his great contemporary, Dickens; and upon looking over "Vanity Fair,"

now that its numbers have been collected, we are in nowise surprised at the pleasure we then felt; for, to the true lover of fiction, there has scarcely ever been served up a dish of more exquisitely-seasoned food.

The knowledge which the author of "Vanity Fair" seems to possess of the fair sex is tolerably extensive; but it is a species of knowledge which in our opinion rather goes to prove that it is with the less amiable portion of it he has, for the most part, associated; he has certainly more power in delineating the foibles and the weaknesses of woman's heart, than in displaying the attractive charms of her better nature. Jane is amiable, so is the poor little Amelia; but they are only milk-andwater heroines after all: there is nothing noble about them-there is nothing of the generosity and self-devotion so inherent in the nature of a true woman.

Lady

We have, in consequence of our pages being recently occupied by more pressing matter, been anticipated in our notice of "Vanity Fair," by so many of our contemporaries, that any analysis of the plot, or any details of the incidents of the story, would now be quite superfluous. We must, therefore, content ourselves with pointing out what we consider the peculiar excellencies of the book; and assuming that our readers are already familiar with the story, select a few extracts which illustrate our remarks, without attempting to connect them by any thread of narration. And first we think in order, in regard of merit, comes the portrait of the heavy dragoon, which is delineated with wonderful power and accuracy, notwithstanding the slight inconsistency to which we have already adverted. He was, we are told, a very large young dandy, of "dreadful reputation" among the fair sex, with enormous whiskers and prodigious debts; jovial, reckless, and good-natured; a bold rider and desperate gambler with every vice (ac cording to the opinion of the Rev. Butt Crawley) under the sun; he has shot Captain Firmbrace in a duel; robbed young Lord Dovedale at the Cocoa Tree;" and crossed the fight between Bill Soames and the Cheshire Trump, Greville-(in the re

verend gentlemen's eyes his greatest enormity, that worthy parson having lost thereby forty pounds); with not an idea in the world beyond his horses and his regiment; so delightfully wicked that he is his aunt's darling; without a shilling in the world; who walks by starlight with the little Rebecca, looking into her green eyes, twirling his moustaches, and puffing his cigar into a blaze which glows red in the dark; making love by swearing the said Rebecca was a neat little filly; eventually becoming the victim of her powers of fascination; entering into the holy bonds of matrimony; leaving off gaming and racing; becoming utterly love-stricken and submissive; forsaking all his former vicious habits and haunts; judiciously economising on "his large capital of debts" and the proceeds of the sale of his commission; then revelling in all the glory of petit soupers, in his mansion in May Fair ; now sojourning in the spunging-house of Mr. Moses, in Chancery-lane; walking out with his son, the youthful Rawdon, introducing him with pride to the soldiers of his company, at Knightsbridge; behold him at last metamorphosed into a submissive, middle-aged, and rather corpulent gentleman, carrying up his wife's cup of chocolate to her dressing-room, or performing a duet on his shaggy head with a pair of brushes, casting the while admiring glances, from under his long hair, at the green-eyed mistress of his affections; glad to be employed about any little errand, brave as a lion, much in love, and dreadfully in debt, the portrait of the genus to which the dragoon belongs, is as perfect as anything of the kind we have ever seen. To his many imperfections we are inclined to extend forgiveness, for the sake of his good nature, and the pluck he exhibited in regard of the Lord Steyne. The sketch of this collision, with the circumstances which led to it, and the results which followed, is perhaps among the very best parts of "Vanity Fair." We would have great pleasure in extracting it for the amusement of our readers, did our space admit.

If "Vanity Fair" be a novel without ✈ a hero, it most assuredly is not without a heroine. Her character is well worthy an attentive study. It is an accurate portrait of a clever adventuress, thoroughly devoid of any prin

ciple, and, in our opinion, not in the least overdrawn. The daughter of a clever, drunken, careless, profligate artist, slight in person, pale in features, with an intellectual head and attractive eyes, brought up in the society of his reckless and dissipated companions-familiar, from her childhood, with every variety of difficulty and embarrassment, as well as the shifts and contrivances by which they might be evaded-having considerable experience in duns, and an eye not inapt for the recognition of a bailiff, Miss Sharp proves an admirable helpmate for the heavy dragoon, with whose creditors she effects a compromise -whose future fortunes she directs with an able and experienced hand. She is also a clever intriguante, extracting, with admirable skill, from the elderly gentlemen, with whom she carries on flirtations, a precarious means of livelihood; "doing" tradesmen; getting something out of every person with whom she comes into contact; setting up a mansion in the most fashionable part of London, and teaching the world how to live upon nothing a-year; obtaining, in despite of the formidable difficulties of low birth and want of money, ingress into the most fashionable of London society; snubbing countesses, receiving dukes and personages of royal lineage at her petits soupers— the portrait of Rebecca is, indeed, drawn with a piquancy and power quite charming and irresistible. Miss Crawley's arrival in town, and Rawdon's courtship, are also admirably told:

