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full of sensibility. He, for his part, rushed off to the school with the utmost happiness. He was longing for the change. That childish gladness wounded his mother, who was herself so grieved to part with him. She would rather have had him more sorry, she thought: and then was deeply repentant within herself, for daring to be so selfish as to wish her own son to be unhappy.

by a single Irish servant who also did for Clapp and his wife, might manage to live in decent comfort through the year, and hold up their heads yet, and be able to give a friend a dish of tea still, after the storms and disappointments of their early life. Sedley still maintained his ascendency over the family of Mr. Clapp, his ex-clerk. Clapp remembered the time when, sitting on the edge of the chair, he tossed off a bumper to Georgy made great progress in the school, the health of "Mrs. S, Miss Emmy, and which was kept by a friend of his mother's Mr. Joseph in India," at the merchant's rich constant admirer, the Rev. Mr. Binney. He table in Russell-square. Time magnified brought home numberless prizes and testithe splendor of those recollections in the monials of ability. He told his mother counthonest clerk's bosom. Every time he came less stories every night about his school-comup from the kitchen-parlor to the draw-panions: and what a fine fellow Lyons was, ing-room, and partook of tea or gin-and- and what a sneak Sniffin was: and how water with Mr. Sedley, he would say, Steel's father actually supplied the meat "This was not what you was accustomed for the establishment, whereas Golding's to once, sir," and as gravely and reverentially mother came in a carriage to fetch him every drink the health of the ladies as he had done Saturday: and how Neat had straps to his in the days of their utmost prosperity. He trowsers-might he have straps? and how thought Miss 'Melia's playing the divinest Bull Major was so strong (though only in music ever performed, and her the finest Eutropius) that it was believed he could lick lady. He never would sit down before the Usher, Mr. Ward himself. So Amelia Sedley at the club even, nor would he have learned to know every one of the boys in that gentleman's character abused by any that school as well as Georgy himself: and member of the society. "He had seen the of nights she used to help him in his exerfirst men in London shaking hands with Mr. cises, and puzzle her little head over his S—————;” he said, “He'd known him in times lessons as eagerly as if she was herself when Rothschild might be seen on 'Change going in the morning into the presence of with him any day, and he owed him per- the master. Once, after a certain combat sonally every thing." with master Smith, George came home to Clapp, with the best of characters and his mother with a black eye, and bragged hand-writings, had been able very soon after prodigiously to his parent and his delighted his master's disaster to find other employ-old grandfather about his valor in the fight, ment for himself. "Such a little fish as me in which, if the truth was known, he did not can swim in any bucket," he used to remark, and a member of the house from which old Sedley had seceded was very glad to make use of Mr. Clapp's services, and to reward them with a comfortable salary. In fine, all Sedley's wealthy friends had dropped off one by one, and this poor ex-dependent still remained faithfully attached to him.

behave with particular heroism, and in which he decidedly had the worst. But Amelia has never forgiven that Smith to this day, though he is now a peaceful apothecary near Leicester-square.

In these quiet labors and harmless cares the gentle widow's life was passing away, a silver hair or two marking the progress of time on her head, and a line deepening ever so little on her fair forehead. She used to "What mat

Out of the small residue of her income, which Amelia kept back for herself, the wid-smile at these marks of time. ow had need of all the thrift and care pos-ters it,” she asked, “for an old woman like sible, in order to enable her to keep her dar-me ?" All she hoped for was to live to see ling boy dressed in such a manner as became George Osborne's son, and to defray the expenses of the little school to which, after much misgiving and reluctance, and many secret pangs and fears on her own part, she had been induced to send the lad. She had sate up of nights conning lessons and spelling over crabbed grammars and geography books in order to teach them to Georgy. She had worked even at the Latin accidence, fondly hoping that she might be capable of instructing him in that language. To part with him all day to send him out to the mercy of a school-master's cane and his school-fellows' roughness, was almost like weaning him over again, to that weak mother, so tremulous and

her son great, famous, and glorious, as he deserved to be. She kept his copy-books, his drawings, and compositions, and showed them about in her little circle, as if they were miracles of genius. She confided some of these specimens to Miss Dobbin: to show them to Miss Osborne, George's aunt, to show them to Mr. Osborne himself to make that old man repent of his cruelty and illfeeling toward him who was gone. All her husband's faults and foibles she had buried in the grave with him: she only remembered the lover, who had married her at all sacrifices: the noble husband, so brave and beautiful, in whose arms she had hung on the morning when he had gone away to fight,

and die gloriously for his king. From heaven the old man had made her no reply: but he the hero must be smiling down upon that had shown no anger—and had bade her good paragon of a boy whom he left to comfort night on going himself to his room, in rather and console her. a kindly voice. And he must have meditated on what she said, and have made some inquiries of the Dobbin family regarding her visit; for a fortnight after it took place, he asked her where was her little French watch and chain she used to wear?

