in the dragoon's pocket-book, a cheque for twenty pounds on Osborne's banker, she bethinks her of poor little Mrs. Osborne, and determines to pay her a visit, and get the cheque cashed.

The parting of Amelia from her husband is a stronger contrast still, but upon this we may not dwell, but shall proceed to the escape of the corpulent collector of Boogley Wallah from Brussels, which is replete with humour, and possibly as fair a specimen as we can produce of Mr. Thackeray's comic powers. Jos Sedley had been full of valorous determination to remain in Brussels as long as he entertained no doubt of the prowess of our armies; but a flying Brunswicker having arrived from the scene of action, covered with blood, to announce the disastrous retreat of the allies, and the death of the Duke, with other matters of a similar import

6

"Isidor, who had come into the kitchen, heard the conversation, and rushed out to inform his master. It is all over,' he shrieked to Jos. Milor Duke is a prisoner, the Duke of Brunswick is killed, the British army is in full flight; there is only one man escaped, and he is in the kitchen now; come, and hear him.'

"So Jos tottered into that apartment where Regulus still sat on the kitchen table, and clung fast to his flagon of beer. In the best French he could muster, and which was, in sooth, of a very ungrammatical sort, Jos besought the hussar to tell his tale. The disasters deepened as Regulus spoke. He was the only man of his regiment not slain on the field. He had seen the Duke of Brunswick fall, and the Ecossais pounded down by the cannon.

"And the th?' gasped Jos. "Cut in pieces,' said the hussar. "Upon which Pauline, crying out, 'Oh, my mistress, ma bonne petite dame! went off fairly into hysterics, and filled the house with her screams.

"Wild with terror, Mr. Sedley knew not how or where to seek for safety. He rushed from the kitchen back to the sitting-room, and cast an appealing look at Amelia's door, which Mrs. O'Dowd had closed, and locked in his face. So seizing a candle, he looked about for his gold-laced cap, and found it lying in its usual place on a console-table in the ante-room, placed before a mirror, at which Jos used to coquet, always giving his side-locks a twirl, and his cap the proper cock over his eye, before he went forth to make appearance in public.

Such is the force of habit, that even in the midst of his terror he began mechanically to twiddle with his hair, and arrange the cock of his hat. Then he looked amazed at the pale face in the glass before him, and especially at his moustachios, which had attained a rich growth in the space of seven weeks, since they had come into the world.

They will mistake me for a military man,' thought he, remembering Isidor's warning as to the massacre with which all the defeated British army was threatened, and staggering back to his bed-chamber, he began wildly pulling the bell, which summoned his valet.

"Isidor answered that summons. Jos had sunk in a chair; he had torn off his neck-cloths, and turned down his collars, and was sitting with both his hands lifted to his throat.

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Coupez moi, Isidor,' shouted he; 'vite! coupez moi !'

"Isidor thought for a moment he had gone mad, and that he wished his valet to cut his throat.

"Les moustaches,' gasped Jos, 'les moustaches, coupez, rasy, vite!'

"His French was of this sortvoluble, as we have said, but not remarkable for grammar.

"Isidor swept off the moustachios in no time with the razor, and heard, with inexpressible delight, his master's orders that he should fetch a hat and a plain coat. Ne porty ploo-habit militair-bonny-donny a voo, prenny dehors,' were Jos's words. The coat and cap were at last his property.

"This gift being made, Jos selected a plain black coat and waistcoat from his stock, and put on a large white neckcloth, and a plain beaver. If he could have got a shovel hat, he would have worn it. As it was, you would have fancied he was a flourishing large parson of the Church of England.

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Veney maintenong,' he continued, swcevy-ally-party-dong la roo.' And so having said, he plunged swiftly down the stairs of the house, and passed into the street.

"It was while enjoying the humiliation of Lady Bareacres that Rebecca caught sight of Jos, who made towards her directly he perceived her. That altered, frightened fat face told his secret well enough. He, too, wanted to fly, and was on the look-out for the means of escape. He shall buy my horses,' thought Rebecca, and I'll ride the

mare.'