"About this time there drove up to an exceedingly snug and well-appointed house in Park-lane, a travelling chariot with a lozenge on the panels, a discontented female, in a green veil and crimped curls, on the rumble, and a large and confidential man on the box. It was the equipage of our friend Miss Crawley, The windows returning from Hants.

of the carriage were shut; the fat spaniel, whose head and tongue ordinarily lolled out of one of them, reposed on the lap of the discontented female.

When

the vehicle stopped, a large round bundle of shawls was taken out of the carriage, by the aid of various domestics and a young lady who accompanied the heap of cloaks. That bundle contained Miss Crawley, who was conveyed upstairs forthwith, and put into a bed and

VOL. XXXII.-NO. CXC.

chamber, warmed properly as for the reception of an invalid. Messengers went off for her physician and medical man. They came, consulted, prescribed, vanished. The young companion of Miss Crawley, at the conclusion of their interview, came in to receive their instructions, and administered those antiphlogistic medicines which the eminent men ordered.

"Captain Crawley, of the Life Guards, rode up from Knightsbridge Barracks the next day; his black charger pawed the straw before his invalid aunt's door. He was most affectionate in his inquiries regarding that amiable relative. There seemed to be much source of apprehension. He found Miss Crawley's maid (the discontented female) unusually sulky and despondent; he found Miss Briggs, her dame de compagnie, in tears, alone in the drawing-room. She had hastened home, hearing of her beloved friend's illness; she wished to fly to her couch-that couch which she, Briggs, had so often smoothed in the hour of sickness. She was denied admission to Miss Crawley's apartment; a stranger was administering her medicines-a stranger from the country-an odious Miss Tears choked the utterance of the dame de compagnie, and she buried her crushed affections and her poor old red nose in her pockethandkerchief.

"Rawdon Crawley sent up his name by the sulky femme de chambre, and Miss Crawley's new companion, coming tripping down from the sick room, put a little hand into his as he stepped forward eagerly to meet her, gave a glance of great scorn at the bewildered Briggs, and beckoning the young Guardsman out of the back drawing-room, led him down stairs into that now desolate dining-parlour where so many a good dinner had been celebrated."

It is in touches such as these that Mr. Thackeray is so inimitable. Nothing could be better than the description above quoted, as well as the exit of the gallant Captain Crawley, who emerges, curling his mous. taches, and having mounted the black charger which stands before the door, pawing among the straw, to the great admiration of a crowd of little boys collected in the street, casts a rapid glance in passing all the drawingroom windows, making his horse curvet and caper, doubtless to the exceeding admiration of the lady who might have been seen for an instant at the window, ere she departed up stairs to

2 H

resume her disinterested duties of benevolence. Then, when the young

person sits down with Miss Briggs, the poor "dame de compagnie," to supper, Briggs becomes so choked with emotion, that she cannot eat a morsel; "the young person carved a fowl with so much delicacy, and asked so distinctly for egg-sauce, that poor Briggs, before whom that delicious condiment was placed, started, made a great clattering with the ladle, and once more fell back in the most gushing, hysterical state." "Had you not better give Miss Briggs a glass of wine?" said the person to Mr. Bowls, the large, confidential man; he did so. Briggs seized it mechanically, gasped it down convulsively, moaned a little, and began to play with the chicken upon her plate.

I think we shall be able to help each other," said the person, with great suavity, and shall have no need of Mr. Bowls' kind services. Mr. Bowls, if you please, we will ring when we want you." He went down the stairs, where, by the way, he vented the most horrid curses upon the unoffending footman, his subordinate." There is more real knowledge of human nature displayed in slight touches, like these, than in whole scores of the productions of such manufacturers as Mr. James, or many others of the authors most popular among the circulating-library class of readers of the day. The character of the vain, worldly, stout, elderly gentlewoman, Miss Crawley, is, upon the whole, as exquisitely delineated as anything we have ever seen in the annals of fiction. We think her portrait is possibly even better drawn than that of Rebecca. Her illness is so well described, that we incline to think Mr. Thackeray must, at some former period, have nurse-tended some similar corpulent gentlewoman himself.

