Vanity Fair | Page 3

Pinkerton's school,
at the Mall; by the late revered Doctor Samuel Johnson." In fact, the
Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman,
and a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her
fortune.
Being commanded by her elder sister to get "the Dictionary" from the
cupboard, Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the
receptacle in question. When Miss Pinkerton had finished the
inscription in the first, Jemima, with rather a dubious and timid air,
handed her the second.
"For whom is this, Miss Jemima?" said Miss Pinkerton, with awful
coldness.
"For Becky Sharp," answered Jemima, trembling very much, and
blushing over her withered face and neck, as she turned her back on her

sister. "For Becky Sharp: she's going too."
"MISS JEMIMA!" exclaimed Miss Pinkerton, in the largest capitals.
"Are you in your senses? Replace the Dixonary in the closet, and never
venture to take such a liberty in future."
"Well, sister, it's only two-and-ninepence, and poor Becky will be
miserable if she don't get one."
"Send Miss Sedley instantly to me," said Miss Pinkerton. And so
venturing not to say another word, poor Jemima trotted off,
exceedingly flurried and nervous.
Miss Sedley's papa was a merchant in London, and a man of some
wealth; whereas Miss Sharp was an articled pupil, for whom Miss
Pinkerton had done, as she thought, quite enough, without conferring
upon her at parting the high honour of the Dixonary.
Although schoolmistresses' letters are to be trusted no more nor less
than churchyard epitaphs; yet, as it sometimes happens that a person
departs this life who is really deserving of all the praises the stone
cutter carves over his bones; who IS a good Christian, a good parent,
child, wife, or husband; who actually DOES leave a disconsolate
family to mourn his loss; so in academies of the male and female sex it
occurs every now and then that the pupil is fully worthy of the praises
bestowed by the disinterested instructor. Now, Miss Amelia Sedley was
a young lady of this singular species; and deserved not only all that
Miss Pinkerton said in her praise, but had many charming qualities
which that pompous old Minerva of a woman could not see, from the
differences of rank and age between her pupil and herself.
For she could not only sing like a lark, or a Mrs. Billington, and dance
like Hillisberg or Parisot; and embroider beautifully; and spell as well
as a Dixonary itself; but she had such a kindly, smiling, tender, gentle,
generous heart of her own, as won the love of everybody who came
near her, from Minerva herself down to the poor girl in the scullery,
and the one-eyed tart-woman's daughter, who was permitted to vend
her wares once a week to the young ladies in the Mall. She had twelve

intimate and bosom friends out of the twenty-four young ladies. Even
envious Miss Briggs never spoke ill of her; high and mighty Miss
Saltire (Lord Dexter's granddaughter) allowed that her figure was
genteel; and as for Miss Swartz, the rich woolly-haired mulatto from St.
Kitt's, on the day Amelia went away, she was in such a passion of tears
that they were obliged to send for Dr. Floss, and half tipsify her with
salvolatile. Miss Pinkerton's attachment was, as may be supposed from
the high position and eminent virtues of that lady, calm and dignified;
but Miss Jemima had already whimpered several times at the idea of
Amelia's departure; and, but for fear of her sister, would have gone off
in downright hysterics, like the heiress (who paid double) of St. Kitt's.
Such luxury of grief, however, is only allowed to parlour-boarders.
Honest Jemima had all the bills, and the washing, and the mending, and
the puddings, and the plate and crockery, and the servants to
superintend. But why speak about her? It is probable that we shall not
hear of her again from this moment to the end of time, and that when
the great filigree iron gates are once closed on her, she and her awful
sister will never issue therefrom into this little world of history.
But as we are to see a great deal of Amelia, there is no harm in saying,
at the outset of our acquaintance, that she was a dear little creature; and
a great mercy it is, both in life and in novels, which (and the latter
especially) abound in villains of the most sombre sort, that we are to
have for a constant companion so guileless and good-natured a person.
As she is not a heroine, there is no need to describe her person; indeed I
am afraid that her nose was rather short than otherwise, and her cheeks
a