugarplums' cab drove up to Fulham, and he descended from it, bringing out a wooden horse, a drum, a trumpet, and other warlike toys, for little Georgy, who was scarcely six months old, and for whom the articles in question were entirely premature.

She laughed one day when Major Sugarplums descended from his carriage with a wooden horse, a drum, a trumpet, and other toys for little Georgy, who was scarcely six months old, and for whom these articles were entirely premature.


"Hush," said Amelia, annoyed, perhaps, at the creaking of the Major's boots; and she held out her hand; smiling because William could not take it until he had rid himself of his cargo of toys.

"Hush," said Amelia, annoyed, perhaps, but smiling at the Major and his cargo of toys.


"Go downstairs, little Mary," said he presently to the child, "I want to speak to Mrs. Osborne."

"Go downstairs," said he to the little girl, "I want to speak to Mrs. Osborne."


She looked up rather astonished, and laid down the infant on its bed.

Amelia looked up rather astonished, and laid down the infant on its bed.


"I am come to say good-bye, Amelia," said he, taking her slender little white hand gently.

"I am come to say good-bye, Amelia," said he, taking her hand gently.


"Send the letters to the agents," he said; "they will forward them; for you will write to me, won't you?


"I'll write to you about Georgy," she said.


"Dear William, how good you have been to him and to me.


The little pink hands of the child closed mechanically round the honest soldier's finger, and Amelia looked up in his face with bright maternal pleasure.

The little hands of the sleeping child closed mechanically round the soldier's finger, and Amelia looked up in his face with bright maternal pleasure.


The cruellest looks could not have wounded him more than that glance of hopeless kindness.

The cruellest looks could not have wounded him more than that glance of kindness.


And it was only with all his strength that he could force himself to say a God bless you.


"God bless you," said Amelia, and held up her face and kissed him.


she added, as William Dobbin went to the door with heavy steps.

she added, as William went to the door with heavy steps.


She did not hear the noise of his cab-wheels as he drove away: she was looking at the child, who was laughing in his sleep.

She did not hear the cab-wheels as he drove away: she was looking at the child, who was laughing in his sleep.


Our duty now takes us back for a brief space to some old Hampshire acquaintances of ours, whose hopes respecting the disposal of their rich kinswoman's property were so woefully disappointed.

We now return to some old Hampshire acquaintances, whose hopes of inheritance were so woefully disappointed.


After counting upon thirty thousand pounds from his sister, it was a heavy blow to Bute Crawley to receive but five; out of which sum, when he had paid his own debts and those of Jim, his son at college, a very small fragment remained to portion off his four plain daughters.

It was a heavy blow to Bute Crawley to receive only five thousand pounds from Miss Crawley's estate. Once he had paid his own debts and Jim's, very little remained to portion off his four plain daughters.


Mrs. Bute never knew, or at least never acknowledged, how far her own tyrannous behaviour had tended to ruin her husband.

Mrs. Bute never knew, or at least never acknowledged, how far her own tyrannous behaviour had ruined her husband.


All that woman could do, she vowed and protested she had done.

She vowed that she had done all that woman could do.


Was it her fault if she did not possess those sycophantic arts which her hypocritical nephew, Pitt Crawley, practised?

Was it her fault if she was not as hypocritical as her nephew, Pitt Crawley?


She wished him all the happiness which he merited out of his ill-gotten gains.


"At least the money will remain in the family," she said charitably.

"At least the money will remain in the family," she said.


"Pitt will never spend it, my dear, that is quite certain; for a greater miser does not exist in England, and he is as odious, though in a different way, as his spendthrift brother, the abandoned Rawdon."

"Pitt will never spend it, my dear; for a greater miser does not exist."


So Mrs. Bute, after the first shock of rage and disappointment, began to accommodate herself as best she could to her altered fortunes and to save and retrench with all her might.

So Mrs. Bute, after the first shock, began to adjust to her altered fortunes and to save with all her might.


She instructed her daughters how to bear poverty cheerfully, and invented a thousand notable methods to conceal or evade it.

She invented a thousand methods to conceal poverty.


She took them about to balls and public places in the neighbourhood, with praiseworthy energy; nay, she entertained her friends in a hospitable comfortable manner at the Rectory, and much more frequently than before dear Miss Crawley's legacy had fallen in.

She took her daughters to public places with praiseworthy energy; she entertained her friends hospitably at the Rectory.


From her outward bearing nobody would have supposed that the family had been disappointed in their expectations, or have guessed from her frequent appearance in public how she pinched and starved at home.

Nobody would have supposed that the family had been disappointed in their expectations, or have guessed how she pinched and starved at home.


Her girls had more milliners' furniture than they had ever enjoyed before.


They appeared perseveringly at the Winchester and Southampton assemblies; they penetrated to Cowes for the race-balls and regatta-gaieties there; and their carriage, with the horses taken from the plough, was at work perpetually, until it began almost to be believed that the four sisters had had fortunes left them by their aunt, whose name the family never mentioned in public but with the most tender gratitude and regard.

appeared perseveringly at the Winchester assemblies; they went to Cowes for the balls and regattas; and their carriage, with the horses taken from the plough, was at work perpetually, until it began almost to be believed that the four sisters had had fortunes left them by their aunt, of whom the family spoke only with gratitude.