"I bought it with my money, sir," she said in a great fright.

"Go and order another like it, or better if you can get it," said the old gentleman, and lapsed again into silence.

We have seen how one of George's grandfathers (Mr. Osborne), in his easy chair in Russell-square, daily grew more violent and moody, and how his daughter, with her fine carriage, and her fine horses, and her name on half the public charity-lists of the town, was a lonely, miserable, persecuted old maid. She thought again and again of the beautiful little boy, her brother's son, whom she had seen. She longed to be allowed to drive in the fine carriage to the house in which he Of late, the Miss Dobbins more than once lived and she used to look out day after day repeated their entreaties to Amelia, to allow as she took her solitary drive in the Park, in George to visit them. His aunt had shown hopes that she might see him. Her sister, her inclination; perhaps his grandfather the banker's lady, occasionally condescended himself, they hinted, might be disposed to to pay her old home and companion a visit be reconciled to him. Surely, Amelia could in Russell-square. She brought a couple of not refuse such advantageous chances for sickly children attended by a prim nurse, and the boy. Nor could she: but she acceded in a faint genteel giggling tone cackled to her to their overtures with a very heavy and sister about her fine acquaintance, and how suspicious heart, was always uneasy during her little Frederick was the image of Lord the child's absence from her, and welcomed Claud Lollypop and her sweet Maria had been him back as if he was rescued out of some noticed by the baroness as they were driv- danger. He brought back money and toys, ing in their donkey-chaise at Roehampton. at which the widow looked with alarm and She urged her to make her papa do some-jealousy she asked him always if he had thing for the darlings. Frederick she had seen any gentleman-"Only old Sir William determined should go into the Guards; and if they made an elder son of him (and Mr. Bullock was positively ruining and pinching himself to death to buy land), how was the darling girl to be provided for? "I expect you, dear," Mrs. Bullock would say, for, of course my share of our papa's property must go to the head of the house, you know. Dear Rhoda Macmull will disengage the whole of the Castletoddy property as soon as poor dear Lord Castletoddy dies, who is quite epileptic-and little Macduff Macmull will be Viscount Castletoddy. Both the Mr. Bludyers of Mincing Lane have settled their fortunes on Fanny Bludyer's little boy. My darling Frederick must positively be an eldest son; and-and do ask papa to bring us back his account in Lombard street, will you, dear? It doesn't look well, his going to Stumpy and Rowdy's." After which kind of speeches, in which fashion and the main chance were blended together, and after a kiss, which was like the contact of an oyster -Mrs. Frederick Bullock would gather her starched nurslings, and simper back into her carriage.

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Every visit which this leader of ton paid to her family was more unlucky for her. Her father paid more money into Stumpy and Rowdy's. Her patronage became more and more insufferable. The poor widow in the little cottage at Brompton, guarding her treasure there, little knew how eagerly some people coveted it.

On that night when Jane Osborne had told her father that she had seen his grandson,

who drove him about in the four-wheeled chaise, and Mr. Dobbin, who arrived on the beautiful bay horse in the afternoon-in the green coat and pink neck-cloth, with the gold-headed whip, who promised to show him the Tower of London, and take him out with the Surrey hounds." At last, he said "There was an old gentleman, with thick eye-brows and a broad hat, and large chain and seals. He came one day as the coachman was lunging Georgy round the lawn on the gray pony. He looked at me very much. He shook very much. I said My name is Norval' after dinner. My aunt began to cry. She is always crying." Such was George's report on that night.

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Then Amelia knew that the boy had seen his grandfather and looked out feverishly for a proposal which she was sure would follow, and which came, in fact, in a few days afterward. Mr. Osborne formally offered to take the boy, and make him heir to the fortune which he had intended that his father should inherit. He would make Mrs. George Osborne an allowance, such as to assure her a decent competency. If Mrs. George Osborne proposed to marry again, as Mr. O. heard was her intention, he would not withdraw that allowance. But it must be understood, that the child would live entirely with his grandfather in Russell-square, or at whatever other place Mr. O. should select; and that he would be occasionally permitted to see Mrs. George Osborne at her own residence. This message was brought or read to her in a letter one day,

when her mother was from home, and her could not but perceive that her son was negfather absent, as usual, in the city.

