Chapter XXXVIII: A Family in a Very Small Way

by William Makepeace Thackeray

　　We must suppose little George Osborne has ridden fromKnightsbridge towards Fulham, and will stop and makeinquiries at that village regarding some friends whom wehave left there. How is Mrs. Amelia after the storm ofWaterloo? Is she living and thriving? What has come ofMajor Dobbin, whose cab was always hankering abouther premises? And is there any news of the Collectorof Boggley Wollah? The facts concerning the latter arebriefly these:

　　Our worthy fat friend Joseph Sedley returned to Indianot long after his escape from Brussels. Either hisfurlough was up, or he dreaded to meet any witnesses of hisWaterloo flight. However it might be, he went back to hisduties in Bengal very soon after Napoleon had takenup his residence at St. Helena, where Jos saw the ex-Emperor. To hear Mr. Sedley talk on board ship youwould have supposed that it was not the first time he andthe Corsican had met, and that the civilian had beardedthe French General at Mount St. John. He had athousand anecdotes about the famous battles; he knew theposition of every regiment and the loss which eachhad incurred. He did not deny that he had beenconcerned in those victories--that he had been with thearmy and carried despatches for the Duke of Wellington.And he described what the Duke did and said onevery conceivable moment of the day of Waterloo, withsuch an accurate knowledge of his Grace's sentimentsand proceedings that it was clear he must have been bythe conqueror's side throughout the day; though, as anon-combatant, his name was not mentioned in thepublic documents relative to the battle. Perhaps he actuallyworked himself up to believe that he had been engagedwith the army; certain it is that he made a prodigioussensation for some time at Calcutta, and was calledWaterloo Sedley during the whole of his subsequent stay inBengal.

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

　　Jos's London agents had orders to pay one hundredand twenty pounds yearly to his parents at Fulham. Itwas the chief support of the old couple; for Mr. Sedley'sspeculations in life subsequent to his bankruptcy did notby any means retrieve the broken old gentleman'sfortune. He tried to be a wine-merchant, a coal-merchant,a commission lottery agent, &c., &c. He sent roundprospectuses to his friends whenever he took a new trade,and ordered a new brass plate for the door, and talkedpompously about making his fortune still. But Fortunenever came back to the feeble and stricken old man. Oneby one his friends dropped off, and were weary ofbuying dear coals and bad wine from him; and therewas only his wife in all the world who fancied, when hetottered off to the City of a morning, that he was stilldoing any business there. At evening he crawled slowlyback; and he used to go of nights to a little club at atavern, where he disposed of the finances of the nation.It was wonderful to hear him talk about millions, andagios, and discounts, and what Rothschild wasdoing, and Baring Brothers. He talked of such vast sumsthat the gentlemen of the club (the apothecary, theundertaker, the great carpenter and builder, the parish clerk,who was allowed to come stealthily, and Mr. Clapp, ourold acquaintance,) respected the old gentleman. "I wasbetter off once, sir," he did not fail to tell everybody who"used the room." "My son, sir, is at this minute chiefmagistrate of Ramgunge in the Presidency of Bengal, andtouching his four thousand rupees per mensem. Mydaughter might be a Colonel's lady if she liked. I mightdraw upon my son, the first magistrate, sir, for twothousand pounds to-morrow, and Alexander would cash mybill, down sir, down on the counter, sir. But the Sedleyswere always a proud family." You and I, my dearreader, may drop into this condition one day: for havenot many of our friends attained it? Our luck may fail:our powers forsake us: our place on the boards be takenby better and younger mimes--the chance of life rollaway and leave us shattered and stranded. Then menwill walk across the road when they meet you--or, worsestill, hold you out a couple of fingers and patronize youin a pitying way--then you will know, as soon as yourback is turned, that your friend begins with a "Poordevil, what imprudences he has committed, what chancesthat chap has thrown away!" Well, well--a carriage andthree thousand a year is not the summit of the rewardnor the end of God's judgment of men. If quacks prosperas often as they go to the wall--if zanies succeed andknaves arrive at fortune, and, vice versa, sharing illluck and prosperity for all the world like the ablest andmost honest amongst us--I say, brother, the gifts andpleasures of Vanity Fair cannot be held of any greataccount, and that it is probable . . . but we arewandering out of the domain of the story.

