LIBRARY
OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
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THE VIEGINIANS
A TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY.
BY
W. M. THACKEEAY,
4
AUTHOR OP "ESMOND," "VANITY FAIR," "THE NEWCOMES," ETC. ETC.
vTbrT
OF THE
UNIVERSITY ■
LONDON:
SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE.
1870.
\-
I
y
TO
SIR HENEY DAVISON,
CHIEF JUSTICE OF MADRAS,
[f^i^ts iSoolt 10 Insctitietr
AN AFFECTIONATE OLD FRIEND.
London, September 7, 1859.
&4-l^
CONTENTS.
^AP.
PAOS
l.-i:» WHICH ONE OP THE YIRGINIA-NS VISITS HOMS . • • . 1
S. -IN WHICH HARRY HAS TO PAY FOR HIS SUPPER , , . . 9
3. — THE ESM0Nj3o IN VIRGINIA , , . 18
4.— IN WHICH HARRY FINDS A NEW RELATIVE . • • , . 24
5. — FAMILY JARS 29
6. — THE VIRGINIANS BEGIN TO SEE THE WORLD . , • , . 39
7. — PREPARATIONS FOR WAR 45
8.— IN WHICH GEORGE SUFFERS FROM A COMMON DISEASE . . . 52
9. — HOSPITALITIES hi
10. — A HOT AFTERNOON ^Q
11. — WHEREIN THE TWO GEORGES PREPARE FOR BLOOD . • . 75
12. — NEWS FROM THE CAMP ......... 79
13.— PROFITLESS QUEST 86
14. — HARRY IN ENGLAND . , , 93
15. — A SUNDAY AT CASTLEWOOD 97
16. — IN WHICH GUMBO SHOWS SKILL WITH THE OLD ENGLISH WEAPON . 10 i
17.— ON THE SCENT 112
18. — AN OLD STORY 119
19.— CONTAINING BOTH LOVE AND LUCK . , • • . .126
20. — FACILIS DESCENSUS 131
21. — SAMARITANS . • • S • . 141
22. — IN HOSPITAL . . , . ♦ 148
23. — HOLYDAYS • • . . 156
24. — FROM OAKHDRST TO TUNBRIDGE 162
25. — NEW ACQUAINTANCES 1C9
26. — IN WHICH WE ARE AT A VERY GREAT DISTANCE FROM OAKHURST . 176
27.— PLENUM OPUS ALE^ 186
28. — THE WAT OF THE WORLD . 192
COXTEXTS.
CHAP. PAOB
29. — IN WHICH HARRY CONTINUES TO ENJOY OXIUM SINE D'.GNITATE . 193 '
30. — CONTAINS A LETTER TO VIRGINIA 201
31. — THE BEAR AND THE LEADER , 208
32. — IN WHICH A FAMILY COACH IS ORDERED 219
33. — CONTAINS A SOLILOQUY BY HESTER 227
34. — IN WHICH MR. WARRINGTON TREATS THE COMPANY WITH TEA AND
A BALL 233
35.— ENTANGLEMENTS 24?
36. — WHICH SEEMS TO MEAN MISCHIEF ...•.., 24p
37. — IK WHICH VARIOUS MATCHES ARE FOUGHT , . . , , 25'J
33.— SAMPSON AND THE PHILISTINES ' , 262
39. — HARRY TO TnE RESCUE . 270
40. — IN WHICH HARRY PAYS OFF AN OLD DEBT AND Ii!<t5URS SOME
NEW ONES . 276
41. — rake's PROGRESS .••.•••••. 285
42. — fortunatus nimium 292
43.— IN WHICH HARRY FLIES HIGH 298
44. — contains what might, PERHAPS, HAVE BEEN EXPECTED , . , 305
45.— IN WHICH HARRY FINDS TWO UNCLES . . . , , ,314'
46. — CHAINS AND SLAVERY 319
47. — VISITORS IN TROUBLE . • .330
48. — AN APPARITION . . • 336
49. — FRIENDS IN NEED 340
50. — CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF THE FINEST MORALITY . ... 345
51. — CONTICUERE OMNES 353
52. — INTENTIQUE ORA TENEBANT 363
53.— WHERE WE REMAIN AT THE COURT END OF THE TOWN • ,369
54.— DURING WHICH HARRY SITS SMOKING HIS PIPE AT HOME , • . 373
55. — BETWEEN BROTHERS • • 381
56.— ARIADNE . 387
67. — IN WHICH MR. Harry's nose continues to be put out of joint 397
58. — WHERE WE do WHAT CATS MAY DO 401
69.— IN WHICH WE ARE TREATED TO A PLAT 408
€0. — WHICH TREATS OF MACBETH, A SUPPER, AND A PRETTY KETTLE OF
FISH 418
61. — IN WHICH THE PRINCE MARCHES UP THE HILL AND DOWN AGAIN . 425
62. — ARMA VIRUMQUE . • 430
63.— MELP0MEN2 • • • • • 444
CONTENTS. Ti5
cbap. fagw
64, — in which haery lives to fight another dat . • ,.450
65. — soldier's return • • • 462
66. — IN WHICH WE GO A COURTING ... . , , , 4G6
67. — IN WHICH A TRAGEDY IS ACTED, AND TWO MORE ARE BEGUN . 472
68. — IN WHICH HARRY GOES WESTWARD 483
'69. — A LITTLE INNOCENT 488
70. — IN WHICH CUPID PLAYS A CONSIDERABLE PART 499
71. — WHITE FAVOURS 507
72. — (from the WARRINGTON MS.) IN WHICH MY LADY IS ON THE TOP
OF THE LADDER 613
73. — WE KEEP CHRISTMAS AT CASTLEWOOD, 1759 518
74 -NEWS FROM 0A«^»._ 628
76. — THE COURSE OP TRUE LOVE 635
T6. — INFORMS US HOW MR. WARRINGTON JUMPED INTO A LANDAU . . 642
77. — AND HOW EVERY BODY GOT OUT AGAIN 547
78.— PYRAMUS AND THISBB 555
79. — CONTAINING BOTH COMEDY AND TRAGEDY 564
80. — POCAHONTAS . . . , , 670
81.— RES ANGUSTA DOMI 577
82.— MILES'S MOIDORE 585
83.— TROUBLES AND CONSOLATIONS ....... 587
84. — IN WHICH HARRY SUBMITS TO THE COMMON LOT . , , , 599
85. — INVENT PORTUM , , 609
86.— AT HOME 617
87. — THE LAST OF ODD SAVE THE KING . , , , , , .628
88. — YANKEE DOODLE COMES TO TOWN , , 634
89. — A COLONEL WITHOUT A REGIMENT . , , , , , , 638
90. — IN WHICH WE BOTH FIGHT AND RUN AWAY • . • , . 645
! 91.— SATIS PUGN^ ^ . ,, , , 6'56
1 92.— UNDEB VINE AND FIQ-TREl , , . , . , ..6^3
\TbrT
OF THE
UNIVERSITY
THE VIRGINIANS.
CHAPTER I.
IX wnicn ONE of the yieginiaxs visits home.
On the library wall of one of the most famous writers of America,
there hang two crossed swords, which his relatives wore in the great
War of Independence. The one sword was gallantly drawn in the
service of the king, the other was the weapon of a brave and honoured
republican soldier. The possessor of the harmless trophy has earned for
himself a name alike honoured in his ancestors' country, and his own,
where genius such as his has always a peaceful welcome.
The ensuing history reminds me of yonder swords in the historian's
study at Boston. In the Revolutionary War, the subjects of this story,
natives of America, and children of the Old Dominion, found themselves
engaged on dilferent sides in the quarrel, coming together peaceably at
its conclusion, as brethren should, their love never having materially
diminished, however angrily the contest divided them. The colonel in
scarlet, and the general in blue and buff, hang side by side in tho
wainscoted parlour of the Warringtons, in England, where a descendant
of one of the brothers has shown their portraits to me, with many of the
letters which they wrote, and the books and papers which belonged to
them. In the Warrington family, and to distinf;uish tlif from other
personages of that respectable race, these effigie have always gone by
the iS'^ame of "The Yirginians;" by which nax^e their memoirs are
christened.
They both of them passed much time in Europe. They lived just on
tlie verge of that Old World from which we are drifting away so swiftly.
They were familiar with many varieties of men and fortune. Their lot
brought them into contact with personages of whom we read only ia
books, who seem alive, as I read in the Yirginians' letters regarding
them, whose voices I almost fancy I hear, as I read the yellow pages
written scores of years since, blotted with the boyish tears of disap-
pointed passion, dutifully despatched after famous balls and ceremonies
of the grand Old World, scribbled by camp-fires, or out of prison : nay,
B
THE VIRGINIANS.
there is one that has a brJlet through it, and of which a greater port.'.on
of the text is blotted out with the blood of the bearer.
These letters had probably never been preserved, but for the
affectionate thrift of one person, to whom they never failed in their
dutiful correspondence. Their mother kept all her sons' letters, from
the very first, in which Henry, the younger of the twins, sends his love
to his brother, then ill of a sprain at his grandfather's house of
Castlewood, in Virginia, and thanks his grandpapa for a horse, which he
rides with his tutor, down to the last, "from my beloved son," which
reached her but a few hours before her death. The venerable lady
never visited Europe, save once with her parents in the reign of George
the Second ; took refuge in Richmond when the house of Castlewood
was burned down during the war; and was called Madam Esmond
ever after that event ; never coring much for the name or family of
Warrington, which she held in very slight estimation as compared to
her own.
The letters of the Virginians, as the reader will presently see, from
specimens to be shown to him, are by no means full. They are hints
rather than descriptions — indications and outlines chiefly : it may be,
that the present writer has mistaken the forms, and filled in the colour
wrongly : but, poring over the documents, I have tried to imagine the
situation of the writer, where he was, and by what persons surrounded.
I have drawn the figures as I fancied they were ; set down conversations
as I think I might have heard them ; and so, to the best of my ability,
endeavoured to revivify the bygone times and people. With what
success the task has been accomplished, with what profit or amusement
to himself, the kind reader will please to determine.
One summer morning in the year 1756, and in the reign of his
Majesty King George the Second, the Young Rachel, Virginian ship,
Edward Franks, master, came up the Avon river on her happy return
irom her annual voyage to the Potomac. She proceeded to Bristol with
the tide, and moored in the stream as near as possible to Trail's wharf,
to which she was consigned. Mr. Trail, her part owner, who could
survey his ship from his counting-house windows, straightway took boat
and came up her side. The owner of the Young Rachel, a large grave
man in his own hair, and of a demure aspect, gave the hand of welcome
to Captain Franks, who stood on his deck, and congratulated the captain
upon the speedy and fortunate voyage which he had made. Ai>d,
remarking that we ought to be thankful to Heaven for its mercies, he
procc*ried presently to business by asking particulars relative to cargo
and passengers.
Franks was a pleasant man, who loved a joke. " We have," says he,
■*'but yonder ugly nesro boy, who is fetching the trunks, and a passenger
T,-ho has the state cabin to himself."
Mr. Trail looked as if he would have preferred more mercies from
Ueavui. " Confound you, Franlis, and your luck ! The Duke William,
THE YIRGIXIANS.
which came in last week, brought fourteen, and she is not half of our
tonnage.
"And this passenger, who has the whole cabin, don't pay nothin',"
continued the Captain. ** Swear now, it will do you good, Mr. Trail,
indeed it will. I have tried the medicine."
"A passenger take the whole cabin and not pay? Gracious mercy,
are you a fool, Captain Franks ?"
*' Ask the passenger himself, for here he comes." And, as the master
spoke, a young man of some nineteen years of age, came up the
hatchway. He had a cloak and a sword under his arm, and was dressed
in deep mourning, and called out, ''Gumbo, you idiot, why don't you
fetch the baggage out of the cabin ? Well, shipmate, our journey is
ended. You will see all the little folks to-night whom you have been
talking about. Give my love to Polly, and Betty, and little Tommy ;
not forgetting my duty to Mrs. Franks. I thought, yesterday, the
voyage would never be done, nnd now I am almost sorry it is over.
That little berth in my cabin looks very comfortable now I am going to
leave it."
Mr. Trail scowled at the young passenger who had paid no money for
his passage. He scarcely nodded his head to the stranger, when Captain
Franks said, " This here gentleman is Mr. Trail, sir, whose name you
have a-heerd of,"
*'It's pretty well known in Bristol, sir," says Mr. Trail, majestically.
**And this is Mr. Warrington, Madam Esmond Warrington's son, of
Castle wood," continued the Captain.
The British merchant's hat was instantly off his head, and the owner
of the beaver was making a prodigious number of bows as if a crown-
prince were before him.
"Gracious powers, Mr. Warrington! This is a delight, indeed!
What a crowning mercy that your voyage should have been so pros-
perous ! You must have my boat to go on shore. Let me cordially and
respectfully welcome you to England : let me shake your hand as the
son of my benefactress and patroness, Mrs. Esmond Warrington, whose
name is known and honoured on Bristol 'Change, I warrant you. Isn't
it, Franks?"
" There's no sweeter tobacco comes from Virginia, and no better
brand than the Three Castles," says Mr. Franks, drawing a great brass
tobacGO-bo-t from his pocket, and thrusting a quid into his jolly mouth.
*' You don't know what a comfort it is, sir ; you'll take to it, bless you,
as you grow older. Won't he, Mr. Trail ? I wish you had ten ship-
loads of it instead of one. You might have ten ship-loads : I've told
Madam Esmond so ; I've rode over her plantation ; she treats me like a
lord when I go to the house ; she don't grudge me the best of wine, or
keep me cooling ray heels in the counting-room as some folks does"
(with a look at Mr. Trail). "She is a real born Lady, she is; and
might have a thousand hogsheads as easy as her hundreds, if there wera
but hands enough."
B 2
THE VIRGINIANS.
" I have lately engaged in the Guinea trade, and could supply her
ladysliip with any number of healthy young negroes before next fall,'*
said Mr. Trail obsequiously.
"We are averse to the purchase of negroes from Africa," said the
young gentleman, coldly. " My grandfather and my mother have
always objected to it, and I do not like to think of selling or buying the
poor wretches.
"It is for their good, my dear young sir! for their temporal and
their spiritual good!" cried Mr. Trail. "And we p'lrchase the poor
creatures only for their benefit; let me talk this matter over with
you at my own house. I can introduce you to a happy home, a
Christian family, and a British merchant's honest fare. Can't I,
Captain Franks ?"
. " Can't say," growled the Captain. " Never asked me to take bite or
sup at your table. Asked me to psalm-singing once, and to hear
Mr. Ward preach: don't care for them sort of entertainments."
Not choosing to take any notice of this remark, Mr. Trail continued in
his low tone: " Business is business, my dear young sir, and I know,
'tis only my duty, the duty of all of us, to cultivate the fruits of the
earth in their season, as the heir of Lady Esmond's estate; for I speak,
I believe, to the heir of that great property ?"
The young gentleman made a bow\
" I would urge upon you, at the very earliest moment, the propriety,
the duty of increasing the ample means with which Heaven has blessed
you. As an honest factor, I could not do otherwise ; as a prudent man,
should I scruple to speak of what will tend to your profit and mine ?
No, my dear Mr. George."
" My name is not George ; my name is Henry," said the young liian
&s he turned his head away, and his eyes filled with tears.
"Gracious powers! what do you mean, sir? Did you not say
you were my lady's heir ? and is not George Esmond Warrington,
Esq. "
"Hold your tongue, you fool!" cried Mr. Franks, striking the
merchant a tough blow on his sleek sides, as the young lad turned away.
" Don't you see the young gentleman a-swabbing his eyes, and note hia
black clothes?"
" W^hat do you mean. Captain Franks, by laying your hand on your
owners ? Mr. George is the heir ; I know the Colonel's will well
enough."
" Mr. George is there," said the Captain, pointing with his thumb to
the deck.
" Where ?" cries the factor.
"Mr. George is there!" reiterated the Captain, again lifting up hia
finger towards the top-mast, or the sky beyond. " He is dead a year,
Bir, come next 9th of July. He would go out with General Braddock
on ihat dreadful business to tiie Belle lliviere. He and a thousand
more never came back again. Every man of them was murdered as he
THE VIRGINIAXS.
fell. You know the Indian way, Mr. Trail?" And here the Captain
passed his hand rapidly round his head. " Horrible I ain't it, sir?
horrible ! He was a fine young man, the very picture of this one ; only
his hair was black, which is now hano^ing in a bloody Indian
wigwam. He was often and often on board of the Youni^ Eachel, and
Would have his chest of books broke open on deck before they was
landed. He was a shy and silent young gent : not like this one, which
was the merriest, wildest young fellow, full of his songs and fun. He
took on dreadful at the news ; went to his bed, had that fever which
lays so many of 'em by the heels along that swampy Potomac, but he's
got better on the voyage : the voyage makes every one better ; and, in
course, the young gentleman can't be for ever a-crying after a brother
who dies and leaves him a great fortune. Ever since we sighted
Ireland, he has been quite gay and happy, only he would go off at times, •
when he was most merry, saying, * I wish my dearest Georgy could
enjoy this here sight along with me,' and when you mentioned the
t'other's name, you see, he couldn't stand it." And the honest Captain's
own eyes filled with tears, as he turned and looked towards the object of
his compassion.
Mr. Trail assumed a lugubrious countenance befitting the tragic
compliment with which he prepared to greet the young Virginian ; but
the latter answered him very curtly, declined his ofi:ers of hospitality,
and only stayed in Mr. Trail's house long enough to drink a glass of
wine and to take up a sum of money of which he stood in need. But
he and Captain Franks parted on the very warmest terms, and all the
little crew of the Young liachel cheered from the ship's side as their
passenger left it.
Again and again Harry Warrington and his brother had pored over
the English map, and determined upon the course which they should
take upon arriving at Home. All Americans who love the old country
— and what gently-nurtured man or woman of Anglo-Saxon race does
not? — have ere this rehearsed their English travels, and visited in fancy
the spots with which their hopes, their parents' fond stories, their
friends' descriptions, have rendered them familiar. There are few
things to me more afiecting in the history of the quarrel which divided
the two great nations than the recurrence of that word Home, as used
by the younger towards the elder country. Harry Warrington had his
chart laid out. Before London, and its glorious temples of St. Paul's
and St. Peter's, its grim Tower, where the brave and loyal had shed
their blood, from Wallace down to Balmerino and Kilmarnock, pitied by
gentle hearts ; — before the awful window at Whitehall, whence the
martyr Charles had issued to kneel once more, and then ascend to
Heaven ; — before Playhouses, Parks, and Palaces, wondrous resorts of
wit, pleasure, and splendour ; — before Shakspeare's Resting-place under
the tall spire which rises by Avon, amidst the sweet Warwickshire
pastures; — before Derby, and Falkiik, and Culloden, where the cause of
honour and loyalty had fallen, it might be to rise no more : — before all
6 THE VIEGINIANS.
these points in their pilgrimage there was one which the young Vir-
ginian brothers held even more sacred, and that was the home of their
family, — that old Castlewood in Hampshire, about whicli their patents
had talked so fondly. From Bristol to Bath, from Bath to Salisbury, to
"Winchester, to Hexton, to Home ; they knew the way, and had mapped
tke journey many and many a time.
We must fancy our American traveller to be a handsome young
fellow, whose suit of sables only made him look the more interesting..
The plump landlady from her bar, surrounded by her china and punch-
bowls, and stout gilded bottles of strong waters, and glittering rows of
silver flagons, looked kindly after the young gentleman as he passed
through the inn-hall from his post-chaise, and the obsequious chamber-
lain bowed him up-stairs to the Rose or the Dolphin. The trim
chambermaid dropped her best curtsey for his fee, and Gumbo, in the
inn- kitchen, where the townsfolk drank their mug of ale by the great
fire, bragged of his young master's splendid house in Virginia, and of
the immense wealth to which he was heir. The post-chaise whirled the
traveller through the most delightful home-scenery his eyes had ever
lighted on. If English landscape is pleasant to the American of the
present day, who must needs contrast the rich woods and glowing
pastures, and picturesque ancient villages of the old country, with the
rough aspect of his own, how much pleasanter must Harry "Warrington's
course have been, whose journeys had lain through swamps and forest
solitudes from one Virginian ordinarj^ to another log- house at the end
of the day's route, and who now lighted suddenly upon the busy, happy,
splendid scene of English summer ? And the high, road, a hundred
years ago, was not that grass-grown desert of the present time. It was
alive with constant travel and traffic : the country towns and inns
swarmed with life and gaiety. The ponderous waggon, with its bells
and plodding team ; the light post-coach that achieved the journey from
the White Hart, Salisbury, to the Swan with Two Necks, London, in
two days ; the strings of pack-horses that had not yet left the road ; my
lord's gilt post-chaise and six, with the outriders galloping on a-head ;
the country squire's great coach and heavy Flanders mares ; the
farmers trotting to market, or the parson jolting to the cathedral town
on Dumpling, his wife behind on the pillion — all these crowding sights
and brisk people greeted the young traveller on his summer journey.
TToflo-fij the farmer's boy, took off his hat, and Polly, the milkmaid,
bobbed a curtsey, as the chaise whirled over the pleasant village-green,,
and the white-headed children lifted their chubby faces and cheered.
The church spires glistened with gold, the cottage gables glared in sun-
shine, the great elms murmured in summer, or cast purple shadows
over the grass. Young Warrington never had such a glorious day, or
witnessed a scene so delightful. To be nineteen years of age, with high
health, high spirits, and a full purse, to be making your first journey,
and rolling through the country in a post-chaise at nine miles an hour
-'O hgppy youth ! almost it makes one young to think of him! But
THE Yir.GIXlA.VS.
Harry was too eager to give more than a passing glance at the Abbey at
Dath, or gaze with more than a moment's wonder at the mighty minster
at Sali^vbury. Until he beheld Home it seemed to him he had no eyes
for any other place.
At last the yoimg gentleman's post-chaise drew up at the rustic inn
on Castlewood Green, of which his grandsire had many a time talked to
him, and whick bears as its ensign, swinging from an elm near the inn
porch, the Three Castles of the Esmond family. They had a sign, too,
over the gateway of Castlewood House, bearing the same cognizance.
This was the hatchment of Francis, Lord Castlewood, who now lay in
the chapel hard by, bis son reigniag in his stead.
Harry Warrington had often heard of Francis, Lord Castlewood. It
was for Frank's sake, and for his great love towards the boy, that
Colonel Esmond determined to forego his claim to the English estates
and rank of Ids family, and retired to Virginia. Tlie young man had
led a w41d youth ; he had fought with distinction under Marlborough ;
he had married a foreign lady, and most lamentably adopted her
religion. At one time he had been a Jacobite (for loyalty to the
sovereign was ever hereditary in the Esmond family), but had received
some slight or injury from the Prince, which had caused him to rally to
King George's side. He had, on his se^arid marriage, renounced the
errors of Popery which he had temporarily embraced, and returned to
the Established Church again^ He had, from his constant support of
the King and the Minister of the time being, been rewarded by his
Majesty George II., and died an English peer. An earl's coronet now
figured on the hatchment which hung over Castlewood gate — and there
was an end of the jolly gentleman. Between Colonel Esmond, who had
become his step-father and his lordship there had ever been a brief but
affectionate correspondence — on the Colonel's part especially, who loved
his step-son, and had a hundred stories to tell about him to his grand-
children. Madam Esmond, however, said she could see nothing in her
half-brother^ He was dull, except when he drank too much wine, and
that, to be sure, was every day at dinner. Then he was boisterous, and
his conversation not pleasant. He was good-looking — yes — a fine tall
stout animal ; she had rather her boys should follow a diSfcrent model.
In spite of the grandfather's encomium of the late lord, the boys had no
very great respect for their kinsman's memory. The lads and their
mother were stanch Jacobites, though having every respect for his
present Majestj'; but right was right, and nothing could make their
hearts swerve from their allegiance to the descendants of the martyr
Charles.
With a beating heart Harry Warrington walked from the inn towards
the house where his grandsire's youth had been passed. The little
village-green of Castlewood slopes down towards the river, which is
spanned by an old bridge of a single broad arch, and from this the
ground rises gradually towards the house, grey with many gables and
buttresses, and backed by a darkling wood. An old man sate at the
THE YIEGIXIANS.
wicket on a stone bench in front of the great arched entrance to the
house, over which the earl's hatchment was hanging. An old dog was
crouched at the man's feet. Immediately above tlie ancient sentry at
the gate was an open easement with some homely flowers in the window,
from behind which good-humoured girls' faces were peeping. They
were watching the young traveller dressed in black as he walked up
gazing towards the castle, and the ebony attendant who followed the
gentleman's steps, also accoutred in mourning. So was he at the gate ia
mourning, and the girls when they came out had black ribbons.
To Harry's surprise, the old man accosted him by his name. " You
liave had a nice ride to Hexton, Master Harry, and the sorrel carried vou
well."
*' I think you must be Lockwood," said Harry, with rather a tremu-
lous voice, holding out his hand to the old man. His grandfather had
often told him of Lockwood, and how he had accompanied the Colonel
and the young Viscount in Marlborough's wars forty years ago. The
veteran seemed puzzled by the mark of affection which Harry extended
to him. The old dog gazed at the new comer, and then went and put
his head between his knees. " I have heard of you often. How did you
know my name ? "
** They say I forget most things," says the old man, with a smile ;
** but I ain't so bad as that quite. Only this mornin', when you went
out, my darter says, ' Father, do you know why you have a black coat
on ? ' * In course I know why I have a black coat,' says I. * My lord
is dead. They say 'twas a foul blow, and Master Frank is my lord now,
and Master Harry ' — why what have you done since you went out this
morning? Why you have a grow'd taller and changed your hair —
though I know — I know you."
One of the young women had tripped out by this time from the
porter's lodge, and dropped tlie stranger a pretty curtsey. ''Grand-
father sometimes does not recollect very well," she said, pointing to her
head. " Your honour seems to have heard of Lockwood ? "
" And you, have you never heard of Colonel Francis Esmond ? "
" He was Captain and Major in Webb's Foot, and I was with him ia
two campaigns, sure enough," cries Lockwood. " Wasn't I, Ponto?"
" The Colonel as married Viscountess Rachel, my late lord's mother?
and went to live amongst the Indians ? We have heard of him. Sure
we have his picture in our gallery, and hisself painted it."
" AVent to live in Virginia, and died there seven years ago, and I am
his grandson."
" Lord, your honour! Why your honour's skin's as white as mine,"
cries Molly. " Grandfather, do you hear this ? His honour is Colonel
Esmond's grandson that used to send you tobacco, and his honour have
come all the way from Virginia."
" To see you, Lockwood," says the young man, " and the family. I
only set foot on English ground yesterday, and my first visit is foi
home. I may see the house, though the family are from home?"
THE YIRGIXIAXS.
Molly dared to say Mrs. Barker would let his honour see the house, and
Harry Warriugton made his way across the court, seeming to know the
place as well as if he had been born there, Miss Molly thought, who
followed, accompanied by Mr. Gumbo making her a profusion of polite
bows and speeches.
CHAPTEE, II.
IN WniCH JIAERY HAS TO PAY FOR HIS SUrPER.
Colonel Esmond's grandson rang for a while at his ancestor's house
of Castlewood, before any one within seemed inclined io notice his
summons. The servant, who at length issued from the door, seemed to
be very little affected by the announcement that the visitor was a rela-
tion of the family. The family was away, and in their absence John
cared very little for their relatives, but was eager to get back to his game
at cards with Thomas in the window-seat. The housekeeper was busy
getting ready for my lord and my lady, who were expected that evening.
Only by strong entreaties could Harry gain leave to see my lady's
sitting-room and the picture-room, where, sure enough, was a portrait of
his grandfather in periwig and breastplate, the counterpart of their
picture in Virginia, and a likeness of his grandmother, as Lady Castle-
wood, in a yet earlier habit of Charles II. 's time ; her neck bare, her
fair golden hair waving over her shoulders in ringlets which he remem-
bered to have seen snowy white. From the contemplation of these sights
the sulky housekeeper drove him. Her family was about to arrive.
There was my lady the countess, and my lord and his brother, and the
young ladies and the Baroness, who was to have the state bedroom.
Who was the Baroness ? The Baroness Bernstein, the young ladies'
aunt. Harry wrote down his name on a paper from his own pocket-book,
and laid it on a table in the hall. "Henry Esmond Warrington, of
Castlewood in Virginia, arrived in England yesterday — staying at the
Three Castles in the village." The lackeys rose up from their cards to
open the door to him, in order to get their " vails," and Gumbo quitted
the bench at the gate, where he had been talking with old Lockwood,
the porter, who took Harry's guinea, hardly knowing the meaning of the
gift. During the visit to the home of his fathers, Harry had only seen
little Polly's countenance that was the least unselfish or kindly ; he
walked away, not caring to own how disappointed he was, and what a
damp had been struck upon him by the aspect of the place. They
ought to have known him. Had any of them ridden up to his house in
Virginia, whether the master were present or absent, the guests would
have been made welcome, and, in sight of his ancestors' hall, he had to
go and ask for a dish of bacon and eggs at a country alehouse !
After his dinner, he went to the bridge and sate on it, looking
10 THE Yir.GIXIANS.
towards the old house, behind which the sun was descending as the
rooks came cawing home to their nests in the elms. His young fancy
pictured to itself many of the ancestors of wliom his mother and grand-
sire had told him. He fancied knights and huntsmen crossing the ford ;
—cavaliers of King Charles's days ; my Lord Castlewood, his grand-
mother's first husband, riding out with hawk and hound. The recollec-
tion of his dearest lost brother came back to him as he indulged in
these reveries, and smote him with a pang of exceeding tenderness and
longing, insomuch that the young man hung his head and felt his
sorrow renewed for the dear friend and companion with whom, until
of late, all his pleasures and griefs had been shared. As he sate
plunged in his own thoughts, which were mingled up with the
mechanical clinking of the blacksmith's forge hard by, the noises of the
evening, the talk of the rooks, and the calling of the birds round about
— a couple of young men on horseback dashed over the bridge. One of
them, with an oath, called him a fool, and told him to keep out of the
way — the other, who fancied he might have jostled the foot-passenger,
and possibly might have sent him over the parapet, pushed on more
quickly when he reached the other side of the water, calling likewise to
Tom to come on ; and the pair of young gentlemen were up the hill on
their way to the house before Harry had recovered himself from his
surprise at their appearance, and wrath at their behaviour. In a
minute or two, this advanced guard was followed by two livery servants
on horseback, who scowled at the young traveller on the bridge a true
British welcome of Curse you, who are you ? After these in a minute or
two, came a coach-and-six, a ponderous vehicle having need of the horses
which drew it, and containing three ladies, a couple of maids, and an
armed man on a seat behind the carriage. Three handsome pale faces
looked out at Harry "Warrington as the carriage passed over the bridge,
and did not return the salute which, recognising the family arms, he
gave it. The gentleman behind the carriage glared at him haughtily.