"Jos walked up to his friend, and put the question for the hundredth time during the past hour, Did she know where horses were to be had?'

"What, you fly?' said Rebecca,

"And Amelia? who is to protect that poor little sister of yours,' asked Rebecca, you surely would not desert her?'

"What good could I do her, suppose-suppose the enemy arrive,' Jos answered; they'll spare the women, but my man tells me that they have taken an oath to give the men no quarter.'

"Horrid!' cried Rebecca, enjoying his perplexity.

"Besides, I don't want to desert her,' cried the brother; she shan't be deserted; there's a seat in the carriage, and one for you, dear Mrs. Crawley, if you'll come, and if we can get horses,' sighed he.

"I have two to sell,' the lady said. "Jos could have flung himself into her arms at that news. Get the carriage, Isidor,' he cried; we've found them we have found them.'

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66 6 My horses never were in harness,' added the lady; Bulfinch would kick the carriage to pieces if you put him in the traces.'

"But he is quiet to ride?' asked the civilian.

"As quiet as a lamb and as fast as a hare,' answered Rebecca.

"Do you think he's up to my weight?' Jos said. He was already on his back in imagination, without ever so much as a thought for poor Amelia.

"The bargain, at an enormous price, being concluded, Jos and Isidor went off to the stables to inspect the purchase. Jos bade his man saddle the horses at once. He would ride away that very night, that very hour; and he left the valet busy in getting the horses ready, and went homewards himself to prepare for his departure. It must be secret; he would go to his chamber by the back entrance. He did not care to face Mrs. O'Dowd and Amelia, and own to them that he was about to run. By the time Jos's bargain with Rebecca was completed, and his horses had been visited and examined, it was almost morning once more.

"As Mrs. O'Dowd was reading the English service, with Amelia and the wounded ensign for a congregation, the cannon at Waterloo began to roar. When Jos heard that dreadful sound, he made up his mind he would bear this recurrence of terrors no longer, and would fly at once. He rushed into the

sick man's room where our three friends had paused in their prayers, and interrupted them by a passionate appeal to Amelia.

"I can't stand it any more, Emmy,' he said, I won't stand it, and you must

come with me. I have bought a horse for you, never mind at what price, and you must dress, and come with me, and ride beside Isidor.'

"God forgive you, Mr. Sedley; but you're no better than a coward! Mrs. O'Dowd said, laying down the book.

"I say, come, Amelia,' the civilian went on; never mind what she says. Why are we to stop here, and be butchered by the Frenchmen!'

"You forget the -th, my boy,' said the little stubble, the wounded hero from his bed, and you won't leave mewill you, Mrs. O'Dowd?'

No, my dear fellow,' said she, going up and kissing the boy; no harm shall come to you while I stand by. I don't budge till I get the word from Mick, A pretty figure I'd be, stuck behind that chap on a pillion!'

"This image made the young patient to burst out a-laughing in his bed, and even made Amelia smile.

"I don't ask her,' shouted he, 'I don't ask that-that Irishwoman. But you, Amelia, once in all, will you come?'

"Without my husband, Joseph?' Amelia said with a look of wonder, and gave her hand to the major's wife.

"Jos's patience was exhausted'Good bye, then,' he said, shaking his fist in a rage, and slamming the door by which he retreated.

"And this time he really gave orders for march. Mrs. O'Dowd heard the clattering hoofs of the horses, as they issued from the gate, and looking on, made many scornful remarks on poor Joseph, as he rode down the street with Isidor after him in the laced cap. The horses, which had not been exercised for some days, were lively, and sprang about the street. Jos, a clumsy and timid horseman, did not look to advantage in the saddle.

"Look at him, Amelia, dear, driving into the parlour window. Such a bull in a china shop I never saw.'

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And presently the pair of riders disappeared at a canter down the street, leading in the direction of the Ghent road, Mrs. O'Dowd pursuing them with a fire of sarcasm as long as they remained in sight."