One

touch of his art, with reference to this passage in the life of Miss Crawley, where he describes the sedulous and careful attendance of Miss Sharp upon the invalid, and her indomitable endurance of the tedium of the sick cham. ber:

take that refreshment at almost any minute's warning, and so you saw few traces of fatigue in her appearance. Her face might be a trifle paler, and the circles round her eyes a little blacker than usual; but whenever she came out from the sick room, she was always smiling, fresh, and neat, and looked as trim in her little dressing-gown and cap, as in her smartest evening suit.

"She never told until long afterwards how painful that duty was; how peevish a patient was the jovial old lady-how angry-how sleepless-in what horrors of death during what long nights she lay moaning, and in almost delirious agonies respecting that future world, which she quite ignored when she was in good health. Picture to yourself, oh, fair young reader! a worldly, selfish, graceless, thankless, religionless old woman, writhing in pain and fear, and without her wig-picture her to your self, and ere you be old, learn to love and pray!"

We remember a sprightly young friend of ours narrating to us an inci dent somewhat similar, which happened to herself, in a house where we were both guests, which, whether from the piquancy of her description, or the ludicrous nature of the circumstance, made a deep impression upon our mind. There was a very fashionable and magnificently attired dame, with a benignant smile, which disclosed a row of beautiful teeth, also a visitor in the same house; and she one night, being taken, as she imagined, dangerously ill, sent for our friend, in order to communicate her latest wishes. was in bed, but could not be prevailed upon to uncover her head; and the sort of mumbling noise which she made under the clothes was neither very articulate nor intelligible. Vanity was her ruling passion, and she would rather have died in silence than let her face be seen; for, dear reader, the truth must be told-" her teeth were out!"

She

Mr. George Osborne's introduction to the aristocratic residence in Parklane, is not one of the least amusing passages in the history of his life. Amelia Osborne has gone over to pay and a visit to her friend, Miss Sharp; the old lady, Miss Crawley, is so captivated by her artless and innocent beauty, that she insists upon having her invited as soon as she becomes convalescent. Miss Sharp, with woman's instinct (this conversation having pass

ed in the presence of Captain Rawdon Crawley), at once informs her patroness that Amelia is engaged to be married to Lieut. Osborne; and it being demonstrated to the satisfaction of the Life Guardsman, that this gentleman is the same who has displayed so much anxiety to be seen in the company of people of rank and fashion, as to have allowed him, Captain Crawley, to win some hundreds from him at billiards, instantly declares that he must be inIcluded in the invitation also, for the praiseworthy purpose of ascertaining whether he can play at picquet with the same facility of losing money. The invitation to Park-lane is despatched accordingly; and George goes in the great family coach of the Osbornes, from Russell-square, where the young ladies, his sisters, not professing to care in the least whether they were invited or not, nevertheless look out for Sir Pitt Crawley's name in the Baronetage, and learn off by heart every interesting particular which that book contained relative to the Crawley family, and their pedigree, the Binkies, and every other branch, lineal as well as collateral, of that illustrious tree. George Osborne, seeing the little governess, Miss Sharp, determines to be very condescending and kind indeed, under the circumstance of his resuming his acquaintance in so distinguished a house; and he accordingly walks up to her with a very patronising, easy sort of swagger. But the interview is so felicitously told, that we must allow the author to narrate it in his own words:

"He would even shake hands with her, as a friend of Amelia's; and saying, Ah, Miss Sharp! how-dy-doo?' held out his left hand towards her, expecting that she would be quite confounded at the honour.

"Miss Sharp put out her right forefinger, and gave him a little nod, so cool and killing, that Rawdon Crawley, watching the operations from the other room, could hardly restrain his laughter as he saw the lieutenant's entire discomfiture; the start he gave, the pause, and the perfect clumsiness with which he at length condescended to take the finger which was offered for his embrace

"She'd beat the devil, by Jove!' the captain said, in a rapture; and the lieutenant, by way of beginning the conversation, agreeably asked Rebecca how she liked her new place.

666

My dear Miss Sharp!' Osborne ejaculated.

"At least in some families,' Rebecca continued. You can't think what a difference there is though. We are not so wealthy in Hampshire as you lucky folks of the city. But then I am in a gentleman's family-good old English stock. I suppose you know Sir Pitt's father refused a peerage. And you see how I am treated. I am pretty comfortable. Indeed, it is rather a good place. But how very good of you to inquire!'

Osborne was quite savage. The little governess patronised him and per siffled him until this young British Lion felt quite uneasy; nor could he muster sufficient presence of mind to find a pretext for backing out of this most delectable conversation.

"I thought you liked the city families pretty well,' he said, haughtily.