Harry felt terribly alone. He thought he would go back to Captain
Franks. The llachel and her little tossing cabin seemed a cheery spot
in comparison to that on which he stood. The inn folks did not know
his name of "\Yarriogton. They told him that was my lady in the coach,
with her step-daughter, my Lady Maria, and her daughter, my Lady
Fanny ; and the young gentleman in the grey frock was Mr. William,
and he with powder on the chestnut was my lord. It was the latter had
sworn the loudest, and called him a fool ; and it w^as the grey froek
which had nearly galloped Harry into the ditch.
The landlord of the Three Castles had shown Harry a bed-chamber,
but he had refused to have his portmanteaux unpacked, thinking that,
for a certainty, the folks of the great house would invite him to theirs.
One, two, three hours passed, and there came no invitation. Harry was
fain to have his trunks open at last, and to call for his slippers and gov/n,
Just before dark, about two hours after the arrival of the lirst carriage,
a second chariot with four horses had passed over the bridge, and a stout)
THE VIRGIXIAXS. H
high-coloured lady, with a very dark pair of eyes, had looked hard at
Mr. Warrington. That was the Baroness Bernstein, the landlady said>
my lord's aunt, and Harry rememhered the first Lady Castlewood had
come of a German family. Earl, an.d countess, and baroness, and
postilions, and gentlemen, and horses, had all disappeared behind the
castle gate, and Harry was fain to go to bed at last, in the most melan-
choly mood and with a cruel sense of neglect and loneliness in his young
heart. He could not sleep, and, besides, ere long, heard a prodigious
noise, and cursing, and giggling, and screaming from my landlady's bar,
which would have served to keep him awake.
Then Gumbo's voice was heard without, remonstrating, *' You cannot
go in, sar — my master asleep, sar ! " but a shrill voice, with many oaths,
which Harry Warrington recognised, cursed Gumbo for a stupid, negro
woolly pate, and ho was pushed aside, giving entrance to a flood of oaths
into the room, and a young gentleman behind them.
" Beg your pardon. Cousin Warrington," cried the young blasphemer,
** are you asleep ? Beg your pardon for riding you over on the bridge.
Didn't know you — course shouldn't have done it — thought it was a lawyer
with a writ — dressed in black, you know. Gad ! thought it was Kathan
come to nab me." And Mr. William laughed incoherently. It was
evident that he was excited with liquor.
" You did me great honour to mistake me for a sheriff's officer,
cousin," says Harry, with great gravity, sitting up in his tall nightcap.
" Gad ! I thought it was Nathan, and was going to send you souse
into the river. But I ask your pardon. You see I had been drinking at
the Bell at Hexton, and the punch is good at the Bell at Hexton.
Hullo I you, Davis ! a bowl of punch ; d'you hear ? "
" I have had my share for to-night, cousin, and I should think you
have," Harry continues, always in the dignified style.
"- You want me to go, Cousin What's-your-name, I see," Mr. William
said, with gravity. "You want me to go, and they want me to come,
and I didn't want to come. I said, I'd see him hanged first, — that's
what I said. Why should I trouble myself to come down all alone of
an evening, and look after a fellov/ I don't care a pin for ? Zackly what
I said. Zackly what Castlewood said. Why the devil should he go
down? Castlewood says, and so said my lady, but the Baroness would
have you. It's all the Baroness's doing, and if she says a thing it must
be done ; so you must just get up and come." Mr. Esmond delivered
these words with the most amiable rapidity and indistinctness, running
them into one aaother, and tacking about the room as he spoke. But the
young Virginian v/as in great wrath. *' I tell you what, cousin," he
cried, "I won't move for the Countess, or for the Baroness, or for all the
cousins in Castlewood." And when the landlord entered the chamber
with the bawl of punch, which Mr. Esmond had ordered, the young
gentleman in bed called out fiercely to the host, to turn that sot out of
the room.
"Sot, you little tobacconist! Sot, you Cherokee!" screams out Mr,
12 THE VIRGINIAXS.
William, ''jump out of bed, and I'll drive my sword through, your
body. Why didn't I do it to-day when I took you for a bailiff — a eon-
founded, pettifogging bum-bailiff ! " And he went on screeching more
oaths and incoherences, until the landlord, the drawer, the hostler, and
all the folks of the kitchen were brought to lead him away. After which
Harry Warrington closed his tent round him in sulky wrath, and, no
doubt, finally went fast to sleep.
My landlord was very much more obsequious on the next morning
when he met his young guest, having now fully learned his name an.i
quality. Other messengers had come from the castle on the previous
night to bring both the young gentlemen home, and poor Mr. William,
it appeared, had returned in a wheelbarrow, being not altogether unac-
customed to that mode of conveyance. *' He never remembers nothin'
about it the next day. He is of a real kind nature, Mr. William," the
landlord vowed, " and the men get crowns and half-crowns from him by
saying that he beat them overnight when he was in liquor. He's the
devil when he's tipsy, Mr. William, but when he is sober he is the very
kindest of young gentlemen."
As nothing is unknown to writers of biographies of the present kind,
it may be as well to state what had occurred within the walls of Castle-
wood House, whilst Harry Warrington was without, awaiting some token
of recognition from his kinsmen. On their arrival at home the family
had found the paper on which the lad's name was inscribed, and his
appearance occasioned a little domestic council. My Lord Castlewood
supposed that must have been the young gentleman whom they had
seen on the bridge, and as they had not drowned him they must invite
him. Let a man go down with the proper messages, let a servant carry
a note. Lady Fanny thought it would be more civil if one of the
brothers would go to their kinsman, especially considering the original
greeting which they had given. Lord Castlewood had not the slightest
objection to his brother William going — yes, William should go. Upon
this Mr. Willijim said (with a yet stronger expression) that he would
be hanged if he would go. Lady Maria thought the young gentleman
whom they had remarked at the bridge was a pretty fellow enough.
Castlewood is dreadfully dull, I am sure neither of my brothers do any-
thing to make it amusing. He may be vulgar — no doubt, he is vulgaf
%- — "but let us see the American. Such was Lady Maria's opinion. Lady
Castlewood was neither for inviting nor for refusing him, but for delaying.
" Wait till your Aunt comes, children ; perhaps the Baroness won't like
to see the young man ; at least, let us consult her before we ask him."
And so the hospitality to be offered by his nearest kinsfolk to poor Harry
Warrington remained yet in abeyance.
At length the equipage of the Baroness Bernstein made its appearance,
tind whatever doubt there might be as to the reception of the Virginian
stranger, there was no lack of enthusiasm in this generous family
regarding their wealthy and powerful kinswoman. The state-chamber
THE VIRGINIANS. 13
had already been prepared for her. The cook had arrived the previous
day with instructions to get ready a supper for her such as her ladyship
liked. The table sparkled with old plate, and was set in the oak dining-
room with the pictures of the family round the walls. There was the
late Yiscount, his father, his mother, his sister — these two lovely pictures.
There was his predecessor by Yaudyck, and his Viscountess. There was
Colonel Esmond, their relative in Virginia, about whose grandson the
ladies and gentlemen of the Esmond family showed such a very moderate
degree of sympathy.
The feast set before their aunt, the Baroness, was a very good one, and
her ladyship enjoyed it. The supper occupied an hour or two, during
which the whole Castlewood family were most attentive to their guest.
The Countess pressed all the good dishes upon her, of w^hich she freely
partook : the butler no sooner saw her glass empty than he filled it with
champagne : the young folks and their mother kept up the conversation,
not so much by talking, as by listening appropriately to their friend.
She was full of spirits and humour. She seemed to know everybody in
Europe, and about those everybodies the wickedest stories. The Countess
of Castlewood, ordinarily a very demure, severe woman, and a stickler
for the proprieties, smiled at the very worst of these anecdotes ; the girls
looked at one another and laughed at the maternal signal ; the boys
giggled and roared with especial delight at their sisters' confusion.
They also partook freely of the wine which the butler handed round, nor
did they, or their guest, disdain the bowl of smoking punch, which was
laid on the table after the supper. Many and many a night, the
Baroness said, she had drunk at that table by her father's side.
"That was his place," she pointed to the place where the Countess
now sat. She saw none of the old plate. That was all melted to pay his
gambling debts. She hoped, Young gentlemen, that you don't play.
•* Never, on my word," says Castlewood.
"Never, 'pon honour," says Will — wanking at his brother.
The Baroness was very glad to hear they were such good boys. Her
face grew redder with the punch ; and she became voluble, might have
been thought coarse, but that times were different, and those critics were
inclined to be especially favourable.
She talked to the boys about their father, their grandfather — othex
men and women of the house. " The only man of the family was that,^^
she said, pointing (with an arm that was yet beautifully round and white)
towards the picture of the military gentleman in the red coat and cuirass,
and great black periwig.
" The Virginian ? What is he good for? I always thought he w^aa
good for nothing but to cultivate tobacco and my grandmother," says m,y
lord, laughing.
She struck her hand upon the table with an energy that made the
glasses dance. " I say he was the best of you all. There never was one
of the male Esmonds that had more brains than a goose, except him.
He was not lit for this wicked, selfish, old world of ours, and he was
14 TEE VIRGINIANS.
right to go and live out of it. "Where would your father have been, young
people, but for him ? "
" Was he particularly kind to our papa ? " says Lady Maria.
" Old stories, my dear Maria ! " cries the Countess. I am sure
my dear Earl was very kind to him in giving him that great estate in.
Virginia."
*' Since his brother's death, the lad who has been here to-day is heir
to that. Mr. Draper told me so ! Peste ! I don't know why my father
gave up such a property."
" Who has been here to-day?" asked the Baroness, highly excited.
'* Harry Esmond Warrington, of Virginia," my Lord answered : ** a
lad whom Will nearly pitched into the river, and whom I pressed my
Lady the Countess to invite to stay here."
** You mean that one of the Virginian boys has been to Castlewood,
and has not been asked to stay here ? "
" There is but one of them, my dear creature," interposes the EarL
** The other, you know, has just been "
** For shame, for shame ! "
*'0 I it ain't pleasant, I confess, to be sc "
*'Do you mean that a grandson of Henry Esmond, the master of this
bouse, has been here, and none of you have offered him hospitality ? "
** Since we didn't know it, and he is staying at the Castles ?" inter-
poses Will.
" That he is staying at the Inn, and you are sitting there I " cries the
old lady. ** This is too bad — call somebody to me. Get me my hood —
I'll go to the boy mvself. Come with me this instant, my Lord Castle-
wood."
The young man rose up, evidently in wrath. ** Madame the Baroness
of Bernstein," he said, "your ladyship is welcome to go; but as for
me, I don't choose to have such words as * shameful ' applied to my
conduct. I worCt go and fetch the young gentleman from Virginia, and
I propose to sit here and finish this bowl of punch. Eugene ! Don't
Eugene me. Madam. I know her ladyship has a great deal of money,
which you are desirous should remain in our amiable family. You want
it more than I do. Cringe for it — I won*t." And he sank back in his
chair.
The Baroness looked at the family, who held their heads down, and
then at my Lord, but this time without any dislike. She leaned over
to him and said rapidly in German, *'I had unright when I said the
Colonel was the only man of the family. Thou canst, if thou wiliest,
Eugene." To which remark my Lord only bowed.
** If you do not wish an old woman to go out at this hour of the night,
let William, at least, go and fetch his cousin," said the Baroness.
** The very thing I proposed to him."
"And so did we— and so did we!" cried the daughters in a
breath.
'• 1 am sure, I only wanted the dear Baroness's consent ! " said their
THE VIRGINIANS. 15
mother, •* and shall be charmed for my part to welcome our youug
relative."
" Will! Put on thy pattens, and get a lantern, and go fetcli the
Yirginian," said my Lord.
" And we will have another bowl of punch, when he comes," says
William, who by this time had already had too much. And he went
forth — how we have seen ; and how he had more punch ; and how ill he
succeeded in his embassy.
The Morthy lady of Castlewood, as she caught sight of young Harry
Warrington by the river side, must have seen a very handsome and
interesting youth, and very likely had reasons of her ov>m for not desiring
his presence in her family. All mothers are not eager to encourage the
visits of interesting youths of nineteen in families where there are
virgins of twenty. If Harry's acres had been in J^orfolk or Devon, in
place of Yirginia, no doubt the good Countess would have been rather
more eager in her welcome. Had she wanted him she would have given
him her hand readily enough. If our people of ton are selfish, at any
rate they show they are selfish ; and, being cold-hearted, at least have
no hypocrisy of affection.
Why should Lady Castlewood put herself out of the way to welcoma
the young stranger? Because he was friendless? Only a simpleton
could ever imagine such a reason as that. People of fashion, like her
ladyship, are friendly to those who have plenty of friends. A poor lad,
alone, from a distant country, with only very moderate means, and those
not as yet in his own power, with uncouth manners very likely, and coarse
provincial habits ; was a great lady called upon to put herself out of the
way for such a youtli ? Allans done ! He was quite as well at the ale-
house as at the castle.
This, no doubt, was her ladyship's opinion, which h.er kinswoman, the
Baroness Bernstein, who knew her perfectly well, entirely understood.
The Baroness, too, was a woman of the world, and, possibly, on occasion,
could be as selfish as any other person of fashion. She fully understood
the cause of the deference which all the Castlewood family showed to
her — mother, and daughter, and sons, — and being a woman of great
humour, played upon the dispositions of the various members of this
family, amused herself with, their greedinesses, their humiliations, their
artless respect for her money-box, and clinging attachment to her purse.
They were not very rich ; Lady Castlewood's own money was settled on
iier children. The two elder had inherited nothing but fl.axen heads
from their German mother, and a pedigree of prodigious distinction.
But those who had money, and those who had none, were alike eager for
the Baroness's ; in this matter the rich are surely quite as greedy as the
poor.
So if Madam Bernstein struck her hand on the table, and caused the
glasses and the persons round it to tremble at her wrath, it was because
she was excited with plenty of punch and champagne, which her lady-
ship was in the habit of taking freely, and because she may have had
16 THE VIRGINIANS.
a generous impulse when generous wine warmed her blood, and felt
indignant as she thought of the poor lad yonder, sitting friendless and
lonely on the outside of his ancestors' door; not because she was
specially angry with her relatives, who she knew would act precisely as
tiiey had done.
The exhibition of their selfishness and humiliation alike amused her,
as did Castlewood's act of revolt. He was as selfish as the rest of the
family, but not so mean; and, as he candidly stated, he could afiurd
the luxury of a little independence, having a tolerable estate to fall back
upon.
Madame Bernstein was an early woman, restless, resolute, extra-
ordinarily active for her age. She was up long before the languid
Castlewood ladies (just home from their London routs and balls) had
quitted their feather-beds, or jolly Will had slept off his various pota-
tions of punch. She was up, and pacing the green terraces that sparkled
with the sweet morning dew, which lay twinkling, also, on a flowery
wilderness of trim parterres, and on the crisp walls of the dark box
hedges, under which marble fauns and dryads were cooling themselves,
whilst a thousand birds sang, the fountains plashed and glittered in the
rosy morning sunshine, and the rooks cawed from the great wood.
Had the well-remembered scene (for she had visited it often in child-
hood) a freshness and charm for her ? Did it recal days of innocence
and happiness, and did its calm beauty soothe or please, or awaken
remorse in her heart? Her manner was more than ordinarily affectionate
and gentle, when, presently, after pacing the walks for a half-hour, the
person for whom she was waiting came to her. This was our young
Virginian, to whom she had despatched an early billet by one of the
Lockwoods. The note was signed B. Bernstein, and informed Mr.
Esmond "Warrington that his relatives at Castlewood, and among them
a dear friend of his grandfather, were most anxious that he should come
to " Colonel JEsmonifs Jiouse m En(/land" And now, accordingly, the
lad made his appearance, passing under the old Gothic doorway, tripping
down the steps from one garden terrace to another, hat in hand, his fair
hair blowing from his flushed cheeks, his slim figure clad in mourning.
The handsome and modest looks, the comely face and person, of the
young lad pleased the lady. He made her a low bow which would have
done credit to Versailles. She held out a little hand to him, and, as his
own palm closed over it, she laid the other hand softly on his ruffle.
She looked very kindly and aflectionately in the honest blushing
face.
"I knew your grandfather very well, Harry," she said: *'So you
camv: yesterday to see his picture, and they turned you away, though
you know the house was his of right ? "
Harry blushed very red. *' The servants did not know me. A young
gentleman came to me last night," he said, *' when I was peevish, and
he, 1 fear, was tipsy. 1 spoke rudely to my cousin, and would ask his
pardon. Your ladyship knows that in Virginia our manners towards
THE VIRGIXIANS. 17
strangers are different. I own I had expected another kind of welcome.
Was it you, madam, who sent my cousin to me last night r "
"I sent him; but you will lind your cousins most friendly to you
to-day. You must stay here. Lord Castlewood would have been with
you tliis morning, only I was so eager to sea you. There will be
breakfast in an hour ; and meantime you must talk to me. We will
send to the Three Castles for your servant and your baggage. Give me
your arm. Stop, I dropped my cane when you came. You shall be my
Ciine."
" My grandfather used to call us his crutches," said Harry.
'* You are like him, though you are fair." *
'* You should have seen — you should have seen George," said the boy,
and his honest eyes welled with tears. The recollection of liis brother,
the bitter pain of yesterday's humiliation, the afFectionateness of the
present greeting — all, perhaps, contributed to soften the lad's heart.
He felt very tenderly and gratefully towards the lady who liad received
him so warmly. He was utterly alone and miserable a minute since,
and here was a home and a kind hand held out to him. Iso wonder he
clung to it. In the hour during which they talked together, the young
fellow had poured out a great deal of his honest heart to the kind new-
found friend ; when the dial told breakfast-time, he wondered to think
how much he had tuld her. She took him to the breakfast-room ; she
presented him to his aunt, the Countess, and bade him embrace his
cousins. Lord Castlewood was frank and gracious enough. Honest
AVill had a headache, but was utterly unconscious of the proceedings of
tlie past night. The ladits: were very pleasant and polite, as ladies of
their fashion know how to be. How should Harr}' Warrington, a simple
truth-telling lad from a distant colony, who had only yesterday put his
foot upon English shore, know that my ladies, so smiling and easy in.
demeanour, were furious against him, and aghast at the favoui- with
which Madam Bernstein seemed to regard him ?
She wasfulle of him, talked of no one else, scarce noticed the Castle-
wood young people, trotted with him over the house, and told him all
its story, showed him the little room in the court-yard where his grand-
father used to sleep, and a cunning cupboard over the fire-place which
had been made in the time of the Catholic persecutions ; drove out with
him in the neighbouring country, and pointed out to him the most
remarkable sites and houses, and had in return the whole of the young
man's story.
This brief biography the kind reader will please to accept, not in the
precise words in which Mr. Harry Warrington delivered it to Madam
Bernstein, but in the form in which it has been cast in the Chapters
next ensuing.
18 THE VirvGINIAIsS.
CHAPTER III.
THE ESMONre IN TIEGINIA.
Henet Esmond, Esq., an officer who had served with the rank of
Colonel during the wars of Queen Anne's reign, found himself, at its
close, compromised in certain attempts for the restoration of the Queen's
family to the throne of these realms. Happily for itself, the nation
preferred another dynasty; but some of the few opponents of the house
of Hanover took refuge out of the three kingdoms, and amongst others.
Colonel Esmond was counselled by his friends to go abroad. As Mr.
Esmond sincerely regretted the part which he had taken, and as the
August Prince who came to rule over England was the most pacable of
sovereigns, in a very little time the Colonel's friends found means to
make his peace.
Mr. Esmond, it has been said, belonged to the noble English family
which takes its title from Castlewood, in the county of Hants : and it
was pretty generally known that King James II. and his son had offered
the title of Marquis to Colonel Esmond and his father, and that the
former might have assumed the (Irish) peerage hereditary in his family,
but for an informality which he did not choose to set right. Tired of
the political struggles in which he had been engaged, and annoyed by
family circumstances in Europe, he preferred to establish himself in
Yirginia, where he took possession of a large estate conferred by King
Charles I. upon his ancestor. Here Mr. Esmond's daughter and grand-
sons were born, and his wife died. This lady, when she married him,
was the widow of the Colonel's kinsman, the unlucky Viscount Castle-
wood, killed in a duel by Lord Mohun, at the close of King William's
reign.
Mr. Esmond called his American house Castlewood, from the patri-
monial home in the old country. The whole usages oi Yirginia, indeed,
were fondly modelled after the English customs. It was a loyal colony.
The Yirginians boasted that King Charles II. had been king in Yirginia
before he had been king in England. English king and English church
were alike faithfully honoured there. The resident gentry were allied
to good English families. They held their heads above the Dutch
traders of New York, and the money-getting Roundheads of Pennsyl-
vania and New England. Never were people less republican than those
of the great province which was soon to be foremost in the memorable
revolt against the British Crown.
The gentry of Yirginia dwelt on their great lands after a fashion
almost patriarchal. For its rough cultivation, each estate had a multi-
tude of hands — of purchased and assigned servants — who were subject
to the command of the master. The land yielded their food, live stock,
THE VIRGINIANS. 19
and game. The great rivers swarmed with fish for the taking. From
their banks the passage home was clear. Their ships took tlie tobacco
oli' their piivate wharves ou the banks of the Potomac or the James
river, and carried it to London or Bristol, — bringing back English goods
and articles of home manufacture in return for the only produce which
the "Virginian gentry chose to cultivate. Their hospitality was bound-
less. ISo stranger was ever sent away from their gates. The gentry
received one another, and travelled to each other's houses, in a state
almost feudal. The question of Slavery was not born at the time of
wdiich we write. To be the proprietor of black servants shocked the
feelings of no Virginian gentleman ; nor, in truth, was the despotism
exercised over the negro race generally a savage one. The food v/as
plenty ; the poor black people lazy, and not unhappy. You might
have preached negro emancipation to Madam Esmond of Castlewood
as you might have told her to let the horses run loose out of her
stables ; she had no doubt but that the w4iip and the corn-bag were
good for both.
Her father may have thought otherwise, being of a sceptical turn on
very many points, but his doubts did not break forth in active denial,
and he was rather disaffected than rebellious. At one period, this
gentleman had taken a part in active life at home, and possibly might
have been eager to share its rewards ; but in latter days he did not seem
to care for them. A something had occurred in his life, which had cast
a tinge of melancholy over all his existence. He was not unhappy —
to those about him most kind — most affectionate, obsequious even to the
w^omen of his family, whom he scarce ever contradicted ; but there had
been some bankruptcy of his heart, which his spirit never recovered.
He submitted to life rather than enjoyed it, and never was in better
spirits than in his last hours when he was going to lay it down.
Having lost his wife, his daughter took the management of the
Colonel and his affairs; and he gave them up to her charge with an
entire acquiescence. So that he had his books and his quiet, he cared
for no more. When company came to Castlewood, he entertained them
liandsomely, and was of a very pleasant, sarcastical turn. He was not
in the least sorry when they went away.
*' My love, I shall not be sorry to go myself," he said to his daughter,
*' and you, though the most affectionate of daughters, will console your-
self after a while. Why should I, who am so old, be romantic ? You
may, who are still a young creature." This he said, not meaning all
he said, for the lady whom he addressed was a matter-of-fact little
person, with very little romance in her nature.
After fifteen years' residence upon his great Virginian estate, affairs
prospered so well with the worthy proprietor, that he acquiesced in liis
daughter's plans for the building of a mansion much grander and more
durable than the plain wooden edifice in which he had been content to
live, so that his heirs might have a habitation worthy of their noble
name. Several of Madam Warrington's neighbours had built handsome
c 2
20 THE YIEGINIAXS.
houses for themselves; perhaps it was lier ambition to take rank in the
country, which inspired this desire for improved quarters. Colonel
Esmond, of Castlewood, neither cared for quarters nor for quarterings.
But his daughter had a very high opinion of the merit and antiquity of
her lineage ; and her sire, growing exquisitely calm and good-natured
in his serene, declining years, humoured his child's peculiarities in an
easy, bantering way, — nay, helped her with his antiquarian learning,
which was not inconsiderable, and with his skill in the art of painting,
of which he was a proficient. A kitowledge of heraldry, a hundred years
ago, formed part of the education of most noble ladies and gentlemen :
during her visit to Europe, Miss Esmond had eagerly studied the family
history and pedigrees, and returned thence to Virginia with a store of
documents relative to her family on which she relied with implicit
gravity and credence, and with the most edifying volumes then published
in France and England, respecting the noble science. These works
proved, to her perfect satisfaction, not only that the Esmonds were
descended from noble Norman warriors, who came into England along
with their victorious chief, but from native English of royal dignity :
and two magnificent heraldic trees, cunningly painted by the hand of
the Colonel, represented the family springing from the Emperor Charle-
magne on the one hand, who was drawn in plate armour, with his
imperial mantle and diadem, and on the other from Q,ueen Boadicea,
whom the Colonel insisted upon painting in the light costume of an
ancient British queen, with a prodigious gilded crown, a trifling mantle
of furs, and a lovely symmetrical person, tastefully tattooed with figures
of a brilliant blue tint. From these two illustrious stocks the family-
tree rose until it united in the thirteenth century somewhere in the
person of the fortunate Esmond, who claimed to spring from both.
Of the Warrington family, into which she married, good Madam
Rachel thought but little. She wrote herself Esmond Warrington, but
was universally called, Madam Esmond of Castlewood, when after her
father's decease she came to rule over that domain. It is even to be
feared that quarrels for precedence in the colonial society occasionally
disturbed her temper ; for though her father had had a marquis's patent
from King James, which he had burned and disowned, she would fre-
quently act as if that document existed and was in full force. She
considered the English Esmonds of an inferior dignity to her own
branch, and as for the colonial aristocracy, she made no scruple of assert-
ing her superiority over the whole body of them. Hence quarrels and
angry words, and even a scuffle or two, as we gather from her notes at
the governor's assemblies at James-town. Wherefore recal the memory
of these squabbles ? Are not the persons who engaged in them beyond
the reach of quarrels now, and has not the republic put an end to these
social inequalities ? Ere the establishment of Independence, there
was no more aristocratic country in the world than Virginia; so the
Virginians, whose history we have to narrate, were bred to have the
fullest respect for the institutions of home, and the rightful king;
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 21
had not two more faithful little subjects than the young twins of
Castle wood.
When the boys' grandfather died, their mother, in great state, pro-
claimed her eldest son George her successor, and heir of the estate ; and
Harry, George's younger brother by half an hour, was always enjoined
to respect his senior. All the household was equally instructed to pay
him honour ; the negroes, of whom there was a large and happy family,
and the assigned servants from Europe, whose lot was made as bearable
as it might be under the government of the Lady of Castlewood. In
the whole family there scarcely was a rebel save Mrs. Esmond's faithful
friend and companion, Madam Mountain, and Harry's foster-mother,
a faithful negro woman, who never could be made to understand why
her child should not be first, who was handsomer, and stronger, and
cleverer than his brother, as she vowed ; though, in truth, there was
scarcely any difference in the beauty, strength, or stature of the twins.
In disposition, they were in many points exceedingly unlike ; but in
feature they resembled each other so closely, that but for the colour of
their hair it had been difficult to distinguish them. In their beds, and
when their heads were covered with those vast ribboned nightcaps which
our great and little ancestors wore, it was scarcely possible for any but
a nurse or a mother to tell the one from the other child.
Howbeit alike in form, we have said that they differed in temper.
The elder was peaceful, studious, and silent ; the younger was warlike
and noisy. He was quick at learning when he began, but very slow at
beginning. No threats of the ferule would provoke Harry to learn in an
idle fit, or would prevent George from helping his brother in his lesson.
Harry was of a strong military turn, drilled the little negroes on the
estate and caned them like a corporal, having many good boxing-
matches with them, and never bearing malice if he was worsted ; —
whereas George was sparing of blows and gentle with all about him.
As the custom in all families was, each of the boys had a special little
servant assigned him ; and it was a known fact that George, finding
his little wretch of a blackamoor asleep on his master's bed, sat down
beside it and brushed the flies off the child with a feather-fan, to the
horror of old Gumbo, the child's father, who found his young master
80 engaged, and to the indignation of Madam Esmond, who ordered the
young negro off to the proper oflicer for a whipping. In vain George
implored and entreated — burst into passionate tears, and besought a
remission of the sentence. His mother was inflexible regarding the
young rebel's punishment, and the little negro went off beseeching his
young master not to cry.
A fierce quarrel between mother and son ensued out of this event.
Her son would not be pacified. He said the punishment was a sha.me
— a shame ; that he was the master of the boy, and no one — no, not
his mother, — had a right to touch him ; that she might order him to be
corrected, and that he would suffer the punishment, as he and Harrj
often had, but no one should lay a hand on his boy. Trembling with
22 THE VIEGIXIA^'S.
passionate rebellion against what lie conceived the injustice of proce-
dure, he vowed — actually shriekinj^ out an oath, which shocked his fond
mother and governor, who never before heard such language from the
usually gentle child— that on the day he came of age he would set
young Gumbo free — went to visit the child in the slave's quarters, and
gave him one of his own toys.
The young black martyr was an impudent, lazy, saucy little per-
sonage, who would be none the worse for a whipping, as the Colonel
no doubt thought; for he acquiesced in the child's punishment when
Madam Esmond insisted upon it, and only laughed in his good-natured
way when his indignant grandson called out,
"You let mamma rule you in evervthing, grandpapa."
