["[Event happened on 2024-01-01 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Dobbin of Ours\n\nCuff's fight with Dobbin, and the unexpected issue of that contest,\nwill long be remembered by every man who was educated at Dr.\nSwishtail's famous school. The latter Youth (who used to be called\nHeigh-ho Dobbin, Gee-ho Dobbin, and by many other names indicative of\npuerile contempt) was the quietest, the clumsiest, and, as it seemed,\nthe dullest of all Dr. Swishtail's young gentlemen. His parent was a\ngrocer in the city: and it was bruited abroad that he was admitted into\nDr. Swishtail's academy upon what are called \"mutual principles\"--that\nis to say, the expenses of his board and schooling were defrayed by his\nfather in goods, not money; and he stood there--most at the bottom of\nthe school--in his scraggy corduroys and jacket, through the seams of\nwhich his great big bones were bursting--as the representative of so\nmany pounds of tea, candles, sugar, mottled-soap, plums (of which a\nvery mild proportion was supplied for the puddings of the\nestablishment), and other commodities. A dreadful day it was for young\nDobbin when one of the youngsters of the school, having run into the\ntown upon a poaching excursion for hardbake and polonies, espied the\ncart of Dobbin & Rudge, Grocers and Oilmen, Thames Street, London, at\nthe Doctor's door, discharging a cargo of the wares in which the firm\ndealt. Young Dobbin had no peace after that. The jokes were frightful, and\nmerciless against him. \"Hullo, Dobbin,\" one wag would say, \"here's\ngood news in the paper. Sugars is ris', my boy.\" Another would set a\nsum--\"If a pound of mutton-candles cost sevenpence-halfpenny, how much\nmust Dobbin cost?\" and a roar would follow from all the circle of young\nknaves, usher and all, who rightly considered that the selling of goods\nby retail is a shameful and infamous practice, meriting the contempt\nand scorn of all real gentlemen. \"Your father's only a merchant, Osborne,\" Dobbin said in private to the\nlittle boy who had brought down the storm upon him. At which the\nlatter replied haughtily, \"My father's a gentleman, and keeps his\ncarriage\"; and Mr. William Dobbin retreated to a remote outhouse in the\nplayground, where he passed a half-holiday in the bitterest sadness and\nwoe. Who amongst us is there that does not recollect similar hours of\nbitter, bitter childish grief? Who feels injustice; who shrinks before\na slight; who has a sense of wrong so acute, and so glowing a gratitude\nfor kindness, as a generous boy? and how many of those gentle souls do\nyou degrade, estrange, torture, for the sake of a little loose\narithmetic, and miserable dog-latin? Now, William Dobbin, from an incapacity to acquire the rudiments of the\nabove language, as they are propounded in that wonderful book the Eton\nLatin Grammar, was compelled to remain among the very last of Doctor\nSwishtail's scholars, and was \"taken down\" continually by little\nfellows with pink faces and pinafores when he marched up with the lower\nform, a giant amongst them, with his downcast, stupefied look, his\ndog's-eared primer, and his tight corduroys. High and low, all made\nfun of him. They sewed up those corduroys, tight as they were. They\ncut his bed-strings. They upset buckets and benches, so that he might\nbreak his shins over them, which he never failed to do. They sent him\nparcels, which, when opened, were found to contain the paternal soap\nand candles. There was no little fellow but had his jeer and joke at\nDobbin; and he bore everything quite patiently, and was entirely dumb\nand miserable. Cuff, on the contrary, was the great chief and dandy of the Swishtail\nSeminary. He smuggled wine in. He fought the town-boys. Ponies used\nto come for him to ride home on Saturdays. He had his top-boots in his\nroom, in which he used to hunt in the holidays. He had a gold\nrepeater: and took snuff like the Doctor. He had been to the Opera,\nand knew the merits of the principal actors, preferring Mr. Kean to Mr.\nKemble. He could knock you off forty Latin verses in an hour. He\ncould make French poetry. What else didn't he know, or couldn't he do? They said even the Doctor himself was afraid of him. Cuff, the unquestioned king of the school, ruled over his subjects, and\nbullied them, with splendid superiority. This one blacked his shoes:\nthat toasted his bread, others would fag out, and give him balls at\ncricket during whole summer afternoons. \"Figs\" was the fellow whom he\ndespised most, and with whom, though always abusing him, and sneering\nat him, he scarcely ever condescended to hold personal communication. One day in private, the two young gentlemen had had a difference. Figs,\nalone in the schoolroom, was blundering over a home letter; when Cuff,\nentering, bade him go upon some message, of which tarts were probably\nthe subject. \"I can't,\" says Dobbin; \"I want to finish my letter.\" \"You CAN'T?\" says Mr. Cuff, laying hold of that document (in which many\nwords were scratched out, many were mis-spelt, on which had been spent\nI don't know how much thought, and labour, and tears; for the poor\nfellow was writing to his mother, who was fond of him, although she was\na grocer's wife, and lived in a back parlour in Thames Street). \"You\nCAN'T?\" says Mr. Cuff: \"I should like to know why, pray? Can't you\nwrite to old Mother Figs to-morrow?\" \"Don't call names,\" Dobbin said, getting off the bench very nervous. \"Well, sir, will you go?\" crowed the cock of the school. \"Put down the letter,\" Dobbin replied; \"no gentleman readth letterth.\" \"Well, NOW will you go?\" says the other. \"No, I won't. Don't strike, or I'll THMASH you,\" roars out Dobbin,\nspringing to a leaden inkstand, and looking so wicked, that Mr. Cuff\npaused, turned down his coat sleeves again, put his hands into his\npockets, and walked away with a sneer. But he never meddled personally\nwith the grocer's boy after that; though we must do him the justice to\nsay he always spoke of Mr. Dobbin with contempt behind his back. Some time after this interview, it happened that Mr. Cuff, on a\nsunshiny afternoon, was in the neighbourhood of poor William Dobbin,\nwho was lying under a tree in the playground, spelling over a favourite\ncopy of the Arabian Nights which he had apart from the rest of the\nschool, who were pursuing their various sports--quite lonely, and\nalmost happy. If people would but leave children to themselves; if\nteachers would cease to bully them; if parents would not insist upon\ndirecting their thoughts, and dominating their feelings--those feelings\nand thoughts which are a mystery to all (for how much do you and I know\nof each other, of our children, of our fathers, of our neighbour, and\nhow far more beautiful and sacred are the thoughts of the poor lad or\ngirl whom you govern likely to be, than those of the dull and\nworld-corrupted person who rules him?) --if, I say, parents and masters\nwould leave their children alone a little more, small harm would\naccrue, although a less quantity of as in praesenti might be acquired. Well, William Dobbin had for once forgotten the world, and was away\nwith Sindbad the Sailor in the Valley of Diamonds, or with Prince Ahmed\nand the Fairy Peribanou in that delightful cavern where the Prince\nfound her, and whither we should all like to make a tour; when shrill\ncries, as of a little fellow weeping, woke up his pleasant reverie; and\nlooking up, he saw Cuff before him, belabouring a little boy. It was the lad who had peached upon him about the grocer's cart; but he\nbore little malice, not at least towards the young and small. \"How dare\nyou, sir, break the bottle?\" says Cuff to the little urchin, swinging a\nyellow cricket-stump over him.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-01, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-04 The user is reading a book]\n<User> The boy had been instructed to get over the playground wall (at a\nselected spot where the broken glass had been removed from the top, and\nniches made convenient in the brick); to run a quarter of a mile; to\npurchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit; to brave all the Doctor's\noutlying spies, and to clamber back into the playground again; during\nthe performance of which feat, his foot had slipt, and the bottle was\nbroken, and the shrub had been spilt, and his pantaloons had been\ndamaged, and he appeared before his employer a perfectly guilty and\ntrembling, though harmless, wretch. \"How dare you, sir, break it?\" says Cuff; \"you blundering little thief. You drank the shrub, and now you pretend to have broken the bottle. Hold out your hand, sir.\" Down came the stump with a great heavy thump on the child's hand. A\nmoan followed. Dobbin looked up. The Fairy Peribanou had fled into the\ninmost cavern with Prince Ahmed: the Roc had whisked away Sindbad the\nSailor out of the Valley of Diamonds out of sight, far into the clouds:\nand there was everyday life before honest William; and a big boy\nbeating a little one without cause. \"Hold out your other hand, sir,\" roars Cuff to his little schoolfellow,\nwhose face was distorted with pain. Dobbin quivered, and gathered\nhimself up in his narrow old clothes. \"Take that, you little devil!\" cried Mr. Cuff, and down came the wicket\nagain on the child's hand.