　　Had Mrs. Sedley been a woman of energy, she wouldhave exerted it after her husband's ruin and, occupyinga large house, would have taken in boarders. The brokenSedley would have acted well as the boarding-houselandlady's husband; the Munoz of private life; the titular lordand master: the carver, house-steward, and humblehusband of the occupier of the dingy throne. I have seenmen of good brains and breeding, and of good hopes andvigour once, who feasted squires and kept hunters intheir youth, meekly cutting up legs of mutton forrancorous old harridans and pretending to preside over theirdreary tables--but Mrs. Sedley, we say, had not spiritenough to bustle about for "a few select inmates to joina cheerful musical family," such as one reads of in theTimes. She was content to lie on the shore wherefortune had stranded her--and you could see that thecareer of this old couple was over.

　　I don't think they were unhappy. Perhaps they werea little prouder in their downfall than in their prosperity.Mrs. Sedley was always a great person for her landlady,Mrs. Clapp, when she descended and passed many hourswith her in the basement or ornamented kitchen. TheIrish maid Betty Flanagan's bonnets and ribbons, hersauciness, her idleness, her reckless prodigality of kitchencandles, her consumption of tea and sugar, and so forthoccupied and amused the old lady almost as much as thedoings of her former household, when she had Sambo andthe coachman, and a groom, and a footboy, and ahousekeeper with a regiment of female domestics--her formerhousehold, about which the good lady talked a hundredtimes a day. And besides Betty Flanagan, Mrs. Sedleyhad all the maids-of-all-work in the street to superintend.She knew how each tenant of the cottages paid orowed his little rent. She stepped aside when Mrs.Rougemont the actress passed with her dubious family. Sheflung up her head when Mrs. Pestler, the apothecary'slady, drove by in her husband's professional one-horsechaise. She had colloquies with the greengrocer aboutthe pennorth of turnips which Mr. Sedley loved; she keptan eye upon the milkman and the baker's boy; andmade visitations to the butcher, who sold hundreds ofoxen very likely with less ado than was made aboutMrs. Sedley's loin of mutton: and she counted thepotatoes under the joint on Sundays, on which days, dressedin her best, she went to church twice and read Blair'sSermons in the evening.

　　On that day, for "business" prevented him on weekdaysfrom taking such a pleasure, it was old Sedley'sdelight to take out his little grandson Georgy to theneighbouring parks or Kensington Gardens, to see the soldiersor to feed the ducks. Georgy loved the redcoats, and hisgrandpapa told him how his father had been a famoussoldier, and introduced him to many sergeants and otherswith Waterloo medals on their breasts, to whom theold grandfather pompously presented the child as theson of Captain Osborne of the --th, who died gloriouslyon the glorious eighteenth. He has been known to treatsome of these non-commissioned gentlemen to a glass ofporter, and, indeed, in their first Sunday walks wasdisposed to spoil little Georgy, sadly gorging the boy withapples and parliament, to the detriment of his health--until Amelia declared that George should never go outwith his grandpapa unless the latter promised solemnly,and on his honour, not to give the child any cakes,lollipops, or stall produce whatever.

　　Between Mrs. Sedley and her daughter there was a sortof coolness about this boy, and a secret jealousy--forone evening in George's very early days, Amelia, whohad been seated at work in their little parlour scarcelyremarking that the old lady had quitted the room, ranupstairs instinctively to the nursery at the cries of thechild, who had been asleep until that moment--andthere found Mrs. Sedley in the act of surreptitiouslyadministering Daffy's Elixir to the infant. Amelia, thegentlest and sweetest of everyday mortals, when shefound this meddling with her maternal authority, thrilledand trembled all over with anger. Her cheeks, ordinarilypale, now flushed up, until they were as red as they usedto be when she was a child of twelve years old. Sheseized the baby out of her mother's arms and thengrasped at the bottle, leaving the old lady gaping at her,furious, and holding the guilty tea-spoon.

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

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

　　"He shall not have any medicine but that which Mr.Pestler sends for hi n. He told me that Daffy's Elixir waspoison."