"Why, so I do," says grandpapa. "Ilachel, my love,* the way in
which I am petticoat-ridden is so evident that even this baby has found
it out."
" Then why don't you stand up like a man ?" says little Harry, who
always was ready to abet his brother.
Grandpapa looked queerly.
" Because I like sitting down best, ray dear," he said. " I am an old
gentleman, and standing fatigues me."
On account of a certain apish drollery and humour which exhibited
itself in the lad, and a liking for some of the old man's pursuits, the
first of the twins was the grandfather's favourite and companion, and
would laugh and talk out all his infantine heart to the old gentleman,
to whom the younger had seldom a word to say. George was a demure
studious boy, and his senses seemed to brighten up in the library, where
his brother was so gloomy. He knew the books before he could well-
nigh carry them, and read in them long before he could understand
them. Harry, on the other hand, was all alive in the stables or in the
wood, eager for all parties of hunting and fishing, and promised to be a
good sportsman from a very early age. Their grandfather's ship was
sailing for Europe once when the boys were children, and they were
asked what present Captain Franks should bring them back ? George
was divided between books and a fiddle ; Harry instantly declared for
a little gun : and Madam Warrington (as she then was called) was hurt
that her elder boy should have low tastes, and applauded the younger's
choice as more M'orthy of his name and lineage. " Books, papa, I can
fancy to be a good choice," she replied to her father, who tried to con-
vince her that George had a right to his opinion, " though I am sure you
must have pretty nigh all the books in the world already. But I never
can desire — I may be wrong, but I never can desire— that my son, and
the grandson of the Marquis of Esmond should be a fiddler."
"Should be a fiddlestick, my dear," the old Colonel answered.
" Remember that Heaven's ways are not ours, and that each creature
born has a little kingdom of thought of his own, which it is a sin in us
to invade. Suppose George loves music ? You can no more stop him
than you can order a rose not to smell sweet, or a bird not to sing."
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 23
*' A bird ! A bird sings from nature ; George did not come into the
world with a fiddle in his hand," says Mrs. Warrington, with a toss of
her head. *'I am sure I hated the harpsichord when a chit at Ken-
sington School, and only learned to please my mamma. Say what you
will, dear sir, I can not believe that this fiddling is work -for persons of
fashion."
" And King David who played the harp, my dear ? "
" I wish my papa would read him more, and not speak about him in
that way," said Mrs. Warrington.
" Nay, my dear, it was but by way of illustration," the father replied
gently. It was Colonel Esmond's nature, as he has owned in his own
biography, always to be led by a woman ; and, his wife dead, he coaxed
and dandled and spoiled his daughter ; laughing at her caprices, but
humouring them; making a joke of her prejudices, but letting them
have their way ; indulging, and perhaps increasing, her natural impe-
riousuess of character, though it was his maxim that we can't chajige
dispositions by meddling, and only make hypocrites of our children by
-commanding them over-much.
At length the time came when Mr. Esmond was to have done with
the affairs of this life, and he laid them down as if glad to be rid of
their burthen. We must not ring in an. opening history with tolling
bcdls, or preface it with a funeral sermon. All who read and heard that
■discourse, wondered where Parson Broadbent of James-town, found the
eloc[uence and the Latin which adorned it. Perhaps Mr. Dempster
knew, the boy's Scotch tutor, who corrected the proofs of the oration,
which was printed, by desire of his Excellency and many persons of
honour, at Mr. Franklin's press in Philadelphia. Xo such sumptuous
funeral had ever been seen in the country as that which Madam Esmond
Warrington ordained for her father, who would have been the first to
smile at that pompous grief. The little lads of Castlewood, almost
smothered in black trains and hatbands, headed the procession, and
weie followed by my Lord Fairfax from Greenway Court, by his Excel-
lency the Governor of Virginia (with his coach), by the Randolphs,
the Careys, the Harrisons, the Washingtons, and many others, for the
whole county esteemed the departed gentleman, whose goodness, whoso
high talents, whose benevolence and unobtrusive urbanity had earned
for him the just respect of his neighbours. When informed of the
event, the family of Colonel Esmond's stepson, the Lord Castlewood of
Hampshire in Er gland, asked to be at the charges of the marble slab
which recorded the names and virtues of his lordship's mother and her
husband ; and after due time of preparation, the monument was set up,
exhibiting the arms and coronet of the Esmonds, supported by a little
chubby group of weeping cherubs, and reciting an epitaph which for
-once did not tell any falsehoods.
24 .TIIE \•IRGI^'1AX;
CHAPTEE IV.
IN -WHIG II HAEET TIXDS A. XEW EELATIVE.
K.TND friends, neighbours hospitable, cordial, even respectful, — an
ancient name, a large estate and a sufficient fortune, a comfortable home,
supplied with all the necessaries and many of the luxuries of life, and a
troop of servants, black and white, eager to do your bidding; good
health, affectionate children, and, let us humbly add, a good cook, cellar,
and library — ought not a person in the possession of all these benefits to
be considered very decently happy ? Madam Esmond Warrington pos-
sessed all these causes for happiness ; she reminded herself of them daily
in her morning and evening prayers. She was scrupulous in her devotions,
good to the poor, never knowingly did any body a wrong. Yonder 1
fancy her enthroned in her principality of Castlewood, the country
gentle-folks paying her court, the sons dutiful to her, the domestics
tumbling over each other's black heels to do her bidding, the poor whites
grateful for her bounty and implicitly taking her doses when they were
ill, the smaller gentry always acquiescing in her remarks, and for ever
letting her win at backgammon — well, with all these benefits, which are
more sure than fate allots to most mortals, I don't think the little
Princess Pocahontas, as she was called, was to be envied in the midst of
her dominions. The Princess's husband, who was cut off in early life,
was as well perhaps out of the way. Had he survived his marriage by
many years, they would have quarrelled fiercely, or, he would infallibly
have been a henpecked husband, of which sort there were a few specimens
still extant a hundred years ago. The truth is, little Madam Esmond
never came near man or woman, but she tried to domineer over them.
If people obeyed, she was their very good friend; if they resisted, she
fought and fought until she or they gave in. We are all miserable
sinners : that's a fact we acknowledge in public every Sunday — no one
announced it in a more clear resolute voice than the little lady. As a
mortal, she may have been in the wrong, of course ; only she very seldom
acknowledged the circumstance to herself, and to others never. Her
father, in his old age, used to watch her freaks of despotism, haughtiness,
and stubbornness, and amuse himself with them. She felt that his
eye was upon her ; his humour, of which quality she possessed little
herself, subdued and bewildered her. But, the Colonel gone, there
was nobody else whom she was disposed to obey,— and so 1 am rather
glad for my part that I did not live a hundred years ago at Castlewood
in Westmorland County in Virginia. 1 fancy, one would not have been
too happy there. Happy, who is happy ? Was not there a serpent in
Paradise itself, and if Eve had been perfectly happy beforehand, would
she have listened to him P
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 25
The management of the house of Castlewood had been in the hands
of the active little lady long before the Colonel slept the sleep of the
just. She now exercised a rigid supervision over the estate ; dismissed
Colonel Esmond's English factor and employed a new one ; built,
improved, planted, grew tobacco, appointed a new overseer, and imported
a new tutor. Much as she loved her father, there were some of hisi
maxims by which she was not inclined to abide. Had she not obeyed
her Papa and Mamma during all their lives, as a dutiful daughter
should ? So ought all children to obey their parents, that their days
might be long in the land. The little Q,neen domineered over her little
dominion, and the Princes her sons were only her first subjects. Ere
long she discontinued her husband's name of Warrington and went by
the name of "Madam Esmond in the country. Her family pretensions
were known there. She had no objection to talk of the Marquis's title
which King James had given to her father and grandfather. Her Papa's
enormous magnanimity might induce him to give up his titles and rank
to the younger branch of the family, and to her half-brother, my Lord
Castlewood and his children ; but she and her sons were of the elder
branch of the Esmonds, and she expected that they should be treated
accordingly. Lord Fairfax was the only gentleman in the colony of
Virginia, to whom she would allow precedence over her. She insisted
on the pas before all Lieutenant-Governors' and Judges' ladies ; before
the wife of the Grovernor of a colony she would, of course, yifild as to
the representative of the Sovereign. Accounts are extant, in the family
papers and letters, of one or two tremendous battles which Madam
fought with the wives of colonial dignitaries upon these questions of
etiquette. As for her husband's family of Warrington, they were as
naught in her eyes. She married an English baronet's younger son out
of Norfolk to please her parents, whom she was always bound to obey.
At the early age at which she married — a chit out of a boarding-school —
she would have jumped overboard if her Papa had ordered. " And that
is always the way with the Esmonds," she said.
The English Warringtons were not over-much flattered by the little
American Princess's behaviour to them, and her manner of speaking
about them. Once a-year a solemn letter used to be addressed to the
Warrington family, and to her noble kinsmen the Hampshire Esmonds ;
but a Judge's lady with whom Madam Esmond had quarrelled returning
to England out of Virginia chanced to meet Lady Warrington, who
was in London with Sir Miles attending Parliament, and this person
repeated some of the speeches which the Princess Pocahontas was in
the habit of making regarding her own and her husband's English
relatives, and my Lady Warrington, I suppose, carried the story to my
Lady Castlewood ; after which the letters from Virginia were not an-
swered, to the surprise and wrath of Madam Esmond, who speedily left
off' writing also.
So this good woman fell out with her neighbours, with her relatives^
and, as it must be owned, with her sons also.
26 THE YIllGIXIANS.
A very early difference whioh. occurred between the Q/Ueen and
Crown Prince arose out of the dismissal of Mr. Dempster, the lad's
tutor and the late Colonel's secretary. In her father's life Madam
Esmond bore him with difficulty, or it should be rather said Mr.
Dempster oould scarce put up with her. She was jealous of books
somehow, and thought your book-worms dangerous folks, insinuating
bad principles. She had heard that Dempster was a Jesuit in disguise,
and the poor fellow was obliged to go build himself a cabin in a clearing,
and teach school and practise medicine where he could find customers
among the sparse inhabitants of the province. ' Master George vowed
he never would forsake his old tutor, and kept his promise. Harry
had always loved fishing and sporting better than books, and he and the
poor Dominie had never been on terms of close intimacy. Another
cause of dispute presently ensued.
By the death of an aunt, and at his father's demise, the heirs of Mr.
George Warrington became entitled to a sum of six thousand pounds,
of which their mother was one of the trustees. She never could be
made to understand that she was not the proprietor, and not merely the
trustee of this money ; and was furious with the London lawyer, the
other trustee, who refused to send it over at her order. '' Is not all I
have my sons' ? " she cried, '* and would I not cut myself into little
pieces to serve them? "With the six thousand pounds I would have
bought Mr. Boulter's estate and negroes, which would have given us a
good thousand pounds a-year, and made a handsome provision for my
Harry." Her young friend and neighbour, Mr. Washington of Mount
Vernon, could not convince her that the London agent was right, and
must not give up his trust except to those for whom he held it.
Madam Esmond gave the London lawyer a piece of her mind, and, I
am sorry to say, informed Mr. Draper that he was an insolent petti-
fogger, and deserved to be punished for doubting the honour of a
mother and an Esmond. It must be owned that the Virginian Princess
had a temper of her own.
George Esmond, her first-born, when this little matter was referred
to him, and his mother vehemently insisted that he should declare
himself, was of the opinion of Mr. Washington, and Mr. Draper, the
London lawyer. The boy said he could not help himself. He did not
want the money : he would be very glad to think otherwise, and to give
the money to his mother, if he had the power. But Madam Esmond
would not hear any of these reasons. Feelings were her reasons. Here
was a chance of making Harry's fortune' — dear Harry, who was left
with such a slender younger brother's pittance — and the wretches in
London would not help him; his own brother, who inherited all her
Papa's estate, would not help him. To think of a child of hers being
so mean at fourteen years of age ! «S:c., &c. Add tears, scorn, frequent
inuendo, long estrangement, bitter outbreak, passionate appeals to
Heaven, and the like, and we may fancy the widow's state of mind.
Are there not beloved beings of the gentler sex who argue in the same
THE YIRGINIAXS. 27
way now-a-days ? The book of female logic is blotted ail over with tears,
and Justice in their courts is for ever in a passion.
This occurrence set the widow resolutely saving for her younger son,
for whom, as in duty bound, she was eager to make a portion. The
fine buildings were stopped which the Colonel had commenced at
Castlewood, who had freighted ships from New York with Dutch bricks,
and imported, at great charges, mantelpieces, carved cornice-work,
sashes and glass, carpets and costly upholstery from home. No more
books were bought. The agent had orders to discontinue sending wine.
Lladam Esmond deeply regretted the expense of a fine carriage which
she had had from England, and only rode in it to church groaning in
spirit, and crying to the sons opposite her, " Harry Harry ! I wish I had
put by the moiiey for thee, my poor portionless child — three hundred and
eighty guineas of ready money to Messieurs Hatchett ! "
*' You will give me plenty while you live, and George will give me
plenty when you die," says Harry, gaily.
" Not unless he changes in sjyint, my dear," says the lady, with a
grim glance at her elder boy. " Not unless heaven softens his heart and
teaches him charitij^ for which I pray day and night ; as Mountain
knows ; do you not, Mountain ?"
Mrs. Mountain, Ensign Mountain's widow, Madam Esmond's com-
panion and manager, who took the fourth seat in the family coach on
these Sundays, said, "Humph! I know you are always disturbing
yourself and crying out about this legacy, and I don't see that there is
any need."
'* no ! no need !" cries the widow, rustling in her silks ; "of course
I have no need to be disturbed, because my eldest born is a disoheclient
son and an unkind brother — because he has an estate, and my poor
Harry, bless him, but a mess of pot age."
Greorge looked despairingly at his mother until he could see her no
more for eyes welled up with tears. " I wish you would bless me, too,
O my mother!" he said, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping.
Harry's arms were in a moment round his brother's neck, and he kissed
Oeorge a score of times.
"Never mind, George. 7 know whether you are a good brother or
not. Don't mind what she says. She don't mean it."
" I f/o mean it, child," cries the mother. " AYould to Heaven "
" Hold totje toxgtje, I say!" roars out Harry. "It's a shame to
speak so to him, ma'am."
"And so it is, Harry," says Mrs. Mountain, shaking his hand.
" You never said a truer word in your life."
" Mrs. Mountain, do you dare to set my children against me ?" cries
the widow. " Erom this very day, madam "
" Turn me and my child into the street ? Do," says Mrs. Mountain.
"That will be a fine revenge because the English lawyer won't give you
the boy's money. Eind another companion who will tell you black is
white, and fl.atter you : it is not my way, madam. "VYhen shall I go ?
28 THE VIRGIXIAXS.
I shan't be long a-packing. I did not bring much into Castlewood
House, and I shall not take much out."
"Hush! the bells are ringing for church, Mountain. Let us try, if
you please, and compose ourselves," said the widow, and she looked
with eyes of extreme affection, certainly at one— perhaps at both— of
her children. George kept his head down, and Harry, who was near,
got quite close to him during the sermon, and sate with his arm round
his brother's neck,
Harry had proceeded in his narrative after his own fashion, inter-
spersing it with many youthful ejaculations, and answering a number of
incidental questions asked by his listener. The old lady seemed never
tired of hearing him. Her amiable hostess and her daughters came
more than once, to ask if she would ride, or walk, or take a dish of tea,
(!>r play a game at cards ; but all these amusements Madame Bernstein
declined, saying that she found infinite amusement in Harry's conver-
sation. Especially when any of the Castlewood family were present,
she redoubled her caresses, insisted upon the lad speaking close to her
ear, and would call out to the others, **Hush, my dears! I can't hear
our cousin speak." And they would quit the room, striving still to look
pleased.
"Are you my cousin, too?" asked the honest boy. "You seem
kinder than my other cousins."
Their talk took place in the wainscoted parlour, where the family had
taken their meals in ordinary for at least two centuries past, and which,
as we have said, was hung with portraits of the race. Over Madam
Bernstein's great chair was a Kneller, one of the most brilliant
pictures of the gallery, representing a young lady of three or four
and twenty, in the easy flowing dress and loose robes of Queen Anne's
*-ime — a hand on a cushion near her, a quantity of auburn hair, parted
off a fair forehead, and flowing over pearly shoulders and a lovely
neck. Under this sprightly picture the lady sate with her knitting-
jieedles.
When Harry asked, "Are you my cousin, too?" she said, "Thatpicture
is by Sir Godfrey, who thought himself the greatest painter in the
world. But he was not so good as Lely, who painted your grandmother
— my — my Lady Castlewood, Colonel Esmond's wife ; nor he so
good as Sir Anthony Yan Dyck, who painted your great-grandfather,
yonder — and who looks, Harry, a much finer gentleman than he was.
Some of us are painted blacker than we are. Did you recognise your
grandmother in that picture ? She had the loveliest fair hair and shape
of any woman of her time."
" I fancied I knew the portrait from instinct, perhaps, and a certain
likeness to my mother."
"Did Mrs. Warrington — I beg her pardon, I think she calls herseli
Madam or my Lady Esmond now . . . ? "
" They call my mother so in our province, " said the boy.
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 29
'* Did she never tell yon of another daughter her mother had in
England, before she married your grandfather ?"
" She never spoke of one."
" Nor your grandfather ? "
" Never. But in his picture-books, -which he constantly made for us
children, he used to draw a head very like that above your Ladyship.
That, and Viscount Francis, and Xing James III., he drew a score of
times, I am sure."
"And the picture over me reminds you of no one, Harry ? "
"Ko, indeed."
" Ah ! Here is a sermon ! " says the lady, -with a sigh. ** Harry, that
was my face e^ce — yes, it was — and then I was called Reatriv Esinonf]-
And your moiher is my half-sister, child, and she has never even
mentioned my name I "
CHAPTER V.
FAilILT JAES.
As Harry Warrington related to his new-found relative the simple
story of his adventures at home, no doubt Madam Bernstein, who
possessed a great sense of humour and a remarkable knowledge of the
world, formed her judgment respecting the persons and events described ;
and if her opinion was not in all respects favourable, what can be said
but that men and women are iraperi'ect, and human life not entirely
pleasant or profitable ? The court and city-bred lady recoiled at the
mere thought of her American sister's countryfied existence. Such a life
would be rather wearisome to most city-bred ladies. But little Madam
"Warrington knew no better, and was satisfied with her life, as indeed
she was with herself in general. Because you and I are epicures or
dainty feeders, it docs not follow that Hodge is miserable with his
homely meal of bread and bacon. Madam Warrington had a life of
duties and employments which might be hum-drum, but at any rate
were pleasant to her. She was a brisk little woman of business, and all
the affairs of her large estate came under her cognisance. No pie was
baked at Castle wood but her little finger was in it. She set the maids to
their spinning, she saw the kitchen wenches at their work, she trotted a-
field on her pony, and oversaw the overseers and the negro hands as they
worked in the tobacco and corn-fields. If a slave was ill, she would go
to his quarters in any weather, and doctor him with great resolution.
She had a book full of receipts after the old fashion, and a closet where
she distilled waters and compounded elixirs, and a medicine-chest which
was the terror of her neighbours. They trembled to be ill, lest the little
lady should be upon them with her decoctions and her pills.
A hundred years back there were scarce any towns in Virginia ; tha
so THE VIRGINIANS.
establishments of the gentry were little Tillages in which they and their
vassals dwelt. Eachel Esmond ruled like a little queen in Castlewood ;
the princes, her neighbours governed their estates round about. Many
of these were rather needy potentates, living plentifully but in the
roughest fashion, having numerous domestics whose liveries were often
ragged ; keeping open houses, and turning away no stranger from their
gates ; proud, idle, fond of all sorts of field sports as became gentlemen of
good lineage. The widow of Castlewood was as hospitable as her neigh-
bours, and a' better economist than most of them. More thai#one, no
doubt, would have had no objection to share her life interest in the estate,
and supply the place of papa to her boys. But where was the man good
enough for a person of her ladyship's exalted birth ? Thj|re was a talk
of making the Duke of Cumberland viceroy, or even king, over America.
Madam Warrington's gossips laughed, and said she was waiting for
him. She remarked, with much gravity and dignity, that persons of as
high birth as his Eoyal Highness had made offers of alliance to the
Esmond family.
Slie had, as lieutenant under her, an officer's widow who has been
before named, and who had been Madam Esmond's companion at school,
as her late husband had been the regimental friend of the late Mr.
Warrington. When the English girls at the Kensington Academy,
•where Rachel Esmond had her education, teased and tortured the little
American stranger, and laughed at the princified airs which she gave
herself from a very early age, Fanny Parker defended and befriended
her. They both married ensigns in Kingsley's. They became tenderly
attached to each other. It was " my Fanny " and " my Eachel " in the
letters of the young ladies. Then, my Fanny's husband died in sad out-
at-elbowed circumstances, leaving no provision for his widow and her
infant ; and, in one of his annual voyages. Captain Franks brought over
Mrs. Mountain, in the Young llachel, to Virginian
There was plenty of room in Castlewood House, and Mrs. Mountain
served to enliven the place. She played cards with the mistress : slie
had some knowledge of music, and could help the eldest boy in that way :
she laughed and was pleased with the guests : she saw to the strangers'
ehambers, and presided over the presses and the linen. She was a kind,
brisk, jolly looking widow, and more than one unmarried gentleman of
the colony asked her to change her name for his own. But she chose to
keep that of Mountain, though, and perhaps because, it had brought her
no good fortune. One marriage was enough for her she said. Mr.
Mountain had amiably spent her little fortune and his own. Her last
trinkets went to pay his funeral ; and, as long as Madam Warrington
would keep her at Castlewood, she preferred a home without a husband
to any which as yet had been offered to her in Virginia. The two ladies
quarrelled plentifully ; but they loved each other : they made up their
differences : they fell out again to be reconciled presently. When either
of the boys was ill, each lady vied with the other in maternal tenderness
ind care. In his last days and illness, Mrs. Mountain's cheerfulness
THE Vir.GIXIAXS. 31
and kindness had been greatly appreciated by the Colonel, whose memory
Madam Warrington regarded more than that of any living person. So
that, year after year, when Captain Franks wonld ask Mrs. Mountain, in
his pleasant way, whether she was going back with him that voyage ?
she would decline, and say that she proposed to stay a year more.
And when suitors came to Madam Warrington, as come they would,
she would receive their compliments and attentions kindly enough, and
asked more than one of these lovers whether it was Mrs. Mountain he
came af^er ? She would use her best offices with Mountain. Fanny was
the best creature, was of a good English family, and would make any
gentleman happy. Did the Squire declare it was to her and not her
dependent that he paid his addresses ? she would make him her gravest
curtsey, say that she really had been utterly mistaken as to his views,
and let him know that the daughter of the Marquis of Esmond lived for
her people and her sons, and did not propose to change her condition.
Have we not read how Q,ueen Elizabeth was a perfectly sensible woman
of business, and was pleased to inspire not only terror and awe, but love
in the bosoms of her subjects ? So the little Virginian princess had her
favourites, and accepted their flatteries, and grew tired of them, and
was cruel or kind to them as suited her wayward imperial humour.
There was no amount of compliment which she would not graciously
receive and take as her due. Her little foible was so well known that
the wags used to practise upon it. Eattling Jack Firebrace of Henrico
county had free quarters for months at Castlewood, and was a prime
favourite with the lady there, because he addressed verses to her which
he stole out of the pocket-books. Tom Humbold of Spotsylvania
wagered fifty hogsheads against five that he would make her institute an
order of knighthood, and won his wager.
The elder boy saw these freaks and oddities of his good mother's
disposition, and chafed and raged at them privately. From very early
days he revolted when flatteries and compliments were paid to the little
lady, and strove to expose them with his juveni'ie satire ; so that his
mother would say gravely, *' The Esmonds were always of a jealous
disposition, and my poor boy takes after my father and mother in this."
George hated Jack Firebrace and Tom Humbold, and all their like ;
whereas Harry went out sporting with them, and fowling, and fishing,
and cockfighting, and enjoyed all the fun of the country.
One winter, after their first tutor had been dismissed, Madam Esmond
took , them to Williamsburg, for such education as the schools and
college there afi'orded, and there it was the fortune ot the family to listen
to the preaching of the famous Mr. Whitfield, who had come into
Virginia, where the habits and preaching of the established clergy were
not very edifying. Unlike many of the neighbouring provinces, V^irgmia
was a Church of England colony : the clergymen were paid by the State
and had glebes allotted to them ; and, there being no Church of England
bishop as yet in America, the colonists were obliged to import their
divines from the mother- country. Such as came were not, naturally, ot
32 THE VIRGIXIAN3.
the very best or most eloquent kind of pastors. Noblemen's hangers-on,
insolvent parsons who had quarrelled with justice or the bailiif, brought
their stained cassocks into the colony in the hopes of finding a living
there. No wonder that Whitfield's great voice stirred those whom
harmless Mr. Broadbeut, the William "^burg chaplain, never could
awaken. At first the boys were as much excited as their mother by Mr.
Whitfield : they sang hymns, and listened to him with fervour, and,
could he have remained long enough among them, Harry and George had
both worn black coats probably instead of epaulettes. The simple boys
communicated their experiences to one another, and were on the daily
and nightly look out for the sacred " call," in tlie hope or the possession
of which such a vast multitude of Protestant England was thrilling at
the time. -
But Mr. Whitfield could not stay always with the little congregation
of Williamsburg. His mission was to enlighten the whole benighted
people of the Church, and from the East to the West to trumpet the
truth and bid slumbering sinners awaken. However, he comforted the
widow with precious letters, and promised to send her a tutor for her
sons who should be capable of teaching them not only profane learning,
but of strengthening and confirming them in science much more precious.
In due course, a chosen vessel arrived from Eugland. Young Mr.
Ward had a voice as loud as Mr. Whitfield's, and could talk almost as
readily and for as long a time. Night and evening the hall sounded
with his exhortations. The domestic negroes crept to the doors to listen
to him. Other servants darkened the porch windows with their crisp
heads to hear him discourse. It was over the black sheep of the Castle-
wood flock that Mr. Ward somehow had the most influence. These
woolly lamblings were immensely affected by his exhortations, and,
when he gave out the hymn, there was such a negro chorus about the
house as might be heard across the Potomac — such a chorus as would
never have been heard in the Colonel's time — for that worthy gentleman
had a suspicion of all cassocks, and said he would never have any con-
troversy with a clergyman but upon backgammon. Where money was
wanted for charitable purposes no man was more ready, and the good,
easy Virginian clergyman, who loved backgammon heartily, too, said
that the worthy Colonel's charity must cover his other shortcomings.
Ward was a handsome young man. His preaching pleased Madam
Esmond from the first, and, I dare say, satisfied her as much as Mr.
Whitfield's. Of course it cannot be the case at the present day when
they are so finely educated, but women a hundred years ago, were
credulous, eager to admire and believe, and apt to imagine all sorts of
€xcellences in the object of their admiration. For weeks, nay, months,
Madam Esmond was never tired ot hearing Mr. Ward's great glib voice
and voluble common-places : and, according to her wont, she insisted
that her neighbours should come and listen to him, and ordered them
to be converted. Her young favourite, Mr. Washington, she was
especially anxious to influence ; and again and again pressed hira to
THE VIRGINIANS.
coine and stay at Castle wood and benefit by the spiritual advantages
there to be obtained. But that young gentleman found he had par-
ticular business which called him home or away from home, and always
ordered his horse of evenings, when the time was coming for Mr. "Ward's
exercises. And — w^hat boys are just towards their pedagogue? — the
twins grew speedily tired and even rebellious under their new teacher.
They found him a bad scholar, a dull fellow, and ill-bred to boot.
George knew much more Latin and Greek than his master, and caught
him in perpetual blunders and false quantities. Harry, who could take
much greater liberties than were allowed to his elder brother, mimicked
"Ward's manner of eating and talking, so that Mrs. Mountain and even
Madam Esmond were forced to laugh, and little Fanny Mountain would
erow with delight. Madam Esmond would have found the fellow out
for a vulgar quack but for her son's opposition, which she, on her part,
opposed wdth her own indomitable will. " What matters whether he
has more or less of profane learning ? " she asked ; '* in that which is
most precious, Mr. "W. is able to be a teacher to all of us. What if his
manners are a little rough ? Heaven does not choose its elect from
among the great and wealthy. I wish you knew one book, children, as
well as Mr. Ward does. It is your wicked pride — the pride of all the
Esmonds — which prevents you from listening to him. Go down on
your knees in your chamber and pray to be corrected of that dreadful
fault." Ward's discourse that evening was about Naaman the Syrian,
and the pride he had in his native rivers of Abana and Pharpar,
which he vainly imagined to be superior to the healing waters of Jordan
— the moral being, that he, Ward, was the keeper and guardian of the
undoubted waters of Jordan, and that the unhappy, conceited boys must
go to perdition unless they came to him.
George now began to give way to a wicked sarcastic method, which,
perhaps, he had inherited from his grandfather, and with which, when a
quiet, skilful young person chooses to employ it, he can make a whole
family uncomfortable. He took up Ward's pompous remarks and made
jokes of them, so that that young divine chafed and almost choked over
his great meals. He made Madam Esmond angry, and doubly so when
he sent off Harry into fits of laughter. Her authority was defied, her
officer scorned and insulted, her youngest child perverted, by the obsti-
nate elder brother. She made a desperate and unhappy attempt to
maintain her power.
The boys were fourteen years of age, Harry being taller and much
more advanced than his brother, who was delicate, and as yet almost
child-like in stature and appearance. The haculine method was a quite
common mode of argument in those da^^s. Serjeants, schoolmasters,
slave- overseers, used the cane freely. Our little boys had been horsed
many a day by Mr. Dempster, their Scotch tutor, in their grandfather's
time ; and Harry, especially, had got to be quite accustomed to the
practice, and made very light of it. But, in the interregnum after
Colonel Esmond's death, the cane had been laid aside, and the youn;?