--Don't be horrified, ladies, every boy at a\npublic school has done it. Your children will so do and be done by, in\nall probability. Down came the wicket again; and Dobbin started up. I can't tell what his motive was. Torture in a public school is as\nmuch licensed as the knout in Russia. It would be ungentlemanlike (in\na manner) to resist it. Perhaps Dobbin's foolish soul revolted against\nthat exercise of tyranny; or perhaps he had a hankering feeling of\nrevenge in his mind, and longed to measure himself against that\nsplendid bully and tyrant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp,\ncircumstance, banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the\nplace. Whatever may have been his incentive, however, up he sprang,\nand screamed out, \"Hold off, Cuff; don't bully that child any more; or\nI'll--\"\n\n\"Or you'll what?\" Cuff asked in amazement at this interruption. \"Hold\nout your hand, you little beast.\" \"I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life,\" Dobbin\nsaid, in reply to the first part of Cuff's sentence; and little\nOsborne, gasping and in tears, looked up with wonder and incredulity at\nseeing this amazing champion put up suddenly to defend him: while\nCuff's astonishment was scarcely less. Fancy our late monarch George\nIII when he heard of the revolt of the North American colonies: fancy\nbrazen Goliath when little David stepped forward and claimed a meeting;\nand you have the feelings of Mr. Reginald Cuff when this rencontre was\nproposed to him. \"After school,\" says he, of course; after a pause and a look, as much\nas to say, \"Make your will, and communicate your last wishes to your\nfriends between this time and that.\" \"As you please,\" Dobbin said. \"You must be my bottle holder, Osborne.\" \"Well, if you like,\" little Osborne replied; for you see his papa kept\na carriage, and he was rather ashamed of his champion. Yes, when the hour of battle came, he was almost ashamed to say, \"Go\nit, Figs\"; and not a single other boy in the place uttered that cry for\nthe first two or three rounds of this famous combat; at the\ncommencement of which the scientific Cuff, with a contemptuous smile on\nhis face, and as light and as gay as if he was at a ball, planted his\nblows upon his adversary, and floored that unlucky champion three times\nrunning. At each fall there was a cheer; and everybody was anxious to\nhave the honour of offering the conqueror a knee. \"What a licking I shall get when it's over,\" young Osborne thought,\npicking up his man. \"You'd best give in,\" he said to Dobbin; \"it's\nonly a thrashing, Figs, and you know I'm used to it.\" But Figs, all\nwhose limbs were in a quiver, and whose nostrils were breathing rage,\nput his little bottle-holder aside, and went in for a fourth time. As he did not in the least know how to parry the blows that were aimed\nat himself, and Cuff had begun the attack on the three preceding\noccasions, without ever allowing his enemy to strike, Figs now\ndetermined that he would commence the engagement by a charge on his own\npart; and accordingly, being a left-handed man, brought that arm into\naction, and hit out a couple of times with all his might--once at Mr.\nCuff's left eye, and once on his beautiful Roman nose. Cuff went down this time, to the astonishment of the assembly. \"Well\nhit, by Jove,\" says little Osborne, with the air of a connoisseur,\nclapping his man on the back. \"Give it him with the left, Figs my boy.\" Figs's left made terrific play during all the rest of the combat. Cuff\nwent down every time. At the sixth round, there were almost as many\nfellows shouting out, \"Go it, Figs,\" as there were youths exclaiming,\n\"Go it, Cuff.\" At the twelfth round the latter champion was all abroad,\nas the saying is, and had lost all presence of mind and power of attack\nor defence. Figs, on the contrary, was as calm as a quaker. His face\nbeing quite pale, his eyes shining open, and a great cut on his\nunderlip bleeding profusely, gave this young fellow a fierce and\nghastly air, which perhaps struck terror into many spectators. Nevertheless, his intrepid adversary prepared to close for the\nthirteenth time. If I had the pen of a Napier, or a Bell's Life, I should like to\ndescribe this combat properly. It was the last charge of the\nGuard--(that is, it would have been, only Waterloo had not yet taken\nplace)--it was Ney's column breasting the hill of La Haye Sainte,\nbristling with ten thousand bayonets, and crowned with twenty\neagles--it was the shout of the beef-eating British, as leaping down\nthe hill they rushed to hug the enemy in the savage arms of battle--in\nother words, Cuff coming up full of pluck, but quite reeling and\ngroggy, the Fig-merchant put in his left as usual on his adversary's\nnose, and sent him down for the last time. \"I think that will do for him,\" Figs said, as his opponent dropped as\nneatly on the green as I have seen Jack Spot's ball plump into the\npocket at billiards; and the fact is, when time was called, Mr.\nReginald Cuff was not able, or did not choose, to stand up again. And now all the boys set up such a shout for Figs as would have made\nyou think he had been their darling champion through the whole battle;\nand as absolutely brought Dr. Swishtail out of his study, curious to\nknow the cause of the uproar. He threatened to flog Figs violently, of\ncourse; but Cuff, who had come to himself by this time, and was washing\nhis wounds, stood up and said, \"It's my fault, sir--not Figs'--not\nDobbin's. I was bullying a little boy; and he served me right.\" By\nwhich magnanimous speech he not only saved his conqueror a whipping,\nbut got back all his ascendancy over the boys which his defeat had\nnearly cost him. Young Osborne wrote home to his parents an account of the transaction. Sugarcane House, Richmond, March, 18--\n\nDEAR MAMA,--I hope you are quite well. I should be much obliged to you\nto send me a cake and five shillings. There has been a fight here\nbetween Cuff & Dobbin. Cuff, you know, was the Cock of the School. They fought thirteen rounds, and Dobbin Licked. So Cuff is now Only\nSecond Cock. The fight was about me. Cuff was licking me for breaking\na bottle of milk, and Figs wouldn't stand it. We call him Figs because\nhis father is a Grocer--Figs & Rudge, Thames St., City--I think as he\nfought for me you ought to buy your Tea & Sugar at his father's. Cuff\ngoes home every Saturday, but can't this, because he has 2 Black Eyes.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-04, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-05 The user is reading a book]\n<User> He has a white Pony to come and fetch him, and a groom in livery on a\nbay mare. I wish my Papa would let me have a Pony, and I am\n\nYour dutiful Son, GEORGE SEDLEY OSBORNE\n\nP.S.--Give my love to little Emmy. I am cutting her out a Coach in\ncardboard. Please not a seed-cake, but a plum-cake. In consequence of Dobbin's victory, his character rose prodigiously in\nthe estimation of all his schoolfellows, and the name of Figs, which\nhad been a byword of reproach, became as respectable and popular a\nnickname as any other in use in the school. \"After all, it's not his\nfault that his father's a grocer,\" George Osborne said, who, though a\nlittle chap, had a very high popularity among the Swishtail youth; and\nhis opinion was received with great applause. It was voted low to sneer\nat Dobbin about this accident of birth. \"Old Figs\" grew to be a name of\nkindness and endearment; and the sneak of an usher jeered at him no\nlonger. And Dobbin's spirit rose with his altered circumstances. He made\nwonderful advances in scholastic learning. The superb Cuff himself, at\nwhose condescension Dobbin could only blush and wonder, helped him on\nwith his Latin verses; \"coached\" him in play-hours: carried him\ntriumphantly out of the little-boy class into the middle-sized form;\nand even there got a fair place for him. It was discovered, that\nalthough dull at classical learning, at mathematics he was uncommonly\nquick. To the contentment of all he passed third in algebra, and got a\nFrench prize-book at the public Midsummer examination. You should have\nseen his mother's face when Telemaque (that delicious romance) was\npresented to him by the Doctor in the face of the whole school and the\nparents and company, with an inscription to Gulielmo Dobbin. All the\nboys clapped hands in token of applause and sympathy. His blushes, his\nstumbles, his awkwardness, and the number of feet which he crushed as\nhe went back to his place, who shall describe or calculate? Old Dobbin,\nhis father, who now respected him for the first time, gave him two\nguineas publicly; most of which he spent in a general tuck-out for the\nschool: and he came back in a tail-coat after the holidays. Dobbin was much too modest a young fellow to suppose that this happy\nchange in all his circumstances arose from his own generous and manly\ndisposition: he chose, from some perverseness, to attribute his good\nfortune to the sole agency and benevolence of little George Osborne, to\nwhom henceforth he vowed such a love and affection as is only felt by\nchildren--such an affection, as we read in the charming fairy-book,\nuncouth Orson had for splendid young Valentine his conqueror. He flung\nhimself down at little Osborne's feet, and loved him. Even before they\nwere acquainted, he had admired Osborne in secret. Now he was his\nvalet, his dog, his man Friday. He believed Osborne to be the\npossessor of every perfection, to be the handsomest, the bravest, the\nmost active, the cleverest, the most generous of created boys. He\nshared his money with him: bought him uncountable presents of knives,\npencil-cases, gold seals, toffee, Little Warblers, and romantic books,\nwith large coloured pictures of knights and robbers, in many of which\nlatter you might read inscriptions to George Sedley Osborne, Esquire,\nfrom his attached friend William Dobbin--the which tokens of homage\nGeorge received very graciously, as became his superior merit. So that Lieutenant Osborne, when coming to Russell Square on the day of\nthe Vauxhall party, said to the ladies, \"Mrs. Sedley, Ma'am, I hope you\nhave room; I've asked Dobbin of ours to come and dine here, and go with\nus to Vauxhall. He's almost as modest as Jos.