CHAPTER XI

Arcadian Simplicity

Besides these honest folks at the Hall (whose simplicity and sweet

rural purity surely show the advantage of a country life over a town

one), we must introduce the reader to their relatives and neighbours at

the Rectory, Bute Crawley and his wife.

The Reverend Bute Crawley was a tall, stately, jolly, shovel-hatted

man, far more popular in his county than the Baronet his brother. At

college he pulled stroke-oar in the Christchurch boat, and had thrashed

all the best bruisers of the "town." He carried his taste for boxing

and athletic exercises into private life; there was not a fight within

twenty miles at which he was not present, nor a race, nor a coursing

match, nor a regatta, nor a ball, nor an election, nor a visitation

dinner, nor indeed a good dinner in the whole county, but he found

means to attend it. You might see his bay mare and gig-lamps a score

of miles away from his Rectory House, whenever there was any

dinner-party at Fuddleston, or at Roxby, or at Wapshot Hall, or at the

great lords of the county, with all of whom he was intimate. He had a

fine voice; sang "A southerly wind and a cloudy sky"; and gave the

"whoop" in chorus with general applause. He rode to hounds in a

pepper-and-salt frock, and was one of the best fishermen in the county.

Mrs. Crawley, the rector's wife, was a smart little body, who wrote

this worthy divine's sermons. Being of a domestic turn, and keeping

the house a great deal with her daughters, she ruled absolutely within

the Rectory, wisely giving her husband full liberty without. He was

welcome to come and go, and dine abroad as many days as his fancy

dictated, for Mrs. Crawley was a saving woman and knew the price of

port wine. Ever since Mrs. Bute carried off the young Rector of

Queen's Crawley (she was of a good family, daughter of the late

Lieut.-Colonel Hector McTavish, and she and her mother played for Bute

and won him at Harrowgate), she had been a prudent and thrifty wife to

him. In spite of her care, however, he was always in debt. It took

him at least ten years to pay off his college bills contracted during

his father's lifetime. In the year 179-, when he was just clear of

these incumbrances, he gave the odds of 100 to 1 (in twenties) against

Kangaroo, who won the Derby. The Rector was obliged to take up the

money at a ruinous interest, and had been struggling ever since. His

sister helped him with a hundred now and then, but of course his great

hope was in her death--when "hang it" (as he would say), "Matilda must

leave me half her money."

So that the Baronet and his brother had every reason which two brothers

possibly can have for being by the ears. Sir Pitt had had the better

of Bute in innumerable family transactions. Young Pitt not only did

not hunt, but set up a meeting house under his uncle's very nose.

Rawdon, it was known, was to come in for the bulk of Miss Crawley's

property. These money transactions--these speculations in life and

death--these silent battles for reversionary spoil--make brothers very

loving towards each other in Vanity Fair. I, for my part, have known a

five-pound note to interpose and knock up a half century's attachment

between two brethren; and can't but admire, as I think what a fine and

durable thing Love is among worldly people.

It cannot be supposed that the arrival of such a personage as Rebecca

at Queen's Crawley, and her gradual establishment in the good graces of

all people there, could be unremarked by Mrs. Bute Crawley. Mrs. Bute,

who knew how many days the sirloin of beef lasted at the Hall; how much

linen was got ready at the great wash; how many peaches were on the

south wall; how many doses her ladyship took when she was ill--for such

points are matters of intense interest to certain persons in the

country--Mrs. Bute, I say, could not pass over the Hall governess

without making every inquiry respecting her history and character.

There was always the best understanding between the servants at the

Rectory and the Hall. There was always a good glass of ale in the

kitchen of the former place for the Hall people, whose ordinary drink

was very small--and, indeed, the Rector's lady knew exactly how much

malt went to every barrel of Hall beer--ties of relationship existed

between the Hall and Rectory domestics, as between their masters; and

through these channels each family was perfectly well acquainted with

the doings of the other. That, by the way, may be set down as a

general remark. When you and your brother are friends, his doings are

indifferent to you. When you have quarrelled, all his outgoings and

incomings you know, as if you were his spy.