D
84 THE YIEGINIANS.
gentlemen of Castlewood had been allowed to have tlieir own way. Her
own and her lieutenant's authority being now spurned by the youthful
rebels, the unfortunate mother thought of restoring it by means of
coercion. She took council of Mr. Ward. That athletic young peda-
gogue could easily find chapter and verse to warrant the course whieK
he wished to pursue — in fact, there was no doubt about the whole-
someness of the practice in those days. He had begun by flattering tlie
boys, finding a good berth and snug quarters at Castlewood, and hoping
to remain there. But they laughed at his flattery, they scorned his
bad manners, they yawned soon at his sermons ; the more their mother
favoured him, the more they disliked him; and so the tutor and the
pupils cordially hated each other. Mrs. Mountain, who was the boys'
friend, especially George's friend, whom she thouglit unjustly treated
by his mother, warned the lads to be prudent, and that some conspiracy
was hatching against them. " Ward is more obsequious than ever to
your mamma. It turns my stomach, it does, to hear him flatter, and
to see him gobble — the odious wretch! You must be on your guard,
my poor boys — you must learn your lessons, and not anger your tutor.
A mischief will come, I know it will. Your mamma was talking about
you to Mr. Washington the other day, when I came into the room. I
don't like that Major Washington, you know I don't. Don't say —
bounty! Master Harry. You always stand up for your friends, you
do. The Major is very handsome and tall, and he may be very good^
hut he is much too old a young man for me. Bless you, my dears, the
j|uantity of wild oats your father sowed and my own poor Mountain
vv'hen they were Ensigns in Kingsley's, would fill sacks full! Show
jje Mr. Washington's wild oats, I say — not a grain ! Well, I hap-
pened to step in last Tuesday, when he was here with your mamma ;
and I am sure they were talking about you, for he said, * Discipline is
discipline, and must be preserved. There can be but one command in a-
house, ma'am, and you must be the mistress of yours.' "
*' The ver}^ words he used to me," cries Harry. "He told nre that
he did not like to meddle with other folks' afiairs, but that our mother
was very angry, dangerously angry, he said, and he begged me to obey
Mr. Ward, and specially to press George to do so."
"Let him manage his own house, not mine;" says George, very
liaughtily. And the caution, far from benefitting him, only rendered
the lad more supercilious and refractory.
On the next day the storm broke, and vengeance fell on the little
rebel's head. Words passed between George and Mr. Ward during the
morning study. The boy was quite insubordinate and unjust ; even his
faithful brother cried out, and owned that he was in the wrong. Mr. Ward
kept his temper — to compress, bottle up, cork down, and prevent your
anger from present furious explosion, is called keeping your temper — and
.said ho should speak upon this business to Madam Esmond. AYlien the
iamily met at dinner, Mr. Ward requested her ladyship to stay, and,
teoiperately enough, laid the subject of dispute before her.
THE YIRGIXIAXS.
He asked Master Harry to confirm what he had said : and poor Harry
was obliged to admit all the Dominie's statements.
George, standing under his grandfather's portrait by the chimney, said
haughtily that what Mr. Ward had said was perfectly correct.
" To be a tutor to such a pupil is absurd," said Mr. Ward, making a
long speech, interspersed with many of his usual Scripture phrases, at
each of which, as they occurred, that wicked young George smiled, and
pished scornfully, and at length Ward ended by asking her honour's
leave to retire.
*'Not before you have punished this wicked and disobedient child,"
said Madam Esmond, who had been gathering anger during Ward's
harangue, and especially at her son's behaviour.
" Punish ! " says George.
" Yes, Sir, punish ! If means of love and entreaty fail, as they have
with your proud heart, other means must be found to bring you to
obedience. I punish you now, rebellious boy, to guard you from greater
punishment hereafter. The discipline of this family must be maintained.
There can be but one command in a Ijouse, and I must be the mistress
of mine. You will punish this refractory boy, Mr. Ward, as we have
agreed that you should do, and if there is the least resistance on his part,
my overseer and servants will lend you aid."
In some such words the widow no doubt must have spoken, but with
many vehement Scriptural allusions, which it does not become this
chronicler to copy. To be for ever applying to the Sacred Oracles, and
accommodating their sentences to your purpose — to be for ever taking
Heaven into your confidence about your private afiairs, and passionately
calling for its interference in your family quarrels and difficulties —
to be so familiar with its designs and schemes as to be able to threaten
your neighbour with its thunders, and to know precisely its intentions
regarding him and others who differ from your infallible opinion — this
was the schooling which our simple widow had received from her im-
])etuous young spiritual guide, and I doubt whether it brought her much
comfort.
In the midst of his mother's harangue, in spite of it, perhaps, George
Esmond felt he had been wrong. " There can be but one command in
the house, and you must be mistress — I know who said those words
before you," George said slowly, and looking very white — '* and — and
I know, mother, that I have acted wrongly to Mr. Ward."
"He owns it! He asks pardon!" cries Harry. ** That's right,
George I That's enough, isn't it ? "
" No, it is not enough ! " cried the little woman. " The disobedient
boy must pay the penalty of his disobedience. When I was headstrong,
as I sometimes was as a child before my spirit was changed and humbled,
my mamma punished me, and I submitted. So must George. I desire
you will do your duty, Mr. Ward."
" Stop, mother! — you don't quite know what you are doing," George
said, exceedingly agitated.
36' THE VIRGINIAXS.
*• 1 know that he who spares the rod spoils the child, uiifrrateful
"boy ! " says Madam Esmond, with more references of the same nature,
w'hich George heard, looking very pale and desperate.
Upon the mantelpiece, under the Colonel's portrait, stood a china-
cup, by which the widow set great store, as her father had always been
accustomed to drink from it. George suddenly took it, and a strange
smile passed over his pale face.
" Stay one minute. Don't go away yet," he cried to his mother,
who was leaving the room. "You — you are very fond of this cup,
mother ? " — and Harry looked at him, wondering. " If I broke it, it
could never be mended, could it ? All the tinkers' rivets would not
make it a whole cup again. My dear old grandpapa's cup ! I have
been wrong. Mr. "Ward, I ask pardon. I will try and amend."
The widow looked at her son indignantly, almost scornfully. " I
thought," she said, " I thought an Esmond had been more of a man than
to be afraid, and " — here she gave a little scream as Harry uttered an
exclamation, and dashed forward with his hands stretched out towards
his brother.
George, after looking at the cup, raised it, opened his hand, and let
it fall on the marble slab below him. Harry had tried in vain to
catch it.
"It is too late, Hal," George said. "You will never mend that
again — never. Now, mother, I am ready, as it is your wish. Will you
come and see whether I am afraid ? Mr. Ward, I am your servant.
Your servant ? Your slave ! And the next time I meet Mr. Wash-
ington, madam, I will thank him for the advice which he gave you."
"I say, do your duty, sir! " cried Mrs. Esmond, stamping her littlo
foot. And George, making a low bow to Mr. Ward, begged him to go
first out of the room to the study.
"Stop! For God's sake, mother, stop!" cried poor Hal. But
passion was boiling in the little woman's heart, and she would not hear
the boy's petition. " You only abet him, sir ! " she cried. "If I had
to do it myself, it should be done ! " And Harry, with sadness and
wrath in his countenance, left the room by the door through which
Mr. Ward and his brother had just issued.
The widow sank down on a great chair near it, and sat awhile
vacantly looking at the fragments of the broken cup. Then she inclined
her head towards the door — one of half-a-dozen of carved mahogany
which the Colonel had brought from Europe. Eor a while there was
silence : then a loud outcry, which made the poor mother start.
In another minute Mr, Ward came out bleeding, from a great wound
on his head, and behind him Harry, with flaring eyes, and brandishing
a little couteau-de-chasse of his grandfather, which hung with others of
the Colonel's weapons, on the Library wall.
" I don't care. I did it," says Harry. " I couldn't see this fe.llow
strike my brother ; and, as he lifted his hand, I flung the great rijler
at him. I couldn't help it. I won't bear it j ; nl, if one Hits a haiid
THE VIRGINIANS. 37
to me or my brother, I'll have his life," shouts Harry, brandishing the
hanger.
The widow gave a great gasp and a sigh, as she looked at the young
champion and his victim. She must have suffered terribly during the
few minutes of the boys' absence ; and the stripes which she imagined
had been inflicted on the elder had smitten her own heart. She longed
to take both boys to it. She was not angry now. Very likely she was
delighted with, the thougbt of the younger's prowess and generosity.
" You are a very naughty disobedient child," she said, in an exceedingly
peaceable voice. *' My poor Mr. Ward ! What a rebel, to strike you!
Papa's great ebony ruler, was it? Lay down that hanger, child.
'Twas General Webb gave it to my papa after the siege of Lille. Let
me bathe your wound, my good Mr. Ward, and thank Heaven it was
no worse. Mountain! Go fetch me some court-plaster out of the
middle drawer in the japan cabinet. Here comes George. Put on
your coat and waistcoat, child ! You were going to take your punish-
ment, sir, and that is sufficient. Ask pardon, Harry, of good Mr.
Ward, for your wicked rebellious spirit, — I do, with all my heart, I am
sure. And guard against your passionate nature, child — and pray to
be forgiven. My son, 0, my son ! " Here, with a burst of tears
which she could no longer control, the little woman threw herself on
the neck of her eldest born; whilst Harry, laying the hanger down,
went up very feebly to Mr. Ward, and said, "Indeed, I ask j-our
pardon, sir. I couldn't help it ; on my honour I couldn't ; nor bear to
see my brother struck."
The widow was scared, as after her embrace she looked up at George's
pale face. In reply to her eager caresses, he coldly kissed her on the
forehead, and separated from her. " You meant for the best, mother,"
he said, "and I was in the wrong. But the cup is broken; and all
the king's horses and all the king's men cannot mend it. There — put
the fair side outwards on the mantelpiece, and the wound will not
show."
Again Madam Esmond looked at the lad as he placed the fragments
of the poor cup on the ledge where it had always been used to stand.
Her power over him was gone. He had dominated her. She was not
sorry for the defeat: for women like not only to conquer, but to be
conquered ; and from that day the young gentleman was master at
Castlewood. His mother admired him as he went up to Harry, gra-
ciously and condescendingly gave Hal his band, and said, " Thank you,
brother ! " as if be were a prince, and Harry a general wbo had helped
him in a great battle.
Then George went up to Mr. Ward, who was still piteously bathing
his eye and forehead in the water. " I ask pardon for Hal's violence,
sir," George said, in great state. " You see, though we are very young,
we are gentlemen, and cannot brook an insult from strangers. I should
have submitted, as it was mamma's desire ; but I am glad she no longer
entertains it."
38 THE YIRGINIANS.
"And pray, sir, who is to compensate mef" says Mr. Ward, "who
is to repair the insult done to ?ne f "
"We are very young," says George, with another of his old-fashioned
bows: ""We shall be fifteen soon. Any compensation that is usual
amongst gentlemen " . . . .
"This, sir, to a minister of the word!" bawls out Ward, starting
up, and who knew perfectly well the lads' skill in fence, having a score
of times been foiled by the pair of them.
"You are not a clergyman yet. We thought you might like to be
considered as a gentleman. We did not know."
" A gentleman ! I am a Christian, sir 1 " says Ward glaring furiously,
and clenching his great fists.
"Well, well, if you won't fight, why don't you forgive?" says
Harry. "If you don't forgive, why don't you fight? That's what I
call the horns of a dilemma;" and he laughed his frank, jolly
laugh.
But this was nothing to the laugh a few days afterwards, when, the
quarrel having been patched up, along with poor Mr. Ward's eye, the
unlucky tutor was holding forth according to his custom. He tried to
preach the boys into respect for him, to reawaken the enthusiasm which
the congregation had felt for him ; he wrestled with their manifest
indifference, he implored Heaven to warm their cold hearts again, and
to lift up those who were falling back. All was in vain. The widow
wept no more at his harangues, was no longer excited by his loudest
tropes and similes, nor appeared to be much frightened by the very hottest
menaces with which he peppered his discourse. Nay, she pleaded head-
ache, and would absent herself of an evening, on which occasion the
remainder of the little congregation was very cold indeed. One day then,
Ward, still making desperate efforts to get back his despised authority,
was preaching on the beauty of subordination, the present lax spirit of
the age, and the necessity of obeying our spiritual and temporal rulers.
*' For why, my dear friends," he nobly asked (he was in the habit of
asking immensely dull questions, and straightway answering them with
corresponding platitudes) "why are governors appointed, but that we
should be governed ? Why are tutors engaged, but that children should
be taught?" (here a look at the boys). " Why are rulers " Here
he paused, looking with a sad, puzzled face at the young gentlemen.
He saw in their countenances the doable meaning of the unlucky word
he had uttered, and stammered, and thumped the table with his fist.
" Why, I say, are rulers "
" Ilulers," says George, looking at Harry.
" liulers ! " says Hal, putting his hand to his eye, where the poor
tutor still bore marks of the late scuffle. Rulers, o-ho ! It was too
much. The boys burst out in an explosion of laughter. Mrs. Mountain
who was full of fun, could not help joining in the chorus; and little
Fanny^ who had always behaved very demurely and silently at these
THE VIRGINIANS. 39
ceremonies, crowed again, and clapped lier little hands at the others
laughing, not in the least knowing the reason why.
This could not be borne. Ward shut down the book before him ; in
a few angry, but eloquent and manly words, said he would speak no
more in that place ; and left Castlewood not in the least regretted by
Madam Esmond, who had doted on him three months before.
CHAPTER yi.
THE TIllGINIANS BEGIN TO SEE THE WORLD.
After the departure of her unfortunate spiritual adviser and chaplain,
Madam Esmond and her son seemed to be quite reconciled ; but although
George never spoke of the quarrel with his mother, it must have weighed
upon the boy's mind very painfully, for he had a fever soon after the
last recounted domestic occurrences, during which illness his brain once
or twice wandered, when he shrieked out, "Broken ! Broken ! It never,
never can be mended ! " to the silent terror of his mother, who sate
watching the poor child as he tossed wakeful upon his midnight bed.
His malady defied her skill, and increased in spite of all the nostrums
Vr'hich the good widow kept in her closet and administered so freely to
her people. She had to undergo another humiliation, and one day little
Mr. Dempster beheld her at his door on horseback. She had ridden
through the snow on her pony, to implore him to give his aid to her poor
boy. " I shall bury my resentment, Madam," said he, " as your lady-
ship buried your pride. Please God, I may be time enough to help my
dear young pupil ! " So he put up his lancet, and his little provision of
medicaments ; called his only negro-boy after him, shut up his lonely
hut, and once more returned to Castlewood. That night and for some
days afterwards it seemed very likely that poor Harry would become
heir of Castlewood ; but by Mr. Dempster's skill the fever was got over,
the intermittent attacks diminished in intensity, and George was restored
almost to health again. A change of air, a voyage even to England was
recommended, but the widow had quarrelled with her children's relatives
there, and owned with contrition that she had been too hasty. A journey
to the north and east was determined on, and the two young gentlemen,
with Mr. Dempster as their tutor, and a couple of servants to attend
them, took a voyage to New-York, and thence up the beautiful Hudson
river to Albany, where they were received by the first gentry of the
province, and thenca into the French provinces, where they had the best
recommendations, and were hospitably entertained by the French gentry.
Harry camped with the Indians, and took furs and shot bears. George,
who never cared for field-sports, and whose health was still delicate, was
a special favourite with the French ladies, who were accustomed to see
'Tery few young English gentlemen speaking the French language so
40 THE YIRGIXIAXS.
readily as our young gentlemen. George especially perfected his accent
so as to be able to pass for a Frenchman. Be had the hel air completely,
every person allowed. He danced the minuet elegantly. He learned
the latest imported French catches and songs, and played them beauti-
fully on his violin, and would have sung them too but that his voice
broke at this time, and changed from treble to bass ; and , to the envy of
poor Harry, who was absent on a bear-hunt, he even had an affair of
honour with a young ensign of the regiment of Auvergne, the Chevalier
de la Jabotiere, whom he pinked in the shoulder, and with whom he
afterwards swore an eternal friendship. Madame de Mouchy, the super-
intendent's lady, said the mother was blest who had such a son, and
■wrote a complimentary letter to Madam Esmond upon Mr. George's
behaviour. I fear, Mr. Whitfield would not have been over-pleased
with the widow's elation on hearing of her son's prowess.
"When the lads returned home at the end of ten delightful months,
their mother was surprised at their growth and improvement. George
especially was so grown as to come up to his younger-born brother.
The boys could hardly be distinguished one from another, especially
when their hair was powdered ; but that ceremony being too cumbrous
for country-life, each of the gentlemen commonly wore his own hair,
George his raven black, and Harry his light locks tied with a ribbon.
The reader who has been so kind as to look over the first pages of the
lad's simple biography, must have observed that Mr. George Esmond
was of a jealous and suspicious disposition, most generous and gentle
and incapable of an untruth, and though too magnanimous to revenge,
almost incapable of forgiving any injury. George left home with
no good will towards an honourable gentleman, whose name afterwards
became one of the most famous in the world ; and he returned from his
journey not in the least altered in his opinion of his mother's and
grandfather's friend. Mr. Washington, though then but just of age,
looked and felt much older. He always exhibited an extraordinary
simplicity and gravity : he had managed his mother's and his family's
affairs from a very early age, and was trusted by all his friends and the
gentry of his county more respectfully than persons twice his senior.
Mrs. Mountain, Madam Esmond's friend and companion, who dearly
loved the two boys and her patroness, in spite of many quarrels with the
latter, and daily threats of parting, was a most amusing droll letter-
writer, and used to write to the two boys on their travels. Now,
Mrs. Mountain was of a jealous turn likewise ; especially she had a
great turn for match-making, and fancied that every body had a design
to marry every body else. There scarce came an unmarried man to
Castlewood but Mountain imagined the gentleman had an eye towards
the mistress of the mansion. She was positive that odious Mr. Ward
intended to make love to the widow, and pretty sure the latter liked
him. She knew that Mr. Washington wanted to be married, was
certain that such a shrewd young gentleman would look out for a rich
wife, and as for the differences of ages, what matter that the Major
THE VIRGINIANS. 41
(major "was his rank in the militia) was fifteen years younger than
Madam Esmond? They were used to such marriages in the family;
my lady her mother was how many years older than the Colonel when
she married him ? — "When she married him and was so jealous that she
never would let the poor Colonel out of her sight. The poor Colonel !
after his wife, he had been henpecked by his little daughter. And she
would take after her mother, and marry again, be sure of that. ■ Madam
was a little chit of a woman, not five feet in her highest head-dress and
shoes, and Mr. Washington a great tall man of six feet two. Great
tall men always married little chits of women : therefore, Mr. "VY,
must be looking after the widow. What could be more clear than the
deduction ?
She communicated these sage """opinions to her boy, as she called
George, who begged her for Heaven's sake to hold her tongue. This
she said she could do, but she could not keep her eyes always shut;
and she narrated a hundred circumstances which had occurred in the
young gentleman's absence, and which tended, as she thought, to
confirm her notions. Had Mountain imparted these pretty suspicions to
his brother ? George asked sternly. No. George was her boy ;
Harry was his mother's boy. " She likes him best, and I like you
best, George," cries Mountain. "Besides, if I were to speak to him, he
would tell your mother in a minute. Poor Harry can keep nothing
quiet, and then there would be a pretty quarrel between Madam
and me ! "
" I beg you to keep this quiet. Mountain," said Mr. George with
great dignity, "or you and I shall quarrel too. Neither to me nor
to any one else in the world must you mention such an absurd
suspicion."
Absurd ! Why absurd ? Mr. Washington was constantly with the
widow. His name was for ever in her mouth. She was never tired of
pointing out his virtues and examples to her sons. She consulted him
on every question respecting her estate and its management. She never
bought a horse or sold a barrel of tobacco without his opinion. There
was a room at Castle wood regularly called Mr. Washington's room. He
actually leaves his clothes here and his portmanteau when he goes
away. "Ah! George, George! One day will come when he wonH go
away," groaned Mountain, who, of course, always returned to the
subject of which she was forbidden to speak. Meanwhile Mr. George
adopted towards his mother's favourite a frigid courtesy, at which the
honest gentleman chafed but did not care to remonstrate, or a stinging
sarcasm, which he would break through as he would burst through
so many brambles on those hunting excursions in which he and Harry
Warrington rode so constantly together; whilst George, retreating ta
his tents, read mathematics, and French, and Latin, and sulked in his
book-room more and more lonely.
Harry was away from home with some other sporting friends (it is to
be feared the young gentleman's acquaintances were not all as eligible
42 THE VIRGINIANS.
as Mr. Washington), when the latter came to pay a visit at Castlewood.
He was so peculiarly tender and kind to the mistress tliere, and received
by her with such special cordiality, that Georo:e Warrington's jealousy
had well nigh broken out in open rupture. But the visit was one of
adieu, as it appeared. Major Washington was going on a long and
dangerous journey, quite to the western Virginia frontier and beyond it.
The French had been for some time past making inroads into our terri-
tory. The government at home, as well as those of Virginia and
Pennsylvania, were alarmed at this aggressive spirit of the Lords of
Canada and Louisiana, Some of our settlers had already been driven
from their holdings by Frenchmen in arms, and tlie governors of the
British provinces were desirous to stop their incursions, or at any rate to
protest against their invasion.
We chose to hold our American colonies by a law that was at least
convenient for its framers. The maxim was, that whoever possessed
the coast had a right to all the territory inland as far as the Pacific ; so
that the British charters only laid down the limits of the colonies from
north to south, leaving them quite free from east to west. The French,
meanwhile, had their colonies to the north and south, and aimed at con-
necting them by the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence and the great
intermediate lakes and waters lying to the westward of the British
possessions. In the year 1748, though peace was signed between the two
European kingdoms, the colonial question remained unsettled, to be
opened again when either party should be strong enough to urge it. In
the year 1753, it came to an issue, on the Ohio river, where the British
and French settlers tnet. To be sure, there existed other people besides
French and British, who thought they had a title to the territory about
which the children of their White Fathers were battling, namely, the
native Indians and proprietors of the soil. But the logicians of
St. James's and Versailles wisely chose to consider the matter in dispute
as a European and not a lled-man's question, eliminating him from the
argument, but employing his tomahawk as it might serve the turn of
either litigant.
A company, called the Ohio company, having grants from the
Virginia government of lands along that river, found themselves
invaded in their settlements by French military detachments, wlio
roughly ejected the Britons from their holdings. These latter applied
for protection to Mr. Dinwiddle, Lieutenant- Grovernor of Virginia, who
determined upon sending an ambassador to the French commanding
officer on the Ohio, demanding that the French should desist from tlicir
inroads upon the territories of his Majesty King George.
Young Mr. Washington jumped eagerly at the chance of distinction
which this service afforded him, and volunteered to leave his home and
his rural and professional pursuits in Virginia, to carry the governor's
message to the French officer. Taking a guide, an interpreter, and a
few attendants, and following the Indian tracks in the fall of the year
1753, the intrepid young envoy made his way from Williamsburg almost
THE VIEGINIANS. 43
to tlie shores of Lake Erie, and found the French commander at Fort le
Boeuf. That officer's reply was brief: his orders were to hold the place
and drive all the English from it. The French avowed their intention of
taking possession of the Ohio. And with this rough answer the
messenger from Virginia had to return through danger and difficulty,
across lonely forest and frozen river, shaping his course by the compass,
and camping at night in the snow by the forest fires.
Harry Warrington cursed his ill-fortune that he had been absent
from home on a cock-fight, when he might have had a chance of sport so
much nobler ; and on his return from lus expedition, which he had
conducted with an heroic energy and simplicity, Major Washington was
a greater favourite than ever with the lady of Castlewood. She pointed
him out as a model to both her sons. "Ah, Harry!" she would say,
^' think of you with your cock-fighting and your racing matches, and the
Major away there in the wilderness, watching the French, and battling
with the frozen rivers ! Ah, George ! learning may be a very good
thing, but I wish my eldest son were doing something in the service of
his country ! "
"I desire no better than to go home and seek for employment,
ma'am," says George. " You surely would not have me serve under
Mr. Washington, in his new regiment, or ask a commission from
Mr. Dinwiddie?"
"An Esmond can only serve with the king's commission," says
Madam, "and as for asking a favour from Mr. Lieutenant-Governor
Dinwiddie, I would rather beg my bread."
Mr. Washington was at this time raising such a regiment as, with
the scanty pay and patronage of the Yirginian government, he could get
together, and proposed, with the help of these men-of-war, to put a
more peremptory veto upon the French invaders than the solitary
ambassador had been enabled to lay. A small force under another
officer, Colonel Trent, had been already despatched to the west, with
orders to fortify themselves so as to be able to resist any attack of the
enemy. The French troops, greatly outnumbering ours, came up with
the English outposts, who were fortifying themselves at a place on the
confines of Pennsylvania where the great city of Pittsburg now stands.
A Virginian officer with but forty men was in no condition to resist
twenty times that number of Canadians, who appeared before his
incomplete works. He was suffered to draw back without molestation ;
and the French, taking possession of his fort, strengthened it, and
christened it by the name of the Canadian governor, Du Quesne. Up to
this time no actual blow of war had been struck. The troops repre-
senting the hostile nations were in presence — the guns were loaded, but
no one as yet had cried " Fire." It was strange, that in a savage forest
of Pennsylvania, a young Virginian officer should fire a shot, and waken
up a war which was to last for sixty years, which was to cover his own
country and pass into Europe, to cost France her American colonies, to
sever ours from us, and create the great Western republic ; to rage over
41 THE VIRGINIANS.
tlie Old World when extinguished in the New ; and, of all the myriads
engaged in the vast contest, to leave the prize of the greatest fame with
him who struck the first blow !
He little knew of the fate in store for him. A simple gentleman,
anxious to serve his king and do his duty, he volunteered for the jfirst
service, and executed it with admirable fidelity. In the ensuing year
he took the command of the small body of provincial troops, with which
he marched to repel the Frenchmen. He came up with their advanced
guard and fired upon them, killing their leader. After this he had him-
self to fall back with his troops, and was compelled to capitulate to the
superior French force. On the. 4th of July, 1754, the Colonel marched
out with his troops from the little fort where he had hastily entrenched
himself (and which they called Fort Necessity), gave up the place to the
conqueror, and took his way home.
His command was over: his regiment disbanded after the fruitless,
inglorious march and defeat. Saddened and humbled in spirit, the
young officer presented himself after a while to his old friends at
Castlewood. He was very young; before he set forth on his first
campaign he may have indulged in exaggerated hopes of success, and
uttered them. "I was angry when I parted from you," he said to
George Warrington, holding out his hand, which the other eagerly took.
"You seemed to scorn me and my regiment, George. I thought you
laughed at us, and your ridiftule made me angry. I boasted too much of
what we would do."
"Nay, you have done your best, George," says the other, who quite
forgot his previous jealousy in his old comrade's misfortune. "Every-
body knows that a hundred and fifty starving men with scarce a round
of ammunition left, could not face five times their number perfectly
armed, and everybody who knows Mr. Washington knows that he would
do his duty. Harry and I saw the French in Canada last year. They
obey but one will : in our provinces each governor has his own. They
were royal troops the French sent against you." . . .
" but that some of ours were here !" cries Madam Esmond, tossing
her head up. "I promise you a few good English regiments would
make the white-coats run."
"You think nothing of the provincials: and I must say nothing now
we have been so unlucky," said the Colonel, gloomily. "You made
much of me when I was here before. Don't you remember what victories
you prophesied for me — how much I boasted myself very likely over
your good wine ? All those fine dreams are over now. 'Tis kind of
your ladyship to receive a poor beaten fellow as you do :" and the young-
soldier hung down his head.
George Warrington, with his extreme acute sensibility, was touched
at the other's emotion and simple testimony of sorrow under defeat.
He was about to say something friendly to Mr. Washington, had not
his mother to whom the Colonel had been speaking, replied herself j
"Kind of us to receive you, Colonel Washington!" said the widow.
THE VIRGINIANS. 45
" I never heard that when men were unhappy, our sex were less their
friends."
And she made the Colonel a very fine curtsey, which straightway
caused her son to he more jealous of him than ever.
CHAPTEE VII.
PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.
Surely no man can have better claims to sympathy than bravery,
youth, good looks, and misfortune. Madam Esmond might have had
twenty sons, and yet had a right to admire her young soldier. Mr.
Washington's room was more than ever Mr. Washington's room now.
She raved about him and praised him in all companies. She more than
ever pointed out his excellences to her sons ; contrasting his sterling
qualities with Harry's love of pleasure (the wild boy!) and George's
listless musings over his books. George was not disposed to like Mr.
Washington any better for his mother's extravagant praises. He coaxed
the jealous demon within him until he must have become a perfect pest
to himself and all the friends round about him. He uttered jokes so
deep that his simple mother did not know their meaning, but sato
bewildered at his sarcasms, and powerless what to think of his moody,
saturnine humour.
Meanwhile, public events were occurring which were to influence the
fortunes of all our homely family. The quarrel between the French and
English North Americans from being a provincial, had grown to be a
national, quarrel. Eeinforcements from France had already arrived in
Canada; and English troops were expected in Virginia. "Alas! my
dear friend!" wrote Madame la Presidente de Mouchy, from Quebec,
to her young friend George Warrington. " How contrary is the destiny
to us. I see you quitting the embrace of an adored mother to precipitate
yourself in the arms of Bellona. I see you pass wounded after combats.
I hesitate almost to wish victory to our lilies when I behold you ranged
under the banners of the Leopard. There are enmities which, the heart
does not recognise — ours assuredly are at peace among these tumults.