But we had almost forgotten to draw the attention of our readers to that chapter in which the disinheriting of George is so admirably described. In regard of breath and nicety of colouring, and an accurate knowledge of the human heart, it has seldom been equalled:

"Behind Mr. Osborne's dining-room was the usual apartment which went in

his house by the name of the study; and was sacred to the master of the house. Hither would Mr. Osborne retire of a Sunday forenoon when not minded to go to church; and here pass the morning in his crimson leather chair, reading the paper. A couple of glazed bookcases were here, containing standard works in stout gilt bindings. The "Annual Register," the "Gentleman's Magazine," Blair's Sermons," and "Hume and Smollet." From year's end to year's end he never took one of these volumes from the shelf; but there was no member of the family that would dare for his life to touch one of the books, except upon those rare Sunday evenings when there was no dinner party, and when the great scarlet Bible and Prayerbook were taken out from the corner where they stood beside his copy of the Peerage, and the servants being rung up to the dining-parlour, Osborne read the Evening Service to his family in a loud, grating, pompous voice. No member of the household, child or domestic, ever entered that room without a certain terror. Here he checked the housekeeper's accounts, and overhauled the butler's cellar-book-hence he could command across the clean, gravel courtyard the back entrance of the stables, with which one of his bells communicated; and into this yard the coachman issued from his premises as into a dock, and Osborne swore at him from the study window. Four times a-year Miss Wirt entered this apartment to get her salary, and his daughters to receive their quarterly allowance. George, as a boy, had been horsewhipped in this room many times; his mother sitting sick on the stair listening to the cuts of the whip; the boy was scarcely ever known to cry under the punishmentthe poor woman used to fondle and kiss him secretly, and give him money to soothe him when he came out.

"To this study old Osborne retired then, greatly to the relief of the small party whom he left. When the servants had withdrawn, they began to talk for a while volubly, but very low; then they went up stairs quietly, Mr. Bullock accompanying them stealthily on his creaking shoes; he had no heart to sit alone drinking wine, and so close to the terrible old gentleman in the study hard at hand. An hour at least after dark, the butler, not having received any summons, ventured to tap at his door, and take him in wax candles and tea.

The master of the house sate in his chair, pretending to read the paper, and when the servant, placing the lights and refreshment on the table by him, retired, Mr. Osborne got up and locked

the door after him. This time there was no mistaking the matter; all the household knew that some great catastrophe was going to happen, which was likely direly to affect Master George.

In the large, shining, mahogany escrutoire Mr. Osborne had a drawer especially devoted to his son's affairs and papers. Here he kept all the documents relating to him ever since he had been a boy; here were his prize copy-books and drawing-books, all bearing George's hand and that of the master-here were his first letters in large round hand, sending his love to papa and mama, and conveying his petitions for a cake; his dear godpapa Sedley was more than once mentioned in them. Curses quivered on old Osborne's livid lips, and horrid hatred and disappointment writhed in his heart, as, looking through some of these papers, he came on that name. They were all marked and docketed, and tied with red tape. It was

From Georgy, requesting five shillings. April 23, 18-; answered April 25: or, Georgy about a pony. October 13,' and so forth. In another packet were Dr. S.'s accounts, G.'s, tailors' bills and outfits, drafts on me by G. Osborne, jun., &c.; his letters from the West Indies-his agent's letters, and the newspapers containing his commission-here was a whip he had when a boy, and in a paper a locket containing his hair, which his mother used to wear.

"Turning one over after another, and musing over these memorials, the unhappy man passed many hours. His dearest vanities, ambitions, hopes, had all been here. What pride he had in his boy! he was the handsomest child ever seen. Everybody said he was like a nobleman's son. A royal princess had remarked him, and kissed him, and asked his name in Kew-Gardens. What city-man could shew such another? Could a prince have been better cared for? Anything that money could buy had been his son's. He used to go down on speech-days with four horses and new liveries, and scatter new shillings among the boys at the school where George was. When he went with George to the depôt of his regiment, before the boy embarked for Canada, he gave the officers such a dinner as the Duke of York might have sat down to. Had he ever refused a bill when George drew one? there they were-paid without a word. Many a general in the army couldn't ride the horses he had! He had the child before his eyes, on a hundred different days when he remembered Georgeafter dinner, when he used to come in as bold as a lord and drink off his glass