Very soon then after her arrival, Rebecca began to take a regular place

in Mrs. Crawley's bulletin from the Hall. It was to this effect: "The

black porker's killed--weighed x stone--salted the sides--pig's pudding

and leg of pork for dinner. Mr. Cramp from Mudbury, over with Sir Pitt

about putting John Blackmore in gaol--Mr. Pitt at meeting (with all the

names of the people who attended)--my lady as usual--the young ladies

with the governess."

Then the report would come--the new governess be a rare manager--Sir

Pitt be very sweet on her--Mr. Crawley too--He be reading tracts to

her--"What an abandoned wretch!" said little, eager, active,

black-faced Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Finally, the reports were that the governess had "come round"

everybody, wrote Sir Pitt's letters, did his business, managed his

accounts--had the upper hand of the whole house, my lady, Mr. Crawley,

the girls and all--at which Mrs. Crawley declared she was an artful

hussy, and had some dreadful designs in view. Thus the doings at the

Hall were the great food for conversation at the Rectory, and Mrs.

Bute's bright eyes spied out everything that took place in the enemy's

camp--everything and a great deal besides.

Mrs. Bute Crawley to Miss Pinkerton, The Mall, Chiswick.

Rectory, Queen's Crawley, December--.

My Dear Madam,--Although it is so many years since I profited by your

delightful and invaluable instructions, yet I have ever retained the

FONDEST and most reverential regard for Miss Pinkerton, and DEAR

Chiswick. I hope your health is GOOD. The world and the cause of

education cannot afford to lose Miss Pinkerton for MANY MANY YEARS.

When my friend, Lady Fuddleston, mentioned that her dear girls required

an instructress (I am too poor to engage a governess for mine, but was

I not educated at Chiswick?)--"Who," I exclaimed, "can we consult but

the excellent, the incomparable Miss Pinkerton?" In a word, have you,

dear madam, any ladies on your list, whose services might be made

available to my kind friend and neighbour? I assure you she will take

no governess BUT OF YOUR CHOOSING.

My dear husband is pleased to say that he likes EVERYTHING WHICH COMES

FROM MISS PINKERTON'S SCHOOL. How I wish I could present him and my

beloved girls to the friend of my youth, and the ADMIRED of the great

lexicographer of our country! If you ever travel into Hampshire, Mr.

Crawley begs me to say, he hopes you will adorn our RURAL RECTORY with

your presence. 'Tis the humble but happy home of

Your affectionate Martha Crawley

P.S. Mr. Crawley's brother, the baronet, with whom we are not, alas!

upon those terms of UNITY in which it BECOMES BRETHREN TO DWELL, has a

governess for his little girls, who, I am told, had the good fortune to

be educated at Chiswick. I hear various reports of her; and as I have

the tenderest interest in my dearest little nieces, whom I wish, in

spite of family differences, to see among my own children--and as I

long to be attentive to ANY PUPIL OF YOURS--do, my dear Miss Pinkerton,

tell me the history of this young lady, whom, for YOUR SAKE, I am most

anxious to befriend.--M. C.

Miss Pinkerton to Mrs. Bute Crawley.

Johnson House, Chiswick, Dec. 18--.

Dear Madam,--I have the honour to acknowledge your polite

communication, to which I promptly reply. 'Tis most gratifying to one

in my most arduous position to find that my maternal cares have

elicited a responsive affection; and to recognize in the amiable Mrs.

Bute Crawley my excellent pupil of former years, the sprightly and

accomplished Miss Martha MacTavish. I am happy to have under my charge

now the daughters of many of those who were your contemporaries at my

establishment--what pleasure it would give me if your own beloved young

ladies had need of my instructive superintendence!

Presenting my respectful compliments to Lady Fuddleston, I have the

honour (epistolarily) to introduce to her ladyship my two friends, Miss

Tuffin and Miss Hawky.

