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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 for the end； purchasing
little stores for the boy's use； marking his books and
linen； talking with him and preparing him for the change
fondly fancying that he needed preparation。
So that he had change； what cared he？ He was longing
for it。 By a thousand eager declarations as to what
he would do； when 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 everything she wanted。〃
The poor mother was fain to content herself with these
selfish demonstrations of attachment； and tried to
convince herself how sincerely her son loved her。 He must
love her。 All children were so： a little anxious for novelty；
andno； not selfish； but self…willed。 Her child must
have his enjoyments 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 themthey are born timid and tyrants and
maltreat those who are humblest before them。
So poor Amelia had been getting ready in silent misery
for her son's departure； and had passed many and many
a long solitary hour in making preparations for the end。
George stood by his mother； watching her arrangements
without the least concern。 Tears had fallen into his boxes；
passages had been scored in his favourite books； old toys；
relics； treasures had been hoarded away for him； and
packed with strange neatness and careand 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 a 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 splendour。 In two days he has adopted a slightly
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 the days when
he does not come； she takes a long walk into London
yes； as far as Russell Square； and rests on the stone
by 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 knowshe has told her。 She prays there
as the light goes out； prays with an 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。
One Sunday she happened to be walking in Russell
Square； at some distance from Mr。 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 up there and
sang hymns to the Father Beneficent； and little George's
soul thrilled with delight at the burst of glorious
psalmody。 His mother could not see him for awhile；
through the mist that dimmed her eyes。
CHAPTER LI
In Which a Charade Is Acted Which May or May
Not Puzzle the Reader
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 herdoors 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 entree。
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 Semelea giddy moth of a creature who
ruined herself by venturing out of her natural atmosphere。
Her myth ought to be taken to heart amongst the
Tyburnians； the Belgraviansher story； and perhaps
Becky's too。 Ah； ladies！ask the Reverend Mr。 Thurifer
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
Baker Street； 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 itmoi qui vous parle；
I peopled the chamber with ghosts of the mighty dead。
As we sat 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 sat bowing and smirking in a ghastly
manner； and would not be behindhand when