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difference between the boys’ ages, and no more likeness
between them than between my respected reader and his
humble servant. Wenham, when he was going abroad, on
his way to Kissingen to join Lord Steyne, enlightened Mrs.
Alderney on this point and told her how he was much more
able to describe little Rawdon than his mamma, who noto-
riously hated him and never saw him; how he was thirteen
years old, while little Alderney was but nine, fair, while the
other darling was dark—in a word, caused the lady in ques-
tion to repent of her good humour.
Whenever Becky made a little circle for herself with in-
credible toils and labour, somebody came and swept it down
rudely, and she had all her work to begin over again. It was
very hard; very hard; lonely and disheartening.
There was Mrs. Newbright, who took her up for some
time, attracted by the sweetness of her singing at church
and by her proper views upon serious subjects, concern-
ing which in former days, at Queen’s Crawley, Mrs. Becky
had had a good deal of instruction. Well, she not only took
tracts, but she read them. She worked flannel petticoats for
the Quashyboos—cotton night-caps for the Cocoanut In-
dians—painted handscreens for the conversion of the Pope
and the Jews—sat under Mr. Rowls on Wednesdays, Mr.
Huggleton on Thursdays, attended two Sunday services at
church, besides Mr. Bawler, the Darbyite, in the evening,
and all in vain. Mrs. Newbright had occasion to correspond
with the Countess of Southdown about the Warmingpan
Fund for the Fiji Islanders (for the management of which
admirable charity both these ladies formed part of a female

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