sentimental reader could support; that she not only filled
sheets of large paper, but crossed them with the most
astonishing perverseness; that she wrote whole pages out
of poetry-books without the least pity; that she
underlined words and passages with quite a frantic emphasis;
and, in fine, gave the usual tokens of her condition. She
wasn't a heroine. Her letters were full of repetition. She
wrote rather doubtful grammar sometimes, and in her
verses took all sorts of liberties with the metre. But oh,
mesdames, if you are not allowed to touch the heart
sometimes in spite of syntax, and are not to be loved
until you all know the difference between trimeter and
tetrameter, may all Poetry go to the deuce, and every
schoolmaster perish miserably!
CHAPTER XIII
Sentimental and Otherwise
I fear the gentleman to whom Miss Amelia's letters were
addressed was rather an obdurate critic. Such a number
of notes followed Lieutenant Osborne about the country,
that he became almost ashamed of the jokes of his
mess-room companions regarding them, and ordered his
servant never to deliver them except at his private apartment.
He was seen lighting his cigar with one, to the horror of
Captain Dobbin, who, it is my belief, would have given
a bank-note for the document.
For some time George strove to keep the liaison a
secret. There was a woman in the case, that he admitted.
"And not the first either," said Ensign Spooney to Ensign
Stubble. "That Osborne's a devil of a fellow. There was a
judge's daughter at Demerara went almost mad about
him; then there was that beautiful quadroon girl, Miss
Pye, at St. Vincent's, you know; and since he's been
home, they say he's a regular Don Giovanni, by Jove."
Stubble and Spooney thought that to be a "regular
Don Giovanni, by Jove" was one of the finest qualities a
man could possess, and Osborne's reputation was
prodigious amongst the young men of the regiment. He
was famous in field-sports, famous at a song, famous on
parade; free with his money, which was bountifully
supplied by his father. His coats were better made than
any man's in the regiment, and he had more of them. He
was adored by the men. He could drink more than any
officer of the whole mess, including old Heavytop, the
colonel. He could spar better than Knuckles, the private
(who would have been a corporal but for his drunkenness,
and who had been in the prize-ring); and was the best
batter and bowler, out and out, of the regimental club.
He rode his own horse, Greased Lightning, and won the
Garrison cup at Quebec races. There were other people
besides Amelia who worshipped him. Stubble and
Spooney thought him a sort of Apollo; Dobbin took him
to be an Admirable Crichton; and Mrs. Major O'Dowd
acknowledged he was an elegant young fellow, and put
her in mind of Fitzjurld Fogarty, Lord Castlefogarty's
second son.
Well, Stubble and Spooney and the rest indulged in
most romantic conjectures regarding this female
correspondent of Osborne's--opining that it was a Duchess in
London who was in love with him--or that it was a
General's daughter, who was engaged to somebody else,
and madly attached to him--or that it was a Member of
Parliament's lady, who proposed four horses and an
elopement--or that it was some other victim of a passion
delightfully exciting, romantic, and disgraceful to all
parties, on none of which conjectures would Osborne throw
the least light, leaving his young admirers and friends to
invent and arrange their whole history.
And the real state of the case would never have been
known at all in the regiment but for Captain Dobbin's
indiscretion. The Captain was eating his breakfast one
day in the mess-room, while Cackle, the assistant-surgeon,
and the two above-named worthies were speculating upon
Osborne's intrigue--Stubble holding out that the lady
was a Duchess about Queen Charlotte's court, and Cackle
vowing she was an opera-singer of the worst reputation.
At this idea Dobbin became so moved, that though his
mouth was full of eggs and bread-and-butter at the time,
and though he ought not to have spoken at all, yet he
couldn't help blurting out, "Cackle, you're a stupid fool.
You're always talking nonsense and scandal. Osborne is
not going to run off with a Duchess or ruin a milliner.