　　"Very good: you think I'm a murderess then," repliedMrs. Sedley. "This is the language you use to your mother.I have met with misfortunes: I have sunk low in life: Ihave kept my carriage, and now walk on foot: but I didnot know I was a murderess before, and thank you for thenews."

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

　　"Oh, no, my love,--only that I was a murderess; inwhich case I had better go to the Old Bailey. Though Ididn't poison you, when you were a child, but gave youthe best of education and the most expensive mastersmoney could procure. Yes; I've nursed five children andburied three; and the one I loved the best of all, andtended through croup, and teething, and measles, andhooping-cough, and brought up with foreign masters,regardless of expense, and with accomplishments at MinervaHouse--which I never had when I was a girl--when I wastoo glad to honour my father and mother, that I mightlive long in the land, and to be useful, and not to mopeall day in my room and act the fine lady--says I'm amurderess. Ah, Mrs. Osborne! may you never nourish aviper in your bosom, that's my prayer."

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

　　Till the termination of her natural life, this breachbetween Mrs. Sedley and her daughter was never thoroughly mended. The quarrel gave the elder lady numberlessadvantages which she did not fail to turn to account withfemale ingenuity and perseverance. For instance, shescarcely spoke to Amelia for many weeks afterwards.She warned the domestics not to touch the child, as Mrs.Osborne might be offended. She asked her daughter tosee and satisfy herself that there was no poison preparedin the little daily messes that were concocted for Georgy.When neighbours asked after the boy's health, shereferred them pointedly to Mrs. Osborne. She neverventured to ask whether the baby was well or not. Shewould not touch the child although he was her grandson,and own precious darling, for she was not used tochildren, and might kill it. And whenever Mr. Pestler cameupon his healing inquisition, she received the doctor withsuch a sarcastic and scornful demeanour, as made thesurgeon declare that not Lady Thistlewood herself, whomhe had the honour of attending professionally, couldgive herself greater airs than old Mrs. Sedley, from whomhe never took a fee. And very likely Emmy was jealoustoo, upon her own part, as what mother is not, of thosewho would manage her children for her, or becomecandidates for the first place in their affections. It is certainthat when anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy, andthat she would no more allow Mrs. Clapp or thedomestic to dress or tend him than she would have let themwash her husband's miniature which hung up over herlittle bed--the same little bed from which the poor girlhad gone to his; and to which she retired now for manylong, silent, tearful, but happy years.

　　In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Hereit was that she tended her boy and watched him throughthe many ills of childhood, with a constant passion oflove. The elder George returned in him somehow, onlyimproved, and as if come back from heaven. In ahundred little tones, looks, and movements, the child wasso like his father that the widow's heart thrilled as sheheld him to it; and he would often ask the cause of hertears. It was because of his likeness to his father, shedid not scruple to tell him. She talked constantly to himabout this dead father, and spoke of her love for Georgeto the innocent and wondering child; much more than sheever had done to George himself, or to any confidante ofher youth. To her parents she never talked about thismatter, shrinking from baring her heart to them. LittleGeorge very likely could understand no better than they,but into his ears she poured her sentimental secretsunreservedly, and into his only. The very joy of thiswoman was a sort of grief, or so tender, at least, thatits expression was tears. Her sensibilities were so weakand tremulous that perhaps they ought not to be talkedabout in a book. I was told by Dr. Pestler (now a mostflourishing lady's physician, with a sumptuous dark greencarriage, a prospect of speedy knighthood, and a housein Manchester Square) that her grief at weaning the childwas a sight that would have unmanned a Herod. He wasvery soft-hearted many years ago, and his wife wasmortally jealous of Mrs. Amelia, then and long afterwards.