\" \"Modesty! pooh,\" said the stout gentleman, casting a vainqueur look at\nMiss Sharp. \"He is--but you are incomparably more graceful, Sedley,\" Osborne added,\nlaughing. \"I met him at the Bedford, when I went to look for you; and\nI told him that Miss Amelia was come home, and that we were all bent on\ngoing out for a night's pleasuring; and that Mrs. Sedley had forgiven\nhis breaking the punch-bowl at the child's party. Don't you remember\nthe catastrophe, Ma'am, seven years ago?\" \"Over Mrs. Flamingo's crimson silk gown,\" said good-natured Mrs.\nSedley. \"What a gawky it was! And his sisters are not much more\ngraceful. Lady Dobbin was at Highbury last night with three of them. Such figures! my dears.\" \"The Alderman's very rich, isn't he?\" Osborne said archly. \"Don't you\nthink one of the daughters would be a good spec for me, Ma'am?\" \"You foolish creature! Who would take you, I should like to know, with\nyour yellow face?\" \"Mine a yellow face? Stop till you see Dobbin. Why, he had the yellow\nfever three times; twice at Nassau, and once at St. Kitts.\" \"Well, well; yours is quite yellow enough for us. Isn't it, Emmy?\" Mrs. Sedley said: at which speech Miss Amelia only made a smile and a\nblush; and looking at Mr. George Osborne's pale interesting\ncountenance, and those beautiful black, curling, shining whiskers,\nwhich the young gentleman himself regarded with no ordinary\ncomplacency, she thought in her little heart that in His Majesty's\narmy, or in the wide world, there never was such a face or such a hero. \"I don't care about Captain Dobbin's complexion,\" she said, \"or about\nhis awkwardness. I shall always like him, I know,\" her little reason\nbeing, that he was the friend and champion of George. \"There's not a finer fellow in the service,\" Osborne said, \"nor a\nbetter officer, though he is not an Adonis, certainly.\" And he looked\ntowards the glass himself with much naivete; and in so doing, caught\nMiss Sharp's eye fixed keenly upon him, at which he blushed a little,\nand Rebecca thought in her heart, \"Ah, mon beau Monsieur! I think I\nhave YOUR gauge\"--the little artful minx! That evening, when Amelia came tripping into the drawing-room in a\nwhite muslin frock, prepared for conquest at Vauxhall, singing like a\nlark, and as fresh as a rose--a very tall ungainly gentleman, with\nlarge hands and feet, and large ears, set off by a closely cropped head\nof black hair, and in the hideous military frogged coat and cocked hat\nof those times, advanced to meet her, and made her one of the clumsiest\nbows that was ever performed by a mortal. This was no other than Captain William Dobbin, of His Majesty's\nRegiment of Foot, returned from yellow fever, in the West Indies, to\nwhich the fortune of the service had ordered his regiment, whilst so\nmany of his gallant comrades were reaping glory in the Peninsula. He had arrived with a knock so very timid and quiet that it was\ninaudible to the ladies upstairs: otherwise, you may be sure Miss\nAmelia would never have been so bold as to come singing into the room. As it was, the sweet fresh little voice went right into the Captain's\nheart, and nestled there. When she held out her hand for him to shake,\nbefore he enveloped it in his own, he paused, and thought--\"Well, is it\npossible--are you the little maid I remember in the pink frock, such a\nshort time ago--the night I upset the punch-bowl, just after I was\ngazetted? Are you the little girl that George Osborne said should marry\nhim? What a blooming young creature you seem, and what a prize the\nrogue has got!\" All this he thought, before he took Amelia's hand into\nhis own, and as he let his cocked hat fall. His history since he left school, until the very moment when we have\nthe pleasure of meeting him again, although not fully narrated, has\nyet, I think, been indicated sufficiently for an ingenious reader by\nthe conversation in the last page. Dobbin, the despised grocer, was\nAlderman Dobbin--Alderman Dobbin was Colonel of the City Light Horse,\nthen burning with military ardour to resist the French Invasion. Colonel Dobbin's corps, in which old Mr. Osborne himself was but an\nindifferent corporal, had been reviewed by the Sovereign and the Duke\nof York; and the colonel and alderman had been knighted. His son had\nentered the army: and young Osborne followed presently in the same\nregiment. They had served in the West Indies and in Canada.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-05, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-08 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Their\nregiment had just come home, and the attachment of Dobbin to George\nOsborne was as warm and generous now as it had been when the two were\nschoolboys. So these worthy people sat down to dinner presently. They talked about\nwar and glory, and Boney and Lord Wellington, and the last Gazette. In\nthose famous days every gazette had a victory in it, and the two\ngallant young men longed to see their own names in the glorious list,\nand cursed their unlucky fate to belong to a regiment which had been\naway from the chances of honour. Miss Sharp kindled with this exciting\ntalk, but Miss Sedley trembled and grew quite faint as she heard it. Mr. Jos told several of his tiger-hunting stories, finished the one\nabout Miss Cutler and Lance the surgeon; helped Rebecca to everything\non the table, and himself gobbled and drank a great deal. He sprang to open the door for the ladies, when they retired, with the\nmost killing grace--and coming back to the table, filled himself bumper\nafter bumper of claret, which he swallowed with nervous rapidity. \"He's priming himself,\" Osborne whispered to Dobbin, and at length the\nhour and the carriage arrived for Vauxhall. Vauxhall\n\nI know that the tune I am piping is a very mild one (although there are\nsome terrific chapters coming presently), and must beg the good-natured\nreader to remember that we are only discoursing at present about a\nstockbroker's family in Russell Square, who are taking walks, or\nluncheon, or dinner, or talking and making love as people do in common\nlife, and without a single passionate and wonderful incident to mark\nthe progress of their loves. The argument stands thus--Osborne, in\nlove with Amelia, has asked an old friend to dinner and to\nVauxhall--Jos Sedley is in love with Rebecca. Will he marry her? That\nis the great subject now in hand. We might have treated this subject in the genteel, or in the romantic,\nor in the facetious manner. Suppose we had laid the scene in Grosvenor\nSquare, with the very same adventures--would not some people have\nlistened? Suppose we had shown how Lord Joseph Sedley fell in love, and\nthe Marquis of Osborne became attached to Lady Amelia, with the full\nconsent of the Duke, her noble father: or instead of the supremely\ngenteel, suppose we had resorted to the entirely low, and described\nwhat was going on in Mr. Sedley's kitchen--how black Sambo was in love\nwith the cook (as indeed he was), and how he fought a battle with the\ncoachman in her behalf; how the knife-boy was caught stealing a cold\nshoulder of mutton, and Miss Sedley's new femme de chambre refused to\ngo to bed without a wax candle; such incidents might be made to provoke\nmuch delightful laughter, and be supposed to represent scenes of\n\"life.\" Or if, on the contrary, we had taken a fancy for the terrible,\nand made the lover of the new femme de chambre a professional burglar,\nwho bursts into the house with his band, slaughters black Sambo at the\nfeet of his master, and carries off Amelia in her night-dress, not to\nbe let loose again till the third volume, we should easily have\nconstructed a tale of thrilling interest, through the fiery chapters of\nwhich the reader should hurry, panting. But my readers must hope for\nno such romance, only a homely story, and must be content with a\nchapter about Vauxhall, which is so short that it scarce deserves to be\ncalled a chapter at all. And yet it is a chapter, and a very important\none too. Are not there little chapters in everybody's life, that seem\nto be nothing, and yet affect all the rest of the history? Let us then step into the coach with the Russell Square party, and be\noff to the Gardens. There is barely room between Jos and Miss Sharp,\nwho are on the front seat. Mr. Osborne sitting bodkin opposite,\nbetween Captain Dobbin and Amelia. Every soul in the coach agreed that on that night Jos would propose to\nmake Rebecca Sharp Mrs. Sedley. The parents at home had acquiesced in\nthe arrangement, though, between ourselves, old Mr. Sedley had a\nfeeling very much akin to contempt for his son. He said he was vain,\nselfish, lazy, and effeminate. He could not endure his airs as a man\nof fashion, and laughed heartily at his pompous braggadocio stories. \"I shall leave the fellow half my property,\" he said; \"and he will\nhave, besides, plenty of his own; but as I am perfectly sure that if\nyou, and I, and his sister were to die to-morrow, he would say 'Good\nGad!' and eat his dinner just as well as usual, I am not going to make\nmyself anxious about him. Let him marry whom he likes. It's no affair\nof mine.