Either of these young ladies is PERFECTLY QUALIFIED to instruct in

Greek, Latin, and the rudiments of Hebrew; in mathematics and history;

in Spanish, French, Italian, and geography; in music, vocal and

instrumental; in dancing, without the aid of a master; and in the

elements of natural sciences. In the use of the globes both are

proficients. In addition to these Miss Tuffin, who is daughter of the

late Reverend Thomas Tuffin (Fellow of Corpus College, Cambridge), can

instruct in the Syriac language, and the elements of Constitutional

law. But as she is only eighteen years of age, and of exceedingly

pleasing personal appearance, perhaps this young lady may be

objectionable in Sir Huddleston Fuddleston's family.

Miss Letitia Hawky, on the other hand, is not personally well-favoured.

She is twenty-nine; her face is much pitted with the small-pox. She

has a halt in her gait, red hair, and a trifling obliquity of vision.

Both ladies are endowed with EVERY MORAL AND RELIGIOUS VIRTUE. Their

terms, of course, are such as their accomplishments merit. With my

most grateful respects to the Reverend Bute Crawley, I have the honour

to be,

Dear Madam,

Your most faithful and obedient servant, Barbara Pinkerton.

P.S. The Miss Sharp, whom you mention as governess to Sir Pitt

Crawley, Bart., M.P., was a pupil of mine, and I have nothing to say in

her disfavour. Though her appearance is disagreeable, we cannot control

the operations of nature: and though her parents were disreputable (her

father being a painter, several times bankrupt, and her mother, as I

have since learned, with horror, a dancer at the Opera); yet her

talents are considerable, and I cannot regret that I received her OUT

OF CHARITY. My dread is, lest the principles of the mother--who was

represented to me as a French Countess, forced to emigrate in the late

revolutionary horrors; but who, as I have since found, was a person of

the very lowest order and morals--should at any time prove to be

HEREDITARY in the unhappy young woman whom I took as AN OUTCAST. But

her principles have hitherto been correct (I believe), and I am sure

nothing will occur to injure them in the elegant and refined circle of

the eminent Sir Pitt Crawley.

Miss Rebecca Sharp to Miss Amelia Sedley.

I have not written to my beloved Amelia for these many weeks past, for

what news was there to tell of the sayings and doings at Humdrum Hall,

as I have christened it; and what do you care whether the turnip crop

is good or bad; whether the fat pig weighed thirteen stone or fourteen;

and whether the beasts thrive well upon mangelwurzel? Every day since I

last wrote has been like its neighbour. Before breakfast, a walk with

Sir Pitt and his spud; after breakfast studies (such as they are) in

the schoolroom; after schoolroom, reading and writing about lawyers,

leases, coal-mines, canals, with Sir Pitt (whose secretary I am

become); after dinner, Mr. Crawley's discourses on the baronet's

backgammon; during both of which amusements my lady looks on with equal

placidity. She has become rather more interesting by being ailing of

late, which has brought a new visitor to the Hall, in the person of a

young doctor. Well, my dear, young women need never despair. The young

doctor gave a certain friend of yours to understand that, if she chose

to be Mrs. Glauber, she was welcome to ornament the surgery! I told his

impudence that the gilt pestle and mortar was quite ornament enough; as

if I was born, indeed, to be a country surgeon's wife! Mr. Glauber went

home seriously indisposed at his rebuff, took a cooling draught, and is

now quite cured. Sir Pitt applauded my resolution highly; he would be

sorry to lose his little secretary, I think; and I believe the old

wretch likes me as much as it is in his nature to like any one. Marry,

indeed! and with a country apothecary, after-- No, no, one cannot so

soon forget old associations, about which I will talk no more. Let us

return to Humdrum Hall.

For some time past it is Humdrum Hall no longer. My dear, Miss Crawley

has arrived with her fat horses, fat servants, fat spaniel--the great

rich Miss Crawley, with seventy thousand pounds in the five per cents.,

whom, or I had better say WHICH, her two brothers adore. She looks

very apoplectic, the dear soul; no wonder her brothers are anxious

about her. You should see them struggling to settle her cushions, or

to hand her coffee! "When I come into the country," she says (for she

has a great deal of humour), "I leave my toady, Miss Briggs, at home.