She was never seen angry but twice or thrice in her life, and it was in one of these moods that Mr. Osborne's attorney had the fortune to behold her. She rose up trembling and flushing very much as soon as, after reading the letter, Mr. Poe handed it to her, and she tore the paper into a hundred fragments, which she trod on. "I marry again!-I take money to part from my child! Who dares insult me by proposing such a thing? Tell Mr. Osborne it is a cowardly letter, sir-a cowardly letter-I will not answer it. I wish you a good morning, sir"—"and she bowed me out of the room like a tragedy queen," said the lawyer who told the story.

Her parents never remarked her agitation on that day, and she never told them of the interview. They had their own affairs to interest them, affairs which deeply interested this innocent and unconscious lady. The old gentleman, her father, was always dabbling in speculation. We have seen how the Wine Company and the Coal Company had failed him. But, prowling about the city always eagerly and restlessly, still he lighted upon some other scheme, of which he thought so well that he embarked in it in spite of the remonstrances of Mr. Clapp, to whom indeed he never dared to tell how far he had engaged himself in it. And as it was always Mr. Sedley's maxim not to talk about money matters before women, they had no inkling of the misfortunes that were in store for them until the unhappy old gentleman was forced to make gradual confes

sions.

The bills of the little household, which had been settled weekly, first fell into arrear. The remittances had not arrived from India, Mr. Sedley told his wife, with a disturbed face. As she had paid her bills very regularly hitherto, one or two of the tradesmen to whom the poor lady was obliged to go round asking for time were very angry at a delay, to which they were perfectly used from more irregular customers. Emmy's contribution, paid over cheerfully without any questions, kept the little company in half rations, however. And the first six months passed pretty easily: old Sedley still keeping up with the notion that his shares must rise, and that all would be well. No sixty pounds, however, came to help the household at the end of the half year; and it fell deeper and deeper into troubleMrs. Sedley who was growing infirm, and was much shaken, remained silent or wept a great deal with Mrs. Clapp in the kitchen. The butcher was particularly surly: the grocer insolent-once or twice little Georgy had grumbled about the dinners: and Amelia, who still would have been satisfied with a slice of bread for her own dinner,

lected, and purchased little things out of her private purse to keep the boy in health.

At last they told her, or told her such a garbled story as people in difficulties tell. One day, her own money having been received, and Amelia about to pay it over: she who had kept an account of the moneys expended by her, proposed to keep a certain portion back out of her dividend, havving contracted engagements for a new suit for Georgy.

Then it came out that Jos's remittances were not paid; that the house was in difficulties which Amelia ought to have seen before, her mother said, but she cared for nothing or nobody except Georgy. At this she passed all her money across the table without a word to her mother, and returned to her room to cry her eyes out. She had a great access of sensibility too that day, when obliged to go and countermand the clothes, the darling clothes on which she had set her heart for Christmas day, and the cut and fashion of which she had arranged in many conversations with a small milliner, her friend.

Hardest of all, she had to break the matter to Georgy, who made a loud outcry. Every body had new clothes at Christmas. The others would laugh at him. He would have new clothes. She had promised them to him. The poor widow had only kisses to give him. She darned the old suit in tears. She cast about among her little ornaments to see could she sell any thing to procure the desired novelties? There was her India shawl that Dobbin had sent her. She remembered in former days going with her mother to a fine India shop on Ludgate Hill, where the ladies had all sorts of dealings and bargains in these articles. cheeks flushed, and her eyes shone with pleasure, as she thought of this resource, and she kissed away George to school in the morning, smiling brightly after him. The boy felt there was good news in her look.

Her

Packing up her shawl in a handkerchief, (another of the gifts of the good major) she hid them under her cloak, and walked flushed and eager all the way to Ludgate Hill, tripping along by the park wall, and running over the crossings, so that many a man turned as she hurried by him, and looked after her rosy, pretty face. She calculated how she should spend the proceeds of her shawl: how, besides the clothes, she would buy the books that he longed for, and pay his half-year's schooling; and how she would buy a cloak for her father instead of that old great-coat which he wore. She was not mistaken as to the value of the major's gift. It was a very fine and beautiful web: and the merchant made a very good bargain when he gave her twenty guineas for her shawl.

