Jos came on purpose from the Star and Garter at Richmond, whither he retreated after the deplorable event. He did not care to remain in the house, with the--under the circumstances, you understand.

Afterwards, Jos returned to the Star and Garter at Richmond; he did not care to remain in the house.


But Emmy stayed and did her duty as usual.

Chapter 61: In Which Two Lights are Put Out


She was bowed down by no especial grief, and rather solemn than sorrowful.


She prayed that her own end might be as calm and painless, and thought with trust and reverence of the words which she had heard from her father during his illness, indicative of his faith, his resignation, and his future hope.

She prayed that her own end might be as calm and painless, and thought with trust of the words which she had heard from her father during his illness, showing his faith and his future hope.


Yes, I think that will be the better ending of the two, after all.


Suppose you are particularly rich and well-to-do and say on that last day, "I am very rich; I am tolerably well known; I have lived all my life in the best society, and thank Heaven, come of a most respectable family.

Suppose you are particularly rich and say on that last day, "I am very rich; I am well known; I have lived all my life in the best society, and thank Heaven, come of a most respectable family.


I have served my King and country with honour.


I was in Parliament for several years, where, I may say, my speeches were listened to and pretty well received.


I don't owe any man a shilling: on the contrary, I lent my old college friend, Jack Lazarus, fifty pounds, for which my executors will not press him. I leave my daughters with ten thousand pounds apiece--very good portions for girls; I bequeath my plate and furniture, my house in Baker Street, with a handsome jointure, to my widow for her life; and my landed property, besides money in the funds, and my cellar of well-selected wine in Baker Street, to my son.

I don't owe any man a shilling: I leave my daughters with ten thousand pounds apiece; I bequeath my house and belongings, with a handsome jointure, to my widow; and my landed property, money and my cellar of well-selected wine, to my son.


I leave twenty pound a year to my valet; and I defy any man after I have gone to find anything against my character."

I leave twenty pound a year to my valet; and I defy any man to say anything against my character."


Or suppose, on the other hand, your swan sings quite a different sort of dirge and you say, "I am a poor blighted, disappointed old fellow, and have made an utter failure through life.

Or suppose, on the other hand, you say, "I am a poor blighted, disappointed fellow.


I was not endowed either with brains or with good fortune, and confess that I have committed a hundred mistakes and blunders.

I was not endowed with brains or good fortune, and confess that I have committed a hundred mistakes.


I own to having forgotten my duty many a time.


On my last bed I lie utterly helpless and humble, and I pray forgiveness for my weakness and throw myself, with a contrite heart, at the feet of the Divine Mercy."

On my last bed I lie utterly helpless and humble, and I pray forgiveness and throw myself at the feet of the Divine Mercy."


Which of these two speeches, think you, would be the best oration for your own funeral?


Old Sedley made the last; and in that humble frame of mind, and holding by the hand of his daughter, life and disappointment and vanity sank away from under him.

Old Sedley made the latter; and in that humble frame of mind, life and vanity sank away from under him.


"You see," said old Osborne to George, "what comes of merit, and industry, and judicious speculations, and that.

"You see," said old Osborne to George, "what comes of merit, and industry, and that.


Look at your poor Grandfather Sedley and his failure.


And yet he was a better man than I was, this day twenty years--a better man, I should say, by ten thousand pound."

And yet he was a better man than I was twenty years ago - a better man by ten thousand pound."


Beyond these people and Mr. Clapp's family, who came over from Brompton to pay a visit of condolence, not a single soul alive ever cared a penny piece about old John Sedley, or remembered the existence of such a person.


When old Osborne first heard from his friend Colonel Buckler (as little Georgy had already informed us) how distinguished an officer Major Dobbin was, he exhibited a great deal of scornful incredulity and expressed his surprise how ever such a feller as that should possess either brains or reputation.

When old Osborne first heard from his friend Colonel Buckler how distinguished an officer Major Dobbin was, he showed a great deal of scornful incredulity and expressed his surprise that such a feller as that should possess either brains or reputation.


But he heard of the Major's fame from various members of his society. Sir William Dobbin had a great opinion of his son and narrated many stories illustrative of the Major's learning, valour, and estimation in the world's opinion. Finally, his name appeared in the lists of one or two great parties of the nobility, and this circumstance had a prodigious effect upon the old aristocrat of Russell Square.

But he heard of the Major's fame from others too; and when his name appeared in the lists of one or two grand parties of the nobility, this had a great effect upon the old aristocrat of Russell Square.


The Major's position, as guardian to Georgy, whose possession had been ceded to his grandfather, rendered some meetings between the two gentlemen inevitable; and it was in one of these that old Osborne, a keen man of business, looking into the Major's accounts with his ward and the boy's mother, got a hint, which staggered him very much, and at once pained and pleased him, that it was out of William Dobbin's own pocket that a part of the fund had been supplied upon which the poor widow and the child had subsisted.

The Major's position as guardian to Georgy meant that meetings between the two gentlemen were inevitable. At one of these, old Osborne, looking into the Major's accounts with his ward and the boy's mother, got a hint which staggered him very much, and at once pained and pleased him, that it was William who had largely supplied the fund upon which the poor widow and the child had subsisted.


When pressed upon the point, Dobbin, who could not tell lies, blushed and stammered a good deal and finally confessed.

When pressed upon the point, Dobbin blushed and stammered, and finally confessed.


"The marriage," he said (at which his interlocutor's face grew dark) "was very much my doing.

"The marriage was very much my doing," he said.


I thought my poor friend had gone so far that retreat from his engagement would have been dishonour to him and death to Mrs. Osborne, and I could do no less, when she was left without resources, than give what money I could spare to maintain her."

"I thought my poor friend had gone so far that retreat from his engagement would have been dishonour to him and death to Mrs. Osborne. When she was widowed I could do no less than give what money I could spare to maintain her."


"Major D.," Mr. Osborne said, looking hard at him and turning very red too--"you did me a great injury; but give me leave to tell you, sir, you are an honest feller.

"Major D.," Mr. Osborne said, looking hard at him and turning red too, "you did me a great injury; but you are an honest feller.


There's my hand, sir, though I little thought that my flesh and blood was living on you--" and the pair shook hands, with great confusion on Major Dobbin's part, thus found out in his act of charitable hypocrisy.

There's my hand, sir;" and the pair shook hands, with great confusion on Major Dobbin's part.


He strove to soften the old man and reconcile him towards his son's memory.


"He was such a noble fellow," he said, "that all of us loved him, and would have done anything for him.


I, as a young man in those days, was flattered beyond measure by his preference for me, and was more pleased to be seen in his company than in that of the Commander-in-Chief.

I, as a young man, was more pleased to be seen in his company than in that of the Commander-in-Chief.


I never saw his equal for pluck and daring and all the qualities of a soldier"; and Dobbin told the old father as many stories as he could remember regarding the gallantry and achievements of his son.

I never saw his equal for pluck and daring;" and Dobbin told the old father as many stories as he could remember about the gallantry and achievements of his son.


"And Georgy is so like him," the Major added.


"He's so like him that he makes me tremble sometimes," the grandfather said.


On one or two evenings the Major came to dine with Mr. Osborne (it was during the time of the sickness of Mr. Sedley), and as the two sat together in the evening after dinner, all their talk was about the departed hero.

On one or two evenings the Major came to dine with Mr. Osborne, and as the two sat together after dinner, all their talk was about the departed hero.


The father boasted about him according to his wont, glorifying himself in recounting his son's feats and gallantry, but his mood was at any rate better and more charitable than that in which he had been disposed until now to regard the poor fellow; and the Christian heart of the kind Major was pleased at these symptoms of returning peace and good-will.

The father boasted about him, glorifying himself in recounting his son's deeds, but his mood was at any rate more charitable than previously; and the Major was pleased at these signs of good-will.


On the second evening old Osborne called Dobbin William, just as he used to do at the time when Dobbin and George were boys together, and the honest gentleman was pleased by that mark of reconciliation.


On the next day at breakfast, when Miss Osborne, with the asperity of her age and character, ventured to make some remark reflecting slightingly upon the Major's appearance or behaviour--the master of the house interrupted her.

On the next day at breakfast, when Miss Osborne ventured to make some slighting remark about the Major, her father interrupted her.


"You'd have been glad enough to git him for yourself, Miss O.


"That he is, Grandpapa," said Georgy approvingly; and going up close to the old gentleman, he took a hold of his large grey whiskers, and laughed in his face good-humouredly, and kissed him.

"That he is, Grandpapa," said Georgy approvingly; and going up to the old gentleman, he kissed him.


And he told the story at night to his mother, who fully agreed with the boy.

He told the story at night to his mother, who fully agreed.


He is one of the best and most upright of men."


Dobbin happened to drop in very soon after this conversation, which made Amelia blush perhaps, and the young scapegrace increased the confusion by telling Dobbin the other part of the story. "I say, Dob," he said, "there's such an uncommon nice girl wants to marry you.

Dobbin happened to drop in very soon after this conversation, and the young scapegrace told him, "I say, Dob, there's such an uncommon nice girl wants to marry you.


She's plenty of tin; she wears a front; and she scolds the servants from morning till night."

She's plenty of tin; and she scolds the servants from morning till night."


And I say, Dob, how prime it would be to have you for my uncle."


Old Sedley's quavering voice from the next room at this moment weakly called for Amelia, and the laughing ended.


That old Osborne's mind was changing was pretty clear.

It was pretty clear that old Osborne's mind was changing.


He asked George about his uncle sometimes, and laughed at the boy's imitation of the way in which Jos said "God-bless-my-soul" and gobbled his soup.

He asked George about his uncle Joseph sometimes, and laughed at the boy's imitation of the way in which Jos said "God-bless-my-soul" and gobbled his soup.


Then he said, "It's not respectful, sir, of you younkers to be imitating of your relations.

Then he said, "It's not respectful, sir to be imitating your relations.


Miss O., when you go out adriving to-day, leave my card upon Mr. Sedley, do you hear?

Miss O., when you go out adriving today, leave my card for Mr. Joseph Sedley, do you hear?"


There's no quarrel betwigst me and him anyhow."


The card was returned, and Jos and the Major were asked to dinner--to a dinner the most splendid and stupid that perhaps ever Mr. Osborne gave; every inch of the family plate was exhibited, and the best company was asked.

