her is not, of those who would manage her children for her, or
become candidates for the first place in their affections. It is
certain that when anybody nursed the child, she was uneasy, and that
she would no more allow Mrs. Clapp or the domestic to dress or tend him
than she would have let them wash her husband's miniature which hung up
over her little bed--the same little bed from which the poor girl had
gone to his; and to which she retired now for many long, silent,
tearful, but happy years.

In this room was all Amelia's heart and treasure. Here it was that she
tended her boy and watched him through the many ills of childhood, with
a constant passion of love. The elder George returned in him somehow,
only improved, and as if come back from heaven. In a hundred little
tones, looks, and movements, the child was so like his father that the
widow's heart thrilled as she held him to it; and he would often ask
the cause of her tears. It was because of his likeness to his father,
she did not scruple to tell him. She talked constantly to him about
this dead father, and spoke of her love for George to the innocent and
wondering child; much more than she ever had done to George himself, or
to any confidante of her youth. To her parents she never talked about
this matter, shrinking from baring her heart to them. Little George
very likely could understand no better than they, but into his ears she
poured her sentimental secrets unreservedly, and into his only. The
very joy of this woman was a sort of grief, or so tender, at least,
that its expression was tears. Her sensibilities were so weak and
tremulous that perhaps they ought not to be talked about in a book. I
was told by Dr. Pestler (now a most flourishing lady's physician, with
a sumptuous dark green carriage, a prospect of speedy knighthood, and a
house in Manchester Square) that her grief at weaning the child was a
sight that would have unmanned a Herod. He was very soft-hearted many
years ago, and his wife was mortally jealous of Mrs. Amelia, then and
long afterwards.

Perhaps the doctor's lady had good reason for her jealousy: most women
shared it, of those who formed the small circle of Amelia's
acquaintance, and were quite angry at the enthusiasm with which the
other sex regarded her. For almost all men who came near her loved
her; though no doubt they would be at a loss to tell you why. She was
not brilliant, nor witty, nor wise over much, nor extr