\" Amelia, on the other hand, as became a young woman of her prudence and\ntemperament, was quite enthusiastic for the match. Once or twice Jos\nhad been on the point of saying something very important to her, to\nwhich she was most willing to lend an ear, but the fat fellow could not\nbe brought to unbosom himself of his great secret, and very much to his\nsister's disappointment he only rid himself of a large sigh and turned\naway. This mystery served to keep Amelia's gentle bosom in a perpetual\nflutter of excitement. If she did not speak with Rebecca on the tender\nsubject, she compensated herself with long and intimate conversations\nwith Mrs. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, who dropped some hints to the\nlady's-maid, who may have cursorily mentioned the matter to the cook,\nwho carried the news, I have no doubt, to all the tradesmen, so that\nMr. Jos's marriage was now talked of by a very considerable number of\npersons in the Russell Square world. It was, of course, Mrs. Sedley's opinion that her son would demean\nhimself by a marriage with an artist's daughter. \"But, lor', Ma'am,\"\nejaculated Mrs. Blenkinsop, \"we was only grocers when we married Mr.\nS., who was a stock-broker's clerk, and we hadn't five hundred pounds\namong us, and we're rich enough now.\" And Amelia was entirely of this\nopinion, to which, gradually, the good-natured Mrs. Sedley was brought. Mr. Sedley was neutral. \"Let Jos marry whom he likes,\" he said; \"it's\nno affair of mine. This girl has no fortune; no more had Mrs. Sedley. She seems good-humoured and clever, and will keep him in order,\nperhaps. Better she, my dear, than a black Mrs. Sedley, and a dozen of\nmahogany grandchildren.\" So that everything seemed to smile upon Rebecca's fortunes. She took\nJos's arm, as a matter of course, on going to dinner; she had sate by\nhim on the box of his open carriage (a most tremendous \"buck\" he was,\nas he sat there, serene, in state, driving his greys), and though\nnobody said a word on the subject of the marriage, everybody seemed to\nunderstand it. All she wanted was the proposal, and ah! how Rebecca\nnow felt the want of a mother!--a dear, tender mother, who would have\nmanaged the business in ten minutes, and, in the course of a little\ndelicate confidential conversation, would have extracted the\ninteresting avowal from the bashful lips of the young man! Such was the state of affairs as the carriage crossed Westminster\nbridge. The party was landed at the Royal Gardens in due time. As the majestic\nJos stepped out of the creaking vehicle the crowd gave a cheer for the\nfat gentleman, who blushed and looked very big and mighty, as he walked\naway with Rebecca under his arm. George, of course, took charge of\nAmelia. She looked as happy as a rose-tree in sunshine. \"I say, Dobbin,\" says George, \"just look to the shawls and things,\nthere's a good fellow.\" And so while he paired off with Miss Sedley,\nand Jos squeezed through the gate into the gardens with Rebecca at his\nside, honest Dobbin contented himself by giving an arm to the shawls,\nand by paying at the door for the whole party. He walked very modestly behind them. He was not willing to spoil\nsport. About Rebecca and Jos he did not care a fig. But he thought\nAmelia worthy even of the brilliant George Osborne, and as he saw that\ngood-looking couple threading the walks to the girl's delight and\nwonder, he watched her artless happiness with a sort of fatherly\npleasure. Perhaps he felt that he would have liked to have something\non his own arm besides a shawl (the people laughed at seeing the gawky\nyoung officer carrying this female burthen); but William Dobbin was\nvery little addicted to selfish calculation at all; and so long as his\nfriend was enjoying himself, how should he be discontented?\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-08, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-09 The user is reading a book]\n<User> And the\ntruth is, that of all the delights of the Gardens; of the hundred\nthousand extra lamps, which were always lighted; the fiddlers in cocked\nhats, who played ravishing melodies under the gilded cockle-shell in\nthe midst of the gardens; the singers, both of comic and sentimental\nballads, who charmed the ears there; the country dances, formed by\nbouncing cockneys and cockneyesses, and executed amidst jumping,\nthumping and laughter; the signal which announced that Madame Saqui was\nabout to mount skyward on a slack-rope ascending to the stars; the\nhermit that always sat in the illuminated hermitage; the dark walks, so\nfavourable to the interviews of young lovers; the pots of stout handed\nabout by the people in the shabby old liveries; and the twinkling\nboxes, in which the happy feasters made-believe to eat slices of almost\ninvisible ham--of all these things, and of the gentle Simpson, that\nkind smiling idiot, who, I daresay, presided even then over the\nplace--Captain William Dobbin did not take the slightest notice. He carried about Amelia's white cashmere shawl, and having attended\nunder the gilt cockle-shell, while Mrs. Salmon performed the Battle of\nBorodino (a savage cantata against the Corsican upstart, who had lately\nmet with his Russian reverses)--Mr. Dobbin tried to hum it as he walked\naway, and found he was humming--the tune which Amelia Sedley sang on\nthe stairs, as she came down to dinner. He burst out laughing at himself; for the truth is, he could sing no\nbetter than an owl. It is to be understood, as a matter of course, that our young people,\nbeing in parties of two and two, made the most solemn promises to keep\ntogether during the evening, and separated in ten minutes afterwards. Parties at Vauxhall always did separate, but 'twas only to meet again\nat supper-time, when they could talk of their mutual adventures in the\ninterval. What were the adventures of Mr. Osborne and Miss Amelia? That is a\nsecret. But be sure of this--they were perfectly happy, and correct in\ntheir behaviour; and as they had been in the habit of being together\nany time these fifteen years, their tete-a-tete offered no particular\nnovelty. But when Miss Rebecca Sharp and her stout companion lost themselves in\na solitary walk, in which there were not above five score more of\ncouples similarly straying, they both felt that the situation was\nextremely tender and critical, and now or never was the moment Miss\nSharp thought, to provoke that declaration which was trembling on the\ntimid lips of Mr. Sedley. They had previously been to the panorama of\nMoscow, where a rude fellow, treading on Miss Sharp's foot, caused her\nto fall back with a little shriek into the arms of Mr. Sedley, and this\nlittle incident increased the tenderness and confidence of that\ngentleman to such a degree, that he told her several of his favourite\nIndian stories over again for, at least, the sixth time. \"How I should like to see India!\" said Rebecca. \"SHOULD you?\" said Joseph, with a most killing tenderness; and was no\ndoubt about to follow up this artful interrogatory by a question still\nmore tender (for he puffed and panted a great deal, and Rebecca's hand,\nwhich was placed near his heart, could count the feverish pulsations of\nthat organ), when, oh, provoking! the bell rang for the fireworks, and,\na great scuffling and running taking place, these interesting lovers\nwere obliged to follow in the stream of people. Captain Dobbin had some thoughts of joining the party at supper: as, in\ntruth, he found the Vauxhall amusements not particularly lively--but he\nparaded twice before the box where the now united couples were met, and\nnobody took any notice of him. Covers were laid for four. The mated\npairs were prattling away quite happily, and Dobbin knew he was as\nclean forgotten as if he had never existed in this world. \"I should only be de trop,\" said the Captain, looking at them rather\nwistfully. \"I'd best go and talk to the hermit,\"--and so he strolled\noff out of the hum of men, and noise, and clatter of the banquet, into\nthe dark walk, at the end of which lived that well-known pasteboard\nSolitary. It wasn't very good fun for Dobbin--and, indeed, to be alone\nat Vauxhall, I have found, from my own experience, to be one of the\nmost dismal sports ever entered into by a bachelor. The two couples were perfectly happy then in their box: where the most\ndelightful and intimate conversation took place. Jos was in his glory,\nordering about the waiters with great majesty. He made the salad; and\nuncorked the Champagne; and carved the chickens; and ate and drank the\ngreater part of the refreshments on the tables. Finally, he insisted\nupon having a bowl of rack punch; everybody had rack punch at Vauxhall. \"Waiter, rack punch.