　　Perhaps the doctor's lady had good reason for herjealousy: most women shared it, of those who formed thesmall circle of Amelia's acquaintance, and were quiteangry at the enthusiasm with which the other sex regardedher. For almost all men who came near her lovedher; though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell youwhy. She was not brilliant, nor witty, nor wise overmuch, nor extraordinarily handsome. But wherever shewent she touched and charmed every one of the malesex, as invariably as she awakened the scorn andincredulity of her own sisterhood. I think it was herweakness which was her principal charm--a kind of sweetsubmission and softness, which seemed to appeal toeach man she met for his sympathy and protection. Wehave seen how in the regiment, though she spoke but tofew of George's comrades there, all the swords of theyoung fellows at the mess-table would have leapt fromtheir scabbards to fight round her; and so it was inthe little narrow lodging-house and circle at Fulham, sheinterested and pleased everybody. If she had been Mrs.Mango herself, of the great house of Mango, Plantain,and Co., Crutched Friars, and the magnificent proprietressof the Pineries, Fulham, who gave summer dejeunersfrequented by Dukes and Earls, and drove aboutthe parish with magnificent yellow liveries and bay horses,such as the royal stables at Kensington themselves couldnot turn out--I say had she been Mrs. Mango herself, orher son's wife, Lady Mary Mango (daughter of theEarl of Castlemouldy, who condescended to marry thehead of the firm), the tradesmen of the neighbourhoodcould not pay her more honour than they invariablyshowed to the gentle young widow, when she passed bytheir doors, or made her humble purchases at their shops.

　　Thus it was not only Mr. Pestler, the medical man, butMr. Linton the young assistant, who doctored the servantmaids and small tradesmen, and might be seen any dayreading the Times in the surgery, who openly declaredhimself the slave of Mrs. Osborne. He was a personableyoung gentleman, more welcome at Mrs. Sedley's lodgingsthan his principal; and if anything went wrong withGeorgy, he would drop in twice or thrice in the day tosee the little chap, and without so much as the thoughtof a fee. He would abstract lozenges, tamarinds, andother produce from the surgery-drawers for littleGeorgy's benefit, and compounded draughts and mixturesfor him of miraculous sweetness, so that it was quite apleasure to the child to be ailing. He and Pestler, hischief, sat up two whole nights by the boy in thatmomentous and awful week when Georgy had the measles; andwhen you would have thought, from the mother's terror,that there had never been measles in the world before.Would they have done as much for other people? Didthey sit up for the folks at the Pineries, when RalphPlantagenet, and Gwendoline, and Guinever Mango had thesame juvenile complaint? Did they sit up for little MaryClapp, the landlord's daughter, who actually caught thedisease of little Georgy? Truth compels one to say, no.They slept quite undisturbed, at least as far as she wasconcerned--pronounced hers to be a slight case, whichwould almost cure itself, sent her in a draught or two,and threw in bark when the child rallied, with perfectindifference, and just for form's sake.

　　Again, there was the little French chevalier opposite,who gave lessons in his native tongue at various schoolsin the neighbourhood, aud who might be heard in hisapartment of nights playing tremulous old gavottes andminuets on a wheezy old fiddle. Whenever this powderedand courteous old man, who never missed a Sunday at theconvent chapel at Hammersmith, and who was in allrespects, thoughts, conduct, and bearing utterly unlike thebearded savages of his nation, who curse perfidiousAlbion, and scowl at you from over their cigars, in theQuadrant arcades at the present day--whenever theold Chevalier de Talonrouge spoke of Mistress Osborne,he would first finish his pinch of snuff, flick away theremaining particles of dust with a graceful wave of hishand, gather up his fingers again into a bunch, and,bringing them up to his mouth, blow them open with a kiss,exclaiming, Ah! la divine creature! He vowed andprotested that when Amelia walked in the Brompton Lanesflowers grew in profusion under her feet. He called littleGeorgy Cupid, and asked him news of Venus, his mamma;and told the astonished Betty Flanagan that she wasone of the Graces, and the favourite attendant of theReine des Amours.

　　Instances might be multiplied of this easily gained andunconscious popularity. Did not Mr. Binny, the mildand genteel curate of the district chapel, which the familyattended, call assiduously upon the widow, dandle thelittle boy on his knee, and offer to teach him Latin, to theanger of the elderly virgin, his sister, who kept housefor him? "There is nothing in her, Beilby," the latterlady would say. "When she comes to tea here she doesnot speak a word during the whole evening. She is but apoor lackadaisical creature, and it is my belief has noheart at all. It is only her pretty face which all yougentlemen admire so. Miss Grits, who has five thousandpounds, and expectations besides, has twice as muchcharacter, and is a thousand times more agreeable to mytaste; and if she were good-looking I know that you wouldthink her perfection."