The card was exchanged, and Jos and the Major were asked to dinner - the most splendid and stupid dinner that ever Mr. Osborne gave. Every inch of the family plate was exhibited, and the best company were invited.


Mr. Sedley took down Miss O. to dinner, and she was very gracious to him; whereas she hardly spoke to the Major, who sat apart from her, and by the side of Mr. Osborne, very timid.

Mr. Sedley took Miss O. in to dinner, and she was very gracious to him; whereas she hardly spoke to the Major.


Jos said, with great solemnity, it was the best turtle soup he had ever tasted in his life, and asked Mr. Osborne where he got his Madeira.

Jos said solemnly it was the best turtle soup he had ever tasted in his life, and asked Mr. Osborne where he got his Madeira.


"It is some of Sedley's wine," whispered the butler to his master.


"I've had it a long time, and paid a good figure for it, too," Mr. Osborne said aloud to his guest, and then whispered to his right-hand neighbour how he had got it "at the old chap's sale."

"I've had it a long time, and paid a good figure for it, too," Mr. Osborne said aloud to his guest.


More than once he asked the Major about--about Mrs. George Osborne--a theme on which the Major could be very eloquent when he chose.

More than once he asked the Major about Mrs. George Osborne - a theme on which the Major was very eloquent.


He told Mr. Osborne of her sufferings--of her passionate attachment to her husband, whose memory she worshipped still--of the tender and dutiful manner in which she had supported her parents, and given up her boy, when it seemed to her her duty to do so.

He told Mr. Osborne of her sufferings - of her passionate attachment to her husband, whose memory she worshipped still - of the tender and dutiful manner in which she had supported her parents, and given up her boy.


"You don't know what she endured, sir," said honest Dobbin with a tremor in his voice, "and I hope and trust you will be reconciled to her.

"You don't know what she endured, sir," said honest Dobbin with a tremor in his voice, "and I hope you will be reconciled to her.


If she took your son away from you, she gave hers to you; and however much you loved your George, depend on it, she loved hers ten times more."

If she took your son away from you, she gave her son to you; and however much you loved your George, depend on it, she loved hers ten times more."


"By God, you are a good feller, sir," was all Mr. Osborne said.

"By God, you are a good feller, sir," Mr. Osborne said.


It had never struck him that the widow would feel any pain at parting from the boy, or that his having a fine fortune could grieve her.

It had never struck him that the widow would feel any pain at parting from the boy.


A reconciliation was announced as speedy and inevitable, and Amelia's heart already began to beat at the notion of the awful meeting with George's father.

A reconciliation was announced, and Amelia's heart began to beat at the notion of meeting George's father.


It was never, however, destined to take place.

However, the meeting was destined never to take place.


Old Sedley's lingering illness and death supervened, after which a meeting was for some time impossible.

Old Sedley's lingering illness intervened.


That catastrophe and other events may have worked upon Mr. Osborne.

That catastrophe may have worked upon Mr. Osborne.


He was much shaken of late, and aged, and his mind was working inwardly.


He had sent for his lawyers, and probably changed something in his will.

He had sent for his lawyers, and probably changed his will.


The medical man who looked in pronounced him shaky, agitated, and talked of a little blood and the seaside; but he took neither of these remedies.


One day when he should have come down to breakfast, his servant missing him, went into his dressing-room and found him lying at the foot of the dressing-table in a fit.

One day when he should have come down to breakfast, his servant went into his dressing-room and found him lying in a fit.


Miss Osborne was apprised; the doctors were sent for; Georgy stopped away from school; the bleeders and cuppers came.

Miss Osborne was told; the doctors were sent for; Georgy stayed away from school.


Osborne partially regained cognizance, but never could speak again, though he tried dreadfully once or twice, and in four days he died.

Osborne partially regained awareness, but never could speak again, although he tried; and in four days he died.


The doctors went down, and the undertaker's men went up the stairs, and all the shutters were shut towards the garden in Russell Square.

The doctors went down, and the undertaker's men went up the stairs, and all the shutters were closed.


Bullock rushed from the City in a hurry.


"How much money had he left to that boy?


Surely share and share alike between the three?"


What was it that poor old man tried once or twice in vain to say?

What was it that poor old man had tried in vain to say?


I hope it was that he wanted to see Amelia and be reconciled before he left the world to one dear and faithful wife of his son: it was most likely that, for his will showed that the hatred which he had so long cherished had gone out of his heart.

I hope it was that he wanted to see Amelia and be reconciled before he left the world: for his will showed that the hatred had gone out of his heart.


They found in the pocket of his dressing-gown the letter with the great red seal which George had written him from Waterloo.

They found in his dressing-gown pocket the letter which George had written him from Waterloo.


He had looked at the other papers too, relative to his son, for the key of the box in which he kept them was also in his pocket, and it was found the seals and envelopes had been broken--very likely on the night before the seizure--when the butler had taken him tea into his study, and found him reading in the great red family Bible.


When the will was opened, it was found that half the property was left to George, and the remainder between the two sisters.

When the will was opened, it was seen that half the property was left to young George, and the remainder between the two sisters.


Mr. Bullock to continue, for their joint benefit, the affairs of the commercial house, or to go out, as he thought fit.

Mr. Bullock was to continue the affairs of the commercial house as he thought fit.


An annuity of five hundred pounds, chargeable on George's property, was left to his mother, "the widow of my beloved son, George Osborne," who was to resume the guardianship of the boy.

An annuity of five hundred pounds was left to the "the widow of my beloved son, George Osborne," who was to resume the guardianship of the boy.


"Major William Dobbin, my beloved son's friend," was appointed executor; "and as out of his kindness and bounty, and with his own private funds, he maintained my grandson and my son's widow, when they were otherwise without means of support" (the testator went on to say) "I hereby thank him heartily for his love and regard for them, and beseech him to accept such a sum as may be sufficient to purchase his commission as a Lieutenant-Colonel, or to be disposed of in any way he may think fit."

Major William Dobbin was appointed executor; "as out of his kindness, and with his own private funds, he maintained my grandson and my son's widow, when they were otherwise without means of support. I hereby thank him heartily, and beseech him to accept a sum sufficient to purchase his commission as a Lieutenant-Colonel, or to be disposed of in any way he may think fit."


When Amelia heard that her father-in-law was reconciled to her, her heart melted, and she was grateful for the fortune left to her.

When Amelia heard that her father-in-law was reconciled to her, her heart melted, and she was grateful.


But when she heard how Georgy was restored to her, and knew how and by whom, and how it was William's bounty that supported her in poverty, how it was William who gave her her husband and her son--oh, then she sank on her knees, and prayed for blessings on that constant and kind heart; she bowed down and humbled herself, and kissed the feet, as it were, of that beautiful and generous affection.

But when she heard how Georgy was restored to her, and knew how it was William's bounty that had supported her in poverty - then she sank on her knees, and prayed for blessings on that constant and kind heart.


And gratitude was all that she had to pay back for such admirable devotion and benefits--only gratitude!

And gratitude was all that she had to pay back for such admirable devotion and benefits - only gratitude!


If she thought of any other return, the image of George stood up out of the grave and said, "You are mine, and mine only, now and forever."


William knew her feelings: had he not passed his whole life in divining them?


When the nature of Mr. Osborne's will became known to the world, it was edifying to remark how Mrs. George Osborne rose in the estimation of the people forming her circle of acquaintance.

When Mr. Osborne's will became public, it was edifying to remark how Mrs. George Osborne rose in people's estimation.


The servants of Jos's establishment, who used to question her humble orders and say they would "ask Master" whether or not they could obey, never thought now of that sort of appeal.

Jos's servants, who used to question her humble orders, never thought of it now.


The cook forgot to sneer at her shabby old gowns (which, indeed, were quite eclipsed by that lady's finery when she was dressed to go to church of a Sunday evening), the others no longer grumbled at the sound of her bell, or delayed to answer that summons.

The cook forgot to sneer at her shabby gowns; the others no longer grumbled at the sound of her bell.


The coachman, who grumbled that his 'osses should be brought out and his carriage made into an hospital for that old feller and Mrs. O., drove her with the utmost alacrity now, and trembling lest he should be superseded by Mr. Osborne's coachman, asked "what them there Russell Square coachmen knew about town, and whether they was fit to sit on a box before a lady?"


Jos's friends, male and female, suddenly became interested about Emmy, and cards of condolence multiplied on her hall table.

Jos's friends suddenly became interested about her, and cards of condolence multiplied on her hall table.


Jos himself, who had looked on her as a good-natured harmless pauper, to whom it was his duty to give victuals and shelter, paid her and the rich little boy, his nephew, the greatest respect--was anxious that she should have change and amusement after her troubles and trials, "poor dear girl"--and began to appear at the breakfast-table, and most particularly to ask how she would like to dispose of the day.

Jos himself, who had looked on her as a good-natured harmless pauper, to whom it was his duty to give food and shelter, paid her and her rich little son the greatest respect. He was anxious that she should have amusement after her troubles, "poor dear girl," and began to ask her how she would like to spend the day.


In her capacity of guardian to Georgy, she, with the consent of the Major, her fellow-trustee, begged Miss Osborne to live in the Russell Square house as long as ever she chose to dwell there; but that lady, with thanks, declared that she never could think of remaining alone in that melancholy mansion, and departed in deep mourning to Cheltenham, with a couple of her old domestics.

As guardian to Georgy, Amelia begged Miss Osborne to live in the Russell Square house as long as she chose; but that lady, with thanks, declared that she could never remain in that melancholy place, and departed in mourning to Cheltenham.


The rest were liberally paid and dismissed, the faithful old butler, whom Mrs. Osborne proposed to retain, resigning and preferring to invest his savings in a public-house, where, let us hope, he was not unprosperous.


Miss Osborne not choosing to live in Russell Square, Mrs. Osborne also, after consultation, declined to occupy the gloomy old mansion there.

Amelia also declined to occupy the gloomy old mansion.


The house was dismantled; the rich furniture and effects, the awful chandeliers and dreary blank mirrors packed away and hidden, the rich rosewood drawing-room suite was muffled in straw, the carpets were rolled up and corded, the small select library of well-bound books was stowed into two wine-chests, and the whole paraphernalia rolled away in several enormous vans to the Pantechnicon, where they were to lie until Georgy's majority.