\" That bowl of rack punch was the cause of all this history. And why not\na bowl of rack punch as well as any other cause? Was not a bowl of\nprussic acid the cause of Fair Rosamond's retiring from the world? Was\nnot a bowl of wine the cause of the demise of Alexander the Great, or,\nat least, does not Dr. Lempriere say so?--so did this bowl of rack\npunch influence the fates of all the principal characters in this\n\"Novel without a Hero,\" which we are now relating. It influenced their\nlife, although most of them did not taste a drop of it. The young ladies did not drink it; Osborne did not like it; and the\nconsequence was that Jos, that fat gourmand, drank up the whole\ncontents of the bowl; and the consequence of his drinking up the whole\ncontents of the bowl was a liveliness which at first was astonishing,\nand then became almost painful; for he talked and laughed so loud as to\nbring scores of listeners round the box, much to the confusion of the\ninnocent party within it; and, volunteering to sing a song (which he\ndid in that maudlin high key peculiar to gentlemen in an inebriated\nstate), he almost drew away the audience who were gathered round the\nmusicians in the gilt scollop-shell, and received from his hearers a\ngreat deal of applause. \"Brayvo, Fat un!\" said one; \"Angcore, Daniel Lambert!\" said another;\n\"What a figure for the tight-rope!\" exclaimed another wag, to the\ninexpressible alarm of the ladies, and the great anger of Mr. Osborne. \"For Heaven's sake, Jos, let us get up and go,\" cried that gentleman,\nand the young women rose. \"Stop, my dearest diddle-diddle-darling,\" shouted Jos, now as bold as a\nlion, and clasping Miss Rebecca round the waist. Rebecca started, but\nshe could not get away her hand. The laughter outside redoubled. Jos\ncontinued to drink, to make love, and to sing; and, winking and waving\nhis glass gracefully to his audience, challenged all or any to come in\nand take a share of his punch. Mr. Osborne was just on the point of knocking down a gentleman in\ntop-boots, who proposed to take advantage of this invitation, and a\ncommotion seemed to be inevitable, when by the greatest good luck a\ngentleman of the name of Dobbin, who had been walking about the\ngardens, stepped up to the box. \"Be off, you fools!\" said this\ngentleman--shouldering off a great number of the crowd, who vanished\npresently before his cocked hat and fierce appearance--and he entered\nthe box in a most agitated state. \"Good Heavens! Dobbin, where have you been?\" Osborne said, seizing the\nwhite cashmere shawl from his friend's arm, and huddling up Amelia in\nit.--\"Make yourself useful, and take charge of Jos here, whilst I take\nthe ladies to the carriage.\" Jos was for rising to interfere--but a single push from Osborne's\nfinger sent him puffing back into his seat again, and the lieutenant\nwas enabled to remove the ladies in safety. Jos kissed his hand to\nthem as they retreated, and hiccupped out \"Bless you! Bless you!\" Then,\nseizing Captain Dobbin's hand, and weeping in the most pitiful way, he\nconfided to that gentleman the secret of his loves. He adored that\ngirl who had just gone out; he had broken her heart, he knew he had, by\nhis conduct; he would marry her next morning at St. George's, Hanover\nSquare; he'd knock up the Archbishop of Canterbury at Lambeth: he\nwould, by Jove!\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-09, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-12 The user is reading a book]\n<User> and have him in readiness; and, acting on this hint,\nCaptain Dobbin shrewdly induced him to leave the gardens and hasten to\nLambeth Palace, and, when once out of the gates, easily conveyed Mr.\nJos Sedley into a hackney-coach, which deposited him safely at his\nlodgings. George Osborne conducted the girls home in safety: and when the door\nwas closed upon them, and as he walked across Russell Square, laughed\nso as to astonish the watchman. Amelia looked very ruefully at her\nfriend, as they went up stairs, and kissed her, and went to bed without\nany more talking. \"He must propose to-morrow,\" thought Rebecca. \"He called me his soul's\ndarling, four times; he squeezed my hand in Amelia's presence. He must\npropose to-morrow.\" And so thought Amelia, too. And I dare say she\nthought of the dress she was to wear as bridesmaid, and of the presents\nwhich she should make to her nice little sister-in-law, and of a\nsubsequent ceremony in which she herself might play a principal part,\n&c., and &c., and &c., and &c.\n\nOh, ignorant young creatures! How little do you know the effect of rack\npunch! What is the rack in the punch, at night, to the rack in the head\nof a morning? To this truth I can vouch as a man; there is no headache\nin the world like that caused by Vauxhall punch. Through the lapse of\ntwenty years, I can remember the consequence of two glasses! two\nwine-glasses! but two, upon the honour of a gentleman; and Joseph\nSedley, who had a liver complaint, had swallowed at least a quart of\nthe abominable mixture. That next morning, which Rebecca thought was to dawn upon her fortune,\nfound Sedley groaning in agonies which the pen refuses to describe. Soda-water was not invented yet. Small beer--will it be believed!--was\nthe only drink with which unhappy gentlemen soothed the fever of their\nprevious night's potation. With this mild beverage before him, George\nOsborne found the ex-Collector of Boggley Wollah groaning on the sofa\nat his lodgings. Dobbin was already in the room, good-naturedly\ntending his patient of the night before. The two officers, looking at\nthe prostrate Bacchanalian, and askance at each other, exchanged the\nmost frightful sympathetic grins. Even Sedley's valet, the most solemn\nand correct of gentlemen, with the muteness and gravity of an\nundertaker, could hardly keep his countenance in order, as he looked at\nhis unfortunate master. \"Mr. Sedley was uncommon wild last night, sir,\" he whispered in\nconfidence to Osborne, as the latter mounted the stair. \"He wanted to\nfight the 'ackney-coachman, sir. The Capting was obliged to bring him\nupstairs in his harms like a babby.\" A momentary smile flickered over\nMr. Brush's features as he spoke; instantly, however, they relapsed\ninto their usual unfathomable calm, as he flung open the drawing-room\ndoor, and announced \"Mr. Hosbin.\" \"How are you, Sedley?\" that young wag began, after surveying his\nvictim. \"No bones broke? There's a hackney-coachman downstairs with a\nblack eye, and a tied-up head, vowing he'll have the law of you.\" \"What do you mean--law?\" Sedley faintly asked. \"For thrashing him last night--didn't he, Dobbin? You hit out, sir,\nlike Molyneux. The watchman says he never saw a fellow go down so\nstraight. Ask Dobbin.\" \"You DID have a round with the coachman,\" Captain Dobbin said, \"and\nshowed plenty of fight too.\" \"And that fellow with the white coat at Vauxhall! How Jos drove at him! How the women screamed! By Jove, sir, it did my heart good to see you. I thought you civilians had no pluck; but I'll never get in your way\nwhen you are in your cups, Jos.\" \"I believe I'm very terrible, when I'm roused,\" ejaculated Jos from the\nsofa, and made a grimace so dreary and ludicrous, that the Captain's\npoliteness could restrain him no longer, and he and Osborne fired off a\nringing volley of laughter. Osborne pursued his advantage pitilessly. He thought Jos a milksop. He\nhad been revolving in his mind the marriage question pending between\nJos and Rebecca, and was not over well pleased that a member of a\nfamily into which he, George Osborne, of the --th, was going to marry,\nshould make a mesalliance with a little nobody--a little upstart\ngoverness. \"You hit, you poor old fellow!\" said Osborne. \"You\nterrible! Why, man, you couldn't stand--you made everybody laugh in the\nGardens, though you were crying yourself. You were maudlin, Jos. Don't you remember singing a song?\" \"A what?\" Jos asked. \"A sentimental song, and calling Rosa, Rebecca, what's her name,\nAmelia's little friend--your dearest diddle-diddle-darling?\" And this\nruthless young fellow, seizing hold of Dobbin's hand, acted over the\nscene, to the horror of the original performer, and in spite of\nDobbin's good-natured entreaties to him to have mercy. \"Why should I spare him?\" Osborne said to his friend's remonstrances,\nwhen they quitted the invalid, leaving him under the hands of Doctor\nGollop. \"What the deuce right has he to give himself his patronizing\nairs, and make fools of us at Vauxhall? Who's this little schoolgirl\nthat is ogling and making love to him? Hang it, the family's low enough\nalready, without HER. A governess is all very well, but I'd rather\nhave a lady for my sister-in-law. I'm a liberal man; but I've proper\npride, and know my own station: let her know hers. And I'll take down\nthat great hectoring Nabob, and prevent him from being made a greater\nfool than he is. That's why I told him to look out, lest she brought\nan action against him.