We must now take leave of Arcadia, and those amiable people practisingthe rural virtues there, and travel back to London, to inquire what hasbecome of Miss Amelia "We don't care a fig for her," writes someunknown correspondent with a pretty little handwriting and a pink sealto her note. "She is fade and insipid," and adds some more kindremarks in this strain, which I should never have repeated at all, butthat they are in truth prodigiously complimentary to the young ladywhom they concern.

Has the beloved reader, in his experience of society, never heardsimilar remarks by good-natured female friends; who always wonder whatyou CAN see in Miss Smith that is so fascinating; or what COULD induceMajor Jones to propose for that silly insignificant simpering MissThompson, who has nothing but her wax-doll face to recommend her? Whatis there in a pair of pink cheeks and blue eyes forsooth? these dearMoralists ask, and hint wisely that the gifts of genius, theaccomplishments of the mind, the mastery of Mangnall's Questions, and aladylike knowledge of botany and geology, the knack of making poetry,the power of rattling sonatas in the Herz-manner, and so forth, are farmore valuable endowments for a female, than those fugitive charms whicha few years will inevitably tarnish. It is quite edifying to hearwomen speculate upon the worthlessness and the duration of beauty.

But though virtue is a much finer thing, and those hapless creatureswho suffer under the misfortune of good looks ought to be continuallyput in mind of the fate which awaits them; and though, very likely, theheroic female character which ladies admire is a more glorious andbeautiful object than the kind, fresh, smiling, artless, tender littledomestic goddess, whom men are inclined to worship--yet the latter andinferior sort of women must have this consolation--that the men doadmire them after all; and that, in spite of all our kind friends'warnings and protests, we go on in our desperate error and folly, andshall to the end of the chapter. Indeed, for my own part, though I havebeen repeatedly told by persons for whom I have the greatest respect,that Miss Brown is an insignificant chit, and Mrs. White has nothingbut her petit minois chiffonne, and Mrs. Black has not a word to sayfor herself; yet I know that I have had the most delightfulconversations with Mrs. Black (of course, my dear Madam, they areinviolable): I see all the men in a cluster round Mrs. White's chair:all the young fellows battling to dance with Miss Brown; and so I amtempted to think that to be despised by her sex is a very greatcompliment to a woman.

The young ladies in Amelia's society did this for her verysatisfactorily. For instance, there was scarcely any point upon whichthe Misses Osborne, George's sisters, and the Mesdemoiselles Dobbinagreed so well as in their estimate of her very trifling merits: andtheir wonder that their brothers could find any charms in her. "We arekind to her," the Misses Osborne said, a pair of fine black-browedyoung ladies who had had the best of governesses, masters, andmilliners; and they treated her with such extreme kindness andcondescension, and patronised her so insufferably, that the poor littlething was in fact perfectly dumb in their presence, and to all outwardappearance as stupid as they thought her. She made efforts to likethem, as in duty bound, and as sisters of her future husband. Shepassed "long mornings" with them--the most dreary and serious offorenoons. She drove out solemnly in their great family coach withthem, and Miss Wirt their governess, that raw-boned Vestal. They tookher to the ancient concerts by way of a treat, and to the oratorio, andto St. Paul's to see the charity children, where in such terror was sheof her friends, she almost did not dare be affected by the hymn thechildren sang. Their house was comfortable; their papa's table richand handsome; their society solemn and genteel; their self-respectprodigious; they had the best pew at the Foundling: all their habitswere pompous and orderly, and all their amusements intolerably dull anddecorous. After every one of her visits (and oh how glad she was whenthey were over!) Miss Osborne and Miss Maria Osborne, and Miss Wirt,the vestal governess, asked each other with increased wonder, "Whatcould George find in that creature?"

How is this? some carping reader exclaims. How is it that Amelia, whohad such a number of friends at school, and was so beloved there, comesout into the world and is spurned by her discriminating sex? My dearsir, there were no men at Miss Pinkerton's establishment except the olddancing-master; and you would not have had the girls fall out aboutHIM? When George, their handsome brother, ran off directly afterbreakfast, and dined from home half-a-dozen times a week, no wonder theneglected sisters felt a little vexation. When young Bullock (of thefirm of Hulker, Bullock & Co., Bankers, Lombard Street), who had beenmaking up to Miss Maria the last two seasons, actually asked Amelia todance the cotillon, could you expect that the former young lady shouldbe pleased? And yet she said she was, like an artless forgivingcreature. "I'm so delighted you like dear Amelia," she said quiteeagerly to Mr. Bullock after the dance. "She's engaged to my brotherGeorge; there's not much in her, but she's the best-natured and mostunaffected young creature: at home we're all so fond of her." Deargirl! who can calculate the depth of affection expressed in thatenthusiastic SO?