The house was dismantled; the rich furniture and mirrors were packed away, the carpets were rolled up, the small library was stowed into two wine-chests, and the whole paraphernalia rolled away in several enormous vans to the Pantechnicon, where they were to lie until Georgy was twenty-one.


And the great heavy dark plate-chests went off to Messrs. Stumpy and Rowdy, to lie in the cellars of those eminent bankers until the same period should arrive.


One day Emmy, with George in her hand and clad in deep sables, went to visit the deserted mansion which she had not entered since she was a girl.

One day Emmy and George went to visit the deserted mansion, which she had not entered since she was a girl.


The place in front was littered with straw where the vans had been laden and rolled off.


They went into the great blank rooms, the walls of which bore the marks where the pictures and mirrors had hung.

They went into the great blank rooms, the walls of which bore the marks where pictures had hung.


Then they went up the great blank stone staircases into the upper rooms, into that where grandpapa died, as George said in a whisper, and then higher still into George's own room. The boy was still clinging by her side, but she thought of another besides him.

Then they went up the great stone staircases into the upper apartments, and then higher still into George's own room, the boy clinging by her side.


She knew that it had been his father's room as well as his own.

She knew that it had been his father's room as well as his own, and went to one of the windows.


She went up to one of the open windows (one of those at which she used to gaze with a sick heart when the child was first taken from her), and thence as she looked out she could see, over the trees of Russell Square, the old house in which she herself was born, and where she had passed so many happy days of sacred youth.

She looked out over the trees of Russell Square to the old house in which she herself was born, and where she had passed so many happy days.


They all came back to her, the pleasant holidays, the kind faces, the careless, joyful past times, and the long pains and trials that had since cast her down.

They all came back to her, the pleasant holidays, the kind faces, the joyful past times, and the long trials that had since cast her down.


She thought of these and of the man who had been her constant protector, her good genius, her sole benefactor, her tender and generous friend.

She thought of these and of the man who had been her constant protector, her sole benefactor, and generous friend.


"Look here, Mother," said Georgy, "here's a G.O.


scratched on the glass with a diamond, I never saw it before, I never did it."


"It was your father's room long before you were born, George," she said, and she blushed as she kissed the boy.


She was very silent as they drove back to Richmond, where they had taken a temporary house: where the smiling lawyers used to come bustling over to see her (and we may be sure noted the visit in the bill): and where of course there was a room for Major Dobbin too, who rode over frequently, having much business to transact on behalf of his little ward.

She was very silent as they drove back to Richmond, where they had taken a temporary house: where the smiling lawyers used to come bustling over to see her, and where of course there was a room too for Major Dobbin, who rode over frequently to do business on behalf of his little ward.


Georgy at this time was removed from Mr. Veal's on an unlimited holiday, and that gentleman was engaged to prepare an inscription for a fine marble slab, to be placed up in the Foundling under the monument of Captain George Osborne.

Georgy was removed from Mr. Veal's on an unlimited holiday.


The female Bullock, aunt of Georgy, although despoiled by that little monster of one-half of the sum which she expected from her father, nevertheless showed her charitableness of spirit by being reconciled to the mother and the boy.

Mrs. Frederick Bullock, although robbed of half of the sum which she had expected from her father, nevertheless showed her charitableness by driving to Amelia's house in her gilded chariot, with her flaccid children.


Roehampton is not far from Richmond, and one day the chariot, with the golden bullocks emblazoned on the panels, and the flaccid children within, drove to Amelia's house at Richmond; and the Bullock family made an irruption into the garden, where Amelia was reading a book, Jos was in an arbour placidly dipping strawberries into wine, and the Major in one of his Indian jackets was giving a back to Georgy, who chose to jump over him. He went over his head and bounded into the little advance of Bullocks, with immense black bows in their hats, and huge black sashes, accompanying their mourning mamma.

Amelia was reading a book in the garden; Jos was in an arbour, and the Major was playing leapfrog with Georgy, who jumped over him and bounded into the little Bullocks, with immense black bows in their hats, who accompanied their mourning mamma.


"He is just of the age for Rosa," the fond parent thought, and glanced towards that dear child, an unwholesome little miss of seven years of age.

"He is just the age for Rosa," the fond mother thought, and glanced towards that dear child, an unwholesome little miss of seven years of age.


"Rosa, go and kiss your dear cousin," Mrs. Frederick said.

"Rosa, kiss your dear cousin," Mrs. Bullock said.


"I know you well enough," George said; "but I don't like kissing, please"; and he retreated from the obedient caresses of his cousin.

"I know you," George said; "but I don't like kissing, please," and he retreated.


"Take me to your dear mamma, you droll child," Mrs. Frederick said, and those ladies accordingly met, after an absence of more than fifteen years.

"Take me to your dear mamma, you droll child," Mrs. Frederick said. Those ladies thus met after an absence of fifteen years.


During Emmy's cares and poverty the other had never once thought about coming to see her, but now that she was decently prosperous in the world, her sister-in-law came to her as a matter of course.

During Emmy's poverty the other had never thought of coming to see her, but now that she was prosperous, her sister-in-law came as a matter of course.


Our old friend, Miss Swartz, and her husband came thundering over from Hampton Court, with flaming yellow liveries, and was as impetuously fond of Amelia as ever.

Our old friend, Miss Swartz, with her husband, came over from Hampton Court, as impetuously fond of Amelia as ever.


Miss Swartz would have liked her always if she could have seen her.

Miss Swartz would have liked her always if she had seen her.


But, que voulez vous?--in this vast town one has not the time to go and seek one's friends; if they drop out of the rank they disappear, and we march on without them.

But in London one has not the time to go and seek one's friends; if they drop out of the rank they disappear, and we march on without them.


But so, in a word, and before the period of grief for Mr. Osborne's death had subsided, Emmy found herself in the centre of a very genteel circle indeed, the members of which could not conceive that anybody belonging to it was not very lucky. There was scarce one of the ladies that hadn't a relation a Peer, though the husband might be a drysalter in the City. Some of the ladies were very blue and well informed, reading Mrs. Somerville and frequenting the Royal Institution; others were severe and Evangelical, and held by Exeter Hall.

In a word, Emmy soon found herself in the centre of a very genteel circle of ladies; most related to a Peer, some very well informed, and frequenting the Royal Institution; others severe and Evangelical.


Emmy, it must be owned, found herself entirely at a loss in the midst of their clavers, and suffered woefully on the one or two occasions on which she was compelled to accept Mrs. Frederick Bullock's hospitalities.

Emmy, it must be owned, found herself entirely at a loss in the midst of their talk.


That lady persisted in patronizing her and determined most graciously to form her.


She found Amelia's milliners for her and regulated her household and her manners.


She drove over constantly from Roehampton and entertained her friend with faint fashionable fiddle-faddle and feeble Court slip-slop.


Jos liked to hear it, but the Major used to go off growling at the appearance of this woman, with her twopenny gentility.


He went to sleep under Frederick Bullock's bald head, after dinner, at one of the banker's best parties (Fred was still anxious that the balance of the Osborne property should be transferred from Stumpy and Rowdy's to them), and whilst Amelia, who did not know Latin, or who wrote the last crack article in the Edinburgh, and did not in the least deplore, or otherwise, Mr. Peel's late extraordinary tergiversation on the fatal Catholic Relief Bill, sat dumb amongst the ladies in the grand drawing-room, looking out upon velvet lawns, trim gravel walks, and glistening hot-houses.

She sat dumb amongst the ladies in the grand drawing-room, looking out upon velvet lawns and glistening hot-houses.


"She seems good-natured but insipid," said Mrs. Rowdy; "that Major seems to be particularly epris."

"She seems good-natured but insipid," said Mrs. Rowdy.


"She wants ton sadly," said Mrs. Hollyock.


"My dear creature, you never will be able to form her."


"She is dreadfully ignorant or indifferent," said Mrs. Glowry with a voice as if from the grave, and a sad shake of the head and turban.

"She is dreadfully ignorant," said Mrs. Glowry with a sad shake of the head.


"I asked her if she thought that it was in 1836, according to Mr. Jowls, or in 1839, according to Mr. Wapshot, that the Pope was to fall: and she said--'Poor Pope!


"She is my brother's widow, my dear friends," Mrs. Frederick replied, "and as such I think we're all bound to give her every attention and instruction on entering into the world.

"She is my brother's widow, my dear friends," Mrs. Frederick replied, "and we should give her every instruction on entering into the world."


You may fancy there can be no MERCENARY motives in those whose DISAPPOINTMENTS are well known."


"That poor dear Mrs. Bullock," said Rowdy to Hollyock, as they drove away together--"she is always scheming and managing.

"That poor dear Mrs. Bullock," said Rowdy, as they drove away; "she is always scheming.


She wants Mrs. Osborne's account to be taken from our house to hers--and the way in which she coaxes that boy and makes him sit by that blear-eyed little Rosa is perfectly ridiculous."

The way in which she coaxes that boy and makes him sit by that blear-eyed little Rosa is perfectly ridiculous."


"I wish Glowry was choked with her Man of Sin and her Battle of Armageddon," cried the other, and the carriage rolled away over Putney Bridge.


But this sort of society was too cruelly genteel for Emmy, and all jumped for joy when a foreign tour was proposed.


If there is any exhibition in all Vanity Fair which Satire and Sentiment can visit arm in arm together; where you light on the strangest contrasts laughable and tearful: where you may be gentle and pathetic, or savage and cynical with perfect propriety: it is at one of those public assemblies, a crowd of which are advertised every day in the last page of the Times newspaper, and over which the late Mr. George Robins used to preside with so much dignity. There are very few London people, as I fancy, who have not attended at these meetings, and all with a taste for moralizing must have thought, with a sensation and interest not a little startling and queer, of the day when their turn shall come too, and Mr. Hammerdown will sell by the orders of Diogenes' assignees, or will be instructed by the executors, to offer to public competition, the library, furniture, plate, wardrobe, and choice cellar of wines of Epicurus deceased.

If there is any place in Vanity Fair where Satire and Sentiment go arm in arm together, it is at one of those public gatherings which are advertised every day on the last page of the Times newspaper, when Mr. Hammerdown auctions off the library, furniture, silver plate, wardrobe, and choice wines of the deceased or bankrupt.