My brothers are my toadies here, my dear, and a pretty pair they are!"

When she comes into the country our hall is thrown open, and for a

month, at least, you would fancy old Sir Walpole was come to life

again. We have dinner-parties, and drive out in the coach-and-four--the

footmen put on their newest canary-coloured liveries; we drink claret

and champagne as if we were accustomed to it every day. We have wax

candles in the schoolroom, and fires to warm ourselves with. Lady

Crawley is made to put on the brightest pea-green in her wardrobe, and

my pupils leave off their thick shoes and tight old tartan pelisses,

and wear silk stockings and muslin frocks, as fashionable baronets'

daughters should. Rose came in yesterday in a sad plight--the

Wiltshire sow (an enormous pet of hers) ran her down, and destroyed a

most lovely flowered lilac silk dress by dancing over it--had this

happened a week ago, Sir Pitt would have sworn frightfully, have boxed

the poor wretch's ears, and put her upon bread and water for a month.

All he said was, "I'll serve you out, Miss, when your aunt's gone," and

laughed off the accident as quite trivial. Let us hope his wrath will

have passed away before Miss Crawley's departure. I hope so, for Miss

Rose's sake, I am sure. What a charming reconciler and peacemaker money

is!

Another admirable effect of Miss Crawley and her seventy thousand

pounds is to be seen in the conduct of the two brothers Crawley. I

mean the baronet and the rector, not OUR brothers--but the former, who

hate each other all the year round, become quite loving at Christmas.

I wrote to you last year how the abominable horse-racing rector was in

the habit of preaching clumsy sermons at us at church, and how Sir Pitt

snored in answer. When Miss Crawley arrives there is no such thing as

quarrelling heard of--the Hall visits the Rectory, and vice versa--the

parson and the Baronet talk about the pigs and the poachers, and the

county business, in the most affable manner, and without quarrelling in

their cups, I believe--indeed Miss Crawley won't hear of their

quarrelling, and vows that she will leave her money to the Shropshire

Crawleys if they offend her. If they were clever people, those

Shropshire Crawleys, they might have it all, I think; but the

Shropshire Crawley is a clergyman like his Hampshire cousin, and

mortally offended Miss Crawley (who had fled thither in a fit of rage

against her impracticable brethren) by some strait-laced notions of

morality. He would have prayers in the house, I believe.

Our sermon books are shut up when Miss Crawley arrives, and Mr. Pitt,

whom she abominates, finds it convenient to go to town. On the other

hand, the young dandy--"blood," I believe, is the term--Captain Crawley

makes his appearance, and I suppose you will like to know what sort of

a person he is.

Well, he is a very large young dandy. He is six feet high, and speaks

with a great voice; and swears a great deal; and orders about the

servants, who all adore him nevertheless; for he is very generous of

his money, and the domestics will do anything for him. Last week the

keepers almost killed a bailiff and his man who came down from London

to arrest the Captain, and who were found lurking about the Park

wall--they beat them, ducked them, and were going to shoot them for

poachers, but the baronet interfered.

The Captain has a hearty contempt for his father, I can see, and calls

him an old PUT, an old SNOB, an old CHAW-BACON, and numberless other

pretty names. He has a DREADFUL REPUTATION among the ladies. He brings

his hunters home with him, lives with the Squires of the county, asks

whom he pleases to dinner, and Sir Pitt dares not say no, for fear of

offending Miss Crawley, and missing his legacy when she dies of her

apoplexy. Shall I tell you a compliment the Captain paid me? I must,

it is so pretty. One evening we actually had a dance; there was Sir

Huddleston Fuddleston and his family, Sir Giles Wapshot and his young

ladies, and I don't know how many more. Well, I heard him say--"By

Jove, she's a neat little filly!" meaning your humble servant; and he

did me the honour to dance two country-dances with me. He gets on

pretty gaily with the young Squires, with whom he drinks, bets, rides,

and talks about hunting and shooting; but he says the country girls are

BORES; indeed, I don't think he is far wrong. You should see the

contempt with which they look down on poor me! When they dance I sit

and play the piano very demurely; but the other night, coming in rather

flushed from the dining-room, and seeing me employed in this way, he

swore out loud that I was the best dancer in the room, and took a great

oath that he would have the fiddlers from Mudbury.