Miss Wirt and these two affectionate young women so earnestly andfrequently impressed upon George Osborne's mind the enormity of thesacrifice he was making, and his romantic generosity in throwinghimself away upon Amelia, that I'm not sure but that he really thoughthe was one of the most deserving characters in the British army, andgave himself up to be loved with a good deal of easy resignation.

Somehow, although he left home every morning, as was stated, and dinedabroad six days in the week, when his sisters believed the infatuatedyouth to be at Miss Sedley's apron-strings: he was NOT always withAmelia, whilst the world supposed him at her feet. Certain it is thaton more occasions than one, when Captain Dobbin called to look for hisfriend, Miss Osborne (who was very attentive to the Captain, andanxious to hear his military stories, and to know about the health ofhis dear Mamma), would laughingly point to the opposite side of thesquare, and say, "Oh, you must go to the Sedleys' to ask for George; WEnever see him from morning till night." At which kind of speech theCaptain would laugh in rather an absurd constrained manner, and turnoff the conversation, like a consummate man of the world, to some topicof general interest, such as the Opera, the Prince's last ball atCarlton House, or the weather--that blessing to society.

"What an innocent it is, that pet of yours," Miss Maria would then sayto Miss Jane, upon the Captain's departure. "Did you see how heblushed at the mention of poor George on duty?"

"It's a pity Frederick Bullock hadn't some of his modesty, Maria,"replies the elder sister, with a toss of he head.

"Modesty! Awkwardness you mean, Jane. I don't want Frederick totrample a hole in my muslin frock, as Captain Dobbin did in yours atMrs. Perkins'."

"In YOUR frock, he, he! How could he? Wasn't he dancing with Amelia?"

The fact is, when Captain Dobbin blushed so, and looked so awkward, heremembered a circumstance of which he did not think it was necessary toinform the young ladies, viz., that he had been calling at Mr. Sedley'shouse already, on the pretence of seeing George, of course, and Georgewasn't there, only poor little Amelia, with rather a sad wistful face,seated near the drawing-room window, who, after some very triflingstupid talk, ventured to ask, was there any truth in the report thatthe regiment was soon to be ordered abroad; and had Captain Dobbin seenMr. Osborne that day?

The regiment was not ordered abroad as yet; and Captain Dobbin had notseen George. "He was with his sister, most likely," the Captain said."Should he go and fetch the truant?" So she gave him her hand kindlyand gratefully: and he crossed the square; and she waited and waited,but George never came.

Poor little tender heart! and so it goes on hoping and beating, andlonging and trusting. You see it is not much of a life to describe.There is not much of what you call incident in it. Only one feelingall day--when will he come? only one thought to sleep and wake upon. Ibelieve George was playing billiards with Captain Cannon in SwallowStreet at the time when Amelia was asking Captain Dobbin about him; forGeorge was a jolly sociable fellow, and excellent in all games of skill.

Once, after three days of absence, Miss Amelia put on her bonnet, andactually invaded the Osborne house. "What! leave our brother to come tous?" said the young ladies. "Have you had a quarrel, Amelia? Do tellus!" No, indeed, there had been no quarrel. "Who could quarrel withhim?" says she, with her eyes filled with tears. She only came overto--to see her dear friends; they had not met for so long. And thisday she was so perfectly stupid and awkward, that the Misses Osborneand their governess, who stared after her as she went sadly away,wondered more than ever what George could see in poor little Amelia.

