The kind reader must please to remember--while the army is marching

from Flanders, and, after its heroic actions there, is advancing to

take the fortifications on the frontiers of France, previous to an

occupation of that country--that there are a number of persons living

peaceably in England who have to do with the history at present in

hand, and must come in for their share of the chronicle. During the

time of these battles and dangers, old Miss Crawley was living at

Brighton, very moderately moved by the great events that were going on.

The great events rendered the newspapers rather interesting, to be

sure, and Briggs read out the Gazette, in which Rawdon Crawley's

gallantry was mentioned with honour, and his promotion was presently

recorded.

"What a pity that young man has taken such an irretrievable step in the

world!" his aunt said; "with his rank and distinction he might have

married a brewer's daughter with a quarter of a million--like Miss

Grains; or have looked to ally himself with the best families in

England. He would have had my money some day or other; or his children

would--for I'm not in a hurry to go, Miss Briggs, although you may be

in a hurry to be rid of me; and instead of that, he is a doomed pauper,

with a dancing-girl for a wife."

"Will my dear Miss Crawley not cast an eye of compassion upon the

heroic soldier, whose name is inscribed in the annals of his country's

glory?" said Miss Briggs, who was greatly excited by the Waterloo

proceedings, and loved speaking romantically when there was an

occasion. "Has not the Captain--or the Colonel as I may now style

him--done deeds which make the name of Crawley illustrious?"

"Briggs, you are a fool," said Miss Crawley: "Colonel Crawley has

dragged the name of Crawley through the mud, Miss Briggs. Marry a

drawing-master's daughter, indeed!--marry a dame de compagnie--for she

was no better, Briggs; no, she was just what you are--only younger, and

a great deal prettier and cleverer. Were you an accomplice of that

abandoned wretch, I wonder, of whose vile arts he became a victim, and

of whom you used to be such an admirer? Yes, I daresay you were an

accomplice. But you will find yourself disappointed in my will, I can

tell you: and you will have the goodness to write to Mr. Waxy, and say

that I desire to see him immediately." Miss Crawley was now in the

habit of writing to Mr. Waxy her solicitor almost every day in the

week, for her arrangements respecting her property were all revoked,

and her perplexity was great as to the future disposition of her money.

The spinster had, however, rallied considerably; as was proved by the

increased vigour and frequency of her sarcasms upon Miss Briggs, all

which attacks the poor companion bore with meekness, with cowardice,

with a resignation that was half generous and half hypocritical--with

the slavish submission, in a word, that women of her disposition and

station are compelled to show. Who has not seen how women bully women?

What tortures have men to endure, comparable to those daily repeated

shafts of scorn and cruelty with which poor women are riddled by the

tyrants of their sex? Poor victims! But we are starting from our

proposition, which is, that Miss Crawley was always particularly

annoying and savage when she was rallying from illness--as they say

wounds tingle most when they are about to heal.




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