Chapter 17: How Captain Dobbin Bought a Piano


Even with the most selfish disposition, the Vanity Fairian, as he witnesses this sordid part of the obsequies of a departed friend, can't but feel some sympathies and regret.

Even the most selfish Vanity Fairian must feel some sympathy at these events.


My Lord Dives's remains are in the family vault: the statuaries are cutting an inscription veraciously commemorating his virtues, and the sorrows of his heir, who is disposing of his goods.

My Lord Dives's remains are in the family vault: his gravestone is being inscribed.


What guest at Dives's table can pass the familiar house without a sigh?--the familiar house of which the lights used to shine so cheerfully at seven o'clock, of which the hall-doors opened so readily, of which the obsequious servants, as you passed up the comfortable stair, sounded your name from landing to landing, until it reached the apartment where jolly old Dives welcomed his friends!


What a number of them he had; and what a noble way of entertaining them.

What a number of friends jolly old Dives had; and how nobly he entertained them.


How witty people used to be here who were morose when they got out of the door; and how courteous and friendly men who slandered and hated each other everywhere else!


He was pompous, but with such a cook what would one not swallow? he was rather dull, perhaps, but would not such wine make any conversation pleasant?

He was rather pompous and dull, perhaps, but would not such wine and food make any conversation pleasant?


We must get some of his Burgundy at any price, the mourners cry at his club.

We must get some of his Burgundy at any price, the mourners cry.


"I got this box at old Dives's sale," Pincher says, handing it round, "one of Louis XV's mistresses--pretty thing, is it not?--sweet miniature," and they talk of the way in which young Dives is dissipating his fortune.


The front is patched over with bills, setting forth the particulars of the furniture in staring capitals.

The front is patched over with notices describing the furniture for sale in staring capitals.


They have hung a shred of carpet out of an upstairs window--a half dozen of porters are lounging on the dirty steps--the hall swarms with dingy guests of oriental countenance, who thrust printed cards into your hand, and offer to bid.

They have hung a shred of carpet out of an upstairs window - porters are lounging on the dirty steps - the hall swarms with dingy guests.


Old women and amateurs have invaded the upper apartments, pinching the bed-curtains, poking into the feathers, shampooing the mattresses, and clapping the wardrobe drawers to and fro.

Old women have invaded the upper floors, pinching the bed-curtains, poking into the feathers, and clapping the wardrobe drawers to and fro.


Enterprising young housekeepers are measuring the looking-glasses and hangings to see if they will suit the new menage (Snob will brag for years that he has purchased this or that at Dives's sale), and Mr. Hammerdown is sitting on the great mahogany dining-tables, in the dining-room below, waving the ivory hammer, and employing all the artifices of eloquence, enthusiasm, entreaty, reason, despair; shouting to his people; satirizing Mr. Davids for his sluggishness; inspiriting Mr. Moss into action; imploring, commanding, bellowing, until down comes the hammer like fate, and we pass to the next lot.

Enterprising young housekeepers are measuring the looking-glasses and hangings, and Mr. Hammerdown is sitting on the great mahogany dining-table, waving the ivory hammer, and using all his eloquence; imploring, commanding, bellowing, until down comes the hammer like fate, and we pass to the next lot.


O Dives, who would ever have thought, as we sat round the broad table sparkling with plate and spotless linen, to have seen such a dish at the head of it as that roaring auctioneer?


The excellent drawing-room furniture by the best makers; the rare and famous wines selected, regardless of cost, and with the well-known taste of the purchaser; the rich and complete set of family plate had been sold on the previous days.

The excellent furniture, the rare and famous wines, the rich and complete set of family plate had been sold on the previous days.


Certain of the best wines (which all had a great character among amateurs in the neighbourhood) had been purchased for his master, who knew them very well, by the butler of our friend John Osborne, Esquire, of Russell Square.

Some of the best had been purchased for his master, by the butler of our friend John Osborne, of Russell Square.


A small portion of the most useful articles of the plate had been bought by some young stockbrokers from the City.

A small portion of the plate had been bought by some young stockbrokers from the City.


And now the public being invited to the purchase of minor objects, it happened that the orator on the table was expatiating on the merits of a picture, which he sought to recommend to his audience: it was by no means so select or numerous a company as had attended the previous days of the auction.

And now, at the sale of minor objects, the auctioneer was expounding the merits of a picture to an audience that was not so select as on the previous days of the auction.


"Portrait of a gentleman on an elephant.


Who'll bid for the gentleman on the elephant?


Lift up the picture, Blowman, and let the company examine this lot."


A long, pale, military-looking gentleman, seated demurely at the mahogany table, could not help grinning as this valuable lot was shown by Mr. Blowman.

A long, pale, military-looking gentleman, seated at the mahogany table, could not help grinning as this valuable lot was shown by Mr. Blowman.


"Turn the elephant to the Captain, Blowman.


What shall we say, sir, for the elephant?"


but the Captain, blushing in a very hurried and discomfited manner, turned away his head.

The Captain, blushing awkwardly, turned away his head.


"Shall we say twenty guineas for this work of art?--fifteen, five, name your own price.

"Shall we say twenty guineas?" cried the auctioneer. "Fifteen, five, name your price.


The gentleman without the elephant is worth five pound."


"I wonder it ain't come down with him," said a professional wag, "he's anyhow a precious big one"; at which (for the elephant-rider was represented as of a very stout figure) there was a general giggle in the room.

"He's a precious big one," said a professional wag; at which there was a general giggle in the room.


"Don't be trying to deprecate the value of the lot, Mr. Moss," Mr. Hammerdown said; "let the company examine it as a work of art--the attitude of the gallant animal quite according to natur'; the gentleman in a nankeen jacket, his gun in his hand, is going to the chase; in the distance a banyhann tree and a pagody, most likely resemblances of some interesting spot in our famous Eastern possessions.


Come, gentlemen, don't keep me here all day."


Some one bid five shillings, at which the military gentleman looked towards the quarter from which this splendid offer had come, and there saw another officer with a young lady on his arm, who both appeared to be highly amused with the scene, and to whom, finally, this lot was knocked down for half a guinea.

Someone bid five shillings. Near the bidder was an officer with a young lady on his arm, who were both highly amused, and to whom, finally, this lot was knocked down for half a guinea.


He at the table looked more surprised and discomposed than ever when he spied this pair, and his head sank into his military collar, and he turned his back upon them, so as to avoid them altogether.

The Captain at the table looked discomposed when he spied this pair, and he turned his back upon them.


Of all the other articles which Mr. Hammerdown had the honour to offer for public competition that day it is not our purpose to make mention, save of one only, a little square piano, which came down from the upper regions of the house (the state grand piano having been disposed of previously); this the young lady tried with a rapid and skilful hand (making the officer blush and start again), and for it, when its turn came, her agent began to bid.

Of all the other articles which Mr. Hammerdown auctioned that day, we will mention only one, a little square piano (the grand piano had been disposed of previously.) The young lady tried this with a skilful hand, and when its turn came, her agent began to bid.


But there was an opposition here. The Hebrew aide-de-camp in the service of the officer at the table bid against the Hebrew gentleman employed by the elephant purchasers, and a brisk battle ensued over this little piano, the combatants being greatly encouraged by Mr. Hammerdown.

But there was an opposition here: the officer at the table. A brisk battle ensued over this little piano, encouraged by Mr. Hammerdown.


At last, when the competition had been prolonged for some time, the elephant captain and lady desisted from the race; and the hammer coming down, the auctioneer said:--"Mr. Lewis, twenty-five," and Mr. Lewis's chief thus became the proprietor of the little square piano.

At last the elephant purchaser and his lady abandoned the race; and the military captain became the owner of the little square piano.


Having effected the purchase, he sate up as if he was greatly relieved, and the unsuccessful competitors catching a glimpse of him at this moment, the lady said to her friend,

He sat up as if he was relieved, and the unsuccessful competitors caught a glimpse of him. The lady said to her friend,


I suppose Becky was discontented with the new piano her husband had hired for her, or perhaps the proprietors of that instrument had fetched it away, declining farther credit, or perhaps she had a particular attachment for the one which she had just tried to purchase, recollecting it in old days, when she used to play upon it, in the little sitting-room of our dear Amelia Sedley.

Maybe Becky was discontented with the new piano her husband had hired for her, or perhaps its owners had fetched it away as it was not paid for: or perhaps she had a particular attachment for the one which she had just tried to buy, recollecting old days when she used to play upon it in the sitting-room of our dear Amelia Sedley.


The sale was at the old house in Russell Square, where we passed some evenings together at the beginning of this story.

For the sale was at the Sedleys' house in Russell Square.


His name had been proclaimed as a defaulter on the Stock Exchange, and his bankruptcy and commercial extermination had followed.

His name had been proclaimed as a defaulter on the Stock Exchange, and his bankruptcy had followed.


Mr. Osborne's butler came to buy some of the famous port wine to transfer to the cellars over the way.


As for one dozen well-manufactured silver spoons and forks at per oz., and one dozen dessert ditto ditto, there were three young stockbrokers (Messrs. Dale, Spiggot, and Dale, of Threadneedle Street, indeed), who, having had dealings with the old man, and kindnesses from him in days when he was kind to everybody with whom he dealt, sent this little spar out of the wreck with their love to good Mrs. Sedley; and with respect to the piano, as it had been Amelia's, and as she might miss it and want one now, and as Captain William Dobbin could no more play upon it than he could dance on the tight rope, it is probable that he did not purchase the instrument for his own use.

As for one dozen silver spoons and forks, three young stockbrokers (Messrs. Dale, Spiggot, and Dale, of Threadneedle Street,) who had received kindnesses from the old man in better days, sent this little spar out of the wreck with their love to good Mrs. Sedley. Respecting the piano, as it had been Amelia's, and as Captain William Dobbin could no more play it than he could dance on the tight rope, it seems that he did not buy it for his own use.


In a word, it arrived that evening at a wonderful small cottage in a street leading from the Fulham Road--one of those streets which have the finest romantic names--(this was called St. Adelaide Villas, Anna-Maria Road West), where the houses look like baby-houses; where the people, looking out of the first-floor windows, must infallibly, as you think, sit with their feet in the parlours; where the shrubs in the little gardens in front bloom with a perennial display of little children's pinafores, little red socks, caps, &c. (polyandria polygynia); whence you hear the sound of jingling spinets and women singing; where little porter pots hang on the railings sunning themselves; whither of evenings you see City clerks padding wearily: here it was that Mr. Clapp, the clerk of Mr. Sedley, had his domicile, and in this asylum the good old gentleman hid his head with his wife and daughter when the crash came.