Of course they did. How was she to bare that timid little heart forthe inspection of those young ladies with their bold black eyes? It wasbest that it should shrink and hide itself. I know the Misses Osbornewere excellent critics of a Cashmere shawl, or a pink satin slip; andwhen Miss Turner had hers dyed purple, and made into a spencer; andwhen Miss Pickford had her ermine tippet twisted into a muff andtrimmings, I warrant you the changes did not escape the two intelligentyoung women before mentioned. But there are things, look you, of afiner texture than fur or satin, and all Solomon's glories, and all thewardrobe of the Queen of Sheba--things whereof the beauty escapes theeyes of many connoisseurs. And there are sweet modest little souls onwhich you light, fragrant and blooming tenderly in quiet shady places;and there are garden-ornaments, as big as brass warming-pans, that arefit to stare the sun itself out of countenance. Miss Sedley was not ofthe sunflower sort; and I say it is out of the rules of all proportionto draw a violet of the size of a double dahlia.

No, indeed; the life of a good young girl who is in the paternal nestas yet, can't have many of those thrilling incidents to which theheroine of romance commonly lays claim. Snares or shot may take offthe old birds foraging without--hawks may be abroad, from which theyescape or by whom they suffer; but the young ones in the nest have apretty comfortable unromantic sort of existence in the down and thestraw, till it comes to their turn, too, to get on the wing. WhileBecky Sharp was on her own wing in the country, hopping on all sorts oftwigs, and amid a multiplicity of traps, and pecking up her food quiteharmless and successful, Amelia lay snug in her home of Russell Square;if she went into the world, it was under the guidance of the elders;nor did it seem that any evil could befall her or that opulent cheerycomfortable home in which she was affectionately sheltered. Mamma hadher morning duties, and her daily drive, and the delightful round ofvisits and shopping which forms the amusement, or the profession as youmay call it, of the rich London lady. Papa conducted his mysteriousoperations in the City--a stirring place in those days, when war wasraging all over Europe, and empires were being staked; when the"Courier" newspaper had tens of thousands of subscribers; when one daybrought you a battle of Vittoria, another a burning of Moscow, or anewsman's horn blowing down Russell Square about dinner-time, announcedsuch a fact as--"Battle of Leipsic--six hundred thousand menengaged--total defeat of the French--two hundred thousand killed." OldSedley once or twice came home with a very grave face; and no wonder,when such news as this was agitating all the hearts and all the Stocksof Europe.

Meanwhile matters went on in Russell Square, Bloomsbury, just as ifmatters in Europe were not in the least disorganised. The retreat fromLeipsic made no difference in the number of meals Mr. Sambo took in theservants' hall; the allies poured into France, and the dinner-bell rangat five o'clock just as usual. I don't think poor Amelia caredanything about Brienne and Montmirail, or was fairly interested in thewar until the abdication of the Emperor; when she clapped her hands andsaid prayers--oh, how grateful! and flung herself into George Osborne'sarms with all her soul, to the astonishment of everybody who witnessedthat ebullition of sentiment. The fact is, peace was declared, Europewas going to be at rest; the Corsican was overthrown, and LieutenantOsborne's regiment would not be ordered on service. That was the wayin which Miss Amelia reasoned. The fate of Europe was LieutenantGeorge Osborne to her. His dangers being over, she sang Te Deum. Hewas her Europe: her emperor: her allied monarchs and august princeregent. He was her sun and moon; and I believe she thought the grandillumination and ball at the Mansion House, given to the sovereigns,were especially in honour of George Osborne.

We have talked of shift, self, and poverty, as those dismal instructorsunder whom poor Miss Becky Sharp got her education. Now, love was MissAmelia Sedley's last tutoress, and it was amazing what progress ouryoung lady made under that popular teacher. In the course of fifteenor eighteen months' daily and constant attention to this eminentfinishing governess, what a deal of secrets Amelia learned, which MissWirt and the black-eyed young ladies over the way, which old MissPinkerton of Chiswick herself, had no cognizance of! As, indeed, howshould any of those prim and reputable virgins? With Misses P. and W.the tender passion is out of the question: I would not dare to breathesuch an idea regarding them. Miss Maria Osborne, it is true, was"attached" to Mr. Frederick Augustus Bullock, of the firm of Hulker,Bullock & Bullock; but hers was a most respectable attachment, and shewould have taken Bullock Senior just the same, her mind being fixed--asthat of a well-bred young woman should be--upon a house in Park Lane, acountry house at Wimbledon, a handsome chariot, and two prodigious tallhorses and footmen, and a fourth of the annual profits of the eminentfirm of Hulker & Bullock, all of which advantages were represented inthe person of Frederick Augustus. Had orange blossoms been inventedthen (those touching emblems of female purity imported by us fromFrance, where people's daughters are universally sold in marriage),Miss Maria, I say, would have assumed the spotless wreath, and steppedinto the travelling carriage by the side of gouty, old, bald-headed,bottle-nosed Bullock Senior; and devoted her beautiful existence to hishappiness with perfect modesty--only the old gentleman was marriedalready; so she bestowed her young affections on the junior partner.Sweet, blooming, orange flowers! The other day I saw Miss Trotter(that was), arrayed in them, trip into the travelling carriage at St.George's, Hanover Square, and Lord Methuselah hobbled in after. Withwhat an engaging modesty she pulled down the blinds of the chariot--thedear innocent! There were half the carriages of Vanity Fair at thewedding.