Miss Sedley is one of the most charming young women
that ever lived. He's been engaged to her ever so long;
and the man who calls her names had better not do so
in my hearing." With which, turning exceedingly red,
Dobbin ceased speaking, and almost choked himself with
a cup of tea. The story was over the regiment in half-an-
hour; and that very evening Mrs. Major O'Dowd wrote
off to her sister Glorvina at O'Dowdstown not to hurry
from Dublin--young Osborne being prematurely engaged
already.
She complimented the Lieutenant in an appropriate
speech over a glass of whisky-toddy that evening, and he
went home perfectly furious to quarrel with Dobbin (who
had declined Mrs. Major O'Dowd's party, and sat in his
own room playing the flute, and, I believe, writing poetry
in a very melancholy manner)--to quarrel with Dobbin
for betraying his secret.
"Who the deuce asked you to talk about my affairs?"
Osborne shouted indignantly. "Why the devil is all the
regiment to know that I am going to be married? Why is
that tattling old harridan, Peggy O'Dowd, to make free
with my name at her d--d supper-table, and advertise
my engagement over the three kingdoms? After all, what
right have you to say I am engaged, or to meddle in my
business at all, Dobbin?"
"It seems to me," Captain Dobbin began.
"Seems be hanged, Dobbin," his junior interrupted
him. "I am under obligations to you, I know it, a d--d
deal too well too; but I won't be always sermonised by
you because you're five years my senior. I'm hanged if
I'll stand your airs of superiority and infernal pity and
patronage. Pity and patronage! I should like to know in
what I'm your inferior?"
"Are you engaged?" Captain Dobbin interposed.
"What the devil's that to you or any one here if I am?"
"Are you ashamed of it?" Dobbin resumed.
"What right have you to ask me that question, sir? I
should like to know," George said.
"Good God, you don't mean to say you want to break
off?" asked Dobbin, starting up.
"In other words, you ask me if I'm a man of honour,"
said Osborne, fiercely; "is that what you mean? You've
adopted such a tone regarding me lately that I'm --
if I'll bear it any more."
"What have I done? I've told you you were neglecting
a sweet girl, George. I've told you that when you go to
town you ought to go to her, and not to the gambling-
houses about St. James's."
"You want your money back, I suppose," said George,
with a sneer.
"Of course I do--I always did, didn't I?" says Dobbin.
"You speak like a generous fellow."
"No, hang it, William, I beg your pardon"--here
George interposed in a fit of remorse; "you have been my
friend in a hundred ways, Heaven knows. You've got me
out of a score of scrapes. When Crawley of the Guards
won that sum of money of me I should have been done
but for you: I know I should. But you shouldn't deal so
hardly with me; you shouldn't be always catechising me.
I am very fond of Amelia; I adore her, and that sort of
thing. Don't look angry. She's faultless; I know she is.
But you see there's no fun in winning a thing unless you
play for it. Hang it: the regiment's just back from the
West Indies, I must have a little fling, and then when I'm
married I'll reform; I will upon my honour, now. And--I
say--Dob--don't be angry with me, and I'll give you a
hundred next month, when I know my father will stand
something handsome; and I'll ask Heavytop for leave,
and I'll go to town, and see Amelia to-morrow--there
now, will that satisfy you?"
"It is impossible to be long angry with you, George,"
said the good-natured Captain; "and as for the money,
old boy, you know if I wanted it you'd share your last
shilling with me."
"That I would, by Jove, Dobbin," George said, with
the greatest generosity, though by the way he never had
any money to spare.
"Only I wish you had sown those wild oats of yours,
George. If you could have seen poor little Miss Emmy's
face when she asked me about you the other day, you
would have pitched those billiard-balls to the deuce. Go
and comfort her, you rascal. Go and write her a long
letter. Do something to make her happy; a very little will."
"I believe she's d--d fond of me," the Lieutenant said,
with a self-satisfied air; and went off to finish the evening
with some jolly fellows in the mess-room.