The piano arrived that evening at a small cottage in a street off the Fulham Road, with the romantic name of St. Adelaide Villas. The houses there look like baby-houses; the people looking out of the first-floor windows, must, you would think, have their feet in the parlours below. The shrubs in the little gardens bloom with a perennial display of children's clothing, and little beer pots hang on the railings sunning themselves.
Here, in the evenings, you see City clerks padding wearily home: here it was that Mr. Clapp, Mr. Sedley's clerk, lived, and here the good old gentleman hid with his wife and daughter when the crash came.


Jos Sedley had acted as a man of his disposition would, when the announcement of the family misfortune reached him. He did not come to London, but he wrote to his mother to draw upon his agents for whatever money was wanted, so that his kind broken-spirited old parents had no present poverty to fear.

Jos Sedley, when news of the family misfortune reached him, did not come to London, but he wrote and told his mother to ask his agents for any money they needed, so his broken-spirited parents had no present poverty to fear.


This done, Jos went on at the boarding-house at Cheltenham pretty much as before.


He drove his curricle; he drank his claret; he played his rubber; he told his Indian stories, and the Irish widow consoled and flattered him as usual.

He drove his curricle; he drank his claret; he told his Indian stories.


His present of money, needful as it was, made little impression on his parents; and I have heard Amelia say that the first day on which she saw her father lift up his head after the failure was on the receipt of the packet of forks and spoons with the young stockbrokers' love, over which he burst out crying like a child, being greatly more affected than even his wife, to whom the present was addressed.

His present of money, needful as it was, made little impression on his parents; yet on receiving the packet of forks and spoons with the young stockbrokers' love, old Mr Sedley burst out crying like a child.


Edward Dale, the junior of the house, who purchased the spoons for the firm, was, in fact, very sweet upon Amelia, and offered for her in spite of all.


He married Miss Louisa Cutts (daughter of Higham and Cutts, the eminent cornfactors) with a handsome fortune in 1820; and is now living in splendour, and with a numerous family, at his elegant villa, Muswell Hill.


But we must not let the recollections of this good fellow cause us to diverge from the principal history.


I hope the reader has much too good an opinion of Captain and Mrs. Crawley to suppose that they ever would have dreamed of paying a visit to so remote a district as Bloomsbury, if they thought the family whom they proposed to honour with a visit were not merely out of fashion, but out of money, and could be serviceable to them in no possible manner.


Rebecca was entirely surprised at the sight of the comfortable old house where she had met with no small kindness, ransacked by brokers and bargainers, and its quiet family treasures given up to public desecration and plunder.

Rebecca had been entirely surprised at the sight of the comfortable old house ransacked by bargainers, its quiet family treasures given up to public plunder.


A month after her flight, she had bethought her of Amelia, and Rawdon, with a horse-laugh, had expressed a perfect willingness to see young George Osborne again.

A month after her flight, she had thought of Amelia, and Rawdon had been willing to see George Osborne again.


"He's a very agreeable acquaintance, Beck," the wag added.

"He's a very agreeable acquaintance, Beck.


"I'd like to sell him another horse, Beck. I'd like to play a few more games at billiards with him.

I'd like to sell him another horse, and play a few more games at billiards with him.


He'd be what I call useful just now, Mrs. C.--ha, ha!"


by which sort of speech it is not to be supposed that Rawdon Crawley had a deliberate desire to cheat Mr. Osborne at play, but only wished to take that fair advantage of him which almost every sporting gentleman in Vanity Fair considers to be his due from his neighbour.

It is not to be supposed that Rawdon Crawley wished to cheat Mr. Osborne at play, but only to take that fair advantage of him which almost every sporting gentleman in Vanity Fair considers to be his due from his neighbour.


The old aunt was long in "coming-to." A month had elapsed.

The old aunt had not yet come round, although a month had elapsed.


Rawdon was denied the door by Mr. Bowls; his servants could not get a lodgment in the house at Park Lane; his letters were sent back unopened.

Rawdon's letters were sent back unopened.


Miss Crawley never stirred out--she was unwell--and Mrs. Bute remained still and never left her.

Miss Crawley never stirred out - she was unwell - and Mrs. Bute never left her.


Crawley and his wife both of them augured evil from the continued presence of Mrs. Bute.

Crawley and his wife both augured evil from the continued presence of Mrs. Bute.


"Gad, I begin to perceive now why she was always bringing us together at Queen's Crawley," Rawdon said.

"Gad, I begin to see now why she was always bringing us together at Queen's Crawley," Rawdon said.


"Well, I don't regret it, if you don't," the Captain cried, still in an amorous rapture with his wife, who rewarded him with a kiss by way of reply, and was indeed not a little gratified by the generous confidence of her husband.

"But I don't regret it, if you don't." The Captain was still in an amorous rapture with his wife, who rewarded him with a kiss, and was indeed gratified by the generous confidence of her husband.


"If he had but a little more brains," she thought to herself, "I might make something of him"; but she never let him perceive the opinion she had of him; listened with indefatigable complacency to his stories of the stable and the mess; laughed at all his jokes; felt the greatest interest in Jack Spatterdash, whose cab-horse had come down, and Bob Martingale, who had been taken up in a gambling-house, and Tom Cinqbars, who was going to ride the steeplechase.

"If he had but a little more brains," she thought to herself, "I might make something of him;" but she never let him perceive her opinion. She listened tirelessly to his stories of the stable and the mess; laughed at all his jokes, and showed the greatest interest in his raffish friends.


When he came home she was alert and happy: when he went out she pressed him to go: when he stayed at home, she played and sang for him, made him good drinks, superintended his dinner, warmed his slippers, and steeped his soul in comfort.

When he came home she was alert and happy: when he went out she pressed him to go: when he stayed at home, she played and sang for him, made him good drinks, supervised his dinner, warmed his slippers, and steeped his soul in comfort.


The best of women (I have heard my grandmother say) are hypocrites.


We don't know how much they hide from us: how watchful they are when they seem most artless and confidential: how often those frank smiles which they wear so easily, are traps to cajole or elude or disarm--I don't mean in your mere coquettes, but your domestic models, and paragons of female virtue.

We don't know how much they hide from us: how watchful they are: how often those frank smiles are traps to cajole or disarm us, even in paragons of female virtue.


Who has not seen a woman hide the dulness of a stupid husband, or coax the fury of a savage one?

Who has not seen a woman hide the dullness of a stupid husband, or coax the fury of a savage one?


We accept this amiable slavishness, and praise a woman for it: we call this pretty treachery truth.

We accept this amiable slavishness, and praise a woman for it.


A good housewife is of necessity a humbug; and Cornelia's husband was hoodwinked, as Potiphar was--only in a different way.

A good housewife is of necessity a humbug.


By these attentions, that veteran rake, Rawdon Crawley, found himself converted into a very happy and submissive married man.

Thus Rawdon Crawley found himself a very happy and submissive married man.


They asked about him once or twice at his clubs, but did not miss him much: in those booths of Vanity Fair people seldom do miss each other.

They asked about him once or twice at his clubs, but did not miss him much.


His secluded wife ever smiling and cheerful, his little comfortable lodgings, snug meals, and homely evenings, had all the charms of novelty and secrecy.

His cheerful wife, his little comfortable lodgings, snug meals and homely evenings had all the charms of novelty and secrecy.


The marriage was not yet declared to the world, or published in the Morning Post. All his creditors would have come rushing on him in a body, had they known that he was united to a woman without fortune.

The marriage was not yet declared to the world; his creditors would have come rushing on him, if they had known that he was united to a woman without fortune.


"My relations won't cry fie upon me," Becky said, with rather a bitter laugh; and she was quite contented to wait until the old aunt should be reconciled, before she claimed her place in society. So she lived at Brompton, and meanwhile saw no one, or only those few of her husband's male companions who were admitted into her little dining-room. These were all charmed with her.

Becky saw only a few of her husband's male companions, who were all charmed with her.


The little dinners, the laughing and chatting, the music afterwards, delighted all who participated in these enjoyments. Major Martingale never thought about asking to see the marriage licence, Captain Cinqbars was perfectly enchanted with her skill in making punch. And young Lieutenant Spatterdash (who was fond of piquet, and whom Crawley would often invite) was evidently and quickly smitten by Mrs. Crawley; but her own circumspection and modesty never forsook her for a moment, and Crawley's reputation as a fire-eating and jealous warrior was a further and complete defence to his little wife.

The little dinners, the laughing and chatter and music, delighted the soldiers; but her modesty never forsook her for a moment, and Crawley's reputation as a fire-eating warrior was a further defence to his little wife.


There are gentlemen of very good blood and fashion in this city, who never have entered a lady's drawing-room; so that though Rawdon Crawley's marriage might be talked about in his county, where, of course, Mrs. Bute had spread the news, in London it was doubted, or not heeded, or not talked about at all. He lived comfortably on credit.

Rawdon Crawley lived comfortably on credit.


He had a large capital of debts, which laid out judiciously, will carry a man along for many years, and on which certain men about town contrive to live a hundred times better than even men with ready money can do.

He had a large capital of debts, which laid out judiciously, will carry a man along for many years.


Indeed who is there that walks London streets, but can point out a half-dozen of men riding by him splendidly, while he is on foot, courted by fashion, bowed into their carriages by tradesmen, denying themselves nothing, and living on who knows what?


We see Jack Thriftless prancing in the park, or darting in his brougham down Pall Mall: we eat his dinners served on his miraculous plate.


"How did this begin," we say, "or where will it end?"


"My dear fellow," I heard Jack once say, "I owe money in every capital in Europe."


The end must come some day, but in the meantime Jack thrives as much as ever; people are glad enough to shake him by the hand, ignore the little dark stories that are whispered every now and then against him, and pronounce him a good-natured, jovial, reckless fellow.


Truth obliges us to confess that Rebecca had married a gentleman of this order.


Everything was plentiful in his house but ready money, of which their menage pretty early felt the want; and reading the Gazette one day, and coming upon the announcement of "Lieutenant G. Osborne to be Captain by purchase, vice Smith, who exchanges," Rawdon uttered that sentiment regarding Amelia's lover, which ended in the visit to Russell Square.

