as she fancied it; quick and impatient of control or harshness; easily to be moved by love and kindness. In a postscript, she stipulated that she should have a written agreement that she should see the child as often as she wished-she could not part with him under any other terms. "What? Mrs. Pride has come down, has she?" old Osborne said, when, with a tremulous, eager voice, Miss Osborne read him the letter" Reg'lar starved out, hey? ha, ha! I knew she would." He tried to keep his dignity, and to read his paper as usual-but he could not follow it. He chuckled and swore to himself behind the sheet. At last he flung it down: and scowling at his daughter, as his wont was, went out of the room into his study adjoining, from whence he presently returned with a key. He flung it to Miss Osborne. is not going to stop with us long." She could say nothing more, and walked away silently to her room. Let us close it upon her prayers and her sorrow. I think we had best speak little about so much love and grief. Miss Osborne came the next day, according to the promise contained in her note, and saw Amelia. The meeting between them was friendly. A look and a few words from Miss Osborne showed the poor widow, that, with regard to this woman at least, there need be no fear lest she should take the first place in her son's affection. She was cold, sensible, not unkind. The mother had not been so well pleased, perhaps, had the rival been better looking, younger, more affectionate, warmer-hearted. Miss Osborne, on the other hand, thought of old times and memories, and could not but be touched with the poor mother's pitiful situation. She was conquered, and, laying down her arms, as it were, she humbly submitted. That day they arranged together the preliminaries of the treaty of capitulation. "Get the room over mine-his room that was-ready," he said. Yes, sir," his daughter replied in a tremble. It was George's room. It had not been opened for more than ten years. Some of his clothes, papers, handkerchiefs, whips and caps, fishing-rods and sporting gear, were still there. An army list of 1814, with his name written on the cover; a little dictionary he was wont to use in writing; and the Bible his mother had given him, were on the mantel-piece; with a pair of spurs, and a dried inkstand covered with the dust of ten years. Ah! to Georgy with great caution; she looked to since that ink was wet, what days and people had passed away! The writing-book still on the table was blotted with his hand. Miss Osborne was much affected when she first entered this room with the servants under her. She sank quite pale on the little bed. "This is blessed news, mam-indeed, mam," the housekeeper said; "and the good old times is returning, mam. The dear little feller, to be sure, mam; how happy he will be! But some folks in May Fair, mam, will owe him a grudge, mam;" and she clicked back the bolt which held the window-sash, and let the air into the chamber. "You had better send that woman some money," Mr. Osborne said, before he went out. "She shan't want for nothing. Send her a hundred pound." And I'll go and see her to-morrow ?" Miss Osborne asked. "That's your look out. She don't come in here, mind. No, by -, not for all the money in London. But she mustn't want now. So look out, and get things right." With which brief speeches Mr. Osborne took leave of his daughter, and went on his accustomed way into the city. George was kept from school the next day, and saw his aunt. Amelia left them alone together, and went to her room. She was trying the separation: as that poor gentle Lady Jane Grey felt the edge of the ax that was to come down and sever her slender life. Days were passed in parleys, visits, preparations. The widow broke the matter see him very much affected by the intelligence. He was rather elated than otherwise, and the poor woman turned sadly away. He bragged about the news that day to the boys at school; told them how he was going to live with his grandpapa, his father's father, not the one who comes here sometimes; and that he would be very rich, and have a carriage, and a pony, and go to a much finer school, and when he was rich he would buy Leader's pencil-case, and pay the tart woman. The boy was the image of his father, as his fond mother thought. Indeed I have no heart, on account of our dear Amelia's sake, to go through the story of George's last days at home. At last the day came, the carriage drove up, the little humble packets containing tokens of love and remembrance were ready and disposed in the hall long since-George was in his new suit, for which the tailor had come previously to measure him. He had sprung up with the sun and put on the new clothes; his mother hearing him from the room close by, in which she had been lying, in speechless grief and watching. Days before, she had been making preparations Here, papa, is some money," Amelia for the end purchasing little stores for the said that night, kissing the old man, her boy's use marking his books and linen; father, and putting a bill for a hundred talking with him and preparing him for the pounds into his hands. "And-and, mam-change-fondly fancying that he needed ma, don't be harsh with Georgy. He-he preparation. 