by his father's side, at the head of the table-on the pony at Brighton, when he cleared the hedge, and kept up with the huntsman-on the day when he was presented to the Prince Regent at the levee, when all St. James's couldn't produce a finer young fellow. And this, this was the end of all: to marry a bankrupt, and fly in the face of duty and fortune. What humiliation and fury-what pangs of sickening rage, balked ambition, and love what wounds of outraged vanity, tenderness even, had this old worldling now to suffer under!

"Having examined these papers, and pondered over this one and the other, in that bitterest of all helpless woe, with which miserable men think of happy past times, George's father took the whole of the documents out of the drawer in which he had kept them so long, and locked them into a writingbox, which he tied and sealed with his seal; then he opened the book-case and took down the great red Bible we have spoken of a pompous book, seldom looked at, and shining all over with gold; there was a frontispiece to the volume, representing Abraham sacrificing Isaac. Here, according to custom, Osborne had recorded on the fly-leaf, and in his large, clerk-like hand, the dates of his marriage, and his wife's death, and the births and Christian names of his children. Jane came first, then George Sedley Osborne, then Maria Frances, and the days of the christening of each. Taking a pen, he carefully obliterated George's names from the page; and when the leaf was quite dry, restored the volume to the place from which he had moved it: then he took a document out of another drawer, where his own private papers were kept, and having read it, crumpled it up, and lighted it at one of the candles, and saw it burn entirely away in the grate. It was bis will; which being burned, he sat down and wrote off a letter, and rang for his servant, whom he charged to deliver it in the morning. It was morning already: as he went up to bed the whole house was alight with the sunshine, and the birds were singing among the fresh green leaves in Russellsquare."

We hope, for the sake of the Corinthian capitals of the state, that if such a disgrace to their order as the old baronet, who is described under the name of Sir Pitt Crawley, ever did exist, it must have been very rare-a hundred years back-far less thirty; but if Mr. Thackeray has overdrawn

this portrait, as we are inclined to think he must, we forgive him for the sake of old William Dobbin, to whom we have already adverted-than whose a finer or a nobler nature does not exist in the annals of fiction. Plain and homely-looking, ungainly, blundering, and stupid, even from his schoolboy days, the rugged exterior of "Honest old Dob" concealed a fine and generous heart, true in friendship, constant in love, and unshaken during all the changes and chances of his military career, to the one fair image who oc cupied his thoughts. The elder Osborne is of too coarse a nature to afford us any pleasure. We hope there are very few English merchants so savage, so brutal, and so selfish, as he is represented; and yet there is an air of reality about him which is rather alarming. We can only say, that we hope it may never be our ill-fortune to be a guest at one of his splendid and dreary banquets in Russell-square. For George we have not much to say. His character hardly affords reasonable grounds for criticism, and is not developed or worked out with such elaboration as many of the others we have mentioned. A careless, gay, good-looking, and good-for-nothing spendthrift, with some selfishness and a good deal of generosity, George Osborne, like many another of his class in the world, has but little to recommend him to our sympathies, or our regard. He did right in marrying Amelia, but he would not have done so, it is to be feared, but for his friend Dobbin. Sir Pitt Crawley, the son of the profligate old baronet, is inimitably sketched. There is, possibly, among the characters which figure in the pages of "Vanity Fair," nothing better drawn than his portrait, as presented to the reader on that Tuesday morning when the unfortunate Rawdon comes to unfold his tale of misery to the sympathizing ear of his brother. His table, on which orderly blue-books and letters, bills neatly docketed, pamphlets and despatch-boxes, the Bible and the Quarterly Review, and a book of sermons, are all paraded-the Observer newspaper, damp and neatly folded-the baronet himself making his appearance precisely as the clock strikes nine, so cleanly shaved, with his rosy face, his stiff shirt-collar, trimming his nails as