I know no sort of lying which is more frequent in Vanity Fair than this, and it may be remarked how people who practise it take credit to themselves for their hypocrisy, and fancy that they are exceedingly virtuous and praiseworthy, because they are able to deceive the world with regard to the extent of their means.

I know no sort of lying which is more frequent in Vanity Fair than this. People who practise it fancy that they are exceedingly virtuous, because they are able to deceive the world about their means.


Mrs. Bute certainly thought herself one of the most virtuous women in England, and the sight of her happy family was an edifying one to strangers.

Mrs. Bute certainly thought herself one of the most virtuous women in England, and the sight of her happy family was an edifying one.


They were so cheerful, so loving, so well-educated, so simple!


Martha painted flowers exquisitely and furnished half the charity bazaars in the county.


Emma was a regular County Bulbul, and her verses in the Hampshire Telegraph were the glory of its Poet's Corner.

Emma's verses in the Hampshire Telegraph were the glory of its Poet's Corner.


Fanny and Matilda sang duets together, Mamma playing the piano, and the other two sisters sitting with their arms round each other's waists and listening affectionately.


Nobody saw the poor girls drumming at the duets in private.


No one saw Mamma drilling them rigidly hour after hour.


In a word, Mrs. Bute put a good face against fortune and kept up appearances in the most virtuous manner.


Everything that a good and respectable mother could do Mrs. Bute did.

Everything that a respectable mother could do Mrs. Bute did.


She got over yachting men from Southampton, parsons from the Cathedral Close at Winchester, and officers from the barracks there.

She got over yachting men from Southampton, parsons from the Cathedral Close at Winchester, and officers from the barracks.


She tried to inveigle the young barristers at assizes and encouraged Jim to bring home friends with whom he went out hunting with the H. H. What will not a mother do for the benefit of her beloved ones?

She tried to inveigle the young barristers at assizes and encouraged Jim to bring home friends with whom he went hunting.


Between such a woman and her brother-in-law, the odious Baronet at the Hall, it is manifest that there could be very little in common.

Between such a woman and her brother-in-law, the odious Baronet, there could be very little in common.


The rupture between Bute and his brother Sir Pitt was complete; indeed, between Sir Pitt and the whole county, to which the old man was a scandal.

The rupture between Bute and his brother Sir Pitt was complete; indeed, Sir Pitt scandalised the whole county.


His dislike for respectable society increased with age, and the lodge-gates had not opened to a gentleman's carriage-wheels since Pitt and Lady Jane came to pay their visit of duty after their marriage.

His dislike for respectable society increased with age, and no gentleman's carriage had passed his gates since Pitt and Lady Jane paid a visit after their marriage.


That was an awful and unfortunate visit, never to be thought of by the family without horror.

That was an awful visit, remembered by the family with horror.


Pitt begged his wife, with a ghastly countenance, never to speak of it, and it was only through Mrs. Bute herself, who still knew everything which took place at the Hall, that the circumstances of Sir Pitt's reception of his son and daughter-in-law were ever known at all.

Pitt begged his wife never to speak of it, and it was only through Mrs. Bute, who still knew everything which took place at the Hall, that the nature of Sir Pitt's reception of his son and daughter-in-law was ever known.


As they drove up the avenue of the park in their neat and well-appointed carriage, Pitt remarked with dismay and wrath great gaps among the trees--his trees--which the old Baronet was felling entirely without license.

As they drove up the avenue of the park, Pitt remarked with dismay great gaps among the trees - his trees - which the old Baronet was felling without permission.


The park wore an aspect of utter dreariness and ruin.


The drives were ill kept, and the neat carriage splashed and floundered in muddy pools along the road.

The neat carriage floundered in muddy pools along the road.


The great sweep in front of the terrace and entrance stair was black and covered with mosses; the once trim flower-beds rank and weedy.

The great sweep in front of the terrace and entrance stair was black and covered with moss; the flower-beds were rank and weedy.


Shutters were up along almost the whole line of the house; the great hall-door was unbarred after much ringing of the bell; an individual in ribbons was seen flitting up the black oak stair, as Horrocks at length admitted the heir of Queen's Crawley and his bride into the halls of their fathers.

After much ringing of the bell, the door was unbarred; an individual in ribbons was seen flitting up the stairs, as Horrocks at length admitted Pitt and Lady Jane.


He led the way into Sir Pitt's "Library," as it was called, the fumes of tobacco growing stronger as Pitt and Lady Jane approached that apartment, "Sir Pitt ain't very well," Horrocks remarked apologetically and hinted that his master was afflicted with lumbago.

He led the way into Sir Pitt's "library," where the tobacco fumes were strong.


The library looked out on the front walk and park.


Sir Pitt had opened one of the windows, and was bawling out thence to the postilion and Pitt's servant, who seemed to be about to take the baggage down.

Sir Pitt had opened one of the windows, and was bawling out to a servant who was about to take the baggage down from the carriage.


"Don't move none of them trunks," he cried, pointing with a pipe which he held in his hand.


"It's only a morning visit, Tucker, you fool.


Lor, what cracks that off hoss has in his heels!


Ain't there no one at the King's Head to rub 'em a little?


You ain't like that old horse-godmother, your mother.

You ain't like that old horse, your mother.


Come and give old Pitt a kiss, like a good little gal."