Everything was plentiful in his house but ready money, of which they pretty soon felt the lack.
Reading the Gazette one day, and seeing the announcement of "Lieutenant G. Osborne to be Captain by purchase," Rawdon expressed that willingness to see him again, which ended in the visit to Russell Square and the sale.


When Rawdon and his wife wished to communicate with Captain Dobbin at the sale, and to know particulars of the catastrophe which had befallen Rebecca's old acquaintances, the Captain had vanished; and such information as they got was from a stray porter or broker at the auction.

But when Rawdon and his wife wanted to ask Captain Dobbin about the catastrophe which had befallen the Sedleys, the Captain had vanished; and such information as they got was from a stray porter.


"Look at them with their hooked beaks," Becky said, getting into the buggy, her picture under her arm, in great glee. "They're like vultures after a battle."

"They're like vultures after a battle," said Becky.


Never was in action, my dear," said Rawdon.


Ask Martingale; he was in Spain, aide-de-camp to General Blazes."


"He was a very kind old man, Mr. Sedley," Rebecca said; "I'm really sorry he's gone wrong."


"O stockbrokers--bankrupts--used to it, you know," Rawdon replied, cutting a fly off the horse's ear.

"O stockbrokers - bankrupts - used to it, you know," Rawdon replied.


"I wish we could have afforded some of the plate, Rawdon," the wife continued sentimentally.

"I wish we could have afforded some of the plate," the wife continued sentimentally.


"Five-and-twenty guineas was monstrously dear for that little piano.


We chose it at Broadwood's for Amelia, when she came from school. It only cost five-and-thirty then."

It only cost five-and-thirty when Amelia chose it at Broadwoods."


"What-d'-ye-call'em--'Osborne,' will cry off now, I suppose, since the family is smashed.


How cut up your pretty little friend will be; hey, Becky?"

How cut up your pretty little friend will be, hey, Becky?"


"I daresay she'll recover it," Becky said with a smile--and they drove on and talked about something else.

"I daresay she'll recover," Becky said with a smile - and they drove on and talked about something else.


Considerable time has elapsed since we have seen our respectable friend, old Mr. Osborne of Russell Square.

Considerable time has passed since we have seen old Mr. Osborne of Russell Square.

Chapter 42: Which Treats of the Osborne Family


He has not been the happiest of mortals since last we met him.


Events have occurred which have not improved his temper, and in more instances than one he has not been allowed to have his own way. To be thwarted in this reasonable desire was always very injurious to the old gentleman; and resistance became doubly exasperating when gout, age, loneliness, and the force of many disappointments combined to weigh him down.

He has not always been allowed to have his own way, and to be thwarted in this desire was always harmful to the old gentleman; and it was doubly exasperating when gout, age, loneliness, and disappointments weighed him down.


His stiff black hair began to grow quite white soon after his son's death; his face grew redder; his hands trembled more and more as he poured out his glass of port wine.

His black hair began to grow white soon after his son's death; his face grew redder; his hands trembled as he poured his glass of port wine.


He led his clerks a dire life in the City: his family at home were not much happier.


I doubt if Rebecca, whom we have seen piously praying for Consols, would have exchanged her poverty and the dare-devil excitement and chances of her life for Osborne's money and the humdrum gloom which enveloped him.


He had proposed for Miss Swartz, but had been rejected scornfully by the partisans of that lady, who married her to a young sprig of Scotch nobility.

He had proposed for Miss Swartz, but had been rejected scornfully, and she had married a young sprig of Scotch nobility.


He was a man to have married a woman out of low life and bullied her dreadfully afterwards; but no person presented herself suitable to his taste, and, instead, he tyrannized over his unmarried daughter, at home.

He was a man to have married a low-born woman and bullied her dreadfully afterwards; but no suitable person presented herself, and instead, he tyrannized over his unmarried daughter at home.


She had a fine carriage and fine horses and sat at the head of a table loaded with the grandest plate. She had a cheque-book, a prize footman to follow her when she walked, unlimited credit, and bows and compliments from all the tradesmen, and all the appurtenances of an heiress; but she spent a woeful time.

She had a fine carriage and horses, a prize footman to follow her when she walked, unlimited credit, and compliments from all the tradesmen; but she had a woeful time.


The little charity-girls at the Foundling, the sweeperess at the crossing, the poorest under-kitchen-maid in the servants' hall, was happy compared to that unfortunate and now middle-aged young lady.


Frederick Bullock, Esq., of the house of Bullock, Hulker, and Bullock, had married Maria Osborne, not without a great deal of difficulty and grumbling on Mr. Bullock's part.

Frederick Bullock had married Maria Osborne, after a great deal of difficulty and grumbling.


George being dead and cut out of his father's will, Frederick insisted that the half of the old gentleman's property should be settled upon his Maria, and indeed, for a long time, refused, "to come to the scratch" (it was Mr. Frederick's own expression) on any other terms.

Frederick insisted that half of the old gentleman's property should be settled upon his Maria, and refused "to come to the scratch" (his own expression) on any other terms.


Osborne said Fred had agreed to take his daughter with twenty thousand, and he should bind himself to no more. "Fred might take it, and welcome, or leave it, and go and be hanged."

Osborne said Fred had agreed to take his daughter with twenty thousand, and he could "take it, or be hanged."


Fred, whose hopes had been raised when George had been disinherited, thought himself infamously swindled by the old merchant, and for some time made as if he would break off the match altogether.

Fred thought himself infamously swindled, and for some time acted as if he would break off the match altogether.


Osborne withdrew his account from Bullock and Hulker's, went on 'Change with a horsewhip which he swore he would lay across the back of a certain scoundrel that should be nameless, and demeaned himself in his usual violent manner.

Osborne withdrew his account from Bullock and Hulker's bank, and talked about horsewhipping in his usual violent manner.


Jane Osborne condoled with her sister Maria during this family feud.


"I always told you, Maria, that it was your money he loved and not you," she said, soothingly.


"He selected me and my money at any rate; he didn't choose you and yours," replied Maria, tossing up her head.


The rapture was, however, only temporary.

The rupture was, however, only temporary.


Fred's father and senior partners counselled him to take Maria, even with the twenty thousand settled, half down, and half at the death of Mr. Osborne, with the chances of the further division of the property.

Fred's father counselled him to take Maria, with the twenty thousand.


So he "knuckled down," again to use his own phrase, and sent old Hulker with peaceable overtures to Osborne. It was his father, he said, who would not hear of the match, and had made the difficulties; he was most anxious to keep the engagement.

So he sent off peaceable overtures; it was his father, he said, who had made difficulties.


The excuse was sulkily accepted by Mr. Osborne.


Hulker and Bullock were a high family of the City aristocracy, and connected with the "nobs" at the West End. It was something for the old man to be able to say, "My son, sir, of the house of Hulker, Bullock, and Co., sir; my daughter's cousin, Lady Mary Mango, sir, daughter of the Right Hon. The Earl of Castlemouldy."

Hulker and Bullock were a high family of the City aristocracy, and it was something to be connected with them.


In his imagination he saw his house peopled by the "nobs."


So he forgave young Bullock and consented that the marriage should take place.
It was a grand affair--the bridegroom's relatives giving the breakfast, their habitations being near St. George's, Hanover Square, where the business took place.


The "nobs of the West End" were invited, and many of them signed the book.


Mr. Mango and Lady Mary Mango were there, with the dear young Gwendoline and Guinever Mango as bridesmaids; Colonel Bludyer of the Dragoon Guards (eldest son of the house of Bludyer Brothers, Mincing Lane), another cousin of the bridegroom, and the Honourable Mrs. Bludyer; the Honourable George Boulter, Lord Levant's son, and his lady, Miss Mango that was; Lord Viscount Castletoddy; Honourable James McMull and Mrs. McMull (formerly Miss Swartz); and a host of fashionables, who have all married into Lombard Street and done a great deal to ennoble Cornhill.

Mr. Mango and Lady Mary Mango were there; Colonel Bludyer of the Dragoon Guards; the Honourable George Boulter; Lord Viscount Castletoddy; Honourable James McMull and Mrs. McMull (formerly Miss Swartz); and a host of fashionables.


The young couple had a house near Berkeley Square and a small villa at Roehampton, among the banking colony there.


Fred was considered to have made rather a mesalliance by the ladies of his family, whose grandfather had been in a Charity School, and who were allied through the husbands with some of the best blood in England. And Maria was bound, by superior pride and great care in the composition of her visiting-book, to make up for the defects of birth, and felt it her duty to see her father and sister as little as possible.

Fred was considered to have made rather a msalliance, and Maria felt it her duty to see her father and sister as little as possible.


That she should utterly break with the old man, who had still so many scores of thousand pounds to give away, is absurd to suppose.

Of course she would not utterly break with the old man, who had still so many thousand pounds to give away.


Fred Bullock would never allow her to do that.


But she was still young and incapable of hiding her feelings; and by inviting her papa and sister to her third-rate parties, and behaving very coldly to them when they came, and by avoiding Russell Square, and indiscreetly begging her father to quit that odious vulgar place, she did more harm than all Frederick's diplomacy could repair, and perilled her chance of her inheritance like a giddy heedless creature as she was.

But by inviting her papa and sister to her third-rate parties, and behaving very coldly to them when they came, and by avoiding Russell Square, and begging her father to quit that vulgar place, she did more harm than all Frederick's diplomacy could repair.


"So Russell Square is not good enough for Mrs. Maria, hay?"


said the old gentleman, rattling up the carriage windows as he and his daughter drove away one night from Mrs. Frederick Bullock's, after dinner.

said the old gentleman, as he and his daughter Jane drove away one night from Mrs. Bullock's.


"So she invites her father and sister to a second day's dinner (if those sides, or ontrys, as she calls 'em, weren't served yesterday, I'm d--d), and to meet City folks and littery men, and keeps the Earls and the Ladies, and the Honourables to herself.


I am a plain British merchant I am, and could buy the beggarly hounds over and over.


Lords, indeed!--why, at one of her swarreys I saw one of 'em speak to a dam fiddler--a fellar I despise.


And they won't come to Russell Square, won't they?

"So they won't come to Russell Square, won't they?