"I'll go and play a country-dance," said Mrs. Bute Crawley, very

readily (she is a little, black-faced old woman in a turban, rather

crooked, and with very twinkling eyes); and after the Captain and your

poor little Rebecca had performed a dance together, do you know she

actually did me the honour to compliment me upon my steps! Such a thing

was never heard of before; the proud Mrs. Bute Crawley, first cousin to

the Earl of Tiptoff, who won't condescend to visit Lady Crawley, except

when her sister is in the country. Poor Lady Crawley! during most part

of these gaieties, she is upstairs taking pills.

Mrs. Bute has all of a sudden taken a great fancy to me. "My dear Miss

Sharp," she says, "why not bring over your girls to the Rectory?--their

cousins will be so happy to see them." I know what she means. Signor

Clementi did not teach us the piano for nothing; at which price Mrs.

Bute hopes to get a professor for her children. I can see through her

schemes, as though she told them to me; but I shall go, as I am

determined to make myself agreeable--is it not a poor governess's duty,

who has not a friend or protector in the world? The Rector's wife paid

me a score of compliments about the progress my pupils made, and

thought, no doubt, to touch my heart--poor, simple, country soul!--as

if I cared a fig about my pupils!

Your India muslin and your pink silk, dearest Amelia, are said to

become me very well. They are a good deal worn now; but, you know, we

poor girls can't afford des fraiches toilettes. Happy, happy you! who

have but to drive to St. James's Street, and a dear mother who will

give you any thing you ask. Farewell, dearest girl,

Your affectionate Rebecca.

P.S.--I wish you could have seen the faces of the Miss Blackbrooks

(Admiral Blackbrook's daughters, my dear), fine young ladies, with

dresses from London, when Captain Rawdon selected poor me for a partner!

When Mrs. Bute Crawley (whose artifices our ingenious Rebecca had so

soon discovered) had procured from Miss Sharp the promise of a visit,

she induced the all-powerful Miss Crawley to make the necessary

application to Sir Pitt, and the good-natured old lady, who loved to be

gay herself, and to see every one gay and happy round about her, was

quite charmed, and ready to establish a reconciliation and intimacy

between her two brothers. It was therefore agreed that the young people

of both families should visit each other frequently for the future, and

the friendship of course lasted as long as the jovial old mediatrix was

there to keep the peace.

"Why did you ask that scoundrel, Rawdon Crawley, to dine?" said the

Rector to his lady, as they were walking home through the park. "I

don't want the fellow. He looks down upon us country people as so many

blackamoors. He's never content unless he gets my yellow-sealed wine,

which costs me ten shillings a bottle, hang him! Besides, he's such an

infernal character--he's a gambler--he's a drunkard--he's a profligate

in every way. He shot a man in a duel--he's over head and ears in

debt, and he's robbed me and mine of the best part of Miss Crawley's

fortune. Waxy says she has him"--here the Rector shook his fist at the

moon, with something very like an oath, and added, in a melancholious

tone, "--down in her will for fifty thousand; and there won't be above

thirty to divide."

"I think she's going," said the Rector's wife. "She was very red in

the face when we left dinner. I was obliged to unlace her."

"She drank seven glasses of champagne," said the reverend gentleman, in

a low voice; "and filthy champagne it is, too, that my brother poisons

us with--but you women never know what's what."

"We know nothing," said Mrs. Bute Crawley.