All here love and salute you as well as Monsieur the Bear-hunter, your
brother (that cold Hippolyte who preferred the chase to the soft conver-
sation of our ladies!) Your friend, your enemy, the Chevalier de la
Jabotiere burns to meet on the field of Mars his generous rival, M. Du
Quesne spoke of you last night at supper^ M. Du Quesne, my husband,
Bend afiectuous remembrances to their young friend, with which are
ever joined those of your sincere Presidente de Mouchy,
"The banner of the Leopard," of which George's fair correspondent
wrote, was, indeed, flung out to the winds, and a number of the king's
soldiers were rallied round it. It was resolved to wrest from the French
45 THE YIRGINIAXS.
all the conquests they had made upon British dominion. A couple of
regiments were raised and paid by the king in America, and a fleet with
a couple more was despatched from home under an experienced com-
mander. In February, 1755, Commodore Keppel, in the famous ship
Centurion, in which Anso n had made bis voyage round the world,
anchored in Hampton Roads with two ships of war under his com-
mand, and having on board General Braddock, his staff, and a part of
his troops. Mr. Braddock was appointed"^ the Duke. A hundred
years ago the Duke of Cumberland was called The Dake par excellence
in England — as another famous warrior has since been called. Not so
great a Duke certainly was that first-named Prince as his party esteemed
him, and surely not so bad a one as his enemies have painted him. A
fleet of transports speedily followed Prince William's general, bringing
stores, and men, and money in plenty.
The great man landed his troops at Alexandria on the Potomac river^
and repaired to Annapolis in Maryland, where he ordered the governors
of the different colonies to meet him in council, urging them each to
call upon their respective provinces to help the common cause in this
strait.
The arrival of the General and his little army caused a mighty excite-
ment all through the provinces, and nowhere greater than at Castlewood.
Harry was off forthwith to see the troops under canvas at AlexandriOj.
The sight of their lines delighted him, and the inspiring music of their
fifes and drums. He speedily made acquaintance with the officers of
both regiments; he longed to join in the expedition upon, which they
were bound, and was a welcome guest at their mess.
Madam Esmond was pleased that her sons should have an opportunity
of enjoying the society of gentlemen of good fashion from England. She
had no doubt their company was improving, that the English gentlemen
were very different from the horse-racing, cock-fighting, Virginian
squires, with whom Master Harry would associate, and the lawyers, and
pettifoggers, and toad-eaters at the Lieutenant-Governor's table. Madam
Esmond had a very keen eye for detecting flatterers in other- folks'
houses. Against the little knot of official people at Williamsburg, she
was especially satirical, and had no patience with their etiquettes and
squabbles "for precedence.
As for the company of the King's officers, Mr. Harry and his elder
brother both smiled at their mamma's compliments to the elegance and
propriety of the gentlemen of the camp. If the good lady had but
known all, if she could but have heard their jokes and the songs which
they sang over their wine and punch, if she could have seen the condi-
tion of many of them as they were carried away to their lodgings, sha
would scarce have been so ready to recommend their company to her
sons. Men and officers swaggered the country round, and frightened
the peaceful farm and village folk with their riot ; the General raved
and stormed against his troops for their disorder ; against the provincials
for their traitorous niggardliness ; the soldiers took possession almost as
:nE TIUGIXIANS. A'l
of a conquered country, they scorned the provincials, they insulted the
wives even of their Indian allies, who had come to join the English
warriors, upon their arrival in America, and to march with them against
the French. The General was compelled to forbid the Indian women
camp. Amazed and outraged, their husbands retired ; and but a few
months afterwards their services were lost to him, when their aid would
have been most precious.
Some stories against the gentlemen of the camp, Madam Esmond
might have heard, but she would have none of them. Soldiers would
be soldiers, that everybody knew; those officers who came over to
Castlewood on her son's invitation were most polite gentlemen, and such
indeed was the case. The widow received them most graciously, and
gave them the best sport the country afforded. Presently, the General
himself sent polite messages to the mistress of Castlewood, His father
had served with hers under the glorious Marlborough^ and Colonel
Esmond's name was still known and respected in England. With her
ladyship's permission, General Braddock would have the honour of
waiting upon her at Castlewood, and paying his respects to the daughter
of so meritorious an officer.
If she had known the cause of Mr. Braddock's politeness, perhaps his
compliments would not have charmed Madam Esmond so much. The
Commander-in-Chief held levees at Alexandria, and among the gentry
of the country, who paid him their respects, were our twins of Castle-
wood, who mounted their best nags, took with them their last London
suits, and, with their two negro-boys, in smart liveries behind them,
rode in state to wait upon the great man. He was sulky and angry with ,
the provincial gentry, and scarce took any notice of the young gentle-
men, only asking, casually, of his aide-de-camp at dinner, who the
young Squire Gawkeys were in blue and gold and red waistcoats ?
Mr. Dinwiddle, the Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia, the Agent from
Pennsylvania, and a few more gentlemen, happened to be dining with
his Excellency. *' 0! " said Mr. Dinwiddle, " those are the sons of the
Princess Pocahontas," on which, with a tremendous oath, the General
asked, " "Who the deuce was she ?"
Diuwiddie, who did not love her, having indeed undergone a hundred
pertnesses from the imperious little lady, now gave a disrespectful and
ridiculous account of Madam Esmond, made merry with her pomposity
and immense pretensions, and entertained General Braddock with
anecdotes regarding her, until his Excellency fell asleep.
When he woke, Dinwiddle was gone, but the Philadelphia gentleman
was still at table, deep in conversation with the officers there present.
The General took up the talk where it had been left when he fell asleep,
and spoke of Madam Esmond in curt, disrespectful terms, such as
soldiers were in the habit of using in those days ; and asking, again,
what was the name of the old fool about whom Dinwiddle had been
talking, he then broke into expressions of contempt and wrath against
the gentry, and the country in general.
48 THE VIRGINIANS.
Mr. Franklin of Philadelphia repeated the widow's name, took quite
a different view of her character from that Mr. Dinwiddle had given,
seemed to know a good deal about her, her father, and her estate ; as,
indeed, he did about every man or subject which came under discussion ;
explained to the General that Madam Esmond had beeves, and horses,
and stores in plenty, which might be very useful at the present juncture,
and recommended him to conciliate her by all means. The General had
already made up his mind, that Mr. Franklin was a very shrewd,
intelligent person, and graciously ordered an aide-de-camp to invite the
two young men to the next day's dinner. "When they appeared he was
very pleasant and good-natured ; the gentlemen of the General's family
made much of them. The^^ behaved, as became persons of their name,
with modesty and good breeding; they returned home delighted with
their entertainment, nor was their mother less pleased at the civilities
which his Excellency had shown to her boys. In. reply to Braddock's
message, Madam Esmond penned a billet in her best style, acknow-
ledging his politeness, and begging his Excellency to fix the time when
she might have the honour to receive him at Castlewood.
We may be sure that the arrival of the army and the approaching
campaign formed the subject of continued conversation in the Castle-
wood family. To make the campaign was the dearest wish of Harry's
life. He dreamed only of war and battle; he was for ever with the
officers at Williamsburg ; he scoured and cleaned and polished all the
guns and swords in. the house; he renewed the amusements of his
childhood, and had the negroes under arms. His mother, who had a
gallant spirit, knew that the time was come when one of her boys must
leave her and serve the king. She scarce dared to think on whom the
lot should fall. She admired and respected the elder, but she felt that
she loved the younger boy with all the passion of her heart.
Eager as Harry was to be a soldier, and with all his thoughts bent on
that glorious scheme, he too scarcely dared to touch on the subject nearest
his heart. Once or twice when he ventured on it with George, the
latter's countenance wore an ominous look. Harry had a feudal attach-
ment for his elder brother, worshipped him with an extravagant regard,
and in all things gave way to him as the chief. So Harry saw, to his
infinite terror, how George, too, in his grave way, was occupied with
military matters. George had the wars of Eugene and Marlborough
down from his bookshelves, all the military books of his grandfather,
and the most warlike of Plutarch's lives. He and Dempster were
practising with the foils again. The old Scotchman was an adept in the
military art, though soniewhat shy of saying where he learned it.
Madam Esmond made her two boys the bearers of the letter in reply
to his Excellency's message, accompanying her note with such large and
handsome presents for the General's staff and the officers of the two
Koyal fiegiments, as caused the General more than once to thank Mr.
Franklin for having been the means of bringing this welcome ally
THE VIRGINIANS. 49
into the camp. *' Would not one of the young gentlemen like to see the
campaign ?" the General asked. " A friend of theirs, who often spoke
of them — Mr. Washington, who had been unlucky in the affair of last
year — had already promised to join him as aide-de-camp, and his
Excellency would gladly take another young Virginian gentleman into
his family." Harry's eyes brightened and his face flushed at this offer.
*' He would like with all his heart to go !" he cried out. George said,
looking hard at his younger brother, that one of them would be proud to
attend his Excellency, whilst it would be the other's duty to take care
of their mother at home. Harry allowed his senior to speak. His will
was even still obedient to George's. However much he desired to go, he
would not pronounce until George had declared himself. He longed so
for the campaign, that the actual wish made him timid. He dared not
speak on the matter as he went home with George. They rode for miles
in silence, or strove to talk upon indifferent subjects ; each knowing
what was passing in the other's mind, and afraid to bring the awful
question to an issue.
On their arrival at home the boys told their mother of General
Braddock's offer. "I knew it must happen," she said; "at such a
crisis in the country our family must come forward. Have you — have
you settled yet which of you is to leave me ?" and she looked anxiously
from one to another, dreading to hear either name.
"The youngest ought to go, mother; of course I ought to go!" cries
Harry, turning very red.
" Of course, he ought," said Mrs. Mountain, who was present at their
talk.
" There ! Mountain says so ! I told you so I" again cries Harry, with
a sidelong look at George.
" The head of the family ought to go, mother," says George, sadly.
" No ! no ! you are ill, and have never recovered your fever. Ought
he to go. Mountain ?"
" You would make the best soldier, I know that, deaiest Hal. You
and George Washington are great friends, and could travel well together,
and he does not care for me, nor I for him, however much he is admired
in the family. But you see, 'tis the law of Honour^ my Harry." (He
here spoke to his brother with a voice of extraordinary kindness and
tenderness.) ** The grief I have had in this matter has been that I must
refuse thee. I must go. Had Fate given you the benefit of that extra
half-hour of life which I have had before you, it would have been your
lot, and you would have claimed your right to go first, — you know you
would."
" Yes, George," said poor Harry, " I own I should."
" You will stay at home, and take care of Castle wood and our mother.
If anything happens to me, you are here to fill my place. I would like
to give way, ray dear, as you, I know, would lay down your life to serve
me. But each of us must do his duty. What would our grandfather
say if he were here ?"
50 THE VIRGINIANS.
The mother looked proudly at her two sons. " My papa would say
that his boys were gentlemen," faltered Madam Esmond, and left the
young men, not choosing, perhaps, to show the emotion which was
filling her heart. It was speedily known amongst tlie servants that Mr.
George was going on the campaign. Dinah, George's foster-mother, was
loud in her lamentations at losing him ; Phillis, Harry's old nurse, was
'<\s noisy because Master George, as usual, was preferred over Master
Harry. Sady, George's servant, made preparations to follow his master,
bragging incessantly of the deeds which he would do, while Gumbo,
Harry's boy, pretended to whimper at being left behind, though, at
home, Gumbo was anything but a fire-eater.
But, of all in the house, Mrs. Mountain was the most angry at
George's determination to go on the campaign. She had no patience
with him. He did not know what he was doing by leaving home. She
begged, implored, insisted that he should alter his determination ; and
vowed that nothing but mischief would come from his departure.
George was surprised at the pertinacity of the good lady's opposition.
*' 1 know, Mountain," said he, '* that Harry would be the better soldier ;
but, after all, to go is my duty."
*' To stay is your duty !" says Mountain, with a stamp of her foot.
'' Why, did not my mother own it when we talked of the matter just
now?"
'* Your mother!" says Mrs. Mountain, with a most gloomy, sardonic
laugh ; *' your mother, my poor child !"
** What is the meaning of that mournful countenance, Mountain?"
"It may be that your mother wishes you away, George!" Mrs.
Mountain continued, wagging her head. " It may be, my poor deluded
boy, that you will find a father-in-law when you come back."
"What in heaven do you mean?" cried George, the blood rushing
into his face.
" Do you suppose I have no eyes, and cannot see what is going on?
I tell you, child, that Colonel Washington wants a rich wife. When
you are gone, he will ask your mother to marry him, and you will find
him master here when you come back. That is why .you ought not to
go away, you poor, unhappy, simple boy ! Don't you see how fond she
is of him ? how much she makes of him ? how she is always holding
him up to you, to .Harry, to everybody who comes here?"
" But he is going on the campaign, too," cried George.
** He is going on the marrying campaign, child ! " insisted the widow.
" Jfay ; General Braddock himself told me that Mr. Washington had
accepted the appointment of aide-de-camp."
" An artifice ! an artifice to blind you, my poor child ! " cries Moun-
tain. " He will be wounded and come back — you will see if he does
]iot. I have proofs of what I say to you — ])roofs under his own hand —
look here ! " And she took from her pocket a piece of paper in Mr.
Washington's well-known handwriting.
" How came you by this paper?" asked George, turning ghastly pale.
THE VIEGINIANS. 51
** I — I found it in the Major's chamber ! " says Mrs. Mountain, with
a shamefaced look.
" You read the private letters of p, guest staying in our liouse ?" cried
George. " For shame ! I will not look at the paper." And he flung it
from him on to the fire before him.
" I could not help it, Greorge ; 'twas by chance, I give you my word,
by the merest chance. You know Governor Dinwiddle is to have the
Major's room, and the state-room is got ready for Mr. Braddock, and
we are expecting ever so much company, and I had to take the things
which the Major leaves here — he treats the house just as if it was his
own already — into bis new room, and this half- sheet of paper fell out of
his writing-book, and I just gave one look at it by the merest chance,
and when I saw what it was it was my duty to read it."
" you are a martyr to duty, Mountain ! " George said^ grimly. " I
dare say Mrs. Bluebeard thought it was her duty to look through the
key-hole."
** I never did look througb tbe key-bole, George. It's a shame you
should say so ! I, who have watched, and tended, and nursed you, like
a mother ; who have sate up whole weeks witb you in fevers, and
carried you from your bed to the sofa in these arms. There, sir, I don't
want you there now. My dear Mountain, indeed ! Don't tell me ! Y'"ou
fly into a passion, and call names, and wound my feelings, who have
loved you like your mother — like your mother ? — I only hope she may
love you half as well. I say you are all ungrateful. My Mr. Mountain
was a wretch, and every one of you is as bad."
There was but a smouldering log or two in the fire-place, and no
doubt Mountain saw that the paper was in no danger as it lay amongst
the ashes, or she would have seized it at the risk of burning her own
fingers, and ere she uttered the above passionate defence of her conduct.
Perhaps George was absorbed in his dismal thoughts ; perhaps his
jealousy overpowered him, for he did not resist any further when she
stooped down and picked up the paper.
"You should thank your stars, child, that I saved the letter," cried
she. *' See ! here' are his own words, in his great big handwriting like
a clerk. It was not my fault tbat he wrote them, or that I found them.
Kead for yourself, I say, George "Warrington, and be thankful that
your poor dear old Mounty is watching over you."
Every word and letter upon the unlucky paper was perfectly clear.
George's eyes could not help taking in the contents of the document
before him. *' Not a word of this, Mountain," he said, giving her a
frightful look. *' I— I will return this paper to Mr. Washington."
Mountain was scared at his face, at the idea of what she had done,
and what might ensue. When his mother, with alarm in her counte-
nance, asked him at dinner what ailed him that he looked so pale ?
*' Do you suppose, madam ? " says he, filling himself a great bumper of
wine, '* that to leave such a tender mother as you does not cause me
cruel grief ? "
s2
52 THE VIRGIXIAXS.
The good lady could not understand his words, his strarge, fierce,
looks, and stranger laugliter. He bantered all at the table ; called to
the servants and laughed at them, and drank more and more. Each
time the door was opened, he turned towards it : and so did Mountain,
with a guilty notion that Mr. Washington would step in.
CHAPTER yill.
IN WHICH GEOEGE SUFEERS FRO:^: A COMMON DISEASE.
On the day appointed for Madam Esmond's entertainment to the
General, the house of Castlewood was set out with the greatest splendour;
and Madam Esmond arrayed herself in a much more magnificent dress
than she was accustomed to wear. Indeed, she wished to do every
honour to her guest, and to make the entertainment — 'which in reality
was a sad one to her — as pleasant as might be for her company. The
General's new aide-de-camp was the first to arrive. The widow received
him in the covered gallery before the house. He dismounted at the
steps, and his servants led away his horses to the well-known quarters.
No young gentleman in the colony was better mounted or a better horse-
man than Mr. Washington.
For awhile ere the Major retired to divest himself of his riding-boots,
he and his hostess paced the gallery in talk. She had much to say to
him ; she had to hear from him a confirmation of his own appointment
as aide-de-camp to General Braddock, and to speak of her son's ap-
proaching departure. The negro- servants bearing the dishes for the
approaching feast were passing perpetually as they talked. They de-
scended the steps down to the rough lawn in front of the house, and
paced awhile in the shade. Mr. Washington announced his Excellency's
speedy approach, with Mr. Franklin of Pennsylvania in his coach.
This Mr. Franklin had been a common printer's boy, Mrs. Esmond
had heard; a pretty pass things were coming to when such persons
rode in the coach of the Commander-in-Chief! Mr. Washington said, a
more shrewd and sensible gentleman never rode in coach or walked on
foot. Mrs. Esmond thought the Major was too liberally disposed
towards this gentleman ; but Mr. Washington stoutly maintained
against the widow that the printer was a most ingenious, useful, and
meritorious man.
*' I am glad, at least, that as my boy is going to make the campaign,
he will not be with tradesmen, but with gentlemen, with gentlemen of
honour and fashion," says Madam Esmond, in her most stately manner.
Mr. Washington had seen the gentlemen of honour and fashion over
their cups, and perhaps thought that all their sayings and doings were
not precisely such as would tend to instruct or edify a young man on
hia entrance into life ; but he wisely chose to tell no tales out of school,
THE VIRGINIANS. 53
and said that Harry and George, now they were coming into the world,
must take their share of good and bad, and hear what both sorts had to
say.
*' To be with a veteran officer of the finest army in the world,"
faltered the widow ; ** with gentlemen who have been bred in the midst
of the Court ; with friends of his Eoyal Highness the Duke "
The widow's friend only inclined his head. He did not choose to
allow his countenance to depart from its usual handsome gravity.
** And with you, dear Colonel Wasliington, by whom my father
always set such store. You don't know how much he trusted in you.
You will take care of my boy, sir, will not you ? You are but five years
older, yet I trust to you more than to his seniors : my father always told
the children, I alway bade them, to look up to Mr. Washington."
"You know I would have done anything to win Colonel Esmond's
favour. Madam, how much would I not venture to merit his daugh-
ter's?"
The gentleman bowed with not too ill a grace. The lady blushed,
and dropped one of the lowest curtsies. (Madam Esmond's curtsey was
considered unrivalled over the whole province.) " Mr. Washington,"
she said, " will be always sure of a mother's affection, whilst he gives
so much of his to her children." And so saying she gave him her
hand, which he kissed with profound politeness. The little lady pre-
sently re-entered her mansion, leaning upon the tall young ofiicer's
arm. Here they were joined by Greorge, who came to them, accurately
powdered and richly attired, saluting his parent and his friend alike
with low and respectful bows. Now- a- days, a young man walks into
his mother's room with hob-nailed high-lows, and a wide-awake on his
tead ; and instead of making her a bow, puffs a cigar into her face.
But George, though he made the lowest possible bow to Mr. Wash-
ington and his mother, was by no means in good humour with either of
them. A polite smile played round the lower part of his countenance,
whilst watchfulness and wrath glared out from the two upper windows.
What had been said or done ? Nothing that might not have been
performed or uttered before the most decent, polite, or pious company.
Why then should Madam Esmond continue to blush, and the brave
Colonel to look somewhat red, as he shook his young friend's hand.
The Colonel asked Mr. George if he had had good sport ? " No,"
says George, curtly. ** Have you?'* And then he looked at the
picture of his father, which hung in the parlour.
The Colonel, not a talkative man ordinarily, straightway entered into
a long description of his sport, and described where he had been in the
morning, and what woods he had hunted with the king's officers ; how
many birds they had shot, and what game they had brought down.
Though not a jocular man ordinarily, the Colonel made a long descrip-
tion of Mr. Braddock's heavy person and great boots, as he floundered
through the Virginian woods, hunting, as they called it, with a pack of
dogs gathered from various houses, with a pack of negroes barking as
54 THE YIRGINIANS.
loud as the dogs, and actually shooting the deer when they came in
sight of hira. "Great God, sir!" says Mr. Braddock, puffing and
blowing, "what would Sir Robert have said in Norfolk, to see a man
hunting with a fowling-piece in his hand, and a pack of dogs actually
laid on to a turkey ! "
"Indeed, Colonel, you are vastly comical this afternoon!" cries
Madam Esmond, with a neat little laugh, whilst her son listened to the
story, looking more glum than ever. " What Sir Robert is there at
Norfolk ? Is he one of the newly arrived army-gentlemen ? "
" The General meant Norfolk at home, madam, not Norfolk in Yir-
ginia," said Colonel Washington. " Mr. Braddock had been talking of
a visit to Sir Robert Walpole, who lived in that county, and of the great
hunts the old minister kept there, and of his grand palace, and his
pictures at Houghton. I should like to see a good field and a good fox-
chase at home better than any sight in the world," the honest sportsman
added with a sigh.
" Nevertheless, there is good sport here, as I was saying," said young
Esmond, with a sneer.
"What sport? " cries the other, looking at him.
" Why, sure you know, without looking at me so fiercely, and stamp-
ing your foot, as if you were going to charge me with the foils. Are
you not the best sportsman of the country-side ? Are there not all the-
fish of the field, and the beasts of the trees, and the fowls of the sea — no-
— the fish of the trees, and the beasts of the sea — and the — bah ! You
know what I mean. I mean shad, and salmon, and rockfish, and roe-
deer, and hogs, and bufialoes, and bisons, and elephants, for what I know.
I'm no sportsman."
" No, indeed," said Mr. Washington, with a look of scarcely repressed
scorn.
" Yes, I understand you. I am a milksop. I have been bred at my
mamma's knee. Look at these pretty apron-strings. Colonel ! Who
would not like to be tied to them ? See of what a charming colour they
are ! I remember when they were black — that was for my grandfather."
" And who would not mourn for such a gentleman ? " said the Colonel,
as the widow, surprised, looked at her son.
"And, indeed, I wish my grandfather were here, and would resurge,
as he promises to do on his tombstone ; and would bring my father, the
Ensign, with him."
"Ah, Harry!" cries Mrs. Esmond, bursting into tears, as at this
juncture her second son entered the room — in just such another suit,
gold corded frock, braided waistcoat, silver-hilted sword, and solitaire as
that which his elder brother wore. " Harry, Harry ! " cries Madam
Esmond, and files to her younger son.
" What is it, mother ? " asks Harry, taking her in his arms. " What
is the matter. Colonel ? "
"Upon my life, it would puzzle me to say," answered the Colonel,,
biting his lips.
I
TnE VIIIGIXIAXS. 55
**A mere question, Hal, about pink ribbons, which I think vastly
becoming to our mother ; as, no doubt, the Colonel does."
"Sir, will you please to speak for yourself?" cried the Colonel,
bustling up, and then sinking his voice again.
" He speaks too much for himself," wept the widow.
" I protest I don't any more know the source of these tears than, the
source of the Nile," said George ; " and if the picture of my father were
to begin to cry, I should almost as much wonder at the paternal tears.
"What have I uttered ? An allusion to ribbons ! Is there some
poisoned pin in them, which has been stuck into my mother's heart by
a guilty fiend of a London mantuamaker ? I professed to wish to be
led in these lovely reins all my life long," and he turned a pirouette on
his scarlet heels.
"George Warrington. What devil's dance are you dancing now?"
asked Harry, who loved his mother, wbo loved j\[r. Washington, but
who, of all creatures, loved and admired his brother George.
" My dear child, you do not understand dancing — you care not for the
politer arts — you can get no more music out of a spinnet than by pulling
a dead hog by the ear. By nature you were made for a man— a man of
war — I do not mean a seventy-four. Colonel George, like that hulk
which brought the hulking Mr. Braddock into our river. His Excel-
lency, too, is a man of warlike turn, a follower of the sports of the field.
I am a milksop, as I have had the honour to say."
" You never showed it yet. You beat that great Maryland man was
twice your size," breaks out Harry.
" Under compulsion, George. 'Tis tiipfo, ray lad, or else 'tis tuptomai,
as thy breech well knew w^hen we followed school. But I am of a
quiet turn, and would never lift my hand to pull a trigger, no, nor a nose,
nor anything but a rose," and here he took and handled one of Madam
Esmond's bright pink apron ribbons. " I hate sporting, which you
and the Colonel love ; and I want to shoot nothing alive, not a turkey,
nor a titmouse, nor an ox, nor an ass, nor aiiy thing that has ears.
Those curls of Mr. Washington's are prettily powdered."
The militia colonel, who had been offended by the first part of the
talk, and very much puzzled by the last, had taken a modest draught
from the great china bowl of apple toddy which stood to welcome the
guests in this as in all Virginia houses, and was further cooling him-
self by pacing the balcony in a very stately manner.
Again almost reconciled with the elder, the appeased mother stood
giving a hand to each of her sons. George put his disengaged hand on
Harry's shoulder. **I say one thing, George," says he, with a flushing-
face.
" Say twenty things, Don Enrico," cries the other
" If you are not fond of sporting and that, and don't care for killing
game and hunting, being cleverer than me, why shouldst thou not stop
at home and be quiet, and let me go out w^ith Colonel George and Mr.
Braddock — that's what I say," says Harry, delivering himself of his speech.
55 THE VIRGIXIANS.
The widow looked eagerly from the dark-haired to the fair-haired boy.
She knew not from which she would like to part.
*' One of our family must go because honneur oblige, and my name
being number one, number one must go first," says George.
*' Told you so," said poor Harry.
" One must stay, or who is to look after mother at home ? "We can-
not afford to be both scalped by Indians or fricasseed by French.
" Fricasseed by French," cries Harry, *' the best troops of the world !
Englishmen ! I should like to see them fricasseed by the French !
What a mortal thrashing you will give them ! " and the brave lad sighed
to think he should not be present at the battue.
George sate down to the harpsichord and played and sang, " Malbrook
s'en va t'en guerre Mironton mironton mirontaine," at the sound of
which music the gentleman from the balcony entered. ** I am playing
* God save the King,' Colonel, in compliment to the new expedition."
" I never know whether thou art laughing or in earnest," said the
simple gentleman, *' but surely methinks that is not the air."
George performed ever so many trills and quavers upon his harp-
sichord, and their guest watched him, wondering, perhaps, that a
gentleman of George's condition could set himself to such an effeminate
business. Then the Colonel took out his watch, saying that his
Excellency's coach would be here almost immediately, and asking leave
to retire to his apartment and put himself in a fit condition to appear
before her ladyship's company.
"Colonel Washington knows the way to his room pretty well!"
said George, from the harpsichord, looking over his shoulder, but never
ofFeriDg to stir.
" Let me show the Colonel to his chamber," cried the widow, in
great wrath, and sailed out of the apartment, followed by the enraged
and bewildered Colonel, as George continued crashing among the keys.
Her high-spirited guest felt himself insulted, he could hardly say how :
he was outraged, and he could not speak; he was almost stifiing with anger.
Harry Warrington remarked their friend's condition. *' For heaven's
sake, George, what does this all mean ?" he asked his brother. ''Why
shouldn't he kiss her hand ? " (George had just before fetched out his
brother from their library, to watch this harmless salute.) " I tell you
it is nothing but common kindness."
"Nothing but common kindness ! " shrieked out George. " Look at
that, Hal ! Is that common kindness ? " and he showed his junior the
unlucky paper over which he had been brooding for some time. It was
but a fragment, though the meaning was indeed clear without the
preceding text.
The paper commenced ..." is older than myself, hut I, again, am
older than my years ; and you know, dear brother, have ever been con-
sidered a sober person. All children are better for a father's superin-
tendence, and her two, I trust, will find in me a tender friend and
guardian.''^
THE VIRGINIANS. 57
** Friend and guajdian ! Curse him ! " shrieked out George, clench-
ing his fists — and his brother read on :
"... The jiatteriny offer ichich General Braddock hath made me,
will, of course, ohlige me to postpone this matter until after the campaign.
Wheji tve have given the French a sufficieiit drubbing, I shall return to
repose under my own vine and fig-tree.^'
'*He means Castlewood. These are his vines," George cries again,
shaking his fist at the creepers sunning themselves on the wall.
"... Under my own vine and fig-tree ; where I hope soon to present
my dear brother to his new sister-in-laio. She has a pretty Scripture
na?ne, which is . . . " — and here the document ended.
"Which is Eachel," George went on bitterly. "Eachel is by no
means weeping for her children, and has every desire to be comforted.
Now, Harry ! Let us upstairs at once, kneel down as becomes us, and
say, * Dear papa, welcome to your house of Castlewood.' "
CHAPTEE IX.
HOSPITALITIES.
His Excellency the Commander-in-Chief set forth to pay his visit to
Madame Esmond in such a state and splendour as became the first
personage in all his Majesty's colonies, plantations, and possessions of
North America. His guard of dragoons preceded him out of Williams-
burg in the midst of an immense shouting and yelling of a loyal, and
principally negro, population. The General rode in his own coach.
Captain Talmadge, his Excellency's Master of the Horse, attended him
at the door of the ponderous emblazoned vehicle, riding by the side
of the carriage during the journey from Williamsburg to Madam
Esmond's house. Major Danvers, aide-de-camp, sate in the front of the
carriage with the little postmaster from Philadelphia, Mr. Franklin, who,
printer's boy as he had been, was a wonderful shrewd person, as his
Excellency and the gentlemen of his family were fain to acknowledge,
having a quantity of the most curious information respecting the colony,
and regarding England too, where Mr. Franklin had been more than
once. " 'Twas extraordinary how a person of such humble origin should
have acquired such a variety of learning, and such a politeness of
breeding, too, Mr. Franklin I " his Excellency was pleased to observe,
touching his hat graciously to the postmaster.