Why, I'll lay my life I've got a better glass of wine, and pay a better figure for it, and can show a handsomer service of silver, and can lay a better dinner on my mahogany, than ever they see on theirs--the cringing, sneaking, stuck-up fools.

Why, I've got better wine, and a handsomer service of silver, and a better dinner on my table, than ever they see on theirs - the cringing, sneaking, stuck-up fools."


Drive on quick, James: I want to get back to Russell Square--ha, ha!"


and he sank back into the corner with a furious laugh.


With such reflections on his own superior merit, it was the custom of the old gentleman not unfrequently to console himself.


Jane Osborne could not but concur in these opinions respecting her sister's conduct; and when Mrs. Frederick's first-born, Frederick Augustus Howard Stanley Devereux Bullock, was born, old Osborne, who was invited to the christening and to be godfather, contented himself with sending the child a gold cup, with twenty guineas inside it for the nurse. "That's more than any of your Lords will give, I'LL warrant," he said and refused to attend at the ceremony.

When Mrs. Frederick's first child, Frederick Augustus Howard Stanley Devereux Bullock, was born, old Osborne, who was invited to the christening as godfather, refused to attend. He merely sent the child a gold cup, with twenty guineas inside it for the nurse.


The splendour of the gift, however, caused great satisfaction to the house of Bullock.


Maria thought that her father was very much pleased with her, and Frederick augured the best for his little son and heir.

Yet Maria thought that her father was very much pleased with her.


One can fancy the pangs with which Miss Osborne in her solitude in Russell Square read the Morning Post, where her sister's name occurred every now and then, in the articles headed "Fashionable Reunions," and where she had an opportunity of reading a description of Mrs. F. Bullock's costume, when presented at the drawing room by Lady Frederica Bullock.

One can fancy the pangs with which Miss Jane Osborne read the Morning Post, where her sister's name occurred in the articles headed "Fashionable Reunions," and where she could read a description of Mrs. F. Bullock's costume.


Jane's own life, as we have said, admitted of no such grandeur. It was an awful existence.

Jane's own life, as we have said, was an awful existence.


She had to get up of black winter's mornings to make breakfast for her scowling old father, who would have turned the whole house out of doors if his tea had not been ready at half-past eight.

She had to get up on black winter mornings to make breakfast for her scowling old father.


She remained silent opposite to him, listening to the urn hissing, and sitting in tremor while the parent read his paper and consumed his accustomed portion of muffins and tea.

She sat silent and trembling opposite him, while he read his paper and consumed his muffins and tea.


At half-past nine he rose and went to the City, and she was almost free till dinner-time, to make visitations in the kitchen and to scold the servants; to drive abroad and descend upon the tradesmen, who were prodigiously respectful; to leave her cards and her papa's at the great glum respectable houses of their City friends; or to sit alone in the large drawing-room, expecting visitors; and working at a huge piece of worsted by the fire, on the sofa, hard by the great Iphigenia clock, which ticked and tolled with mournful loudness in the dreary room.

At half-past nine he went to the City, and she was almost free till dinner-time, to visit the kitchen and scold the servants; to drive out to see the tradesmen; to leave her cards at the great glum respectable houses of their City friends; or to sit alone in the large drawing-room, waiting for visitors, and working at a huge piece of needlework while the great clock ticked and tolled with mournful loudness in the dreary room.


The great glass over the mantelpiece, faced by the other great console glass at the opposite end of the room, increased and multiplied between them the brown Holland bag in which the chandelier hung, until you saw these brown Holland bags fading away in endless perspectives, and this apartment of Miss Osborne's seemed the centre of a system of drawing-rooms.


When she removed the cordovan leather from the grand piano and ventured to play a few notes on it, it sounded with a mournful sadness, startling the dismal echoes of the house.


George's picture was gone, and laid upstairs in a lumber-room in the garret; and though there was a consciousness of him, and father and daughter often instinctively knew that they were thinking of him, no mention was ever made of the brave and once darling son.

George's picture was gone, laid upstairs in the garret; and though father and daughter often thought of him, no mention was ever made of the once darling son.


At five o'clock Mr. Osborne came back to his dinner, which he and his daughter took in silence (seldom broken, except when he swore and was savage, if the cooking was not to his liking), or which they shared twice in a month with a party of dismal friends of Osborne's rank and age. Old Dr. Gulp and his lady from Bloomsbury Square; old Mr. Frowser, the attorney, from Bedford Row, a very great man, and from his business, hand-in-glove with the "nobs at the West End"; old Colonel Livermore, of the Bombay Army, and Mrs. Livermore, from Upper Bedford Place; old Sergeant Toffy and Mrs. Toffy; and sometimes old Sir Thomas Coffin and Lady Coffin, from Bedford Square. Sir Thomas was celebrated as a hanging judge, and the particular tawny port was produced when he dined with Mr. Osborne.

At five o'clock Mr. Osborne came back to his dinner, which he and his daughter took in silence, or which they shared twice a month with a party of dismal friends of Osborne's age: old Dr. Gulp and his lady, old Mr. Frowser, the attorney, old Colonel Livermore, of the Bombay Army; old Sergeant Toffy and Mrs. Toffy; and sometimes old Sir Thomas Coffin, the celebrated hanging judge.


These people and their like gave the pompous Russell Square merchant pompous dinners back again. They had solemn rubbers of whist, when they went upstairs after drinking, and their carriages were called at half past ten.

These people exchanged pompous dinners and had solemn rubbers of whist, and their carriages were called at half past ten.


Many rich people, whom we poor devils are in the habit of envying, lead contentedly an existence like that above described.


Jane Osborne scarcely ever met a man under sixty, and almost the only bachelor who appeared in their society was Mr. Smirk, the celebrated ladies' doctor.

Jane Osborne scarcely ever met a man under sixty.


I can't say that nothing had occurred to disturb the monotony of this awful existence: the fact is, there had been a secret in poor Jane's life which had made her father more savage and morose than even nature, pride, and over-feeding had made him.

In fact there had been a secret in poor Jane's life which had made her father more savage and morose than ever.


This secret was connected with Miss Wirt, who had a cousin an artist, Mr. Smee, very celebrated since as a portrait-painter and R.A., but who once was glad enough to give drawing lessons to ladies of fashion.

This secret was connected with Miss Wirt, who had a cousin - an artist, Mr. Smee, very celebrated since as a portrait-painter; but who once gave drawing lessons to ladies of fashion.


Mr. Smee has forgotten where Russell Square is now, but he was glad enough to visit it in the year 1818, when Miss Osborne had instruction from him.

Mr. Smee has forgotten where Russell Square is now, but he was glad enough to visit it in the year 1818.


Smee (formerly a pupil of Sharpe of Frith Street, a dissolute, irregular, and unsuccessful man, but a man with great knowledge of his art) being the cousin of Miss Wirt, we say, and introduced by her to Miss Osborne, whose hand and heart were still free after various incomplete love affairs, felt a great attachment for this lady, and it is believed inspired one in her bosom.

When Smee was introduced by Miss Wirt to Miss Osborne, he felt a great attachment for her, which it is believed was returned.


Miss Wirt was the confidante of this intrigue.


I know not whether she used to leave the room where the master and his pupil were painting, in order to give them an opportunity for exchanging those vows and sentiments which cannot be uttered advantageously in the presence of a third party; I know not whether she hoped that should her cousin succeed in carrying off the rich merchant's daughter, he would give Miss Wirt a portion of the wealth which she had enabled him to win--all that is certain is that Mr. Osborne got some hint of the transaction, came back from the City abruptly, and entered the drawing-room with his bamboo cane; found the painter, the pupil, and the companion all looking exceedingly pale there; turned the former out of doors with menaces that he would break every bone in his skin, and half an hour afterwards dismissed Miss Wirt likewise, kicking her trunks down the stairs, trampling on her bandboxes, and shaking his fist at her hackney coach as it bore her away.

I know not whether she used to leave the room where the master and his pupil were painting, in order to give them time alone; all that is certain is that Mr. Osborne came back from the City abruptly, entered the drawing-room, found the painter, the pupil and the companion all looking exceedingly pale; turned the former out of doors with threats to break every bone in his skin, and half an hour afterwards dismissed Miss Wirt, kicking her trunks downstairs, and shaking his fist at her hackney coach as it bore her away.


Jane Osborne kept her bedroom for many days.

Jane Osborne kept to her bedroom for many days.


She was not allowed to have a companion afterwards.


Her father swore to her that she should not have a shilling of his money if she made any match without his concurrence; and as he wanted a woman to keep his house, he did not choose that she should marry, so that she was obliged to give up all projects with which Cupid had any share.

Her father swore that she should not have a shilling if she made any match without his agreement; and as he wanted a woman to keep his house, he did not choose that she should marry.


During her papa's life, then, she resigned herself to the manner of existence here described, and was content to be an old maid.

During her papa's life, then, she resigned herself to this existence.


Her sister, meanwhile, was having children with finer names every year and the intercourse between the two grew fainter continually.

Her sister, meanwhile, was having children with finer names every year, and they met less and less.


"Jane and I do not move in the same sphere of life," Mrs. Bullock said.


"I regard her as a sister, of course"--which means--what does it mean when a lady says that she regards Jane as a sister?


It has been described how the Misses Dobbin lived with their father at a fine villa at Denmark Hill, where there were beautiful graperies and peach-trees which delighted little Georgy Osborne.

It has been described how the Misses Dobbin lived with their father at a fine villa at Denmark Hill, whose beautiful graperies and peach-trees delighted little Georgy Osborne.


The Misses Dobbin, who drove often to Brompton to see our dear Amelia, came sometimes to Russell Square too, to pay a visit to their old acquaintance Miss Osborne.

The Misses Dobbin, who drove often to Brompton to see Amelia, came sometimes to Russell Square too, to pay a visit to Miss Osborne.


I believe it was in consequence of the commands of their brother the Major in India (for whom their papa had a prodigious respect), that they paid attention to Mrs. George; for the Major, the godfather and guardian of Amelia's little boy, still hoped that the child's grandfather might be induced to relent towards him and acknowledge him for the sake of his son. The Misses Dobbin kept Miss Osborne acquainted with the state of Amelia's affairs; how she was living with her father and mother; how poor they were; how they wondered what men, and such men as their brother and dear Captain Osborne, could find in such an insignificant little chit; how she was still, as heretofore, a namby-pamby milk-and-water affected creature--but how the boy was really the noblest little boy ever seen--for the hearts of all women warm towards young children, and the sourest spinster is kind to them.