She ran on, amazed and flurried with her petency: and the boy raised to fortune. O to, riches Darton's shop in St. Paul's Church what a conviction it was to that tender and Yard, and there purchased the "Parent's stricken heart! Assistant," and the "Sanford and Merton" Georgy longed for, and got into the coach there with her parcel, and went home exulting. And she pleased herself by writing in the fly-leaf in her neatest little hand, "George Osborne, A Christmas gift from his affectionate mother." The books are extant to this day, with the fair, delicate superscription.

She was going from her own room with the books in her hand to place them on George's table, where he might find them on his return from school; when in the passage, she and her mother met. The gilt bindings of the seven handsome little volumes caught the old lady's eye.

"What are those?" she said. "Some books for Georgy," Amelia replied, blushing-"I-I promised them to him at Christmas."

CHAPTER XLVII.

GAUNT HOUSE.

ALL the world knows that Lord Steyne's town palace stands in Gaunt-square, out of which Great Gaunt-street leads, whither we first conducted Rebecca, in the time of the departed Sir Pitt Crawley. Peering over the railings and through the black trees into the garden of the Square, you see a few miserable governesses with wan-faced pupils wandering round and round it, and round the dreary grass-plot, in the centre of which rises the statue of Lord Gaunt, who fought at Minden, in a three-tailed wig, and otherwise habited like a Roman emperor. Gaunt House occupies nearly a side of the Square. The remaining three sides are composed of mansions that have passed away into Dowagerism;—tall, dark houses, with windowframes of stone, or picked out of a lighter red. Little light seems to be behind those

"Books!" cried the elder lady indignantly, "Books, when the whole house wants bread! Books, when to keep you and your son in luxury, and your dear father out of jail, I've sold every trinket I had, the India shawl from my back-even down to the very lean, comfortless casements now and hosspoons, that our tradesmen mightn't insult us, and that Mr. Clapp, which indeed he is justly entitled, being not a hard landlord, and a civil man, and a father, might have his rent. O Amelia! you break my heart with your books, and that boy of yours, whom you are ruining, though part with him you will not. O Amelia, may God send you a more dutiful child than I have had. There's Jos deserts his father in his old age: and there's George, who might be provided for, and who might be rich, going to school like a lord, with a gold watch and chain round his neck-while my dear, dear old man is without a sh, shilling." Hysteric sobs and cries ended Mrs. Sedley's speech-it echoed through every room in the small house, whereof the other female inmates heard every word of the colloquy.

pitality to have passed away from those doors as much as the laced lackeys and link-boys of old times, who used to put out their torches in the blank iron extinguishers that still flank the lamps over the steps. Brass plates have penetrated into the Square -Doctors, the Diddlesex Bank, Western Branch-the English and European Réunion, &c.-It has a dreary look-nor is my Lord Steyne's palace less dreary. All I have ever seen of it is the vast wall in front, with the rustic columns at the great gate, through which an old porter peers sometimes with a fat and gloomy red face-and over the wall the garret and bed-room windows, and the chimneys, out of which there seldom comes any smoke now. For the present Lord Steyne lives at Naples, preferring the view of the Bay and Capri and Vesuvius to the dreary aspect of the wall in Gaunt-square.

"O mother, mother!" cried the poor Amelia in reply. "You told me nothing-I1 promised him the books. I-I only sold A few score yards down New Gauntmy shawl this morning. Take the money street, and leading into Gaunt-mews indeed, -take every thing"-and with quivering is a little modest back door, which you hands she took out her silver, and her sov- would not remark from that of any of the ereigns her precious golden sovereigns, other stables. But many a little close carwhich she thrust into the hands of her riage has stopped at that door, as my informmother, whence they overflowed and tum-ant (little Tom Eaves, who knows every bled, rolling down the stairs.

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thing, and who showed me the place) told And then she went into her room, and me. The Prince and Perdita have been sank down in despair and utter misery. She in and out of that door, sir," he has often saw it all now. Her selfishness was sacri- told me; "Marianne Clarke has entered it ficing the boy. But for her he might have with the Duke of. It conducts to the wealth, station, education, and his father's famous petits appartements of Lord Steyne place, which the elder George had forfeited-one, sir, fitted up all in ivory and white for her sake. She had but to speak the satin, another in ebony and black velvet; words, and her father was restored to com- there is a little banqueting-room taken from P

selves for it, as long as there was a Stuart left to head or to instigate a rebellion.