The postmaster bowed, said it had been his occasional good fortune to
fall into the company of gentlemen like his Excellency, and that he had
taken advantage of his opportunity to study their honours' manners, and
adapt himself to them as far as he might. As for education, he could
not boast much of that — his father being but in straitened circum-
stances, and the advantages small in his native country of New England:
58 THE VIRGINIANS.
but he had done to the utmost of his power, and gathered what he could
— he knew nothing like what they had in England.
Mr. Braddock burst out laughing, and said, "As for education, there
were gentlemen of the army, by George, who didn't know whether they
should spell bull with two b's or one. He had heard the Duke of
Marlborough was no special good penman. He had not the honour of
serving under that noble commander — his Grace was before his time —
but he thrashed the French soundly, although he was no scholar."
Mr. Franklin said he w as aware of both those facts.
'*Nor is my Duke a scholar," went on Mr. Braddock — "aha, Mr.
Postmaster, you have heard that, too — I see by the wink in your eye."
Mr. Franklin instantly withdrew the obnoxious or satirical wink in.
his eye, and looked in the General's jolly round face with a pair of orbs
as innocent as a baby's. " He's no scholar, but he is a match for any
French general that ever swallowed the English for fricassee de crapaud.
He saved the crown for the best of kings, his royal father, his Most
Gracious Majesty King George."
Off went Mr. Franklin's hat, and from his large buckled wig escaped
a great halo of powder.
"He is the soldier's best friend, and has been, the uncompromising
enemy of all beggarly red-shanked Scotch rebels and intriguing B.omish
Jesuits who would take our liberty from us, and our religion by George.
His royal highness, my gracious master, is not a scholar neither, but
he is one of the finest gentlemen in the world."
" I have seen his royal highness on horseback, at a review of the
Guards, in Hyde Park," says Mr. Franklin. "The Duke is indeed a
very fine gentleman on horseback."
"You shall drink his health to-day, Postmaster. He is the best of
masters, tlie best of friends, the best of sons to his royal old father ; the
best of gentlemen that ever wore an epaulet."
" Epaulets are quite out of my way, sir," says Mr. Franklin, laughing,
" You know I live in a Quaker city."
" Of course they are out of your way, my good friend. Every man
to his business. You, and gentlemen of your class, to your books, an J
welcome. We don't forbid you ; we encourage you. We, to fight the
enemy and govern the country. Hey, gentlemen ? Lord ! what roads
you have in this colony, and how this confounded coach plunges ! Who
have we here, with the two negro boys in livery ? He rides a good
gelding."
"It is Mr. Washington," says the aide-de-camp.
" I would like him for a corporal of the Horse Grenadiers," said the
General. "Ho has a good figure on a horse. He knows the country
too, Mr. Franklin."
**Yes indeed."
" And is a monstrous genteel young man, considering the opportu-
nities he has had. 1 should have thought hs had the polish of Europe,
by George I should."
THE VIRGINIANS. 59
" He does his best," says Mr. Franklin, looking innocently at the
stout chief, the exemplar of English elegance, who sat swagging from
one side to the other of the carriage, his face as scarlet as his coat —
swearing at every other word ; ignorant on every point off parade, except
the merits of a bottle and the looks of a woman ; not of high birth, yet
absurdly proud of his no-ancestry ; brave as a bull-dog ; savage, lustful,
prodigal, generous ; gentle in soft moods ; easy of love and laughter ;
dull of wit; utterly unread; believing his country the first in the
world, and he as good a gentleman as any in it. '' Yes, he is mighty
well for a provincial, upon" my word. He was beat at Fort "VYhat-d'ye-
call-um last year, down by the Thingamy river. What's the name on't,
Talmadge ? "
" The Lord knows, sir," said Talmadge ; " and I dare say the Post-
master, too, who is laughing at us both."
"0 Captain!"
''Was caught in a regular trap. He had only militia and Indians
with him. Good day, Mr. Washington. A pretty nag, sir." That was
your first affair last year."
"Tiiat at Fort Necessity? Yes, sir," said the gentleman, gravely
saluting, as he rode up, followed by a couple of natty negro grooms,
in smart livery coats and velvet hunting caps. " I began ill, sir, never
having been in action until that unlucky day."
" You were all raw levies, my good fellow. You should have seen
our militia run from the Scotch, and be cursed to them. You should
have had some troops with you."
"Your Excellency knows 'tis my passionate desire to see and serve
with them," said Mr. Washington.
" By George we shall try and gratify you, sir," said the General, with
one of his usual huge oaths ; and on the heavy carriage rolled towards
Castlewood ; Mr. Washington asking leave to gallop on a-head, in order
to announce his Excellency's speedy arrival to the lady there.
The progress of the Commander-in-Chief was so slow, that several
humbler persons who were invited to meet his Excellency came up with
his carriage, and, not liking to pass the great man on the road, formed
quite a procession in the dusty wake of his chariot-wheels. First came
Mr. Dinwiddle, the Lieutenant-Governor of his Majesty's province,
attended by his negro servants, and in company of Parson Broadbent,
the jolly Y/illiamsburg chaplain. These were presently joined by little
Mr. Dempster, the young gentlemen's schoolmaster, in his great Ramil-
lies wig, which he kept for occasions of state. Anon appeared Mr. Laws,
the judge of the court, with Madam Laws on a pillion behind him, and
their negro man carrying a box containing her ladyship's cap, and
bestriding a mule. The procession looked so ludicrous, that Major
Danvers and Mr. Franklin espying it, laughed outright, though not so
loud as to disturb his Excellency, who was asleep by this time, bade
the whole of this queer rear-guard move on, and leave the Commander-
in-Chief and his escort of Dragoons to follow at their leisure. Thero
60 THE VIRGIXIANS.
was room for all at Castlewood when they came. There was meat,
drink, and the best tobacco for his Majesty's soldiers, and laughing and
jollity for the negroes, and a plenteous welcome for their masters.
The honest General required to be helped to most dishes at the table,
and more than once, and was for ever holding out his glass for drink ;
l^athan's sangaree he pronounced to be excellent, and had drunk largely
of it on arriving before dinner. There was cyder, ale, brandy, and plenty
of good Bordeaux wine, some which Colonel Esmond himself had brought
home with him to the colony, and which was fit for ponteeficis cosnis,
said little Mr. Dempster with a wink to Mr. Broadbent, the clergyman
of the adjoining parish. Mr. Broadbent returned the wink and ncd,
and drank the wine without caring about the Latin, as why should
he, never having hitherto troubled himself about the language ? Mr.
Broadbent was a gambling, guzzling, cock-fighting divine, who had
passed much time in the Fleet prison, at Newmarket, at Hockley in the
Hole; and having gone of all sorts of errands for his friend Lord
Cinqbars, Lord Eingwood's son (my lady Cinqbars's waiting-woman
being Mr. B.'s mother — I daresay, the modern reader had best not to be too
particular regarding Mr. Broadbent's father's pedigree), had been of late
sent out to a church-living in Virginia. He and young George had
fought many a match of cocks together, taken many a roe in company,
hauled in countless quantities of shad and salmon, slain wild geese and
wild swans, pigeons and plovers, and destroyed myriads of canvas-backed
ducks. It was said by the envious that Broadbent was the midnight
poacher, on whom Mr. Washington set his dogs, and whom he caned by
the river side at Mount Yernon. The fellow got away from his captor's
grip, and scrambled to his boat in the dark ; but Broadbent was laid up
for two Sundays afterwards, and when he came abroad again, had the
evident remains of a black eye, and a new collar to his coat. All the
:games at the cards had George Esmond and Parson Broadbent played
together, besides hunting all the birds in the air, the beasts in the forest,
and the fish of the sea. Indeed, when the boys rode together to get
their reading with Mr. Dempster, I suspect that Harry stayed behind
and took lessons from the other professor of European learning and
accomplishments, — George going his own way, reading his own books^
and, of course, telling no tales of his younger brother.
All the birds of the Yirginia air, and all the fish of the sea in
season were here laid on Madam Esmond's board to feed his Excellency
and the rest of the English and American gentlemen. The gumbo
was declared to be perfection (young Mr. George's black servant was
named after this dish, being discovered behind the door with his head
in a bowl of this delicious hotch-potch by the late Colonel, and grimly
christened on the spot), the shad were rich and fresh, the stewed terra-
pins were worthy of London aldermen,- — before George, he would like
the Duke himself to taste them, his Excellency deigned to say, and
indeed, stewed terrapins are worthy of any duke or even emperor. Tho
negro-women have a genius for cookery, and in Castle^Yood kitchens
THE TIRGINIANS. 61
there were adepts in the art brought up under the keen eye of the late
and the present Madam Esmond. Certain of the dishes, especially the
sweets and Jlans, Madam Esmond prepared herself with great neatness
and dexterity ; carving several of the principal pieces, as the kindly
cumbrous fashion of the day was, putting up the laced lappets of her
sleeves, and showing the prettiest round arms and small hands and
wrists as she performed this ancient rite of a hospitality not so languid as
ours. The old law of the table was that the mistress was to press her
guests with a decent eagerness, to watch and see whom she could
encourage to farther enjoyment,, to know culinary anatomic secrets, and
execute carving operations upon fowls, fish, game, joints of meat, and
so forth ; to cheer her guests to fresh efforts, to whisper her neighbour,
Mr. Braddock: "I have kept for your Excellency the jowl of this
salmon. — I will take no denial ! Mr. Franklin, you drink only water,
sir, though our cellar has wholesome wine which gives no head-aches. —
Mr. Justice, you love wood-cock pie ? "
" Because I know who makes the pastry," says Mr. Laws, the Judge,
with a profound bow. ** I wish. Madam, we had such a happy knack of
pastry at home as you have at Castlewood. I often say to my wife, ' My
dear, I wish you had Madam Esmond's hand.' "
" It is a very pretty hand ; I am sure others would like it too,'* says
Mr. Postmaster of Boston, at which remark Mr. Esmond looks but half-
pleased at the little gentleman.
'* Such a hand for a light pie-crust," continues the Judge, " and my
service to you. Madam." And he thinks the widow cannot but be
propitiated by this compliment. She says simply that she had lessons
when she was at home in England for her education, and that there
were certain dishes which her mother taught her to make, and which
her father and sons both liked. She was very glad if they pleased her
company. More such remarks follow : more dishes ; ten times as much
meat as is needful for the company. Mr. Washington does not embark
in the general conversation much, but he and Mr. Talmadge, and
Major Danvers, and the Postmaster, are deep in talk about roads,
rivers, conveyances, sumpter horses and artillery train ; and the provin-
cial militia Colonel has bits of bread laid at intervals on the table before
him, and stations marked out, on which he has his finger, and regard-
ing which he is talking to his brother aides-de-camp, till a negro-servant
changing the courses, brushes off the Potomac with a napkin, and
sweeps up the Ohio in a spoon.
At the end of dinner, Mr. Broadbent leaves his place and walks up
behind the Lieutenant-Governor's chair, w^here he says Grace, returning
to his seat and resuming his knife and fork when this work of devotion
is over. And now the sweets and puddings are come, of which I can
give you a list, if you like : but what young lady cares for the puddings
of to-day, much more for those which were eaten a hundred years ago,
and which Madam Esmond had prepared for her guests with so much
neatness and skill ? Then, the table being cleared, Nathan, her chiei-
62 THE VIRGINIANS.
manager, lays a glass to every person, and fills his mistress's. Bowing
to the company, she says she drinks but one toast, but knows how
heartily all the gentlemen present will join her. Then she calls,
''His Majesty," bowing to Mr. Braddock, who with his aides-de-camp
and the colonial gentlemen all loyally repeat the name of their beloved
and gracious Sovereign. And hereupon, having drunk her glass of
wine and saluted all the company, the widow retires between a row of
negro-servants, performing one of her very handsomest curtsies at the
door.
The kind mistress of Castlewood bore her part in the entertainment
with admirable spirit, and looked so gay and handsome, and spoke with
such cheerfulness and courage to all her company, that the few ladies
who were present at the dinner could not but congratulate Madam
Esmond upon the elegance of the feast, and especially upon her manner
of presiding at it. But they were scarcely got to her drawing-room,
when her artificial courage failed her, and she burst into tears on the
sofa by Mrs. Laws's side, just in the midst of a compliment from that
lady. "Ah, Madam ! " she said. *' It may be an honour, as you say,
to have the King's representative in my house, and our family has
received greater personages than Mr. Braddock. But he comes to take
one of my sons away from me. "Who knows whether my boy will return,
or how ? I dreamed of him last night as wounded, and quite white,
with blood streaming from his side. I would not be so ill-mannered
as to let my grief be visible before the gentlemen ; but, my good Mrs.
Justice, who has parted with children, and who has a mother's heart
of her own, would like me none the better, if mine were very easy this
evening."
The ladies administered such consolations as seemed proper or
palatable to their hostess, who tried not to give way farther to her
melancholy, and remembered that she had other duties to perform, before
yielding to her own sad mood. ** It will be time enough, Madam, to be
sorry when they are gone," she said to the Justice's wife, her good
neighbour. *' My boy must not see me following him with a wistful
face, and have our parting made more dismal by my weakness. It is
good that gentlemen of his rank and station should show themselves
where their country calls them. That has always been the way of the
Esmonds, and the same Power which graciously preserved my dear
father, through twenty great battles in the Q-ueeu's time, I trust and
pray, will watch over my son now his turn is come to do his duty." And,
now, instead of lamenting her fate, or farther alluding to it, I dare say
the resolute lady sat down with her female friends to a pool of cards
and a dish of coffee, whilst the gentlemen remained in the neighbouring
parlour, still calling their toasts and drinking their wine. When ono
lady objected that these latter were sitting rather long. Madam Esmond
said : "It would improve and amuse the boys to be with the English
gentlemen. Such society was very rarely to be had in their distant
fiovince, and though their conversation sometimes was free, she was
THE YIEGIXIAXS. 63
sure that gentlemen and men of fashion would have regard to the
youth of her sons, and say nothing before them which young people
should not hear."
It was evident that the English gentlemen relished the good cheer
provided for them. ^Vhilst the ladies were yet at their cards, Kathan
came in and whispered Mrs. Mountain, who at first cried out — "No!
she would give no more — the common Bordeaux they might have, and
welcome, if they still wanted more — but she would not give any more of
the Colonel's." It appeared that the dozen bottles of particular claret
had been already drunk up by the gentlemen, "besides ale, cyder,
Burgundy, Lisbon, and Madeira," says Mrs. Mountain, enumerating the
supplies.
But Madam Esmond was for having no stint in the hospitality of the
night. Mrs. Mountain was fain to bustle away with her keys to the
sacred vault where the Colonel's particular Bordeaux lay, surviving its
master, who too had long passed underground. As they went on
their journey, Mrs. Mountain asked whether any of the gentlemen had
had too much ? Nathan thought Mister Broadbent was tipsy — he
always tipsy ; he then thought the General gentleman was tipsy ; and
he thought Master George was a lilly drunk.
*' Master George ! " cries Mrs. Mountain ; " why, he will sit for days,
without touching a drop."
Nevertheless, Nathan persisted in his notion that Master George was
a lilly drunk. He was always filling his glass, he had talked, he had
sung, he had cut jokes, especially against Mr. Washington, which made
Mr. Washington quite red and angry, Nathan said. "Well, well!"
Mrs. Mountain cried eagerly; "it was right a gentleman should make
himself merry in good company, and pass the bottle along with his
friends." And she trotted to the particular Bordeaux cellar with only
the more alacrity.
The tone of freedom and almost impertinence which young George
Esmond had adopted of late days towards Mr. Washington had very
deeply vexed and annoyed that gentleman. There was scarce half a
dozen years' difference of age between him and the Castlewood twins ;
but Mr. Washington had always been remarked for a discretion and
sobriety much beyond his time of life, whilst the boys of Castlewood
seemed younger than theirs. They had always been till now under
their mother's anxious tutelage, and had looked up to their neighbour
of Mount Yernon as their guide, director, friend — as, indeed, almost
everybody seemed to do who came in contact with the simple and
upright young man. Himself of the most scrupulous gravity and good-
breeding, in his communication with other folks he appeared to exact,
or, at any rate to occasion, the same behaviour. His nature was above
levity and jokes : they seemed out of place when addressed to him.
He was slow of comprehending them : and they slunk as it were
abashed out of his society. " He always seemed great to me," says
Harry Warrington, in one of his letters many years after tho date of
64 THE VIRGINIANS.
which we are writing: " and I never thought of him otherwise than as
a hero. When he came over to Castlewood and taught us boys
surveying, to see him riding to hounds, was as if he was charging aa
army. If he fired a shot, I thought the bird must come down, and if
he flung a net, the largest fish in the river were sure to be in it. His
words were always few, but they were always wise ; they were not idle,
as our words are, they were grave, sober, and strong, and ready on
occasion to do their duty. In spite of his antipathy to him, my brother
respected and admired the General as much as I did — that is to say,
more than any mortal man."
Mr, Washington was the first to leave the jovial party which were
doing so much honour to Madam Esmond's hospitality. Young George
Esmond, who had taken his mother's place when she left it, had been
free with the glass and with the tongue. • He had said a score of things
to his guest which wounded and chafed the latter, and to which Mr.
Washington could give no reply. Angry beyond all endurance, he left
the table at length, and walked away through the open windows into
the broad verandah or porch which belonged to Castlewood as to all
Virginian houses.
Here Madam Esmond caught sight of her friend's tall frame as it
strode up and down before the windows : and, the evening being warm,
or her game over, she gave up her cards to one of the other ladies, and
joined her good neighbour out of doors. He tried to compose his coun-
tenance as well as he could : it was impossible that he should explain to
his hostess why and with whom he was angry.
"The gentlemen are long over their wine," she said; "gentlemen of
the army are always fond of it."
"If drinking makes good soldiers, some yonder are distinguishing
themselves greatly, madam," said Mr. Washington.
" And I daresay the General is at the head of his troops ? "
"No doubt, no doubt," answered the Colonel, who always received
this lady's remarks, playful or seriou-:!, with a peculiar softness and
kindness. " But the General is the General, and it is not for me to
make remarks on his Excellency's doings at table or elsewhere. I
think very likely that military gentlemen born and bred at home are
different from us of the colonies. We have such a hot sun, that we
need not wine to fire our blood as they do. And drinking toasts seems
a point of honour with them. Talmadge hiccupped to me — I should
say, whispered to me— just now, that an officer could no more refuse a
toast than a challenge, and he said that it was after the greatest difficulty
and dislike at first that he learned to drink. He has certainly overcome
his difficulty with uncommon resolution."
"What, I wonder, can you talk of for so many hours?" asked the
lady.
" I don't think I can tell you all we talk of, madam, and I must not
tell tales out of* school. We talked about the war, and of the force
Mr. Contiecoeur has, and how we are to get at him. The General is for
THE VI^tGINIA^•S. 65
Eifi'king the campaign in his coach, and makes light of it and the enemy,
'i'hat we shall beat them, if we meet tlieiti, I trust there is no doubt."
** How can there be?" says the lady, whose father had served under
Marlborough.
" Mr. Franklin, though he is only from New England," continued the
gentleman, " spoke great good sense, anu would have spoken more if the
English gentlemen would let him ; but they reply invariably that we are
only raw provincials, and don't know wliat disciplined British troops can
do. Had they not best hasten forward* and make turnpike-roads and
have comfortable inns ready for his Excellency at the end of the day's
march ? — ' There's some sort of iuns, 1 suppose,' says Mr. Danvers, * not
so comfortable as we have in England, we can't expect that.' — * No, you
can't expect that,' says Mr. Franklin, wtio seems a very shrewd and
facetious person. He drinks his water, and seems to laugh at the
Englishmen, though I doubt whether it is fair for a water-drinker to sit
by and spy out the weaknesses of gentlemen over their wine."
*' And my boys? I hope they are prudent?" said the widow, laying
her hand on her guest's arm, " Harry promised me, and when he gives
his word, I can trust him for any tiling. George is always moderate.
Why do you look so grave ?"
*' Indeed, to be frank with you, I do not know what has come over
George in these last days," says Mr. Washington. ''He has some
grievance against me which I do not understand, and of which I don't
care to ask the reason. He spoke to me before the gentlemen in a way
which scarcely became him. We are going the campaign together, and
'tis a pity we begin such ill friends."
''He has been ill. He is always wild and wayward, and hard to
understand. But he has the most affectionate heart in the world. You
will bear with him, you will protect him — promise me you will."
"Dear lady, I will do so with my life," Mr. Washington said with
great fervour. "You know I would lay it down cheerfully for you or
any you love."
" And my father's blessing and mine go with you, dear friend !" cried
the widow, full of thanks and affection.
As they pursued their conversation, they had quitted the porch under
which they had first begun to talk, and where they could hear the
laughter and toasts of the gentlemen over their wine, and were pacing a
walk on the rough lawn before the house. Young George Warrington,
from his place at the head of the table in the dining-room, could see the
pair as they passed tj and fro, and had listened for some time past, and
replied in a very distracted manner to the remarks of the gentlemen
round about him, who were too much engaged with their own talk and
jokes, and drinking, to pay much attention to their young host's beha-
viour. Mr. Braddock loved a song after dinner, and Mr. Danvers his
aide-de-camp, who had a fine tenor voice, was delighting his General
with the latest ditty from Marybone Gardens, when George W^arrington,
jumping up, ran towards the window, and then returned and pulled
06 THE VIRGINIANS.
his brother Harry by the sleeve, who sate with his back towards the
"Window.
" What is it ?" says Harry, who, for his part, was charmed, too, with
the song and chorus.
"Come," cried George, with a stamp of his foot, and the younger
followed obediently.
"What is it?" continued George, with a bitter oath. "Don't you
see what it is ? They were billing and cooing this morning ; they are
bUiing and cooing now before going to roost. Had we not better both go
into the garden, and pay our duty to our mamma and papa ?" and he
pointed to Mr. Washington, who was taking the widow's hand very
tenderly in his.
CHAPTEE X.
A HOT AFTEKNCOIT.
General Beaddock and the other guests of Castlewood being duly
consigned to their respective quarters, the boys retired to their own room,
and there poured out to one another their opinions respecting the great
event of the day. They would not bear such a marriage — no. Was the
representative of the Marquises of Esmond to marry the younger son of a
colonial family, who had been bred up as a land-surveyor ! Castlewood,
and the boys at nineteen years of age, handed over to the tender mercies
of a step-father of three-and-twenty ! Oh, it was monstrous ! Harry
was for going straightway to his mother in her bed-room — where her
black maidens were divesting her ladyship of the simple jewels and
fineries which she had assumed in compliment to the feast — protesting
against the odious match, and announcing that they would go home, live
upon their little property there, and leave her for ever, if the unnatural
union took place.
George advocated another way of stopping it, and explained his plan
to his admiring brother. " Our mother," he said, " can't marry a
man with whom one or both of us has been out on the field, and who
has wounded us or killed us, and whom we have wounded or killed. We
must have him out, Harry."
Harry saw the profound truth conveyed in George's statement, and
admired his brother's immense sagacity. "No, George," says he,
"you are right. Mother can't marry our murderer; she won't be as
bad as that. And if we pink him, he is done for. * Cadit quastio,^ as
Mr. Dempster used to say. Shall I send my boy with a challenge to
Colonel George now ? "
"My dear Harry," the elder replied, thinking with some complacency
of his afiliir of honour at Q,uebec, "you are not accustomed to alfairs of
this sort,'''
THE VIEGINIAXS. ^T
" No," owned Harry, with a sigh, looking with envy and aclmiradon
on his senior.
*' We can't insult a gentleman in our own house,'* continued George,
■with great majesty, *' the laws of honour forbid such inhospitable treat-
ment. But, sir, we can ride out with him, and, as soon as the park
gates are closed, we can tell him our mind."
*' That we can, by George !" cries Harry, grasping his brother's hand,
"and that we will, too. I say, Georgy ..." Here the lad's face
became very red, and his brother asked him what he would say ?
*< This is my turn, brother," Harry pleaded. *' H'you go the campaign,
I ought to have the other affair. Indeed, indeed, I ought ; " and he
prayed for this bit of promotion.
" Again the head of the house must take the lead, my dear," George
said with a superb air. " If I fall, my Harry will avenge me. But I
must fight George "Washington, Hal: and 'tis best I should; for,
indeed, I hate him the worst. Was it not he who counselled my
mother to order that wretch, Ward, to lay hands on me ? "
<'Ah, George," interposed the more pacable younger brother, "you
ought to forget and forgive ! "
''Forgive? Never, sir, as long as I remember. You can't order
remembrance out of a man's mind; and a wrong that was a wrong
yesterday must be a wrong to-morrow. I never, of my knowledge, did
one to any man, and I never will suffer one if I can help it. I think
very ill of Mr. Ward, but I don't think so badly of him as to suppose he
will ever forgive thee that blow with the ruler. Colonel Washington is
our enemy, mine especially. He has advised one wrong against me, and
he meditates a greater. I tell you, brother, we must punish him."
The grandsire's old Bordeaux had set George's ordinarily pale counte-
nance into a flame. Harry, his brother's fondest worshipper, could not
but admire George's haughty bearing and rapid declamation, and
prepared himself, with his usual docility, to follow his chief. So the
boys wxnt to their beds, the elder conveying special injunctions to liia
junior to be civil to all the guests so long as they remained under the
maternal roof on the morrow.
Good manners and a repugnance to telling tales out of school, forbid
us from saying which of Madam Esmond's guests was the first to fall
under the weight of her hospitality. The respectable descendants of
Messrs. Talmadge and Danvers, aides-de-camp to his Excellency, might
not care to hear how their ancestors were intoxicated a hundred years
ago ; and yet the gentlemen themselves took no shame in the fact, and
there is little doubt they or their comrades were tipsy twice or thrice in
the week. Let us fancy them reeling to bed, supported by sympathising
negroes ; and their vinous General, too stout a toper to have surrendered
himself to a half dozen bottles of Bordeaux, conducted to his chamber by
the young gentlemen of the house, and speedily sleeping the sleep which
friendly Bacchus gives. The good lady of Castlewood saw the condition
of her guests without the least surprise or horror ; and was up early in
p 2
68 THE VIRGINIANS.
tne nKjrning, providing cooling drinks for their hot palates, which the
servants carried to their respective chambers. At breakfast, one of the
English officers rallied Mr. Franklin, who took no wine at all, and
therefore refused the morning cool draught of toddy, by shovv^ing how
the Philadelphia gentleman lost two pleasures, the drink and the toddy.
The young fellow said the disease was pleasant and the remedy delicious,
and laughingly proposed to continue repeating them both. The General's
new American aide-de-camp. Colonel Washington, was quite sober and
serene. The British officers vowed they must take him in hand and
teach him what the ways of the English army were ; but the Virginian
gentleman gravely said he did not care to learn that part of the English
military education.
The widow, occupied as she had been with the cares of a great dinner,
followed by a great breakfast on the morning ensuing, had scarce leisure
to remark the behaviour of her sons very closely, but at least saw that
George was scrupulously polite to her favourite. Colonel Washington, as
to all the other guests of the house.
Before Mr. Braddock took his leave, he had a private audience of
Madam Esmond, in which his Excellency formally offered to take her
son into his family ; and when the arrangements for George's departure
were settled between his mother and future chief, Madam Esmond,
though she might feel them, did not show any squeamish terrors about
the dangers of the bottle, which she saw were amongst the severest and
most certain which her son would have to face. She knew her boy
must take his part in the world, and encounter his portion of evil and
good. " Mr. Braddock is a perfect fine gentleman in the morning," she
said stoutly to her aide-de-camp, Mrs. Mountain; ''and though my papa
did not drink, 'tis certain that many of the best company in England do."
The jolly General good-naturedly shook hands with George, who pre-
sented himself to his Excellency after the maternal interview was over,
and bade George welcome, and to be in attendance at Frederick three
days hence ; shortly after which time the expedition would set forth.
And now the great coach was again called into requisition, the
General's escort pranced round it, the other guests and their servants
went to horse. The lady of Castlewood attended his Excellency to the
steps of the verandah in front of her house, the young gentlemen
followed, and stood on each side of his coach-door. Tlie guard trumpeter
blew a shrill blast, the negroes shouted " Huzzay, and God sabe de
King," as Mr. Braddock most graciously took leave of his hospitable
entertainers, and rolled away on his road to head-quarters.
As the boys went up the steps, there was the Colonel once more taking
leave of their mother. No doubt she had been once more recommending
George to' his namesake's care; for Colonel AVashington said: "With
my life. You ma}' depend on me," as the lads returned to their mother,
and the few guests still remaining in the porch. The Colonel was booted
and ready to depart. ''Farewell, my dear Harry," he said. " Witli
you, George, 'tis no adieu. We shall meet in three days at the camp."
THE VIRGINIAN'S. 09
Both the young men -were going to danger, perhaps to death. Colonel
Washington was taking leave of her, and she was to see him no more
before the campaign. No wonder the widow was very much moved.
George Warrington watched his mother's emotion, and interpreted it
with a pang of malignant scorn. " Stay yet a moment, and console our
mamma," he said with a steady countenance, *' only the time to get
ourselves booted, and my brother and I will ride with you a little way,
Greorge." George Warrington had already ordered his horses. The
three young men were speedily under way, their negro grooms behind
them, and Mrs. Mountain, who knew she had made mischief between
them and trembled for the result, felt a vast relief that Mr. Washington
was gone without a quarrel with the brothers, without, at any rate, an
open declaration of love to their mother.
No man could be more courteous in demeanour than George Warring-
ton to his neighbour and namesake, the Colonel. The latter was pleased
and surprised at his young friend's altered behaviour. The community
of danger, the necessity of future fellowship, the softening influence of
the long friendship which bound him to the Esmond family, the tender
adieux which had just passed between him and the mistress of Castle-
wood, inclined the Colonel to forget the unpleasantness of the past days,
and made him more than usually friendly with his young companion.
George was quite gay and easy : it was Harry who was melancholy now :
he rode silently and wistfully by his brother, keeping away from Colonel
Washington, to whose side he used always to press eagerly before. If
the honest Colonel remarked his young friend's conduct, no doubt he
attributed it to Harry's known affection for his brother, and his natural
anxiety to be with George now the day of their parting was so near.
