much to herself sometimes—not that she
ever doubted; for, to be sure, George must be at the
Horse Guards; and he can’t always get leave
from Chatham; and he must see his friends and sisters,
and mingle in society when in town (he, such an ornament
to every society!); and when he is with the regiment,
he is too tired to write long letters. I know
where she kept that packet she had—and can
steal in and out of her chamber like Iachimo—like
Iachimo? No—that is a bad part.
I will only act Moonshine, and peep harmless into the
bed where faith and beauty and innocence lie dreaming.
But if Osborne’s were short and soldierlike
letters, it must be confessed, that were Miss Sedley’s
letters to Mr. Osborne to be published, we should
have to extend this novel to such a multiplicity of
volumes as not the most 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