\" \"I suppose you know best,\" Dobbin said, though rather dubiously. \"You\nalways were a Tory, and your family's one of the oldest in England. But--\"\n\n\"Come and see the girls, and make love to Miss Sharp yourself,\" the\nlieutenant here interrupted his friend; but Captain Dobbin declined to\njoin Osborne in his daily visit to the young ladies in Russell Square. As George walked down Southampton Row, from Holborn, he laughed as he\nsaw, at the Sedley Mansion, in two different stories two heads on the\nlook-out. The fact is, Miss Amelia, in the drawing-room balcony, was looking very\neagerly towards the opposite side of the Square, where Mr. Osborne\ndwelt, on the watch for the lieutenant himself; and Miss Sharp, from\nher little bed-room on the second floor, was in observation until Mr.\nJoseph's great form should heave in sight. \"Sister Anne is on the watch-tower,\" said he to Amelia, \"but there's\nnobody coming\"; and laughing and enjoying the joke hugely, he described\nin the most ludicrous terms to Miss Sedley, the dismal condition of her\nbrother. \"I think it's very cruel of you to laugh, George,\" she said, looking\nparticularly unhappy; but George only laughed the more at her piteous\nand discomfited mien, persisted in thinking the joke a most diverting\none, and when Miss Sharp came downstairs, bantered her with a great\ndeal of liveliness upon the effect of her charms on the fat civilian. \"O Miss Sharp! if you could but see him this morning,\" he\nsaid--\"moaning in his flowered dressing-gown--writhing on his sofa; if\nyou could but have seen him lolling out his tongue to Gollop the\napothecary.\" \"See whom?\" said Miss Sharp. \"Whom? O whom? Captain Dobbin, of course, to whom we were all so\nattentive, by the way, last night.\" \"We were very unkind to him,\" Emmy said, blushing very much. \"I--I\nquite forgot him.\" \"Of course you did,\" cried Osborne, still on the laugh. \"One can't be ALWAYS thinking about Dobbin, you know, Amelia. Can one,\nMiss Sharp?\" \"Except when he overset the glass of wine at dinner,\" Miss Sharp said,\nwith a haughty air and a toss of the head, \"I never gave the existence\nof Captain Dobbin one single moment's consideration.\" \"Very good, Miss Sharp, I'll tell him,\" Osborne said; and as he spoke\nMiss Sharp began to have a feeling of distrust and hatred towards this\nyoung officer, which he was quite unconscious of having inspired. \"He\nis to make fun of me, is he?\" thought Rebecca.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-12, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-13 The user is reading a book]\n<User> \"Has he been laughing\nabout me to Joseph? Has he frightened him? Perhaps he won't come.\" --A\nfilm passed over her eyes, and her heart beat quite quick. \"You're always joking,\" said she, smiling as innocently as she could. \"Joke away, Mr. George; there's nobody to defend ME.\" And George\nOsborne, as she walked away--and Amelia looked reprovingly at him--felt\nsome little manly compunction for having inflicted any unnecessary\nunkindness upon this helpless creature. \"My dearest Amelia,\" said he,\n\"you are too good--too kind. You don't know the world. I do. And\nyour little friend Miss Sharp must learn her station.\" \"Don't you think Jos will--\"\n\n\"Upon my word, my dear, I don't know. He may, or may not. I'm not his\nmaster. I only know he is a very foolish vain fellow, and put my dear\nlittle girl into a very painful and awkward position last night. My\ndearest diddle-diddle-darling!\" He was off laughing again, and he did\nit so drolly that Emmy laughed too. All that day Jos never came. But Amelia had no fear about this; for\nthe little schemer had actually sent away the page, Mr. Sambo's\naide-de-camp, to Mr. Joseph's lodgings, to ask for some book he had\npromised, and how he was; and the reply through Jos's man, Mr. Brush,\nwas, that his master was ill in bed, and had just had the doctor with\nhim. He must come to-morrow, she thought, but she never had the\ncourage to speak a word on the subject to Rebecca; nor did that young\nwoman herself allude to it in any way during the whole evening after\nthe night at Vauxhall. The next day, however, as the two young ladies sate on the sofa,\npretending to work, or to write letters, or to read novels, Sambo came\ninto the room with his usual engaging grin, with a packet under his\narm, and a note on a tray. \"Note from Mr. Jos, Miss,\" says Sambo. How Amelia trembled as she opened it! So it ran:\n\nDear Amelia,--I send you the \"Orphan of the Forest.\" I was too ill to\ncome yesterday. I leave town to-day for Cheltenham. Pray excuse me,\nif you can, to the amiable Miss Sharp, for my conduct at Vauxhall, and\nentreat her to pardon and forget every word I may have uttered when\nexcited by that fatal supper. As soon as I have recovered, for my\nhealth is very much shaken, I shall go to Scotland for some months, and\nam\n\nTruly yours, Jos Sedley\n\nIt was the death-warrant. All was over. Amelia did not dare to look\nat Rebecca's pale face and burning eyes, but she dropt the letter into\nher friend's lap; and got up, and went upstairs to her room, and cried\nher little heart out. Blenkinsop, the housekeeper, there sought her presently with\nconsolation, on whose shoulder Amelia wept confidentially, and relieved\nherself a good deal. \"Don't take on, Miss. I didn't like to tell you. But none of us in the house have liked her except at fust. I sor her\nwith my own eyes reading your Ma's letters. Pinner says she's always\nabout your trinket-box and drawers, and everybody's drawers, and she's\nsure she's put your white ribbing into her box.\" \"I gave it her, I gave it her,\" Amelia said. But this did not alter Mrs. Blenkinsop's opinion of Miss Sharp. \"I\ndon't trust them governesses, Pinner,\" she remarked to the maid. \"They\ngive themselves the hairs and hupstarts of ladies, and their wages is\nno better than you nor me.\" It now became clear to every soul in the house, except poor Amelia,\nthat Rebecca should take her departure, and high and low (always with\nthe one exception) agreed that that event should take place as speedily\nas possible. Our good child ransacked all her drawers, cupboards,\nreticules, and gimcrack boxes--passed in review all her gowns, fichus,\ntags, bobbins, laces, silk stockings, and fallals--selecting this thing\nand that and the other, to make a little heap for Rebecca. And going\nto her Papa, that generous British merchant, who had promised to give\nher as many guineas as she was years old--she begged the old gentleman\nto give the money to dear Rebecca, who must want it, while she lacked\nfor nothing. She even made George Osborne contribute, and nothing loth (for he was\nas free-handed a young fellow as any in the army), he went to Bond\nStreet, and bought the best hat and spenser that money could buy. \"That's George's present to you, Rebecca, dear,\" said Amelia, quite\nproud of the bandbox conveying these gifts. \"What a taste he has! There's nobody like him.\" \"Nobody,\" Rebecca answered. \"How thankful I am to him!\" She was\nthinking in her heart, \"It was George Osborne who prevented my\nmarriage.\" --And she loved George Osborne accordingly. She made her preparations for departure with great equanimity; and\naccepted all the kind little Amelia's presents, after just the proper\ndegree of hesitation and reluctance. She vowed eternal gratitude to\nMrs. Sedley, of course; but did not intrude herself upon that good lady\ntoo much, who was embarrassed, and evidently wishing to avoid her. She\nkissed Mr. Sedley's hand, when he presented her with the purse; and\nasked permission to consider him for the future as her kind, kind\nfriend and protector. Her behaviour was so affecting that he was going\nto write her a cheque for twenty pounds more; but he restrained his\nfeelings: the carriage was in waiting to take him to dinner, so he\ntripped away with a \"God bless you, my dear, always come here when you\ncome to town, you know.--Drive to the Mansion House, James.\" Finally came the parting with Miss Amelia, over which picture I intend\nto throw a veil. But after a scene in which one person was in earnest\nand the other a perfect performer--after the tenderest caresses, the\nmost pathetic tears, the smelling-bottle, and some of the very best\nfeelings of the heart, had been called into requisition--Rebecca and\nAmelia parted, the former vowing to love her friend for ever and ever\nand ever. Crawley of Queen's Crawley\n\nAmong the most respected of the names beginning in C which the\nCourt-Guide contained, in the year 18--, was that of Crawley, Sir Pitt,\nBaronet, Great Gaunt Street, and Queen's Crawley, Hants. This\nhonourable name had figured constantly also in the Parliamentary list\nfor many years, in conjunction with that of a number of other worthy\ngentlemen who sat in turns for the borough. It is related, with regard to the borough of Queen's Crawley, that\nQueen Elizabeth in one of her progresses, stopping at Crawley to\nbreakfast, was so delighted with some remarkably fine Hampshire beer\nwhich was then presented to her by the Crawley of the day (a handsome\ngentleman with a trim beard and a good leg), that she forthwith erected\nCrawley into a borough to send two members to Parliament; and the\nplace, from the day of that illustrious visit, took the name of Queen's\nCrawley, which it holds up to the present moment. And though, by the\nlapse of time, and those mutations which age produces in empires,\ncities, and boroughs, Queen's Crawley was no longer so populous a place\nas it had been in Queen Bess's time--nay, was come down to that\ncondition of borough which used to be denominated rotten--yet, as Sir\nPitt Crawley would say with perfect justice in his elegant way,\n\"Rotten! be hanged--it produces me a good fifteen hundred a year.