They talked further about the war, and the probable end of the cam-
paign : none of the three doubted its successful termination. Two thou-
sand veteran British troops with their commander must get the better of
any force the French could bring against them, if only they moved in
decent time. The ardent young Virginian soldier had an immense
respect for the experienced valour and tactics of the regular troops.
King George II. had no more loyal subject than Mr. Braddock's new
aide-de-camp.
So the party rode amicably together, until they reached a certain rude
log-house, called Benson's, of which the proprietor, according to the
custom of the day and country, did not disdain to accept money from hia
guests in return for hospitalities provided. There was a recruiting
station here, and some officers and men of Halkett's regiment assembled,
and here^ Colonel Washington supposed that his young friend would take
leave of him.
Whilst their horses were baited, they entered the public room, ant
found a rough meal prepared for such as were disposed to partake.
George Warrington entered the place with a particularly gay and lively
air, whereas poor Harry's face was quite white and wo-begone.
"One would think, Squire Harry, 'twas you who was going to leaTO
THE VIHGINIANS.
home and fight the French and Indians, and not Mr. George," says
Benson.
*' I may be alarmed about danger to my brother," said Harry, "though
I might bear my own share pretty well. 'Tis not my fault that I stay at
home."
"No, indeed, brother," cries George.
"Harry Warrington's courage does not need any proof!" cries
Mr. Washington.
"You do the family honour by speaking so well of us, Colonel," says
Mr. George, with a low bow. "I daresay w^e can hold our own, if
need be."
Whilst his friend was vaunting his courage, Harry looked, to say the
truth, by no means courageous. As his eyes met his brother's he read
in George's look an announcement which alarmed the fond faithful lad,
** You are not going to do it now ?" he whispered his brother.
"Yes, now;" says Mr. George, very steadily.
" For God's sake let me have the turn. You are going on the cam-
paign, you ought not to have everything — and there may be an explana-
tion, Geor-2;e. We may he all wrong."
"Psha, how can we? It must be done now — don't be alarmed. No
names shall be mentioned — I shall easily find a subject."
A couple of Halkett' s officers, whom our young gentlemen knew, were
sitting under the porch, with the Yirginian toddy-bowl before them.
"What are you conspiring, gentlemen?" cried one of them. "Is it
a drink?"
By the tone of their voices and their flushed cheeks, it was clear the
gentlemen had already been engaged in drinking that morning.
"The very thing, sir," George said gaily. "Fresh glasses, Mr. Ben-
son ! What, no glasses ? Then we must have at the bowL"
" Many a good man has drunk from it," says Mr. Benson ; and the
lads one after another, and bowing first to their military acquaintance,
touched the bowl with their lips. The liquor did not seem to be much
diminished for the boys' drinking, though George especially gave himself
a toper's airs, and protested it was delicious after their ride. He called
out to Colonel Washington, who was at the porch, to join his friends,
and drink.
The lad's tone was ofifensive, and resembled the manner lately adopted
by him, and which had so much chafed Mr. Washington. He bowed,
and said he was not thirsty.
"Nay, the liquor is paid for," says George, " never fear. Colonel."
" I said I was not thirsty. I did not say the liquor was not paid for,"
said the young Colonel^ drumming with his foot.
"When the King's health is proposed, an officer can hardly say no.
! drink the health of his Majesty, gentlemen," cried George. " Colonel
Washington can drink it or leave it. The King ! "
This was a point of military honour. The two British officers of
Haikett's, Captain Grace and Mr. AVaring, both drank the King. Harry
THE VIRGINIANS.
Warrington drank the King. Colonel Washington, with glaring eyes,
gulped, toD, a slight draft from the bowl.
Then Captain Grace proposed "the Duke and the Army," which toast
there was likewise no gainsaying. Colonel Washington had to swallow
the Duke and the Army.
*' You don't seem to stomach the toast, Colonel," said George.
**I tell you again, I don't want to drink," replied the Colonel. "It
seems to me the Duke and the Army would be served all the better if
their healths were not drunk so often."
" You are not up to the ways of regular troops as yet," said Captain
Orace, with rather a thick voice.
*' May be not, sir."
*' A British officer," continues Captain Grace, with great energy but
doubtful articulation, ''never neglects a toast of that sort, nor any
other duty. A man who refuses to drink the health of the Duke — hang
me, such a man should be tried by a court-martial ! "
*' What means this language to me ? You are drunk, sir ! " roared
C/Aonel Washington, jumping up, and striking the table with his
Ust.
"A cursed provincial officer say I'm drunk!" shrieks out Captain
Grace. * ' AVaring, do you hear that ? "
" /heard it, sir ! " cried George Warrington. ** We all heard it. He
entered at my invitation— the liquor called for was mine : the table was
mine — and I am shocked to hear such monstrous language used at it
as Colonel Washington has just employed towards my esteemed guest,
Captain Waring."
''Confound your impudence, you infernal young jackanapes!" bel-
lowed out Colonel Washington. " You dare to insult me before British
officers, and find fault with my language ? For months past, I have
borne with such impudence from you, that if I had not loved your
mother — yes, sir, and your good grandfather and your brother — I
would — I would — " Here his words failed him, and the irate Colonel,
with glaring eyes and purple face, and every limb quivering with wrath,
stood for a moment speechless before his young enemy.
"You would what, sir?" says George, very quietly, "if you did not
love my grandfather, and my brother, and my mother ? You are
making her petticoat a plea for some conduct of yours — you would do
what, sir, may I ask again ? "
" I would put you across my knee and whip you, you snarling little
puppy, that's what I would do ! " cried the Colonel, who had found
breath by this time, and vented another explosion of fury.
"Because you have known us all our lives, and made our house
your own, that is no reason you should insult either of us ! " here cried
Harry, starting up. " What you have said, George Washington, is an
insult to me and my brother alike. You will ask our pardon, sir ! "
"Pardon?"
" Or give us the reparation that is due to gentlemen," continues Harry.
72 THE VIRGINIANS.
The stout Colonel's heart smote him to think that he should be at
mortal quarrel or called upon to shed the blood of one of the lads he
loved. As Harry stood facing him with his fair hair, flushing cheeks,
and quivering voice, an immense tenderness and kindness filled the
bosom of the elder man. " I — I am bewildered," he said. " My words,
perhaps, were very hasty. What has been the meaning of George's
behaviour to me for months back ? Only tell me, and, perhaps "
The evil spirit was awake and victorious in young George "War-
rington: his black eyes shot out scorn and hatred at the simple and
guileless gentleman before him. "You are shirking from the question,
sir, as you did from the toast just now," he said. "I am not a boy ta
suffer under your arrogance. You have publicly insulted me in a
public place, and I demand a reparation."
" In Heaven's name, be it! " says Mr. Washington, with the deepest
grief in his face.
"And you have insulted me," continues Captain Grace, reelin^g
towards him. " What was it he said ? Confound the militia captain —
colonel, what is he ? You've insulted me ! Oh, Waring ! to think I
should be insulted by a captain of militia ! " And tears bedewed the
noble Captain's cheek as this harrowing thought crossed his mind.
" I insult you, you hog ! " the Colonel again yelled out, for he was
little affected by humour, and had no disposition to laugh as the others
had at the scene. And, behold, at this minute a fourth adversary was-
upon him.
"Great Powers, sir!" said Captain Waring, "are three affairs not
enough for you, and must I come into the quarrel, too ? You have a
quarrel with these two young gentlemen."
" Hasty words, sir! " cries poor Harry once more.
"Hasty words, sir!" cries Captain Waring. "A gentleman tells
another gentleman that he will put him across his knees and whip him,,
and you call those hasty words ? Let me tell you if any man were to
say to me, ' Charles Waring,' or * Captain Waring, I'll put you across
my knees and whip you,' I'd say, * I'll drive my cheese-toaster through
his body,' if he were as big as Goliath, I would. That's one affair with
young Mr. George Warrington. Mr. Harry, of course, as a young man
of spirit, will stand by his brother. That's two. Between Grace and
the Colonel apology is impossible. And, now — run me through the
body! You call an officer of my regiment — of Halkett's, sir! — a hog
before my face ! Great Heavens, sir ! Mr. Washington ! are you all
like this in Virginia ? Excuse me, I would use no offensive personality,
as, by George ! I will suffer none from any man ! but, by Gad, Colonel !
give me leave to tell you that you are the most quarrelsome man I ever
saw in my life. Call a disabled officer of my regiment — for he is
disabled, ain't you, Grace? — call him a hog before me! You withdraw
it, sir — you withdraw it ? "
"Is this some infernal conspiracy in which you are all leagued
against me ? " Bhouted the Colonel. " It would seem as if I was drunk,.
THE VIRGIXiANS. 73
and not you, as you all are. I withdraw nothing. I apologise for
nothing. By Heavens ! I will meet one or half-a-dozen of you in your
turn, young or old, drunk or sober."
" I do not wish to hear myself called more names," cried Mr. George
Warrington. ** This affair can proceed, sir, without any further insult
on your part. When will it please you to give me the meeting ? "
** The sooner the better, sir!" said the Colonel, fuming with rage.
** The sooner the better," hiccupped Captain Grace, with many oaths
needless to print — (in those days, oaths were the customary garnish of all
gentlemen's conversation) — and he rose staggering from his seat, and
reeled towards his sword, which he had laid by the door, and fell as he
reached the weapon. " The sooner the better! " the poor tipsy wretch
again cried out from the ground, waving his weapon and knocking his
own hat over his eyes.
"At any rate, this gentleman's business will keep cool till to morrow,"
the Militia Colonel said, turning to the other King's officer. ** You will
hardly bring your man out to-day, Captain Waring ? "
" I confess that neither his hand nor mine are particularly steady."
''Mine is! " cried Mr. Warrington, glaring at his enemy.
His comrade of former days was as hot and as savage. ** Be it so —
with what weapon, sir ? " Washington said sternly.
"Not with small-swords. Colonel. We can beat you with them.
You know that from our old bouts. Pistols had better be the word."
"As you please, George Warrington — and God forgive you, George!
God pardon you, Harry ! for bringing me into this quarrel," said the
Colonel, with a face full of sadness and gloom.
Harry hung his head, but George continued with perfect calmness.
" I, sir? It was not I who called names, who talked of a cane, who
insulted a gentleman in a public place before gentlemen of the army ?
It is not the iirst time you have chosen to take me for a negro, and
talked of the whip for me."
The Colonel started back, turning very red, and as if struck by a
sudden remembrance.
* ' Great Heavens, George ! is it that boyish quarrel you are still
recalling ? "
"Who made you the overseer of Castlewood?" said the boy,
grinding his teeth. " I am not your slave, George Washington, and I
never will be. I hated you then, and I hate you now. And you have
insulted me, and I am a gentleman, and so are you. Is that not enough ? "
" Too much, only too much," said the Colonel, with a genuine grief
on his face, a,nd at his heart. " Do you bear malice too, Harry ? I had
not thought this of thee ! "
" I stand by my brother," said Harry, turning away from the Colo-
nel's look, and grasping George's hand. The sadness on their adver-
sary's face did not depart. "Heaven be good to us! 'Tis all clear
now," he muttered to himself. " The time to write a few letters, and I
am at your service, Mr. Warrington," he said.
\ B R A^'^
74 THE VIRGIXIAXS.
" You have your own pistols at your saddle. I did not ride out with
any; but will send Sady back for mine. That will give you time
enough, Colonel Washington?'*
** Plenty of time, sir," and each gentleman made the other a low
bow, and, putting his arm in his brother's, George walked away. The
Virginian officer looked towards the two unlucky captains, who were by
this time helpless with liquor. Captain Benson, the master of the
tavern, was propping the hat of one of them over his head.
*' It is not altogether their fault, Colonel," said my landlord, with a
grim look of humour. " Jack Firebrace and Tom Humbold of Spotsyl-
vania was here this morning, chanting horses with 'em. And Jack and
Tom got 'em to play cards ; and they didn't win— the British Captains
didn't. And Jack and Tom challenged them to drink for the honour of
Old England, and they didn't win at that game, neither, much. They
are kind, free handed fellows when they are sober, but they are a pretty
pair of fools — they are."
" Captain Benson, you were an old Frontierraan, and an officer of ours,
before you turned farmer and taverner. You will help me in this
matter with yonder young gentlemen ? " said the Colonel.
*' I'll stand by and see fair play, Colonel. I won't have no hand in it,
beyond seeing fair play. Madam Esmond has helped me many a time,
tended my poor wife in her lying-in, and doctored our Betty in the
fever. You ai^'t a going to be very hard with them poor boys ? Though
I seen 'em both shoot : the fair one hunts well as you know, but the old
one's a wonder at an ace of spades."
*' Will you be pleased to send my man with my valise, Captain, into
any private room which you can spare me ? I must write a few letters
before this business comes on. God grant it were well over ! " And the
Captain led the Colonel into almost the only other room of his house,
callicg, with many oaths, to a pack of negro servants, to disperse thence,
who were chattering loudly among one another, and no doubt discussing
the quarrel which had just taken place. Edwin, the Colonel's man,
returned with his master's portmanteau, and as he looked from the
window, he saw Sady, George Warrington's negro, galloping away upon
his errand, doubtless, and in the direction of Castlewood. The Colonel,
young and naturally hot-headed, but the most courteous and scrupulous
of men, and ever keeping his strong passions under guard, could not
but think with amazement of the position in which he found himself,
and of the three, perhaps four enemies, who appeared suddenly before
him, menacing his life. How had this strange series of quarrels been
brought about ? He had ridden away a few hours since from Castlewood,
with his young companions, and, to all seeming, they' were perfect
friends. A shower of rain sends them into a tavern, where there are a
couple of recruiting officers, and tliey are not seated for half an hour,
at a social table, but he has quarrelled with the whole company, called
this one names, agreed to meet another in combat, and threatened chas-
tisement to a third, the son of his most intimate friend !
THE VIRGINIANS. 75
CHAPTEE XI.
WHEREIN THE TWO GEOEGES PEEPAEE FOE BLOOD,
The Yirginian Colonel remained in one chamber of the tavern, occu-
pied with gloomy preparations for the ensuing meeting ; his adversary
in the other room thought fit to make his testamentary dispositions, too,
and dictated by his obedient brother and secretary a grandiloquent
letter to his mother, of whom, and by that writing, he took a solemn
farewell. She would hardly, he supposed, pursue the scheme which she
had in view (a peculiar satirical emphasis was laid upon the scheme
which she had in view), after the event of that morning, should he fall,
as probably would be the case.
"My dear, dear George, don't say that!" cried the affrighted
secretary.
" As probably will be the case," George persisted with great majesty.
*' You know what a good shot Colonel George is, Harry. I, myself, am
pretty fair at a mark, and 'tis probable that one or both of us will drop.
— ' 1 scarcely suppose you will carry out the intentions you have at
present in view.' " This was uttered in a tone of still greater bitterness
than George had used even in the previous phrase. Harry wept as he
took it down.
" You see I say nothing ; Madam Esmond's name does not ever
appear in the quarrel. Do you not remember in our grandfather's life
of himself, how he says that Lord Castlewood fought Lord Mohun
on a pretext of a quarrel at cards? and never so much as hinted at
the lady's name, who was the real cause of the duel ? I took my
hint, I confess, from that, Harry, Our mother is not compromised
in the . Why child, what have you been writing, and who
taught thee to spell?" Harry had written the last words '* in view,"
in veiv, and a great blot of salt water from his honest, boyish eyes may
have obliterated some other bad spelling.
*'I can't think about the spelling now, Georgy," whimpered
George's clerk. "I'm too miserable for that. I begin to think,
perhaps, it's all nonsense, perhaps Colonel George never — "
"Never meant to take possession of Castlewood; never gave him-
self airs, and patronised us there ; never advised my mother to have
me flogged, never intended to marry her ; never insulted me, and was
insulted before the King's officers ; never wrote to his brother to
say we should be the better for his parental authority ? The paper
is there," cried the young man, slapping his breast pocket, "and if
anything happens to me, Harry Warrington, you will find it on my
corse ! "
"Write yourself, Georgy, I canH write," says Harry, digging his
76 THE VIRGINIANS.
fists into his eyes, and smearing over the whole composition, bad spelling
and all, with his elbows.
On this, George, taking another sheet of paper, sate down at his
brother's place, and produced a composition in which he introduced the
longest words, the grandest Latin quotations, and the most profound
satire of which the youthful scribe was master. He desired that his
negro boy, Sady, should be set free, that his Horace, a choice of his
books, and, if possible, a suitable provision should be made for his
affectionate tutor, Mr. Dempster ; that his silver fruit-knife, his music-
books, and harpsichord, should be given to little Fanny Mountain ; and
that his brother should take a lock of his hair, and wear it in memory
of his ever fond and faithfully attached George. And he sealed the
document with the seal of arms that his grandfather had worn.
** The watch, of course, will be yours," said George, taking out his
grandfather's gold watch and looking at it. "Why two hours and a
half are gone ! 'Tis time that Sady should be back with the pistols.
Take the watch, Harry, dear."
"It's no good!" cried out Harry, flinging his arras round his
brother. "If he fights you, I'll fight him, too. If he kills my
Georgy, — — him, he shall have a shot at me ! " and the poor lad
uttered more than one of those expressions, which are said peculiarly
to affect recording angels, who have to take them down at celestial
chanceries.
Meanwhile, General Braddock's new aide-de-camp had written five
letters in his large resolute hand, and sealed them with his seal.
One was to his mother, at Mount Vernon ; one to his brother ; one
was addressed M. C. only; and one to his Excellency, Major-General
Braddock ; " And one, young gentlemen, is for your mother, Madam
Esmond," said the boy's informant.
Again the Recording Angel had to fly off with a violent expression,
which parted from the lips of George AVarrington. The chancery
previously mentioned was crowded with such cases, and the mes-
sengers must have been for ever on the wing. But I fear for young
George and his oath there was no excuse ; for it was an execration
littered from a heart full of hatred, and rage, and jealousy.
It was the landlord of the tavern who communicated these facts to the
young men. The Captain had put on his old militia uniform to do
honour to the occasion, and informed the boys that the Colonel was
walking up and down the garden a waiting for 'em, and that tlie
Reg'lars was a'most sober, too, by this time.
A plot of ground near the Captain's log-holise had been enclosd
with shingles, and cleared for a kitchen garden ; there indeed paced
Colonel Washington, his hands behind his back, his head bowed down,
a grave sorrow on his handsome face. The negro servants were crowded
at the palings, and looking over. The officers under the porch had
wakened up also, as their host remarked. Captain Waring was walking,
almost steadily, under the balcony formed by the sloping porch and rooi
THE VIRGINIANS. 77
of the wooden house ; and Captain Grace was lolling over the railing,
with eyes which stared very much, though, perhaps, they did not see
very clearly. Benson's was a famous rendezvous for cock- tights, horse-
matches, boxing, and wrestling-matches, such as brought the Yirginiaa
country-folks together. There had been many brawls at Benson's, and
men who came thither sound and sober had gone thence with ribs broken
and eyes gouged out. And squires, and farmers, and negroes, aU
participated in the sport.
There, then, stalked the tall young Colonel, plunged in dismal
meditation. There was no way out of his scrape, but the usual cruel
one, which the laws of honour and the practice of the country ordered.
Goaded into fury by the impertinence of a boy, he had used insulting
words. The young man had asked for reparation. He was shocked to
think that George Warrington's jealousy and revenge should have
rankled in the young fellow so long : but the wrong had been the
Colonel's, and he was bound to pay the forfeit.
A great hallooing and shouting, such as negroes use, who love noise
at all times, and especially delight to yell and scream when galloping
on horseback, was now heard at a distance, and all the heads, wooUy
and powdered, were turned in the direction of this outcry. It came
from the road over which our travellers had themselves passed three
hours before, and, presently, the clattering, of horses' hoofs was heard,
and now Mr. Sady made his appearance on his foaming horse, and.
actually fired a pistol off in the midst of a prodigious uproar from his
woolly brethren. Then he fired another pistol off, to which noises
Sady's horse, which had carried Harry "Warrington on many a hunt,
was perfectly accustomed; and now he was in the court-yard, surrounded
by a score of his bawling comrades, and was descending amidst fluttering
fowls and turkeys, kicking horses and shrieking frantic pigs, and
brother negroes crowded round him, to whom he instantly began to talk
and chatter.
<' Sady, sir, come here! " roars out Master Harry.
"Sady, come here! confound you!" shouts Master George. (Again
the Recording Angel is in requisition, and has to be off" on one of his
endless errands to the Register Office.) '' Come directly, Mas'r," says
Sady, and resumes his conversation with his woolly brethren. Ho
grins. He takes the pistols out of the holster. He snaps the locks.
He points them at a grunter, which plunges through the farm-yard.
He points down the road, over which he has just galloped, and towards
which the woolly heads again turn. He says again, " Comin', Mas'r,
Everybody a-comin'." And now, the gallop of other horses is heard.
And who is yonder? Little Mr. Dempster, spurring and digging into
his poney ; and that lady in a riding- habit on Madam Esmond's little
horse, can it be Madam Esmond ? No. It is too stout. As I live it is
Mrs. Mountain on Madam's grey !
"OLor! Golly! Hoop! Here dey come! Hurray!" A chorus
of negroes rises iip. " Here dey are ! " Dr. Dempster and Mrs. Moun-
78 THE VIRGINIANS.
tain have clattered into tlie yard, have jumped from their horses, have
elbowed through the negroes, have rushed into the house, have run
through it and across the porch, where the British officers are sitting in
muzzy astonishment; have run down the stairs to the garden where
George and Harry are walking, their tall enemy stalking opposite to
them ; and almost ere George Warrington has had time sternly to say,
"What do you do here. Madam?" Mrs. Mountain has flung her arms
round his neck and cries: "0 George, my darling! It's a mistake I
It's a mistake, and is all my fault !"
** What's a mistake?" asks George, majestically separating himself
from the embrace.
" What is it, Mounty ? " cries Harry, all of a tremble.
*<,That paper I took out of his portfolio, that paper I picked up,
children ; where the Colonel says he is going to marry a widow with two
children. Who should it be but you, children, and who should it be
but your mother ? "
"Well?"
" Well, it's — it's not your mother. It's that little widow Custis
whom the Colonel is going to marry. He'd always take a rich one ; I
knew he would. It's not Mrs. Rachel Warrington. He told Madam so
to-day, just before he was going away, and that the marriage was to
come off after the campaign. And — and your mother is furious, boys.
And when Sady came for the pistols, and told the whole house how you
were going to fight, I told him to fire the pistols off; and I galloped
after him, and I've nearly broken my poor old bones in coming to you."
" I have a mind to break Mr. Sady's," growled George. " I specially
enjoined the villain not to say a word."
"Thank God he did, brother," said poor Harry. "Thank God h©
did!"
"What will Mr. Washington and those gentlemen think of my
servant telling my mother at home that I was going to fight a duel ? "
asks Mr. George, still in wrath.
"You have shown your proofs before, George," says Harry respect-
fully. " And, thank Heaven, you are not going to fight our old friend,
— our grandfather's old friend. For, it was a mistake : and there is no
quarrel now, dear, is there ? You were unkind to him under a wrong
impression."
" I certainly acted under ft wrong impression,'* owns George,
«*but— "
"George! George Washington!" Harry here cries out, springing
over the cabbage-garden towards the bowling-green, where the Colonel
was stalking, and though we cannot hear him, we see hira, with both
his hands out, and with the eagerness of youth, and with a hundred
blunders, and with love and affection thrilling in his honest voice we
imagine the lad telling his tale to his friend.
There was a custom in those days which has disappeared from our
manners now, but which then lingered. When Harry had finished his
THE VIRGINIAN'S. 79
artless story, his friend the Colonel took him fairly to his arms, and held
> him to his heart : and his voice faltered as he said, " Thank God, thank
God for this ! "
" George," said Harry, "who felt now how he loved his friend with
all his heart, "how I wish I was going with you on the campaign !"
The other pressed both the boy's hands, in a grasp of friendship, which,
each knew, never would slacken.
Then, the Colonel advanced, gravely holding out his hand to Harry's
elder brother. Perhaps Harry wondered that the two did not embrace
as he and the Colonel had just done. But, though hands were joined,
the salutation was only formal and stern on both sides.
"I find I have done you a wrong, Colonel Washington," George said,
** and must apologise, not for the error, but for much of my late
behaviour which has resulted from it."
*' The error was mine ! It was I who found that paper in your room,
I and showed it to George, and was jealous of you. Colonel. All women
are jealous," cried Mrs. Mountain.
*' 'Tis a pity you could not have kept your eyes oS my paper,
\ Madam," said Mr. Washington. "You will permit me to say so. A
j great deal of mischief has come because I chose to keep a secret which
! concerned only myself and another person. For a long time, George
i Warrington's heart has been black with anger against me, and my
[ feeling towards him has, I own, scarce been more friendly. All this
I pain might have been spared to both of us, had my private papers only
been read by those for whom they were written. I shall say no more
now, lest my feelings again should betray mo into hasty words. Heaven
bless thee, Harry ! Farewell, George ! And take a true friend's advice,
and try and be less ready to think evil of your friends. We shall meet
again at the camp, and will keep our weapons for the enemy. Gentle-
men ! if you remember this scene to-morrow, you will know where to
Jind me." And with a very stately bow to the English ofilcers, the
Colonel left the abashed company, and speedily rode away.
CHAPTER XII.
IfEWS PROM THE CAMP.
We must fancy that the parting between the brothers is over, that
George has taken his place in Mr. Braddock's family, and Harry has
returned home to Castlewood and his duty. His heart is with the army,
and his pursuits at home olfer the boy no pleasure. He does not care to
own how deep his disappointment is, at being obliged to stay under the
homely, quiet roof, now more melancholy than ever since George is
away. Harry passes his brother's empty chamber with an averted face ;
takes George's place at the head of the table, and sighs as he drinks
80 THE VIRGINIANS.
from his silver tankard. Madam Warrington calls the toast of "the
King," stoutly every day ; and, on Sundays, when Harry reads the
Service, and prays for all travellers by land and by water, she says,
*' We beseech thee to hear us," with a peculiar solemnity. She insists
on talking about George constantly, but quite cheerfully, and as if his
return was certain. She walks into his vacant room, with head
upright, and no outward signs of emotion. She sees that his books,
linen, papers, &c., are arranged with care ; talking of him with a very
special respect, and specially appealing to the old servants at meals, and
so forth, regarding things which are to be done "when Mr. George
comes home." Mrs. Mountain is constantly on the whimper when
George's name is mentioned, and Harry's face wears a look of the most
ghastly alarm ; but his mother's is invariably grave and sedate. She
makes more blunders at picquet and backgammon than you would
expect from her ; and the servants find her awake and dressed, however
early they may rise. She has prayed Mr. Dempster to come back into
residence at Castlewood. She is not severe or haughty (as her wont
certainly was) with any of the party, but quiet in her talk with them,
and gentle in assertion and reply. She is for ever talking of her father
and his campaigns, who came out of them all with no very severe
wounds to hurt him ; and so she hopes and trusts will her eldest son.
George writes frequent letters home to his brother, and, now the
army is on its march, compiles a rough journal, which he forwards
as occasion serves. This document is perused with great delight and
eagerness by the youth to whom it is addressed, and more than once read
out in family council, on the long summer nights, as Madam Esmond
sits upright at her tea-table — (she never condescends to use the back
of a chair) — as little Fanny Mountain is busy with' her sewing, as
Mr. Dempster and Mrs. Mountain sit over their cards, as the hushed
old servants of the house move about silently in the gloaming, and listen
to the words of the young master. Hearken to Harry Warrington
reading out his brother's letter ! As we look at the slim characters on
the yellow page, fondly kept and put aside, we can almost fancy him
alive who wrote and who read it — and yet, lo ! they are as if they never
had been ; their portraits faint images in frames of tarnished gold.
Were they real once, or are they mere phantasms ? Did they live and
die once? Did they love each other as true brothers and loyal gentle-
men ? Can we hear their voices in the past ? Sure I know Harry's, and
yonder he sits in the warm summer evening, and reads his young
brother's simple story : —
"It must be owned that the provinces are acting scurvily by his
Majesty King George II., and his representative here is in a flame of
fury. Virginia is bad enough, and poor Maryland not much better,
but Pennsylvania is worst of all. We pray them to send us troops
from home to fight the French ; and we promise to maintain the troops
when they come. We not only don't keep our promise, and malce
scarce any provision for our defenders, but our people insist upon the
THE VIRGINIANS. 81
most exorbitant prices for their cattle and stores, and actually cheat
the soldiers who are come to fight their battles. No wonder the
General swears and the troops are sulky. The delays have been endless.
Owing to the failure of the several provinces to provide their promised
stores and means of locomotion, weeks and months have elapsed, during
which time, no doubt, the French have been strengthening themselves
on our frontier and in the forts they have turned us out of. Though
there never will be any love lost between me and Colonel Washington, it
must be owned that your favourite (I an; not jealous, Hal) is a brave
man and a good officer. The family respect him very much, and the
General is always asking his opinion. Indeed, he is almost the only
/nan who has seen the Indians in their war- paint, and I own I think he
was right in firing upon Mons. Jumonville last year.
"There is to be no more suite to that other quarrel at Benson*s
Tavern than there was to the proposed battle between Colonel W. and
a certain young gentleman who shall be nameless. Captain Waring
wished to pursue it on coming into camp, and brought the message
from Captain Grace, which your friend, who is as bold as Hector, was
for taking up, and employed a brother aide-de-camp, Colonel Wingfield,
on his side. But when Wingfield heard the circumstances of the
quarrel, how it had arisen from Grace being drunk, and was fomented
by Waring being tipsy, and how the two 44th gentlemen had chosen to
insult a mil^^tia officer, he swore that Colonel Washington should not
meet the 44th men ; that he would carry the matter straightway to his
Excellency, who would bring the two captains to a court-martial for
brawling with the militia, and drunkenness, and indecent behaviour,
and the captains were fain to put up their toasting-irons, and swallow
their wrath. They were good-natured enough out of their cups, and
ate their humble pie with very good appetites at a reconciliation dinner
which Colonel W. had with the 44th, and where he was as perfectly
stupid and correct as Prince Prettyman need be. Hang him ! He has
no faults, and that's why I dislike him. When he marries that widow
— ah me ! what a dreary life she w^ill have of it."