66 the railing of the garden opposite Mr. Osborne's house. It is so pleasant and cool. She can look up and see the drawing-room windows illuminated, and, at about nine o'clock, the chamber in the upper story where Georgy sleeps. She knows he has told her. She prays there, as the light goes out, prays with a humble heart, and walks home, shrinking and silent. She is very tired when she comes home. Perhaps she will sleep the better for that long, weary walk; and she may dream about Georgy. So that he had change, what cared he? | the days when he does not come, she takes He was longing for it. By a thousand eager a long walk into London-yes, as far as declarations as to what he would do, when Russell-square, and rests on the stone by he went to live with his grandfather, he had shown the poor widow how little the idea of parting had cast him down. "He would come and see his mamma often on the pony," he said: "he would come and fetch her in the carriage; they would drive in the park, and she should have every thing she wanted." The poor mother was fain to content herself with these selfish demonstrations of attachment, and tried convince herself how sincerely her son loved her. He must love her. All children were so: a little anxious for novelty, and-no, not selfish, but self-willed. Her child must have his enjoy-in Russell-square, at some distace from Mr. ments and ambition in the world. She herself, by her own selfishness and imprudent love for him, had denied him his just rights and pleasures hitherto. I know few things more affecting than that timorous debasement and self-humiliation of a woman. How she owns that it is she and not the man who is guilty: how she takes all the faults on her side: how she courts, in a manner, punishment for the wrongs which she has not committed, and persists in shielding the real culprit! It is those who injure women who get the most kindness from them-they are born timid and tyrants, and maltreat those who are humblest before them. One Sunday she happened to be walking Osborne's house (she could see it from a distance though), when all the bells of Sabbath were ringing, and George and his aunt came out to go to church; a little sweep asked for charity, and the footman, who carried the books, tried to drive him away; but Georgy stopped and gave him money. May God's blessing be on the boy! Emmy ran round the square, and coming up to the sweep, gave him her mite too. All the bells of Sabbath were ringing, and she followed them until she came to the Foundling Church, into which she went. There she sat in a place whence she could see the head of the boy under his father's tombstone. Many hundred fresh children's voices rose So poor Amelia had been getting ready in up there and sang hymns to the Father Besilent misery for her son's departure, and neficent; and little George's soul thrilled had passed many and many a long solitary with delight at the burst of glorious psalmhour in making preparations for the end. ody. His mother could not see him for a George stood by his mother, watching her while, through the mist that dimmed her arrangements without the least concern. eyes. Tears had fallen into his boxes; passages had been scored in his favorite books: old toys, relics, treasures had been hoarded away for him, and packed with strange neatness and care-and of all these things the boy took no note. The child goes away smiling, as the mother breaks her heart. By heavens, it is pitiful, the bootless love of women for children in Vanity Fair. A few days are past: and the great event of Amelia's life is consummated. No angel has intervened. The child is sacrificed and offered up to fate: and the widow is quite alone. The boy comes to see her often, to be sure. He rides on a pony with the coachman behind him, to the delight of his old grandfather, Sedley, who walks proudly down the lane by his side. She sees him, but he is not her boy any more. Why, he rides to see the boys at the little school, too, and to show off before them his new wealth and splendor. In two days he has adopted a slight imperious air and patronizing manner. He was born to command, his mother thinks, as his father was before him. It is fine weather now. Of evenings on CHAPTER LI. IN WHICH A CHARADE IS ACTED WHICH MAY AFTER Becky's appearance at my Lord Steyne's private and select parties, the claims of that estimable woman as regards fashion, were settled, and some of the very greatest and tallest doors in the metropolis were speedily opened to her-doors so great and tall that the beloved reader and writer hereof may hope in vain to enter at them. Dear brethren, let us tremble before those august portals. I fancy them guarded by grooms of the chamber with flaming silver forks, with which they prong all those who have not the right of the entrée. They say the honest newspaper fellow who sits in the hall and takes down the names of the great ones who are admitted to the feasts, dies after a little time. He can't survive the glare of fashion long. It scorches him up, as the presence of Jupiter in full dress wasted that poor imprudent Semele-a giddy moth of a creature, who ruined her- | tance with Colonel Crawley when they met on the next day at the club, and to compliment Mrs. Crawley in the Ring of Hyde Park with a profound salute of the hat. She and her husband were invited imme self by venturing out of her natural atmosphere. Her myth ought to be taken to heart among the Tyburnians, the Belgravians-her story, and perhaps Becky's too. Ah, ladies!