\" Sir Pitt Crawley (named after the great Commoner) was the son of\nWalpole Crawley, first Baronet, of the Tape and Sealing-Wax Office in\nthe reign of George II., when he was impeached for peculation, as were\na great number of other honest gentlemen of those days; and Walpole\nCrawley was, as need scarcely be said, son of John Churchill Crawley,\nnamed after the celebrated military commander of the reign of Queen\nAnne. The family tree (which hangs up at Queen's Crawley) furthermore\nmentions Charles Stuart, afterwards called Barebones Crawley, son of\nthe Crawley of James the First's time; and finally, Queen Elizabeth's\nCrawley, who is represented as the foreground of the picture in his\nforked beard and armour. Out of his waistcoat, as usual, grows a tree,\non the main branches of which the above illustrious names are\ninscribed.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-13, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-15 The user is reading a book]\n<User> Close by the name of Sir Pitt Crawley, Baronet (the subject\nof the present memoir), are written that of his brother, the Reverend\nBute Crawley (the great Commoner was in disgrace when the reverend\ngentleman was born), rector of Crawley-cum-Snailby, and of various\nother male and female members of the Crawley family. Sir Pitt was first married to Grizzel, sixth daughter of Mungo Binkie,\nLord Binkie, and cousin, in consequence, of Mr. Dundas. She brought\nhim two sons: Pitt, named not so much after his father as after the\nheaven-born minister; and Rawdon Crawley, from the Prince of Wales's\nfriend, whom his Majesty George IV forgot so completely. Many years\nafter her ladyship's demise, Sir Pitt led to the altar Rosa, daughter\nof Mr. G. Dawson, of Mudbury, by whom he had two daughters, for whose\nbenefit Miss Rebecca Sharp was now engaged as governess. It will be\nseen that the young lady was come into a family of very genteel\nconnexions, and was about to move in a much more distinguished circle\nthan that humble one which she had just quitted in Russell Square. She had received her orders to join her pupils, in a note which was\nwritten upon an old envelope, and which contained the following words:\n\nSir Pitt Crawley begs Miss Sharp and baggidge may be hear on Tuesday,\nas I leaf for Queen's Crawley to-morrow morning ERLY. Great Gaunt Street. Rebecca had never seen a Baronet, as far as she knew, and as soon as\nshe had taken leave of Amelia, and counted the guineas which\ngood-natured Mr. Sedley had put into a purse for her, and as soon as\nshe had done wiping her eyes with her handkerchief (which operation she\nconcluded the very moment the carriage had turned the corner of the\nstreet), she began to depict in her own mind what a Baronet must be. \"I\nwonder, does he wear a star?\" thought she, \"or is it only lords that\nwear stars? But he will be very handsomely dressed in a court suit,\nwith ruffles, and his hair a little powdered, like Mr. Wroughton at\nCovent Garden. I suppose he will be awfully proud, and that I shall be\ntreated most contemptuously. Still I must bear my hard lot as well as\nI can--at least, I shall be amongst GENTLEFOLKS, and not with vulgar\ncity people\": and she fell to thinking of her Russell Square friends\nwith that very same philosophical bitterness with which, in a certain\napologue, the fox is represented as speaking of the grapes. Having passed through Gaunt Square into Great Gaunt Street, the\ncarriage at length stopped at a tall gloomy house between two other\ntall gloomy houses, each with a hatchment over the middle drawing-room\nwindow; as is the custom of houses in Great Gaunt Street, in which\ngloomy locality death seems to reign perpetual. The shutters of the\nfirst-floor windows of Sir Pitt's mansion were closed--those of the\ndining-room were partially open, and the blinds neatly covered up in\nold newspapers. John, the groom, who had driven the carriage alone, did not care to\ndescend to ring the bell; and so prayed a passing milk-boy to perform\nthat office for him. When the bell was rung, a head appeared between\nthe interstices of the dining-room shutters, and the door was opened by\na man in drab breeches and gaiters, with a dirty old coat, a foul old\nneckcloth lashed round his bristly neck, a shining bald head, a leering\nred face, a pair of twinkling grey eyes, and a mouth perpetually on the\ngrin. \"This Sir Pitt Crawley's?\" says John, from the box. \"Ees,\" says the man at the door, with a nod. \"Hand down these 'ere trunks then,\" said John. \"Hand 'n down yourself,\" said the porter. \"Don't you see I can't leave my hosses? Come, bear a hand, my fine\nfeller, and Miss will give you some beer,\" said John, with a\nhorse-laugh, for he was no longer respectful to Miss Sharp, as her\nconnexion with the family was broken off, and as she had given nothing\nto the servants on coming away. The bald-headed man, taking his hands out of his breeches pockets,\nadvanced on this summons, and throwing Miss Sharp's trunk over his\nshoulder, carried it into the house. \"Take this basket and shawl, if you please, and open the door,\" said\nMiss Sharp, and descended from the carriage in much indignation. \"I\nshall write to Mr. Sedley and inform him of your conduct,\" said she to\nthe groom. \"Don't,\" replied that functionary. \"I hope you've forgot nothink? Miss\n'Melia's gownds--have you got them--as the lady's maid was to have 'ad? I hope they'll fit you. Shut the door, Jim, you'll get no good out of\n'ER,\" continued John, pointing with his thumb towards Miss Sharp: \"a\nbad lot, I tell you, a bad lot,\" and so saying, Mr. Sedley's groom\ndrove away. The truth is, he was attached to the lady's maid in\nquestion, and indignant that she should have been robbed of her\nperquisites. On entering the dining-room, by the orders of the individual in\ngaiters, Rebecca found that apartment not more cheerful than such rooms\nusually are, when genteel families are out of town. The faithful\nchambers seem, as it were, to mourn the absence of their masters. The\nturkey carpet has rolled itself up, and retired sulkily under the\nsideboard: the pictures have hidden their faces behind old sheets of\nbrown paper: the ceiling lamp is muffled up in a dismal sack of brown\nholland: the window-curtains have disappeared under all sorts of shabby\nenvelopes: the marble bust of Sir Walpole Crawley is looking from its\nblack corner at the bare boards and the oiled fire-irons, and the empty\ncard-racks over the mantelpiece: the cellaret has lurked away behind\nthe carpet: the chairs are turned up heads and tails along the walls:\nand in the dark corner opposite the statue, is an old-fashioned crabbed\nknife-box, locked and sitting on a dumb waiter. Two kitchen chairs, and a round table, and an attenuated old poker and\ntongs were, however, gathered round the fire-place, as was a saucepan\nover a feeble sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese and bread,\nand a tin candlestick on the table, and a little black porter in a\npint-pot. \"Had your dinner, I suppose? It is not too warm for you? Like a drop of\nbeer?\" \"Where is Sir Pitt Crawley?\" said Miss Sharp majestically. \"He, he! I'm Sir Pitt Crawley. Reklect you owe me a pint for bringing\ndown your luggage. He, he! Ask Tinker if I aynt. Mrs. Tinker, Miss\nSharp; Miss Governess, Mrs. Charwoman. Ho, ho!\" The lady addressed as Mrs. Tinker at this moment made her appearance\nwith a pipe and a paper of tobacco, for which she had been despatched a\nminute before Miss Sharp's arrival; and she handed the articles over to\nSir Pitt, who had taken his seat by the fire. \"Where's the farden?\" said he. \"I gave you three halfpence. Where's\nthe change, old Tinker?\" \"There!\" replied Mrs. Tinker, flinging down the coin; \"it's only\nbaronets as cares about farthings.\" \"A farthing a day is seven shillings a year,\" answered the M.P. ; \"seven\nshillings a year is the interest of seven guineas. Take care of your\nfarthings, old Tinker, and your guineas will come quite nat'ral.\" \"You may be sure it's Sir Pitt Crawley, young woman,\" said Mrs. Tinker,\nsurlily; \"because he looks to his farthings. You'll know him better\nafore long.\" \"And like me none the worse, Miss Sharp,\" said the old gentleman, with\nan air almost of politeness. \"I must be just before I'm generous.\" \"He never gave away a farthing in his life,\" growled Tinker. \"Never, and never will: it's against my principle. Go and get another\nchair from the kitchen, Tinker, if you want to sit down; and then we'll\nhave a bit of supper.\" Presently the baronet plunged a fork into the saucepan on the fire, and\nwithdrew from the pot a piece of tripe and an onion, which he divided\ninto pretty equal portions, and of which he partook with Mrs. Tinker. \"You see, Miss Sharp, when I'm not here Tinker's on board wages: when\nI'm in town she dines with the family. Haw! haw!\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-15, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-18 The user is reading a book]\n<User> I'm glad Miss Sharp's\nnot hungry, ain't you, Tink?