66 6

Last year you mean, when I was fresh from that horrid vulgar school? Of course I did. Doesn't every girl like to come home for the holidays? And how was I to know any better? But oh, Mr. Osborne, what a difference eighteen months' experience makes!eighteen months spent, pardon me for saying so, with gentlemen. As for dear Amelia, she, I grant you, is a pearl, and would be charming anywhere. There now, I see you are beginning to be in a good humour; but ah, these queer, odd city people! And Mr. Jos how is that wonderful Mr. Joseph ?'

666

"It seems to me you didn't dislike that wonderful Mr. Joseph last year,' Osborne said, kindly.

"How severe of you! Well, entre nous, I didn't break my heart about him; yet if he had asked me to do what you mean by your looks (and very expressive and kind they are, too), I wouldn't have said no.'

"Mr. Osborne gave a look, as much as to say, 'Indeed, how very obliging!'

What an honour to have had you for a brother-in-law, you are thinking? To be sister-in-law to George Osborne,

Esquire, son of John Osborne, Esquire, son of what was your grandpapa, Mr. Osborne? Well, don't be angry. You can't help your pedigree, and I quite agree with you that I would have married Mr. Joe Sedley: for could a poor, penniless girl do better? Now you know the whole secret. I'm frank and open; and, considering all things, it was very kind of you to allude to the circumstance-very kind and polite. Amelia dear, Mr. Osborne and I were talking about your poor brother Joseph. How is he?"

The chapter which contains the departure of the various dramatis personæ from Brussels and the field of Waterloo, is not one of the least entertaining in the volume, displaying, as it unquestionably does, the author's vast and varied knowledge of the human heart. But no incident which occurred there, when the great alarm sounded, is half so interesting to us as the description of the method in which the witty Mrs. O'Dowd prepares her lord and master, the major, for the encounter. Not having been invited to the Duchess of Richmond's ball, they had gone quietly to bed; the major expressing a wish that his lady should have his things ready for him, and that he should be wakened at half-past one. Mrs. O'Dowd, arrayed in curl-papers and a camisole, feeling that it was no part of her duty to sleep ("Time enough for that,' says the worthy lady, "when Mick's gone!") proceeds to pack up the major's valise, brush his cloak, cap, and other martial habiliments, stowing away refreshments in his pockets, among which she did not forget a flask of good Cognac, getting his breakfast ready for him, and then leaning out on the balcony to see the regiment pass by, the officers of which all saluted her, is as perfect a picture of a pattern-soldier's wife as ever was drawn. And then when the music of the departing regiment had faded on her ear, Mrs. O'Dowd betakes herself to a huge volume of the sermons of her uncle the dean, to which it was her invariable custom to resort on Sundays, and other periods of a solemn or an exciting nature. But her eyes did not rest much upon the print-they turned often, with a saddened glance, to where poor Mick's nightcap lay upon the deserted pil

low. Let us contrast the demeanor of this worthy woman with that of the heavy dragoon's cunning little wifethe parallel will be as amusing as it is instructive. "Look here," said the good-natured dragoon, "at what is left you, in case of accidents. Here's two hundred and thirty pounds, my winnings at play. I shall not take either of my own horses, but will ride the general's grey charger. If I drop, they will fetch you something. There's the dressing-case, that cost me two hundred-that is, I owe two for it; and the gold tops and bottles must be worth something-they can go up the spout with my pins, and rings, and watch and chain, and all the rest of the things." And then he proceeds to jot down, with a pencil in his "big school-boy hand," all the various articles of his personal property, which might be disposed for the benefit of his widow" My double-barrel, by Manton, say forty guineas; my driving cloak, lined with sable fur, fifty pounds; my duelling-pistols, in rosewood case, same which I shot Captain Marker, twenty pounds; my regulation-saddle, holsters, and housings; my laurie ditto, and so forth." The worthy captain then proceeds to dress himself in his oldest and shabbiest uniform, leaving his best in charge of his wife, whom he lifts up from the ground, holds in his arms, tight pressed against his strong-beating heart; then, with purple face and dim eyes, he puts her down and departs, riding by the general's side, and smoking his cigar in silence for several miles, until at last he left off twirling his moustache, and broke silence. But let us return to Rebecca. Having witnessed her lord's departure, she looks at herself in the mirror, deposits in a glass of fresh water a bouquet, presented to her at the ball of the night before, and goes comfortably to bed; whence, emerging at ten o'clock, and having partaken of coffee, she proceeds to review the inventory of her effects. There was her little mare, the general's gift; there were a whole array of watches, or, as Rawdon called them, "tickers," presented by various admirers; there were cashmere shawls, and trinkets of various description, which, upon minute calculation, she thought conld not realize less than seven hundred pounds; and then discovering, among the notes