　　Very likely Miss Binny was right to a great extent. Itis the pretty face which creates sympathy in the hearts ofmen, those wicked rogues. A woman may possess thewisdom and chastity of Minerva, and we give no heed toher, if she has a plain face. What folly will not a pair ofbright eyes make pardonable? What dulness may notred lips and sweet accents render pleasant? And so, withtheir usual sense of justice, ladies argue that because awoman is handsome, therefore she is a fool. O ladies,ladies! there are some of you who are neither handsomenor wise.

　　These are but trivial incidents to recount in the life ofour heroine. Her tale does not deal in wonders, as thegentle reader has already no doubt perceived; and if ajournal had been kept of her proceedings during theseven years after the birth of her son, there would befound few incidents more remarkable in it than that ofthe measles, recorded in the foregoing page. Yes, oneday, and greatly to her wonder, the Reverend Mr. Binny,just mentioned, asked her to change her name of Osbornefor his own; when, with deep blushes and tears in hereyes and voice, she thanked him for his regard for her,expressed gratitude for his attentions to her and to herpoor little boy, but said that she never, never couldthink of any but--but the husband whom she had lost.

　　On the twenty-fifth of April, and the eighteenth ofJune, the days of marriage and widowhood, she kept herroom entirely, consecrating them (and we do not knowhow many hours of solitary night-thought, her little boysleeping in his crib by her bedside) to the memory of thatdeparted friend. During the day she was more active.She had to teach George to read and to write and a littleto draw. She read books, in order that she might tellhim stories from them. As his eyes opened and his mindexpanded under the influence of the outward natureround about him, she taught the child, to the best ofher humble power, to acknowledge the Maker of all, andevery night and every morning he and she--(in thatawful and touching communion which I think must bringa thrill to the heart of every man who witnesses or whoremembers it)--the mother and the little boy--prayedto Our Father together, the mother pleading with all hergentle heart, the child lisping after her as she spoke. Andeach time they prayed to God to bless dear Papa, asif he were alive and in the room with them.

　　To wash and dress this young gentleman--to take himfor a run of the mornings, before breakfast, and theretreat of grandpapa for "business"--to make for him themost wonderful and ingenious dresses, for which end thethrifty widow cut up and altered every available little bitof finery which she possessed out of her wardrobe duringher marriage--for Mrs. Osborne herself (greatly to hermother's vexation, who preferred fine clothes, especiallysince her misfortunes) always wore a black gown and astraw bonnet with a black ribbon--occupied her manyhours of the day. Others she had to spare, at the serviceof her mother and her old father. She had taken the painsto learn, and used to play cribbage with this gentlemanon the nights when he did not go to his club. She sangfor him when he was so minded, and it was a goodsign, for he invariably fell into a comfortable sleep duringthe music. She wrote out his numerous memorials,letters, prospectuses, and projects. It was in herhandwriting that most of the old gentleman's formeracquaintances were informed that he had become an agent forthe Black Diamond and Anti-Cinder Coal Company andcould supply his friends and the public with the best coalsat --s. per chaldron. All he did was to sign the circularswith his flourish and signature, and direct them in ashaky, clerklike hand. One of these papers was sent toMajor Dobbin, --Regt., care of Messrs. Cox and Greenwood;but the Major being in Madras at the time, had noparticular call for coals. He knew, though, the handwhich had written the prospectus. Good God! whatwould he not have given to hold it in his own! A secondprospectus came out, informing the Major that J. Sedleyand Company, having established agencies at Oporto,Bordeaux, and St. Mary's, were enabled to offer to theirfriends and the public generally the finest and mostcelebrated growths of ports, sherries, and claret wines atreasonable prices and under extraordinary advantages.Acting upon this hint, Dobbin furiously canvassed thegovernor, the commander-in-chief, the judges, theregiments, and everybody whom he knew in the Presidency,and sent home to Sedley and Co. orders for wine whichperfectly astonished Mr. Sedley and Mr. Clapp, who wasthe Co. in the business. But no more orders came afterthat first burst of good fortune, on which poor old Sedleywas about to build a house in the City, a regiment ofclerks, a dock to himself, and correspondents all overthe world. The old gentleman's former taste in wine hadgone: the curses of the mess-room assailed Major Dobbinfor the vile drinks he had been the means of introducingthere; and he bought back a great quantity of the wineand sold it at public outcry, at an enormous loss to himself.As for Jos, who was by this time promoted to a seatat the Revenue Board at Calcutta, he was wild with ragewhen the post brought him out a bundle of theseBacchanalian prospectuses, with a private note from hisfather, telling Jos that his senior counted upon him inthis enterprise, and had consigned a quantity of selectwines to him, as per invoice, drawing bills upon him forthe amount of the same. Jos, who would no more have itsupposed that his father, Jos Sedley's father, of the Boardof Revenue, was a wine merchant asking for orders, thanthat he was Jack Ketch, refused the bills with scorn, wroteback contumeliously to the old gentleman, bidding himto mind his own affairs; and the protested paper comingback, Sedley and Co. had to take it up, with the profitswhich they had made out of the Madras venture, andwith a little portion of Emmy's savings.