-ask the Reverend Mr. Thuri-diately to one of the Prince's small parties fer if Belgravia is not a sounding brass, and Tyburnia a tinkling cymbal. These are vanities. Even these will pass away. And some day or other (but it will be after our time, thank goodness), Hyde Park Gardens will be no better known than the celebrated horticultural outskirts of Babylon, and Belgrave-square will be as desolate as Bakerstreet or Tadmor in the wilderness. Ladies, are you aware that the great Pitt lived in Baker-street? What would not your grandmothers have given to be asked to Lady Hester's parties in that now decayed mansion? I have dined in it-moi qui vous parle. I peopled the chamber with ghosts of the mighty dead. As we sate soberly drinking claret there with men of to-day, the spirits of the departed came in and took their places round the darksome board. The pilot who weathered the storm tossed off great bumpers of spiritual port: the shade of Dundas did not leave the ghost of a heeltap; Addington sate bowing and smirking in a ghostly manner, and would not be behindhand when the noiseless bottle went round; Scott, from under bushy eyebrows, winked at the apparition of a bee'swing; Wilberforce's eyes went up to the ceiling, so that he did not seem to know how his glass went up full to his mouth, and came down empty-up to the ceiling which was above us only yesterday, and which the great of the last days have all looked at. They let the house as a furnished lodging now. Yes, Lady Hester once lived in Baker-street, and lies asleep in the wilderness. Eōthen saw her there-not in Bakerstreet, but in the other solitude. It is all vanity to be sure, but who will not own to liking a little of it? I should like to know what well-constituted mind, merely because it is transitory, dislikes roastbeef? That is a vanity; but may every man who reads this, have a wholesome portion of it through life, I beg; aye, though my readers were five hundred thousand. Sit down, gentlemen, and fall to, with a good hearty appetite; the fat, the lean, the gravy, the horse-radish-as you like it don't spare it. Another glass of wine, Jones, my boy-a little bit of the Sunday side. Yes, let us eat our fill of the vain thing, and be thankful therefor. And let us make the best of Becky's aristocratic pleasures likewise for these too, like all other mortal delights, were but transitory. The upshot of her visit to Lord Steyne was, that His Highness the Prince of Peterwaradin took occasion to renew his acquain at Levant House, then occupied by his highness during the temporary absence from England of its noble proprietor. She sang, after dinner, to a very little comité. The Marquis of Steyne was present, paternally superintending the progress of his pupil. At Levant House Becky met one of the finest gentlemen and greatest ministers that Europe has produced-the Duc de la Jabotière, then embassador from the Most Christian King, and subsequently minister to that monarch. I declare I swell with pride as these august names are transcribed by my pen, and I think in what brilliant company my dear Becky is moving. She became a constant guest at the French Embassy. where no party was considered to be complete without the presence of the charming Madame Ravdoun Cravley. Messieurs de Truffigny (of the Périgord family) and Champignac, both attachés of the Embassy, were straightway smitten by the charms of the fair colonel's wife: and both declared, according to the wont of their nation, (for who ever yet met a Frenchman, come out of England, that has not left half a dozen families miserable, and brought away as many hearts in his pocket-book?) both, I say, declared that they were au mieux with the charming Madame Ravdonn. But I doubt the correctness of the assertion. Champignac was very fond of écarté, and made many parties with the colonel of evenings, while Becky was singing to Lord Steyne in the other room; and as for Truffigny, it is a well-known fact that he dared not go to the Travelers', where he owed money to the waiters, and if he had not had the Embassy as a dining-place, the worthy young gentleman must have starved. I doubt, I say, that Becky would have selected either of these young men as a person on whom she would bestow her special regard. They ran of her messages, purchased her gloves and flowers, went in debt for opera-boxes for her, and made themselves amiable in a thousand ways. And they talked English with adorable simplicity, and to the constant amusement of Becky and my Lord Steyne. She would mimic one or other to his face, and compliment him on his advance in the English language with a gravity which never failed to tickle the marquis, her sardonic old patron. Truffigny gave Briggs a shawl by way of winning over Becky's confidante, and asked her to take charge of a letter, which the simple spinster handed over in public to the person to whom it was addressed, and the composition of which amused every body who read it |