\" And they fell to upon their frugal supper. After supper Sir Pitt Crawley began to smoke his pipe; and when it\nbecame quite dark, he lighted the rushlight in the tin candlestick, and\nproducing from an interminable pocket a huge mass of papers, began\nreading them, and putting them in order. \"I'm here on law business, my dear, and that's how it happens that I\nshall have the pleasure of such a pretty travelling companion\nto-morrow.\" \"He's always at law business,\" said Mrs. Tinker, taking up the pot of\nporter. \"Drink and drink about,\" said the Baronet. \"Yes; my dear, Tinker is\nquite right: I've lost and won more lawsuits than any man in England. Look here at Crawley, Bart. v. Snaffle. I'll throw him over, or my\nname's not Pitt Crawley. Podder and another versus Crawley, Bart. Overseers of Snaily parish against Crawley, Bart. They can't prove it's\ncommon: I'll defy 'em; the land's mine. It no more belongs to the\nparish than it does to you or Tinker here. I'll beat 'em, if it cost\nme a thousand guineas. Look over the papers; you may if you like, my\ndear. Do you write a good hand? I'll make you useful when we're at\nQueen's Crawley, depend on it, Miss Sharp. Now the dowager's dead I\nwant some one.\" \"She was as bad as he,\" said Tinker. \"She took the law of every one of\nher tradesmen; and turned away forty-eight footmen in four year.\" \"She was close--very close,\" said the Baronet, simply; \"but she was a\nvalyble woman to me, and saved me a steward.\" --And in this confidential\nstrain, and much to the amusement of the new-comer, the conversation\ncontinued for a considerable time. Whatever Sir Pitt Crawley's\nqualities might be, good or bad, he did not make the least disguise of\nthem. He talked of himself incessantly, sometimes in the coarsest and\nvulgarest Hampshire accent; sometimes adopting the tone of a man of the\nworld. And so, with injunctions to Miss Sharp to be ready at five in\nthe morning, he bade her good night. \"You'll sleep with Tinker\nto-night,\" he said; \"it's a big bed, and there's room for two. Lady\nCrawley died in it. Good night.\" Sir Pitt went off after this benediction, and the solemn Tinker,\nrushlight in hand, led the way up the great bleak stone stairs, past\nthe great dreary drawing-room doors, with the handles muffled up in\npaper, into the great front bedroom, where Lady Crawley had slept her\nlast. The bed and chamber were so funereal and gloomy, you might have\nfancied, not only that Lady Crawley died in the room, but that her\nghost inhabited it. Rebecca sprang about the apartment, however, with\nthe greatest liveliness, and had peeped into the huge wardrobes, and\nthe closets, and the cupboards, and tried the drawers which were\nlocked, and examined the dreary pictures and toilette appointments,\nwhile the old charwoman was saying her prayers. \"I shouldn't like to\nsleep in this yeer bed without a good conscience, Miss,\" said the old\nwoman. \"There's room for us and a half-dozen of ghosts in it,\" says\nRebecca. \"Tell me all about Lady Crawley and Sir Pitt Crawley, and\neverybody, my DEAR Mrs. Tinker.\" But old Tinker was not to be pumped by this little cross-questioner;\nand signifying to her that bed was a place for sleeping, not\nconversation, set up in her corner of the bed such a snore as only the\nnose of innocence can produce. Rebecca lay awake for a long, long\ntime, thinking of the morrow, and of the new world into which she was\ngoing, and of her chances of success there. The rushlight flickered in\nthe basin. The mantelpiece cast up a great black shadow, over half of\na mouldy old sampler, which her defunct ladyship had worked, no doubt,\nand over two little family pictures of young lads, one in a college\ngown, and the other in a red jacket like a soldier. When she went to\nsleep, Rebecca chose that one to dream about. At four o'clock, on such a roseate summer's morning as even made Great\nGaunt Street look cheerful, the faithful Tinker, having wakened her\nbedfellow, and bid her prepare for departure, unbarred and unbolted the\ngreat hall door (the clanging and clapping whereof startled the\nsleeping echoes in the street), and taking her way into Oxford Street,\nsummoned a coach from a stand there. It is needless to particularize\nthe number of the vehicle, or to state that the driver was stationed\nthus early in the neighbourhood of Swallow Street, in hopes that some\nyoung buck, reeling homeward from the tavern, might need the aid of his\nvehicle, and pay him with the generosity of intoxication. It is likewise needless to say that the driver, if he had any such\nhopes as those above stated, was grossly disappointed; and that the\nworthy Baronet whom he drove to the City did not give him one single\npenny more than his fare. It was in vain that Jehu appealed and\nstormed; that he flung down Miss Sharp's bandboxes in the gutter at the\n'Necks, and swore he would take the law of his fare. \"You'd better not,\" said one of the ostlers; \"it's Sir Pitt Crawley.\" \"So it is, Joe,\" cried the Baronet, approvingly; \"and I'd like to see\nthe man can do me.\" \"So should oi,\" said Joe, grinning sulkily, and mounting the Baronet's\nbaggage on the roof of the coach. \"Keep the box for me, Leader,\" exclaims the Member of Parliament to the\ncoachman; who replied, \"Yes, Sir Pitt,\" with a touch of his hat, and\nrage in his soul (for he had promised the box to a young gentleman from\nCambridge, who would have given a crown to a certainty), and Miss Sharp\nwas accommodated with a back seat inside the carriage, which might be\nsaid to be carrying her into the wide world. How the young man from Cambridge sulkily put his five great-coats in\nfront; but was reconciled when little Miss Sharp was made to quit the\ncarriage, and mount up beside him--when he covered her up in one of his\nBenjamins, and became perfectly good-humoured--how the asthmatic\ngentleman, the prim lady, who declared upon her sacred honour she had\nnever travelled in a public carriage before (there is always such a\nlady in a coach--Alas! was; for the coaches, where are they? ), and the\nfat widow with the brandy-bottle, took their places inside--how the\nporter asked them all for money, and got sixpence from the gentleman\nand five greasy halfpence from the fat widow--and how the carriage at\nlength drove away--now threading the dark lanes of Aldersgate, anon\nclattering by the Blue Cupola of St. Paul's, jingling rapidly by the\nstrangers' entry of Fleet-Market, which, with Exeter 'Change, has now\ndeparted to the world of shadows--how they passed the White Bear in\nPiccadilly, and saw the dew rising up from the market-gardens of\nKnightsbridge--how Turnhamgreen, Brentwood, Bagshot, were passed--need\nnot be told here. But the writer of these pages, who has pursued in\nformer days, and in the same bright weather, the same remarkable\njourney, cannot but think of it with a sweet and tender regret. Where\nis the road now, and its merry incidents of life? Is there no Chelsea\nor Greenwich for the old honest pimple-nosed coachmen? I wonder where\nare they, those good fellows? Is old Weller alive or dead? and the\nwaiters, yea, and the inns at which they waited, and the cold rounds of\nbeef inside, and the stunted ostler, with his blue nose and clinking\npail, where is he, and where is his generation? To those great\ngeniuses now in petticoats, who shall write novels for the beloved\nreader's children, these men and things will be as much legend and\nhistory as Nineveh, or Coeur de Lion, or Jack Sheppard. For them\nstage-coaches will have become romances--a team of four bays as\nfabulous as Bucephalus or Black Bess. Ah, how their coats shone, as\nthe stable-men pulled their clothes off, and away they went--ah, how\ntheir tails shook, as with smoking sides at the stage's end they\ndemurely walked away into the inn-yard. Alas!\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-18, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far.", "[Event happened on 2024-01-19 The user is reading a book]\n<User> we shall never hear the\nhorn sing at midnight, or see the pike-gates fly open any more. Whither, however, is the light four-inside Trafalgar coach carrying us? Let us be set down at Queen's Crawley without further divagation, and\nsee how Miss Rebecca Sharp speeds there.\n\n<System> Please remember what the user reads on 2024-01-19, save the details within the book, and retain a summary of the book the user has read so far."]
[{"question": "Summarize the content of the book I read from 2024-01-01 to 2024-01-19", "answer": "Dr. Swishtail, William Dobbin, retail grocer, Cuff, school bully, George Sedley Osborne, fight, Dobbin defeats Cuff, lifelong friendship, His Majesty's Regiment of Foot, Sedley house, Vauxhall party, Dobbin's father, alderman, Becky, George admiring mirror, Joseph Sedley, courteous manner, Vanity Fair, Chapter 6, writers satire, Joseph proposes Becky, Mr. Sedley, black daughter-in-law, Amelia, Mrs. Blenkinsop, housekeeper, Joseph's marriage, Dobbin carries shawls, Joseph drinks too much, hangover, George mimics Joseph, Rebecca, Osborne tells truth, Joseph leaves for Scotland, Becky beaten, Blenkinsop consoles Amelia, Becky reads mail, stolen ribbon, presents for Becky, Becky departs Crawleys, higher status, Sir Pitt Crawley, Great Gaunt Street, coachman, Becky's trunks, Tinker, stingy Sir Pitt, Queen's Crawley, stagecoach"}]