　　Besides her pension of fifty pounds a year, there hadbeen five hundred pounds, as her husband's executorstated, left in the agent's hands at the time of Osborne'sdemise, which sum, as George's guardian, Dobbinproposed to put out at 8 per cent in an Indian house ofagency. Mr. Sedley, who thought the Major had someroguish intentions of his own about the money, wasstrongly against this plan; and he went to the agents toprotest personally against the employment of the moneyin question, when he learned, to his surprise, that therehad been no such sum in their hands, that all the lateCaptain's assets did not amount to a hundred pounds,and that the five hundred pounds in question must be aseparate sum, of which Major Dobbin knew the particulars.More than ever convinced that there was someroguery, old Sedley pursued the Major. As his daughter'snearest friend, he demanded with a high hand a statementof the late Captain's accounts. Dobbin's stammering,blushing, and awkwardness added to the other'sconvictions that he had a rogue to deal with, and in amajestic tone he told that officer a piece of his mind, ashe called it, simply stating his belief that the Major wasunlawfully detaining his late son-in-law's money.

　　Dobbin at this lost all patience, and if his accuser hadnot been so old and so broken, a quarrel might haveensued between them at the Slaughters' Coffee-house, ina box of which place of entertainment the gentlemen hadtheir colloquy. "Come upstairs, sir," lisped out theMajor. "I insist on your coming up the stairs, and I willshow which is the injured party, poor George or I"; and,dragging the old gentleman up to his bedroom, heproduced from his desk Osborne's accounts, and a bundleof IOU's which the latter had given, who, to do himjustice, was always ready to give an IOU. "He paidhis bills in England," Dobbin added, "but he had not ahundred pounds in the world when he fell. I and one ortwo of his brother officers made up the little sum, whichwas all that we could spare, and you dare tell us thatwe are trying to cheat the widow and the orphan."Sedley was very contrite and humbled, though the fact isthat William Dobbin had told a great falsehood to the oldgentleman; having himself given every shilling of themoney, having buried his friend, and paid all the fees andcharges incident upon the calamity and removal of poorAmelia.

　　About these expenses old Osborne had never givenhimself any trouble to think, nor any other relative ofAmelia, nor Amelia herself, indeed. She trusted to MajorDobbin as an accountant, took his somewhat confusedcalculations for granted, and never once suspected howmuch she was in his debt.