It was following the commands of their brother the Major in India that they visited Amelia; and they kept Miss Osborne acquainted with the state of Amelia's affairs - how she was living with her father and mother; how poor they were; how she was still an insignificant namby-pamby creature - but the boy was really the noblest little boy ever seen.


One day, after great entreaties on the part of the Misses Dobbin, Amelia allowed little George to go and pass a day with them at Denmark Hill--a part of which day she spent herself in writing to the Major in India.

One day Amelia allowed little George to go and pass a day with the Misses Dobbin - a part of which day she spent in writing to the Major in India.


She congratulated him on the happy news which his sisters had just conveyed to her. She prayed for his prosperity and that of the bride he had chosen.

She congratulated him on the happy news which his sisters had just told her, and prayed for his and his bride's prosperity.


She thanked him for a thousand thousand kind offices and proofs of steadfast friendship to her in her affliction. She told him the last news about little Georgy, and how he was gone to spend that very day with his sisters in the country.

She thanked him for a thousand kindnesses and told him the latest news about little Georgy.


She underlined the letter a great deal, and she signed herself affectionately his friend, Amelia Osborne.

She signed herself affectionately his friend, Amelia Osborne.


She forgot to send any message of kindness to Lady O'Dowd, as her wont was--and did not mention Glorvina by name, and only in italics, as the Major's BRIDE, for whom she begged blessings.


But the news of the marriage removed the reserve which she had kept up towards him.


She was glad to be able to own and feel how warmly and gratefully she regarded him--and as for the idea of being jealous of Glorvina (Glorvina, indeed!

She was glad to be able to admit how warmly and gratefully she regarded him - and as for the idea of being jealous of Glorvina (Glorvina, indeed!)


), Amelia would have scouted it, if an angel from heaven had hinted it to her.


That night, when Georgy came back in the pony-carriage in which he rejoiced, and in which he was driven by Sir Wm. Dobbin's old coachman, he had round his neck a fine gold chain and watch.

That night, when Georgy came back in the pony-carriage, he had round his neck a fine gold chain and watch.


He said an old lady, not pretty, had given it him, who cried and kissed him a great deal.

He said an old lady had given it him, and cried and kissed him a great deal.


Amelia shrank and started; the timid soul felt a presentiment of terror when she heard that the relations of the child's father had seen him.

And Amelia shrank with a presentiment of terror when she heard that his aunt had seen him.


Miss Osborne came back to give her father his dinner.

Miss Osborne came back from the Dobbin household to give her father his dinner.


He had made a good speculation in the City, and was rather in a good humour that day, and chanced to remark the agitation under which she laboured. "What's the matter, Miss Osborne?"

He was in rather a good humour that day, and seeing her agitated, he deigned to ask, "What's the matter, Miss Osborne?"


"Oh, sir," she said, "I've seen little George.


He is as beautiful as an angel--and so like him!"

He is as beautiful as an angel - and so like him!"


The old man opposite to her did not say a word, but flushed up and began to tremble in every limb.

The old man did not say a word, but began to tremble in every limb.


The amiable behaviour of Mr. Crawley, and Lady Jane's kind reception of her, highly flattered Miss Briggs, who was enabled to speak a good word for the latter, after the cards of the Southdown family had been presented to Miss Crawley. A Countess's card left personally too for her, Briggs, was not a little pleasing to the poor friendless companion. "What could Lady Southdown mean by leaving a card upon you, I wonder, Miss Briggs?" said the republican Miss Crawley; upon which the companion meekly said "that she hoped there could be no harm in a lady of rank taking notice of a poor gentlewoman," and she put away this card in her work-box amongst her most cherished personal treasures.

The amiable behaviour of Mr. Crawley and Lady Jane highly flattered Miss Briggs, as did a Countess's card left personally for her. She put it away in her work-box amongst her most cherished treasures.
"What could Lady Southdown mean by leaving you a card, I wonder, Miss Briggs?" said Miss Crawley.

Chapter 34: James Crawley's Pipe Is Put Out


Furthermore, Miss Briggs explained how she had met Mr. Crawley walking with his cousin and long affianced bride the day before: and she told how kind and gentle-looking the lady was, and what a plain, not to say common, dress she had, all the articles of which, from the bonnet down to the boots, she described and estimated with female accuracy.

The companion explained how she had met Mr. Crawley walking with his fiance the day before. She told how kind and gentle-looking the lady was, and what a plain dress she had, and described her from the bonnet down to the boots with female accuracy.


Miss Crawley allowed Briggs to prattle on without interrupting her too much. As she got well, she was pining for society. Mr. Creamer, her medical man, would not hear of her returning to her old haunts and dissipation in London. The old spinster was too glad to find any companionship at Brighton, and not only were the cards acknowledged the very next day, but Pitt Crawley was graciously invited to come and see his aunt.

Miss Crawley was pining for society; so Pitt Crawley was graciously invited to come and see his aunt.


He came, bringing with him Lady Southdown and her daughter.

He came bringing Lady Southdown and her daughter.


The dowager did not say a word about the state of Miss Crawley's soul; but talked with much discretion about the weather: about the war and the downfall of the monster Bonaparte: and above all, about doctors, quacks, and the particular merits of Dr. Podgers, whom she then patronised.

The dowager did not say a word about the state of Miss Crawley's soul; but talked discreetly about the weather and the war, and above all, about doctors, quacks, and the particular merits of Dr. Podgers.


During their interview Pitt Crawley made a great stroke, and one which showed that, had his diplomatic career not been blighted by early neglect, he might have risen to a high rank in his profession.

During their interview Pitt Crawley made a great diplomatic stroke.


When the Countess Dowager of Southdown fell foul of the Corsican upstart, as the fashion was in those days, and showed that he was a monster stained with every conceivable crime, a coward and a tyrant not fit to live, one whose fall was predicted, &c., Pitt Crawley suddenly took up the cudgels in favour of the man of Destiny.

When Lady Southdown was calling Napoleon a monster, a coward and a tyrant not fit to live, Pitt Crawley suddenly spoke up in his favour.


He described the First Consul as he saw him at Paris at the peace of Amiens; when he, Pitt Crawley, had the gratification of making the acquaintance of the great and good Mr. Fox, a statesman whom, however much he might differ with him, it was impossible not to admire fervently--a statesman who had always had the highest opinion of the Emperor Napoleon.

He described Napoleon at Paris at the peace of Amiens; when he, Pitt Crawley, had the gratification of meeting the great Mr. Fox, an admirable statesman who had always had the highest opinion of the Emperor.


And he spoke in terms of the strongest indignation of the faithless conduct of the allies towards this dethroned monarch, who, after giving himself generously up to their mercy, was consigned to an ignoble and cruel banishment, while a bigoted Popish rabble was tyrannising over France in his stead.

And he spoke indignantly of the faithless conduct of the allies towards Bonaparte, who, after giving himself generously up to their mercy, was sent to a cruel banishment, while a bigoted Popish rabble tyrannised over France in his stead.


This orthodox horror of Romish superstition saved Pitt Crawley in Lady Southdown's opinion, whilst his admiration for Fox and Napoleon raised him immeasurably in Miss Crawley's eyes.


Her friendship with that defunct British statesman was mentioned when we first introduced her in this history.


A true Whig, Miss Crawley had been in opposition all through the war, and though, to be sure, the downfall of the Emperor did not very much agitate the old lady, or his ill-treatment tend to shorten her life or natural rest, yet Pitt spoke to her heart when he lauded both her idols; and by that single speech made immense progress in her favour.

A true Whig, Miss Crawley had been in opposition all through the war, and though, to be sure, the Emperor's downfall did not much agitate the old lady, yet when Pitt praised her idols he spoke to her heart, and advanced in her favour.


Miss Crawley said to the young lady, for whom she had taken a liking at first sight, as she always did for pretty and modest young people; though it must be owned her affections cooled as rapidly as they rose.

Miss Crawley said to Lady Jane, for whom she had taken a liking at first sight, as she always did for pretty and modest young people; though it must be owned her affections cooled as rapidly as they rose.


Lady Jane blushed very much, and said "that she did not understand politics, which she left to wiser heads than hers; but though Mamma was, no doubt, correct, Mr. Crawley had spoken beautifully."

Lady Jane blushed, and said "that she did not understand politics, which she left to wiser heads; but though Mamma was, no doubt, correct, Mr. Crawley had spoken beautifully."


And when the ladies were retiring at the conclusion of their visit, Miss Crawley hoped "Lady Southdown would be so kind as to send her Lady Jane sometimes, if she could be spared to come down and console a poor sick lonely old woman."

And when the ladies were leaving, Miss Crawley hoped "Lady Southdown would be so kind as to send her Lady Jane sometimes, if she could be spared to come and console a poor sick lonely old woman."


This promise was graciously accorded, and they separated upon great terms of amity.

This promise was granted, and they separated in friendship.


"Don't let Lady Southdown come again, Pitt," said the old lady.


"She is stupid and pompous, like all your mother's family, whom I never could endure.


But bring that nice good-natured little Jane as often as ever you please."

But bring that nice good-natured little Jane as often as you please."


He did not tell the Countess of Southdown what opinion his aunt had formed of her Ladyship, who, on the contrary, thought that she had made a most delightful and majestic impression on Miss Crawley.

He did not tell the Countess of Southdown of his aunt's opinion; her Ladyship thought that she had made a most delightful and majestic impression on Miss Crawley.


And so, nothing loth to comfort a sick lady, and perhaps not sorry in her heart to be freed now and again from the dreary spouting of the Reverend Bartholomew Irons, and the serious toadies who gathered round the footstool of the pompous Countess, her mamma, Lady Jane became a pretty constant visitor to Miss Crawley, accompanied her in her drives, and solaced many of her evenings.

And so Lady Jane became a pretty constant visitor to Miss Crawley, accompanied her in her drives, and solaced many of her evenings.


She was so naturally good and soft, that even Firkin was not jealous of her; and the gentle Briggs thought her friend was less cruel to her when kind Lady Jane was by.

She was so naturally good and soft that even Firkin was not jealous of her; and the gentle Briggs thought Miss Crawley was less cruel to her when kind Lady Jane was by.