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.With what an engaging modesty she pulled down the blinds of the chariot--the dear innocent! There were half the carriages of Vanity Fair at the wedding.
This was not the sort of love that finished Amelia's education; and in the course of a year turned a good young girl into a good young woman--to be a good wife presently, when the happy time should come.This young person (perhaps it was very imprudent in her parents to encourage her, and abet her in such idolatry and silly romantic ideas) loved, with all her heart, the young officer in His Majesty's service with whom we have made a brief acquaintance.She thought about him the very first moment on waking; and his was the very last name mentioned m 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 to her George! Not amongst all the beaux at the Opera (and there were beaux in those days with actual opera hats) was there any one to equal him.He was only good enough to be a fairy prince; and oh, what magnanimity to stoop to such a humble Cinderella! Miss Pinkerton would have tried to check this blind devotion very likely, had she been Amelia's confidante; but not with much success, depend upon it.It is in the nature and instinct of some women.Some are made to scheme, and some to love; and I wish any respected bachelor that reads this may take the sort that best likes him.
While under this overpowering impression, Miss Amelia neglected her twelve dear friends at Chiswick most cruelly, as such selfish people commonly 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 bring her mind to tell Miss Swartz, the woolly-haired young heiress from St.Kitt's.She had little Laura Martin home for the holidays; and my belief is, she made a confidante of her, and promised that Laura should come and live with her when she was married, and gave Laura a great deal of information regarding the passion of love, which must have been singularly useful and novel to that little person.Alas, alas! I fear poor Emmy had not a well-regulated mind.
What were her parents doing, not to keep this little heart from beating so fast? Old Sedley did not seem much to notice matters.He was graver of late, and his City affairs absorbed him.Mrs.Sedley was of so easy and uninquisitive a nature that she wasn't even jealous.Mr.
Jos was away, being besieged by an Irish widow at Cheltenham.Amelia had the house to herself--ah! too 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!