　　Twice or thrice in the year, according to her promise,she wrote him letters to Madras, letters all aboutlittle Georgy. How he treasured these papers! WheneverAmelia wrote he answered, and not until then. Buthe sent over endless remembrances of himself to hisgodson and to her. He ordered and sent a box of scarfsand a grand ivory set of chess-men from China. Thepawns were little green and white men, with real swordsand shields; the knights were on horseback, the castleswere on the backs of elephants. "Mrs. Mango's own set atthe Pineries was not so fine," Mr. Pestler remarked. Thesechess-men were the delight of Georgy's life, who printedhis first letter in acknowledgement of this gift of hisgodpapa. He sent over preserves and pickles, which latterthe young gentleman tried surreptitiously in the sideboardand half-killed himself with eating. He thought it was ajudgement upon him for stealing, they were so hot. Emmywrote a comical little account of this mishap to theMajor: it pleased him to think that her spirits were rallyingand that she could be merry sometimes now. Hesent over a pair of shawls, a white one for her and a blackone with palm-leaves for her mother, and a pair of redscarfs, as winter wrappers, for old Mr. Sedley and George.The shawls were worth fifty guineas apiece at the veryleast, as Mrs. Sedley knew. She wore hers in state atchurch at Brompton, and was congratulated by herfemale friends upon the splendid acquisition. Emmy's, too,became prettily her modest black gown. "What a pity itis she won't think of him!" Mrs. Sedley remarked toMrs. Clapp and to all her friends of Brompton. "Jos neversent us such presents, I am sure, and grudges useverything. It is evident that the Major is over head and earsin love with her; and yet, whenever I so much as hint it,she turns red and begins to cry and goes and sits upstairswith her miniature. I'm sick of that miniature. I wish wehad never seen those odious purse-proud Osbornes."

　　Amidst such humble scenes and associates George'searly youth was passed, and the boy grew up delicate,sensitive, imperious, woman-bred--domineering thegentle mother whom he loved with passionate affection. Heruled all the rest of the little world round about him.As he grew, the elders were amazed at his haughtymanner and his constant likeness to his father. He askedquestions about everything, as inquiring youth will do. Theprofundity of his remarks and interrogatories astonishedhis old grandfather, who perfectly bored the club at thetavern with stories about the little lad's learning andgenius. He suffered his grandmother with a good-humoured indifference. The small circle round about himbelieved that the equal of the boy did not exist upon theearth. Georgy inherited his father's pride, and perhapsthought they were not wrong.

　　When he grew to be about six years old, Dobbin beganto write to him very much. The Major wanted to hearthat Georgy was going to a school and hoped he wouldacquit himself with credit there: or would he have a goodtutor at home? It was time that he should begin to learn;and his godfather and guardian hinted that he hoped tobe allowed to defray the charges of the boy's education,which would fall heavily upon his mother's straitenedincome. The Major, in a word, was always thinking aboutAmelia and her little boy, and by orders to his agentskept the latter provided with picture-books, paint-boxes,desks, and all conceivable implements of amusement andinstruction. Three days before George's sixth birthday agentleman in a gig, accompanied by a servant, droveup to Mr. Sedley's house and asked to see Master GeorgeOsborne: it was Mr. Woolsey, military tailor, of ConduitStreet, who came at the Major's order to measure theyoung gentleman for a suit of clothes. He had had thehonour of making for the Captain, the younggentleman's father.

　　Sometimes, too, and by the Major's desire no doubt,his sisters, the Misses Dobbin, would call in the familycarriage to take Amelia and the little boy to drive if theywere so inclined. The patronage and kindness of theseladies was very uncomfortable to Amelia, but she bore itmeekly enough, for her nature was to yield; and, besides,the carriage and its splendours gave little Georgyimmense pleasure. The ladies begged occasionally that thechild might pass a day with them, and he was always gladto go to that fine garden-house at Denmark Hill, wherethey lived, and where there were such fine grapes in thehot-houses and peaches on the walls.

　　One day they kindly came over to Amelia with newswhich they were sure would delight her--something veryinteresting about their dear William.

　　"What was it: was he coming home?" she asked withpleasure beaming in her eyes.

　　"Oh, no--not the least--but they had very good reasonto believe that dear William was about to be married--and to a relation of a very dear friend of Amelia's--toMiss Glorvina O'Dowd, Sir Michael O'Dowd's sister,who had gone out to join Lady O'Dowd at Madras--a verybeautiful and accomplished girl, everybody said."

　　Amelia said "Oh!" Amelia was very very happy indeed.But she supposed Glorvina could not be like her oldacquaintance, who was most kind--but--but she wasvery happy indeed. And by some impulse of which Icannot explain the meaning, she took George in her armsand kissed him with an extraordinary tenderness. Hereyes were quite moist when she put the child down; andshe scarcely spoke a word during the whole of thedrive--though she was so very happy indeed.