This was not the sort of love that finished Amelia's education; and inthe course of a year turned a good young girl into a good youngwoman--to be a good wife presently, when the happy time should come.This young person (perhaps it was very imprudent in her parents toencourage her, and abet her in such idolatry and silly romantic ideas)loved, with all her heart, the young officer in His Majesty's servicewith whom we have made a brief acquaintance. She thought about him thevery first moment on waking; and his was the very last name mentionedin her prayers. She never had seen a man so beautiful or so clever:such a figure on horseback: such a dancer: such a hero in general.Talk of the Prince's bow! what was it to George's? She had seen Mr.Brummell, whom everybody praised so. Compare such a person as that toher George! Not amongst all the beaux at the Opera (and there werebeaux in those days with actual opera hats) was there any one to equalhim. He was only good enough to be a fairy prince; and oh, whatmagnanimity to stoop to such a humble Cinderella! Miss Pinkerton wouldhave tried to check this blind devotion very likely, had she beenAmelia's confidante; but not with much success, depend upon it. It isin the nature and instinct of some women. Some are made to scheme, andsome to love; and I wish any respected bachelor that reads this maytake the sort that best likes him.

While under this overpowering impression, Miss Amelia neglected hertwelve dear friends at Chiswick most cruelly, as such selfish peoplecommonly will do. She had but this subject, of course, to think about;and Miss Saltire was too cold for a confidante, and she couldn't bringher mind to tell Miss Swartz, the woolly-haired young heiress from St.Kitt's. She had little Laura Martin home for the holidays; and mybelief is, she made a confidante of her, and promised that Laura shouldcome and live with her when she was married, and gave Laura a greatdeal of information regarding the passion of love, which must have beensingularly useful and novel to that little person. Alas, alas! I fearpoor Emmy had not a well-regulated mind.

What were her parents doing, not to keep this little heart from beatingso fast? Old Sedley did not seem much to notice matters. He was graverof late, and his City affairs absorbed him. Mrs. Sedley was of so easyand uninquisitive a nature that she wasn't even jealous. Mr. Jos wasaway, being besieged by an Irish widow at Cheltenham. Amelia had thehouse to herself--ah! too much to herself sometimes--not that she everdoubted; for, to be sure, George must be at the Horse Guards; and hecan't always get leave from Chatham; and he must see his friends andsisters, and mingle in society when in town (he, such an ornament toevery society!); and when he is with the regiment, he is too tired towrite long letters. I know where she kept that packet she had--and cansteal in and out of her chamber like Iachimo--like Iachimo? No--thatis a bad part. I will only act Moonshine, and peep harmless into thebed where faith and beauty and innocence lie dreaming.

But if Osborne's were short and soldierlike letters, it must beconfessed, that were Miss Sedley's letters to Mr. Osborne to bepublished, we should have to extend this novel to such a multiplicityof volumes as not the most sentimental reader could support; that shenot only filled sheets of large paper, but crossed them with the mostastonishing perverseness; that she wrote whole pages out ofpoetry-books without the least pity; that she underlined words andpassages with quite a frantic emphasis; and, in fine, gave the usualtokens of her condition. She wasn't a heroine. Her letters were fullof repetition. She wrote rather doubtful grammar sometimes, and in herverses 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 betweentrimeter and tetrameter, may all Poetry go to the deuce, and everyschoolmaster perish miserably!