"She drank cherry-brandy after dinner," continued his Reverence, "and

took curacao with her coffee. I wouldn't take a glass for a five-pound

note: it kills me with heartburn. She can't stand it, Mrs.

Crawley--she must go--flesh and blood won't bear it! and I lay five to

two, Matilda drops in a year."

Indulging in these solemn speculations, and thinking about his debts,

and his son Jim at College, and Frank at Woolwich, and the four girls,

who were no beauties, poor things, and would not have a penny but what

they got from the aunt's expected legacy, the Rector and his lady

walked on for a while.

"Pitt can't be such an infernal villain as to sell the reversion of the

living. And that Methodist milksop of an eldest son looks to

Parliament," continued Mr. Crawley, after a pause.

"Sir Pitt Crawley will do anything," said the Rector's wife. "We must

get Miss Crawley to make him promise it to James."

"Pitt will promise anything," replied the brother. "He promised he'd

pay my college bills, when my father died; he promised he'd build the

new wing to the Rectory; he promised he'd let me have Jibb's field and

the Six-acre Meadow--and much he executed his promises! And it's to

this man's son--this scoundrel, gambler, swindler, murderer of a Rawdon

Crawley, that Matilda leaves the bulk of her money. I say it's

un-Christian. By Jove, it is. The infamous dog has got every vice

except hypocrisy, and that belongs to his brother."

"Hush, my dearest love! we're in Sir Pitt's grounds," interposed his

wife.

"I say he has got every vice, Mrs. Crawley. Don't Ma'am, bully me.

Didn't he shoot Captain Marker? Didn't he rob young Lord Dovedale at

the Cocoa-Tree? Didn't he cross the fight between Bill Soames and the

Cheshire Trump, by which I lost forty pound? You know he did; and as

for the women, why, you heard that before me, in my own magistrate's

room."

"For heaven's sake, Mr. Crawley," said the lady, "spare me the details."

"And you ask this villain into your house!" continued the exasperated

Rector. "You, the mother of a young family--the wife of a clergyman of

the Church of England. By Jove!"

"Bute Crawley, you are a fool," said the Rector's wife scornfully.

"Well, Ma'am, fool or not--and I don't say, Martha, I'm so clever as

you are, I never did. But I won't meet Rawdon Crawley, that's flat.

I'll go over to Huddleston, that I will, and see his black greyhound,

Mrs. Crawley; and I'll run Lancelot against him for fifty. By Jove, I

will; or against any dog in England. But I won't meet that beast

Rawdon Crawley."

"Mr. Crawley, you are intoxicated, as usual," replied his wife. And

the next morning, when the Rector woke, and called for small beer, she

put him in mind of his promise to visit Sir Huddleston Fuddleston on

Saturday, and as he knew he should have a wet night, it was agreed that

he might gallop back again in time for church on Sunday morning. Thus

it will be seen that the parishioners of Crawley were equally happy in

their Squire and in their Rector.

Miss Crawley had not long been established at the Hall before Rebecca's

fascinations had won the heart of that good-natured London rake, as

they had of the country innocents whom we have been describing. Taking

her accustomed drive, one day, she thought fit to order that "that

little governess" should accompany her to Mudbury. Before they had

returned Rebecca had made a conquest of her; having made her laugh four

times, and amused her during the whole of the little journey.

"Not let Miss Sharp dine at table!" said she to Sir Pitt, who had

arranged a dinner of ceremony, and asked all the neighbouring baronets.

"My dear creature, do you suppose I can talk about the nursery with

Lady Fuddleston, or discuss justices' business with that goose, old Sir

Giles Wapshot? I insist upon Miss Sharp appearing. Let Lady Crawley

remain upstairs, if there is no room. But little Miss Sharp! Why, she's

the only person fit to talk to in the county!"

Of course, after such a peremptory order as this, Miss Sharp, the

governess, received commands to dine with the illustrious company below

stairs. And when Sir Huddleston had, with great pomp and ceremony,

handed Miss Crawley in to dinner, and was preparing to take his place

by her side, the old lady cried out, in a shrill voice, "Becky Sharp!

