While thus approaching, as all hoped, to convalescence, Miss Briggs was

the only victim admitted into the presence of the invalid; yet Miss

Crawley's relatives afar off did not forget their beloved kinswoman,

and by a number of tokens, presents, and kind affectionate messages,

strove to keep themselves alive in her recollection.

In the first place, let us mention her nephew, Rawdon Crawley. A few

weeks after the famous fight of Waterloo, and after the Gazette had

made known to her the promotion and gallantry of that distinguished

officer, the Dieppe packet brought over to Miss Crawley at Brighton, a

box containing presents, and a dutiful letter, from the Colonel her

nephew. In the box were a pair of French epaulets, a Cross of the

Legion of Honour, and the hilt of a sword--relics from the field of

battle: and the letter described with a good deal of humour how the

latter belonged to a commanding officer of the Guard, who having sworn

that "the Guard died, but never surrendered," was taken prisoner the

next minute by a private soldier, who broke the Frenchman's sword with

the butt of his musket, when Rawdon made himself master of the

shattered weapon. As for the cross and epaulets, they came from a

Colonel of French cavalry, who had fallen under the aide-de-camp's arm

in the battle: and Rawdon Crawley did not know what better to do with

the spoils than to send them to his kindest and most affectionate old

friend. Should he continue to write to her from Paris, whither the army

was marching? He might be able to give her interesting news from that

capital, and of some of Miss Crawley's old friends of the emigration,

to whom she had shown so much kindness during their distress.

The spinster caused Briggs to write back to the Colonel a gracious and

complimentary letter, encouraging him to continue his correspondence.

His first letter was so excessively lively and amusing that she should

look with pleasure for its successors.--"Of course, I know," she

explained to Miss Briggs, "that Rawdon could not write such a good

letter any more than you could, my poor Briggs, and that it is that

clever little wretch of a Rebecca, who dictates every word to him; but

that is no reason why my nephew should not amuse me; and so I wish to

let him understand that I am in high good humour."

I wonder whether she knew that it was not only Becky who wrote the

letters, but that Mrs. Rawdon actually took and sent home the trophies

which she bought for a few francs, from one of the innumerable pedlars

who immediately began to deal in relics of the war. The novelist, who

knows everything, knows this also. Be this, however, as it may, Miss

Crawley's gracious reply greatly encouraged our young friends, Rawdon

and his lady, who hoped for the best from their aunt's evidently

pacified humour: and they took care to entertain her with many

delightful letters from Paris, whither, as Rawdon said, they had the

good luck to go in the track of the conquering army.




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