Amelia meanwhile, in Russell Square, was looking at
the moon, which was shining upon that peaceful spot, as
well as upon the square of the Chatham barracks, where
Lieutenant Osborne was quartered, and thinking to
herself how her hero was employed. Perhaps he is visiting
the sentries, thought she; perhaps he is bivouacking;
perhaps he is attending the couch of a wounded comrade, or
studying the art of war up in his own desolate chamber.
And her kind thoughts sped away as if they were angels
and had wings, and flying down the river to Chatham
and Rochester, strove to peep into the barracks where
George was. . . . All things considered, I think it was
as well the gates were shut, and the sentry allowed no
one to pass; so that the poor little white-robed angel
could not hear the songs those young fellows were
roaring over the whisky-punch.
The day after the little conversation at Chatham
barracks, young Osborne, to show that he would be as good
as his word, prepared to go to town, thereby incurring
Captain Dobbin's applause. "I should have liked to make her
a little present," Osborne said to his friend in confidence,
"only I am quite out of cash until my father tips up." But
Dobbin would not allow this good nature and generosity
to be balked, and so accommodated Mr. Osborne with a
few pound notes, which the latter took after a little faint
scruple.
And I dare say he would have bought something very
handsome for Amelia; only, getting off the coach in Fleet
Street, he was attracted by a handsome shirt-pin in a
jeweller's window, which he could not resist; and having
paid for that, had very little money to spare for indulging
in any further exercise of kindness. Never mind: you may
be sure it was not his presents Amelia wanted. When he
came to Russell Square, her face lighted up as if he had
been sunshine. The little cares, fears, tears, timid
misgivings, sleepless fancies of I don't know how many days
and nights, were forgotten, under one moment's influence
of that familiar, irresistible smile. He beamed on her
from the drawing-room door--magnificent, with
ambrosial whiskers, like a god. Sambo, whose face as he
announced Captain Osbin (having conferred a brevet rank
on that young officer) blazed with a sympathetic grin, saw
the little girl start, and flush, and jump up from her
watching-place in the window; and Sambo retreated: and
as soon as the door was shut, she went fluttering to
Lieutenant George Osborne's heart as if it was the only natural
home for her to nestle in. Oh, thou poor panting little
soul! The very finest tree in the whole forest, with the
straightest stem, and the strongest arms, and the
thickest foliage, wherein you choose to build and coo, may
be marked, for what you know, and may be down with a
crash ere long. What an old, old simile that is, between
man and timber!
In the meanwhile, George kissed her very kindly on
her forehead and glistening eyes, and was very gracious
and good; and she thought his diamond shirt-pin (which
she had not known him to wear before) the prettiest
ornament ever seen.
The observant reader, who has marked our young
Lieutenant's previous behaviour, and has preserved our
report of the brief conversation which he has just had
with Captain Dobbin, has possibly come to certain
conclusions regarding the character of Mr. Osborne. Some
cynical Frenchman has said that there are two parties to
a love-transaction: the one who loves and the other who
condescends to be so treated. Perhaps the love is
occasionally on the man's side; perhaps on the lady's.
Perhaps some infatuated swain has ere this mistaken
insensibility for modesty, dulness for maiden reserve, mere
vacuity for sweet bashfulness, and a goose, in a word,
for a swan. Perhaps some beloved female subscriber has
arrayed an ass in the splendour and glory of her
imagination; admired his dulness as manly simplicity;
worshipped his selfishness as manly superiority; treated his
stupidity as majestic gravity, and used him as the
brilliant fairy Titania did a certain weaver at Athens. I think
I have seen such comedies of errors going on in the
world. But this is certain, that Amelia believed her lover
to be one of the most gallant and brilliant men in the
empire: and it is possible Lieutenant Osborne thought
so too.
He was a little wild: how many young men are; and
don't girls like a rake better than a milksop? He hadn't
sown his wild oats as yet, but he would soon: and quit
the army now that peace was proclaimed; the Corsican
monster locked up at Elba; promotion by consequence
over; and no chance left for the display of his undoubted
military talents and valour: and his allowance, with