Miss Sharp! Come you and sit by me and amuse me; and let Sir

Huddleston sit by Lady Wapshot."

When the parties were over, and the carriages had rolled away, the

insatiable Miss Crawley would say, "Come to my dressing room, Becky,

and let us abuse the company"--which, between them, this pair of

friends did perfectly. Old Sir Huddleston wheezed a great deal at

dinner; Sir Giles Wapshot had a particularly noisy manner of imbibing

his soup, and her ladyship a wink of the left eye; all of which Becky

caricatured to admiration; as well as the particulars of the night's

conversation; the politics; the war; the quarter-sessions; the famous

run with the H.H., and those heavy and dreary themes, about which

country gentlemen converse. As for the Misses Wapshot's toilettes and

Lady Fuddleston's famous yellow hat, Miss Sharp tore them to tatters,

to the infinite amusement of her audience.

"My dear, you are a perfect trouvaille," Miss Crawley would say. "I

wish you could come to me in London, but I couldn't make a butt of you

as I do of poor Briggs no, no, you little sly creature; you are too

clever--Isn't she, Firkin?"

Mrs. Firkin (who was dressing the very small remnant of hair which

remained on Miss Crawley's pate), flung up her head and said, "I think

Miss is very clever," with the most killing sarcastic air. In fact,

Mrs. Firkin had that natural jealousy which is one of the main

principles of every honest woman.

After rebuffing Sir Huddleston Fuddleston, Miss Crawley ordered that

Rawdon Crawley should lead her in to dinner every day, and that Becky

should follow with her cushion--or else she would have Becky's arm and

Rawdon with the pillow. "We must sit together," she said. "We're the

only three Christians in the county, my love"--in which case, it must

be confessed, that religion was at a very low ebb in the county of

Hants.

Besides being such a fine religionist, Miss Crawley was, as we have

said, an Ultra-liberal in opinions, and always took occasion to express

these in the most candid manner.

"What is birth, my dear!" she would say to Rebecca--"Look at my brother

Pitt; look at the Huddlestons, who have been here since Henry II; look

at poor Bute at the parsonage--is any one of them equal to you in

intelligence or breeding? Equal to you--they are not even equal to poor

dear Briggs, my companion, or Bowls, my butler. You, my love, are a

little paragon--positively a little jewel--You have more brains than

half the shire--if merit had its reward you ought to be a Duchess--no,

there ought to be no duchesses at all--but you ought to have no

superior, and I consider you, my love, as my equal in every respect;

and--will you put some coals on the fire, my dear; and will you pick

this dress of mine, and alter it, you who can do it so well?" So this

old philanthropist used to make her equal run of her errands, execute

her millinery, and read her to sleep with French novels, every night.

At this time, as some old readers may recollect, the genteel world had

been thrown into a considerable state of excitement by two events,

which, as the papers say, might give employment to the gentlemen of the

long robe. Ensign Shafton had run away with Lady Barbara Fitzurse, the

Earl of Bruin's daughter and heiress; and poor Vere Vane, a gentleman

who, up to forty, had maintained a most respectable character and

reared a numerous family, suddenly and outrageously left his home, for

the sake of Mrs. Rougemont, the actress, who was sixty-five years of

age.

"That was the most beautiful part of dear Lord Nelson's character,"

Miss Crawley said. "He went to the deuce for a woman. There must be

good in a man who will do that. I adore all imprudent matches.-- What

I like best, is for a nobleman to marry a miller's daughter, as Lord

Flowerdale did--it makes all the women so angry--I wish some great man

would run away with you, my dear; I'm sure you're pretty enough."

"Two post-boys!--Oh, it would be delightful!" Rebecca owned.

"And what I like next best, is for a poor fellow to run away with a

rich girl. I have set my heart on Rawdon running away with some one."

"A rich some one, or a poor some one?"

"Why, you goose! Rawdon has not a shilling but what I give him. He is

crible de dettes--he must repair his fortunes, and succeed in the

world."