Sallust's house at Pompeii, and painted by Cosway a little private kitchen, in which every saucepan was silver, and all the spits Lady Mary Caerlyon was brought up at were gold. It was there that Egalité Or- a Parisian convent, the Dauphiness Marie leans roasted partridges on the night when Antoinette was her godmother. In the he and the Marquis of Steyne won a hun- pride of her beauty she had been married— dred thousand from a great personage at sold, it was said to Lord Gaunt, then at Hombre. Half of the money went to the Paris, who won vast sums from the lady's French Revolution, half to purchase Lord brother at some of Philip of Orleans' banGaunt's Marquisate and Garter-and the quets. The Earl of Gaunt's famous duel remainder" but it forms no part of our with the Count de la Marche, of the Gray scheme to tell what became of the remain- Musketeers, was attributed by common reder, for every shilling of which, and a great port to the pretensions of that officer (who deal more, little Tom Eaves, who knows had been a page, and remained a favorite of every body's affairs, is ready to account. the Queen) to the hand of the beautiful LaBesides his town palace, the marquis had dy Mary Caerlyon. She was married to castles and palaces in various quarters of the Lord Gaunt while the count lay ill of his three kingdoms, whereof the descriptions wound, and came to dwell at Gaunt House, may be found in the Road-books-Castle and to figure for a short time in the splendid Strongbow, with its woods, on the Shannon court of the Prince of Wales. Fox had shore; Gaunt Castle, in Caermarthenshire, toasted her. Morris and Sheridan had writwhere Richard II. was taken prisonerGauntly Hall in Yorkshire, where, I have been informed, there were two hundred silver teapots for the breakfasts of the guests of the house, with every thing to correspond in splendor; and Stillbrook in Hampshire, which was my lord's farm, a humble place of residence, of which we all remember the wonderful furniture which was sold at my lord's demise by a late celebrated auctioneer.

ten songs about her. Malmsbury had made her his best bow; Walpole had pronounced her charming; Devonshire had been almost jealous of her; but she was scared by the wild pleasures and gayeties of the society into which she was flung, and after she had borne a couple of sons, shrank away into a life of devout seclusion. No wonder that my Lord Steyne, who liked pleasure and cheerfulness, was not often seen after their marriage, by the side of this trembling, silent, superstitious, unhappy lady.

The Marchioness of Steyne was of the renowned and ancient family of the Caer- The before-mentioned Tom Eaves (who lyons, Marquises of Camelot, who have pre- has no part in this history, except that he served the old faith ever since the conver- knew all the great folks in London, and the sion of the venerable Druid, their first an- stories and mysteries of each family) had cestor, and whose pedigree goes far beyond further information regarding my Lady the date of the arrival of King Brute in these Steyne, which may or may not be true. islands. Pendragon is the title of the eldest "The humiliations," Tom used to say, son of the house. The sons have been "which that woman has been made to uncalled Arthurs, Uthers, and Caradocs, from immemorial time. Their heads have fallen in many a loyal conspiracy. Elizabeth chopped off the head of the Arthur of her day, who had been chamberlain to Philip and Mary, and carried letters between the Queen of Scots and her uncles the Guises. A cadet of the house was an officer of the great duke, and distinguished in the famous Saint Bartholomew conspiracy. During the whole of Mary's confinement, the house of Camelot conspired in her behalf. It was as much injured by its charges in fitting out an armament against the Spaniards, during the time of the Armada, as by the fines and confiscations levied on it by Elizabeth for harboring of priests, obstinate recusancy, and Popish misdoings. A recreant of James's time was momentarily perverted from his religion by the arguments of that great theologian, and the fortunes of the family somewhat restored by his timely weakness. But the Earl of Camleot, of the reign of Charles, returned to the old creed of his family, and they continued to fight for it, and ruin them

dergo, in her own house, have been frightful; Lord Steyne has made her sit down to table with women with whom I would rather die than allow Mrs. Eaves to associate-with Lady Crackenbury, with Mrs. Chippenham, with Madame de la Cruchecassée, the French secretary's wife" (from every one of which ladies Tom Eaveswho would have sacrificed his wife for knowing them-was too glad to get a bow or a dinner), "with the reigning favorite, in a word. And do you suppose that that woman, of that family, who are as proud as the Bourbons, and to whom the Steynes are but lackeys, mushrooms of yesterday (for, after all, they are not of the old Gaunts, but of a minor and doubtful branch of the house); do you suppose, I say" (the reader must bear in mind that it is always Tom Eaves who speaks), "that the Marchioness of Steyne, the haughtiest woman in England, would bend down to her husband so submissively, if there were not some cause? Pooh! I tell you there are secret reasons. I tell you, that in the emigration, the Abbé de

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