"Is he very clever?" Rebecca asked.

"Clever, my love?--not an idea in the world beyond his horses, and his

regiment, and his hunting, and his play; but he must succeed--he's so

delightfully wicked. Don't you know he has hit a man, and shot an

injured father through the hat only? He's adored in his regiment; and

all the young men at Wattier's and the Cocoa-Tree swear by him."

When Miss Rebecca Sharp wrote to her beloved friend the account of the

little ball at Queen's Crawley, and the manner in which, for the first

time, Captain Crawley had distinguished her, she did not, strange to

relate, give an altogether accurate account of the transaction. The

Captain had distinguished her a great number of times before. The

Captain had met her in a half-score of walks. The Captain had lighted

upon her in a half-hundred of corridors and passages. The Captain had

hung over her piano twenty times of an evening (my Lady was now

upstairs, being ill, and nobody heeded her) as Miss Sharp sang. The

Captain had written her notes (the best that the great blundering

dragoon could devise and spell; but dulness gets on as well as any

other quality with women). But when he put the first of the notes into

the leaves of the song she was singing, the little governess, rising

and looking him steadily in the face, took up the triangular missive

daintily, and waved it about as if it were a cocked hat, and she,

advancing to the enemy, popped the note into the fire, and made him a

very low curtsey, and went back to her place, and began to sing away

again more merrily than ever.

"What's that?" said Miss Crawley, interrupted in her after-dinner doze

by the stoppage of the music.

"It's a false note," Miss Sharp said with a laugh; and Rawdon Crawley

fumed with rage and mortification.

Seeing the evident partiality of Miss Crawley for the new governess,

how good it was of Mrs. Bute Crawley not to be jealous, and to welcome

the young lady to the Rectory, and not only her, but Rawdon Crawley,

her husband's rival in the Old Maid's five per cents! They became very

fond of each other's society, Mrs. Crawley and her nephew. He gave up

hunting; he declined entertainments at Fuddleston: he would not dine

with the mess of the depot at Mudbury: his great pleasure was to stroll

over to Crawley parsonage--whither Miss Crawley came too; and as their

mamma was ill, why not the children with Miss Sharp? So the children

(little dears!) came with Miss Sharp; and of an evening some of the

party would walk back together. Not Miss Crawley--she preferred her

carriage--but the walk over the Rectory fields, and in at the little

park wicket, and through the dark plantation, and up the checkered

avenue to Queen's Crawley, was charming in the moonlight to two such

lovers of the picturesque as the Captain and Miss Rebecca.

"O those stars, those stars!" Miss Rebecca would say, turning her

twinkling green eyes up towards them. "I feel myself almost a spirit

when I gaze upon them."

"O--ah--Gad--yes, so do I exactly, Miss Sharp," the other enthusiast

replied. "You don't mind my cigar, do you, Miss Sharp?" Miss Sharp

loved the smell of a cigar out of doors beyond everything in the

world--and she just tasted one too, in the prettiest way possible, and

gave a little puff, and a little scream, and a little giggle, and

restored the delicacy to the Captain, who twirled his moustache, and

straightway puffed it into a blaze that glowed quite red in the dark

plantation, and swore--"Jove--aw--Gad--aw--it's the finest segaw I ever

smoked in the world aw," for his intellect and conversation were alike

brilliant and becoming to a heavy young dragoon.

Old Sir Pitt, who was taking his pipe and beer, and talking to John

Horrocks about a "ship" that was to be killed, espied the pair so

occupied from his study-window, and with dreadful oaths swore that if

it wasn't for Miss Crawley, he'd take Rawdon and bundle un out of

doors, like a rogue as he was.

"He be a bad'n, sure enough," Mr. Horrocks remarked; "and his man

Flethers is wuss, and have made such a row in the housekeeper's room

about the dinners and hale, as no lord would make--but I think Miss

Sharp's a match for'n, Sir Pitt," he added, after a pause.

And so, in truth, she was--for father and son too.