"I wonder at the taste of some men, and the effrontery of some
women," says Madam Esmond, laying her tea-cup down. "I wonder
at any woman who has been married once, so forgetting herself as to
marry again ! Don't you. Mountain I "
*' Monstrous ! " says Mountain with a queer look.
Dempster keeps his eyes steadily fixed on his glass of punch. Harry
looks as if he was choking with laughter, or with some other concealed
emotion, but his mother says, "Go on, Harry! Continue with your
brother's journal. He writes well : but ah, will he ever be able to write
like my papa ? '
Harry resumes. " We keep the strictest order here in camp, and the
orders against drunkenness and ill -behaviour on the part of the men are
verv severe. The roll of each company is called at morning, noon, and
1 i'iit, and a return of the absent and disorderly is given in by the
o
82 THE VIRGINIANS.
officer, to the commanding officer of the regiment, vpho has to see that
they are properly punished. The men are punished, and the drummers
are always at work, Harry, but it made one sick to see the first
blood drawn from a great strong white back, and to hear the piteous
yell of the poor fellow."
" Oh, horrid ! " says Madam Esmond.
" I think I should have murdered "Ward if he had flogged me.
Thank heaven he got off with only a crack of the ruler ! The men, I
say, are looked after carefully enough. I wish the officers were. The
Indians have just broken up their camp, and retired in dudgeon,
because the young officers were for ever drinking with the squaws — and
—and — hum — ha." Here Mr. Harry pauses, as not caring to proceed
with the narrative, in the presence of little Fanny, very likely, who
sits primly in her chair by her mother's side, working her little
sampler.
" Pass over that about the odious tip'y creatures," says Madam. And
Harry commences, in a loud tone, a much more satisfactory statement.
*' Each regiment has Divine Service performed at the head of its colours
every Sunday. The General does everything in the power of mortal man
to prevent plundering, and to encourage the people round about to bring
in provisions. He has declared soldiers shall be shot who dare to
interrupt or molest the market people. He has ordered the price of
provisions to be raised a penny a pound, and has lent money out of his
Dwn pocket to provide the camp. Altogether, he is a strange compound,
this General. He flogs his men without mercy, but he gives without
stint. He swears most tremendous oaths in conversation, and tells
stories which Mountain would be shocked to hear — ■"
"Why 7nef" asks Mountain; *'and what have I to do with the
General's silly stories f "
"Never mind the stories; and go on, Harry," cries the mistress of
the house.
" — would be shocked to hear after dinner: but he never misses
service. He adores his great Duke, and has his name constantly on his
lips. Our two regiments both served in Scotland, where I dare say Mr.
Dempster knew the colour of their facings."
" We saw the tails of their coats, as well as their facings," growls the
little Jacobite tutor.
"Colonel Washington has had the fever very smartlj^ and has
hardly been well enough to keep up with the march. Had he noi
better go home and be nursed by his widow ? When either of us is il.' ,
we are almost as good friends again as ever. But I feel somehow as if
I can't forgive him for having wronged him. Good Powers ! How I
have been hating him for these months past ! Harry I I was in a fury
at the tavern the other day, because Mountain came up so soon, and put
an end to our diffirence. We ought to have burned a little gunpowder
between us, and cleared tlie air. But though I don't love him as you
do, I know he is a good soldier, a good officer, and a brave, honest man ;
THE VIRGINIANS.
and, at any rate, shall love him none the worse for not wanting to be
our step-father."
*' A step-father, indeed!" cries Harry's mother. *' "Why, jealousy
and prejudice have perfectly maddened the poor child ! Do you suppose
the Marquis of Esmond's daughter and heiress could not have found
other step-fathers for her sons than a mere provincial surveyor ? If there
are any more such allusions in George's journal, I beg you skip 'em,
Harry, my dear. About this piece of folly and blundering, there hath
been quite talk enough already."
" 'Tis a pretty sight," Harry continued, reading from his brother's
journal, "to see a long line of red-coats, threading through the woods
or taking their ground after the march. The care against surprise is so
great and constant, that we defy prowling Indians to come unawares
upon us, and our advanced sentries and savages have on the contrary
fallen in with the enemy and taken a scalp or two from them. They are
such cruel villains, these French and their painted allies, that we do not
think of showing them mercy. Only think, we found but yesterday a
little boy scalped but yet alive in a lone house, where his parents had
been attacked and murdered by the savage enemy, of whom — so great is
his indignation at their cruelty — our General has offered a reward of £o
for all the Indian scalps brought in.
*' When our march is over, you should see our camp, and all the care
bestowed on it. Our baggage and our General's tents and guard are
placed quite in the centre of the camp. We have outlying sentries by
twos, by threes, by tens, by whole companies. At the least surprise,
they are instructed to run in on the main body, and rally round the tents
and baggage, which are so arranged themselves as to be a strong fortifi-
cation, Sady and I, you must know, are marching on foot now, and my
horses are carrying baggage. The Pennsylvanians sent such rascally
animals into camp that they speedily gave in. What good horses were
left, 'twas our duty to give up : and Eoxana has a couple of packs upon
her back instead of her young master. She knows me right well, and
whinnies when she sees me, and I walk by her side, and we have many a
talk together on the march.
*' July 4. To guard against surprises, we are all warned to pay espe-
cial attention to the beat of the drum ; always halting when they hear
the long roll beat, and marching at the beat of the long march. We are
more on the alert regarding the enemy now. We have our advanced
pickets doubled, and two sentries at every post. The men on the ad-
vanced pickets are constantly underarms, with fixed bayonets, all through
the night, and relieved every two hours. The half that are relieved lie
down by their arms, but are not suffered to leave their pickets. 'Tis evi-
dent that we are drawing very near to the enemy now. This packet goes
out with the General's to Colonel Dunbar's camp, who is thirty miles
behind us ; and will be carried thence to Frederick, and thence to my
lionoured mother's house at Castle wood, to whom I send my duty, with
kindest remembrances, as to all friends there, and how much love I need
a 2
84 THE TIEGINIANS.
not say to my dearest brother from his affectionate George E. War-
rington."
The whole land was now lying parched and scorching in the July
heat. For ten days no news had come from the column advancing on
the Ohio. Their march, though it toiled but slowly through the painful
forest, must bring them ere long up with the enemy ; the troops, led by
consummate captains, were accustomed now to the wilderness, and not
afraid of surprise. Every precaution had been taken against ambush.
It was the outlying enemy who were discovered, pursued, destroyed, by
the vigilant scouts and skirmishers of the British force. The last news
heard was that the army had advanced considerably beyond the ground
of Mr. "Washington's discomfiture on the previous year, and two daya
after must be within a day's march of the French fort. About taking it
no fears were entertained ; the amount of the French reinforcements from
Montreal was known. Mr. Braddock, with his two veteran regiments from
Britain, and their allies of Virginia and Pennsylvania, were more than
a match for any troops that could be collected under the white flag.
Such continued to be the talk, in the sparse towns of our Virginian
province, at the gentry's houses, and the rough road-side taverns, where
people met and canvassed the war. The few messengers who were sent
back by the General reported well of the main force. *Twas thought
the enemy would not stand or defend himself at all. Had he intended
to attack, he might have seized a dozen occasions for assaulting o.ur
troops at passes through which they had been allowed to go entirely free.
So George had given up his favourite mare, like a hero as he was, and
was marching a-foot with the line? Madam Esmond vowed that he
should have the best horse in Virginia or Carolina in place of Roxana.
There were horses enough to be had in the provinces, and for money. It
was only for the King's service that they were not forthcoming.
Although at their family meetings and repasts the inmates of Castlewood
always talked cheerfully, never anticipating any but a triumphant issue
to the campaign, or acknowledging any feeling of disquiet, yet, it must
be owned, they were mighty uneasy, when at home, quitting it cease-
lessly, and for ever on the trot from one neighbour's house to another
in quest of news. It was prodigious how quickly reports ran and spread.
When, for instance, a certain noted border warrior, called Colonel
Jack, had offered himself and his huntsmen to the General, who had
declined the ruffian's terms or his proffered service, the defection of Jack
and his men was the talk of thousands of tongues immediately. The
house negroes, in their midnight gallops about the country, in search of
junketting or sweethearts, brought and spread news over amazingly wide
districts. They had a curious knowledge of the incidents of the march
for a fortnight at least after its commencement. They knew and
laughed at the cheats practised on the army, for horses, provisions, and
the like ; for a good bargain over the foreigner was not an unfre-
quent or unpleasant practice among New Yorkers, Pennsylvanians, or
Marylanders ; though 'tis known that American folks have become perfectly
THE VIEGINIAXS. 85
artless and simple in later times, and never grasp, and never overreach,
and are never selfish now. For three weeks after the army's departure
the thousand reports regarding it were cheerful ; and when our Castle-
wood friends met at their supper, their tone was confident and their
news pleasant.
But on the 10th of July a vast and sudden gloom spread over the
province. A look of terror and doubt seemed to fall upon every face.
Afii-ighted negroes wistfully eyed their masters and retired, and hummed
and whispered with one another. The fiddles ceased in the quarters :
the song and laugh of those cheery black folk were hushed. Right and
left, everybody's servants were on the gallop for news. The country
taverns were thronged with horsemen, who drank and cursed and
brawled at the bars, each bringing his gloomy story. The army had
been surprised. The troops had fallen into an ambuscade, and had been
cut up almost to a man. All the officers were taken down by the French
marksmen and the savages. The General had been wounded, and carried
ofi" the field in his sash. Four days afterwards the report was that the
Oeneral was dead, and scalped by a French Indian.
Ah, what a scream poor Mrs. Mountain gave, when Gumbo brought
this news from across the James Eiver, and little Fanny sprang crying
to her mother's arms! "Lord Gud Almighty, watch over us, and
defend my boy ! " said Mrs. Esmond, sinking down on her knees, and
lifting her rigid hands to Heaven. The gentlemen were not at home
when this rumour arrived, but they came in an hour or two afterwards,
•each from his hunt for news. The Scots tutor did not dare to look up
and meet the widow's agonising looks. Harry Warrington was as pale
as his mother. It might not be true about the manner of the General's
death — but he was dead. The army had been surprised by Indians, and
had fled, and been killed without seeing the enemy. An express had
arrived from Dunbar's camp. Fugitives were pouring in there. Should
he go and see ? He must go and see. He and stout little Dempster
armed themselves and mounted, taking a couple of mounted servants
with them.
They followed the northward track which the expeditionary army
had hewed out for itself, and at every step which brought them nearer
to the scene of action, the disaster of the fearful day seemed to magnify.
The day after the defeat a number of the miserable fugitives from the
fatal battle of the 9th July had reached Dunbar's camp, fifty miles from
the field. " Thither poor Harry and his companions rode, stopping
stragglers, asking news, giving money, getting from one and all the
same gloomy tale — A thousand men were slain — two-thirds of the officers
were down — All the General's aides-de-camp were hit. Were hit ? — ■
but were they killed ? Those who fell never rose again. The tomahawk
did its work upon them. brother, brother ! All the fond memories of
their youth, all the dear remembrances of their childhood, the love and
the laughter, the tender romantic vows which they had pledged to each,
♦ther as lads, were recalled by Harry with pangs inexpressibly keen.
THE VIEGINIANS.
Wounded men looked up and were softened by his grief: rough women
melted as they raw the woe written on the handsome young face : the
hardy old tutor could scarcely look at him for tears, and grieved for him
even more than for his dear pupil who lay dead under the savage Indian
knife.
CHAPTEE XIII.
PROFITLESS QUEST.
At every step which Harry Warrington took towards Pennsylvania^'
the reports of the British disaster were magnified and confirmed. Those'
two famous regiments which had fought in the Scottish and Continental^
wars, had fled from an enemy almost unseen, and their boasted discipline-
and valour had not enabled them to face a band of savages and a few'
French infantry. The unfortunate commander of the expedition had
shown the utmost bravery and resolution. Four times his horse had
been shot under him. Twice he had been wounded, and the last time of
the mortal hurt which ended his life three days after the battle. More
than one of Harry's informants described the action to the poor lad, — the
passage of the river, the long line of advance through the wilderness, the
firing in front, the vain struggle of the men to advance, and the artillery
to clear the way of the enemy ; then the ambushed fire from behind
every bush and tree, and the murderous fusillade, by which at least half
of the expeditionary force had been shot down. But not all the General's
suite were killed, Harry heard. One of his aides-de-camp, a Yirginian
gentleman, was ill of fever and exhaustion at Dunbar's camp.
One of them — but which ? To the camp Harry hurried, and reached it
at length. It was George Washington Harry found stretched in a tent
there, and not his brother. A sharper pain than that of the fever
Mr. Washington declared he felt, when he saw Harry Warrington, and
could give him no news of George.
Mr. Washington did not dare to tell Harry all. For three days after
the fight, his duty had been to be near the General. On the fatal 9th of
July, he had seen George go to the front with orders from the chief, to
whose side he never returned. After Braddock himself died, the aide-
de-camp had found means to retrace his course to the field. The corpses
which remained there were stripped and horridly mutilated. One body
he buried which he thought to be George Warrington's. His own illness
was increased, perhaps occasioned, by the anguish which he underwent
in his search for the unhappy young volunteer.
"Ah, George! If you had loved him you would have found him.
dead or alive," Harry cried out. Nothing would satisfy him but that
he, too, should go to the ground and examine it. With money he procured
a guide or two. He forded the river at the place where the army had
THE YIEGINIANS. 87
passed over : he went from one end to the other of the dreadful field.
It was no longer haunted by Indians now. The birds of prey were
feeding on the mangled festering carcases. Save in his own grand-
father, lying very calm, with a sweet smile on his lip, Harry had never
yet seen the face of Death. The horrible spectacle of mutilation caused
him to turn away with shudder and loathing. "What news could the
vacant woods, or those festering corpses lying under the trees, give the
lad of his lost brother ? He was for going, unarmed, and with a white
flag, to the French fort, whither, after their victory, the enemy had
returned ; but his guides refused to advance with him. The French
might possibly respect them, but the Indians would not. " Keep your
hair for your lady-mother, my young gentleman," said the guide.
" 'Tis enough that she loses one son in this campaign."
When Harry returned to the English encampment at Dunbar's, it
was his turn to be down with the fever. Delirium set in upon him, and
he lay some time in the tent and on the bed from which his friend had
just risen convalescent. For some days he did not know who watched
him ; and poor Dempster, who had tended him in more than one of
these maladies, thought the widow must lose both her children ; but
the fever was so far subdued that the boy was enabled to rally some-
what, and get to horseback. Mr. Washington and Dempster both
escorted him home. It was with a heavy heart, no doubt, that all three
beheld once more the gates of Castlewuod.
A servant in advance had been sent to announce their coming. First
came Mrs. Mountain and her little daughter, welcoming Harry with
many tears and embraces, but she scarce gave a nod of recognition to
Mr. Washington ; and the little girl caused the young officer to start,
and turn deadly pale, by coming up to him with her hands behind
her, and asking, "Why have you not brought George back too?"
Harry did not hear. The sobs and caresses of his good friend and
nurse, luckily kept him from listening to little Fanny.
Dempster was graciously received by the two ladies. ''Whatever
could be done, we know you would do, Mr. Dempster," says Mrs.
Mountain, giving him her hand. " Make a curtsey to Mr. Dempster,
Fanny, and remember, child, to be grateful to all who have been
friendly to our benefactors. AVill it please you to take any refresh-
ment before you ride. Colonel Washington ? "
j\Ir. Washington had had a sufficient ride already, and counted as
certainly upon the hospitality of Castlewood, as he would upon the
shelter of his own house.
'* The time to feed my horse, and a glas3 of water for myself, and I
will trouble Castlewood hospitality no farther," Mr. Washington said.
" Sure, George, you have your room here, and my mother is above
stairs getting it ready I " cries Harry. " That poor horso of youra
stumbled with you, and can't go farther this evening."
" Hush! Your mother v^ron't see him, child/' whispered Mrs,
Mountain.
88 THE VIEGINIANS.
** Kot see George ? Why, he is like a son of the house," cries Harry,
*' She had best not see him. I don't meddle any more in family
matters, child : but when the Colonel's servant rode in, and said you were
coming. Madam Esmond left this room, my dear, where she was sitting
reading Drelincourt, and said she felt she could not see Mr. "Washington.
W^ill you go to her ? " Harry took his friend's arm, and excusing himself
to the Colonel, to whom he said he would return in a few minutes, he
left the parlour in which they had assembled, and went to the upper
rooms, where Madam Esmond was.
He was hastening across the corridor, and, with an averted head, pass-
ing by one especial door, which he did not like to look at, for it was Ibat
of his brother's room ; but as he came to it. Madam Esmond issued fiom
it, and folded him to her heart, and led him in. A settee was by the bed,
and a book of psalms lay on the coverlet. All the rest of the room was
exactly as George had left it.
" My poor child ! How thin thou art grown — how haggard you look !
Never mind. A mother's care will make thee well again. 'Twas nobly
done to go and brave sickness and danger in search of your brother. Had
others been as faithful, he might be here now. Never mind, my Harry ;
our hero will come back to us, — I know he is not dead. One so good,
and so brave, and so gentle, and so clever as he was, I know is not lost
to us altogether." (Perhaps Harry thought within himself that his
mother had not always been accustomed so to speak of her eldest son.)
*' Dry up thy tears, my dear ! He will come back to us, I know he will
come." And when Harry pressed her to give a reason for her belief,
she said she had seen her father two nights running in a dream, and he
had told her that her boy was a prisoner among the Indians.
Madam Esmond's grief had not prostrated her as Harry's had when
first it fell upon him ; it had rather stirred and animated her : her eyes
were eager, her countenance angry and revengeful. The lad wondered
almost at the condition in which he found his mother.
But when he besought her to go downstairs, and give a hand of wel-
come to George Washington, who had accompanied him, the lady's excite-
ment painfully increased. She said she should shudder at touching his
hand. She declared Mr. Washington had taken her son from her, she
could not sleep under the same roof with him.
** He gave me his bed when I was ill, mother ; and if our George is
alive, how has George Washington a hand in his death ? Ah ! please
God it be only as you say," cried Harry, in bewilderment.
*' If your brother returns, as return he will, it will not be through Mr,
Washington's help," said Madam Esmond. *' He neither defended
George on the field, nor would he bring him out of it."
" But he tended me most kindly in my fever," interposed Harry. * * He
was yet ill when he gave up his bed to me, and was thinking of his
friend, when any other man would have thought only of himself."
'* A friend ! A pretty friend ! " sneers the lady. " Of all his Excel-
lency's aides-de-camp, my gentleman is the only one who comes back
THE YIRGIXIAXS.
Tinwouaded. The brave and noble fall, but he, to be sure, is un-
hurt. I confide my boy to him, the pride of my life, whom he will
defend with his, forsooth! And he leaves my George in the forest,
and brings me back himself! 0, a pretty welcome I must give
him ! "
" No gentleman," cried Harry, warmly, " was ever refused shelter
under my grandfather's roof."
« no, — no gentlemari ! " exclaims the little widow ; •* let us go down,
if you like, son, and pay our respects to this one. Will you please to
give me your arm ? " and taking an arm which was very little able to give
her support, she walked down the broad stairs, and into the apartment
where the Colonel sate.
She made him a ceremonious curtsey, and extended one of the little
hands, which she allowed for a moment to rest in his. ** I wish that our
meeting had been happier. Colonel Washington," she said.
" You do not grieve more than I do that it is otherwise, Madam," said
the Colonel.
** I might have wished that the meeting had been spared, that I might
not have kept you from friends whom you are naturally anxious to see
— that my boy's indisposition had not detained you. Home and his good
nurse Mountain, and his mother and our good Doctor Dempster will
soon restore him. 'Twas scarce necessary, Colonel, that you, who have
so many afi^airs on your hands, military and domestic, should turn
doctor too."
*' Harry was ill and weak, and I thought it was my duty to ride by
him," faltered the Colonel.
*' You yourself, sir, have gone through Wie fatigues and dangers of the
campaign in the most wonderful manner," said the widow, curtseying
again, and looking at him with her impenetrable black eyes.
" I wish to Heaven, Madam, some one else had come back in my
place ! "
*' Nay, sir, you have ties which must render your life more than ever
valuable and dear to you, and duties to which, I know, you must be anxious
to betake yourself. In our present deplorable state of doubt and distress,
Castlewood can be a welcome place to no stranger, much less to you, and
so I know, sir, you will be for leaving us ere long. Aud you will pardon
me if the state of my own spirits obliges me for the most part to keep
my chamber. But my friends here will bear you company as long as you
favour us, whilst I nurse my poor Harry up-stairs. Mountain ! you will
have the cedar room on the ground-floor ready for Mr. Washington, and
anything in the house is at his command. Farewell, sir. Will you be
pleased to present my compliments to your mother, who will be thankful
to have her son safe and sound out of the war, — as also to my young
friend Martha Custis, to whom and to whose children I wish every hap-
piness. Come, my son ! " and with these words, and another freezing
curtsey, the pale little woman retreated, looking steadily at the Colonel,
who stood dumb on the floor.
90 THE VIEGINIANS.
Strong as Madam Esmond's belief appeared to be respecting her son's
safety, the house of Castlewood naturally remained sad and gloomy.
She might forbid mourning for herself and family ; but her heart was
in black, whatever face the resolute little lady persisted in wearing
before the world. To look for her son, was hoping against hope. No
authentic account of his death had indeed arrived, and no one appeared
who had seen him fall ; but hundreds more had been so stricken on that
fatal day, with no eyes to behold their last pangs, save those of the
lurking enemy and the comrades dying by their side. A fortnight after
the defeat, when Harry was absent on his quest, George's servant, Sady,
reappeared wounded and maimed at Castlewood. But he could give no
coherent account of the battle, only of his flight from the centre, where
he was with the baggage. He had no news of his master since the
morning of the action. For many days Sady lurked in the negro
quarters away from the sight of Madam Esmond, whose anger he did
not dare to face. That lady's few neighbours spoke of her as labouring
under a delusion. So strong was it, thtit there were times when George
and the other members of the little Castlewood family were almost
brought to share in it. It seemed nothing strange to Aer, that hei
father out of another world should promise her her son's life. In this
world or the next, that family sure must be of consequence, she thought.
Nothing had ever yet happened to her sons, no accident, no fever, no
important illness, but she had a prevision of it. She could enumerate
half-a-dozen instances, which, indeed, her household was obliged more
or less to confirm, how, when anything had happened to the boys at ever
so great a distance, she had known of their mishap and its consequences.
No, George was not dead : George was a prisoner among the Indians ;
George would come back and rule over Castlewood ; as sure, as sure
as his Majesty would send a great force from home to recover the
tarnished glory of the British arms, and to drive the French out of the
Americas.
As for Mr. Washington, she would never with her own good will
behold him again. He had promised to protect George with his life.
Why was her son gone and the Colonel alive ? How dared he to face
her after that promise, and appear before a mother without her son?
She trusted she knew her duty. She bore ill will to no one : but as an
Esmond, she had a sense of honour, and Mr. Washington had forfeited
hers in letting her son out of his sight. He had to obey superior orders
(some one perhaps objected) ? Psha ! a promise was a promise. He had
promised to guard George's life with his own, and where was her boy ?
And was not the Colonel (a pretty Colonel, indeed !) sound and safe ?
Do not tell me that his coat and hat had shots through them! (This
was her answer to another humble plea in Mr. Washington's behalf.)
Can't I go into the study this instant and fire two shots with my
papa's pistols through this paduasoy skirt, — and should / be killed ?
She laughed at the notion of death resulting from any such opera-
tion; nor was her laugh very pleasant to hear. The satire of people
THE YIRGINIANS. 91
vrho have little natural humour is seldom good sport for bystanders.
I think dull men^sfacctiis are mostly cruel.
So, if Hairy wanted to meet his friend, he had to do so in secret, at
court-houses, taverns, or various places of resort ; or in their little '
towns, where the provincial gentry assembled. 2^0 man of spirit, she
vowed, could meet Mr. "Washington after his base desertion of her family.
She was exceedingly excited when she heard that the Colonel and her
son absolutely had met. What a heart must Harry have to give
his hand to one whom she considered as little better than George's
murderer ! For shame to say so ! For shame upon you, ungrateful
boy, forgetting the dearest, noblest, most perfect of brothers, for that
tall, gawky, fox-hunting Colonel, with his horrid oaths ! How can he
be George's murderer, when I say my boy is not dead ? He is not dead,
because my instinct never deceived me: because, as sure as I see his
picture now before me, — only, 'tis not near so noble or so good as he
used to look, — so surely two nights running did my papa appear to me
in my dreams. You doubt about that, very likely ? 'Tis because you
never loved anybody sufficiently, my poor Harry ; else you might have
leave to see them in dreams, as has been vouchsafed to some. *
*' I think I loved George, mother," cried Harry, "I have often
prayed that I might dream about him, and I don't."
" How you can talk, sir, of loving George, and then go and meet your
Mr.Washington at horse-races, I can't understand ! Can you, Mountain?"
" We can't understand many things in our neighbours' characters. I
can understand that our boy is unhappy, and that he does not get
strength, and that he is doing no good here, in Castlewood, or moping
at the taverns and court-houses with horse-coupers and idle company,'*
grumbled Mountain in reply to her patroness : and, in truth, the
dependent was right.
There was not only grief in the Castlewood House, but there was
disunion. '*I cannot tell how it came," said Harry, as he brought the
story to an end, which we have narrated in the preceding pages,,
and which he confided to his new-found English relative, Madame de
Bernstein; '< but since that fatal day of July, last year, and my return
home, my mother never has been the same woman. She seemed to love
none of us as she used. She was for ever praising George, and yet she
did not seem as if she liked him much when he was with us. She
hath plunged, more deeply than ever, into her books of devotion, out of
which she only manages to extract grief and sadness, as I think. Such
a gloom has fallen over our wretched Virginian House of Castlewood,
that we all grew ill, and pale as ghosts who inhabited it. Mountain
told me, madam, that, for nights, my mother would not close her eyes.
I have had her at my bed-side, looldng so ghastly, that I have started
from my own sleep, fancying a ghost before me. By one means or
other she has wrought herself into a state of excitement which, if not
delirium, is akin to it. I was again and again struck down by the
fever, and all the Jesuits' Lark in America could not cure me. We
92 THE VIEGINIANS.
have a tobacco-house and some land about the new town of Richmond,
in our province, and went thither, as Williamsburg is no wholesomer
than our own place ; and there I mended a little, but still did not get
quite well, and the physicians strongly counselled a sea-voyage. My
mother, at one time, had thoughts of coming with me, but — (and here
the lad blushed and hung his head down) — we did not agree very well,
though I know we loved each other very heartily, and 'twas determined
that I should see the world for myself. So I took passage in our ship
from the James River, and was landed at Bristol. And 'twas only on
the 9th of July, this year, at sea, as had been agreed between me and
Madam Esmond, that I put mourning on for my dear brother."
So that little Mistress of the Virginian Castlewood, for whom I am
sure we have all the greatest respect, had the knack of rendering the
people round about her uncomfortable ; quarrelled with those she loved
best, and exercised over them her wayward jealousies and imperious
humours, until they were not sorry to leave her. Here was money
enough, friends enough, a good position, and the respect of the world ;
a house stored with all manner of plenty, and good things, and poor
Harry Warrington was glijd to leave them all behind him. Happy I
Who is happ)' ? What good in a stalled ox for dinner every day, and
no content therewith ? Is it best to be loved and plagued by those you
love, or to have an easy, comfortable indifference at home : to follow
your fancies, live there unmolested, and die without causing any painful
regrets or tears ?
To be sure, when her boy was gone, Madam Esmond forgot all these
little tiffs and differences. To hear her speak of both her children, you
would fancy they were perfect characters, and had never caused her a
moment's worry or annoyance. These gone. Madam fell naturally upon
Mrs. Mountain and her little daughter, and worried and annoyed them.
But women bear with hards words more easily than men, are more ready
to forgive injuries, or, perhaps, to dissemble anger. Let us trust that
Madam Esmond's dependents found their life tolerable, that they gave
her Ladyship sometimes as good as they got, that if they quarrelled in
the morning they were reconciled at night, and sate down to a tolerably
friendly game at cards and an amicable dish of tea.
But, without the boys, the great house of Castlewood was dreary to
the widow. She left an overseer there to manage her estates, and only
paid the place an occasional visit. She enlarged and beautified her
house in the pretty little city of Richmond, which began to grow daily
in importance. She had company there, and card-assemblies, and
preachers in plenty ; and set up her little throne there, to which the
gentlefolks of the province were welcome to come and bow. All her
domestic negroes, who loved society as negroes will do, were delighted to
-exchange the solitude of Castlewood for the gay and merry little town ;
where, for a time, and while we pursue Harry Warrington's progress in
Europe, we leave the good lady.
THE VIRGINIANS. 93
CHAPTEE XIV.
HAEKY IN ENGLAND.
When the famous Trojan wanderer narrated his escapes and adven-
tures to Q-ueen Dido, her Majesty, as we read, took the very greatest
interest in the fascinating story-teller who told his perils so eloquently.
A history ensued, more pathetic than any of the previous occurrences in
the life of Pius ^neas, and the poor princess had reason to rue the
day when she listened to that glib and dangerous orator. Harry "War-
rington had not pious -<Eneas's power of speech, and his elderly aunt, we
may presume, was by no means so soft-hearted as the sentimental Dido ;
but yet the lad's narrative was touching, as he delivered it with his
artless eloquence and cordial voice ; and more than once, in the course of
his story. Madam Bernstein found herself moved to a softness to which
she had very seldom before allowed herself to give way. There were
not many fountains in that desert of a life — not many sweet, refreshing
resting-places. It had been a long loneliness, for the most part, until
this friendly voice came and sounded in her ears and caused her heart to
beat with strange pangs of love and sympathy. She doted on this lad,
and on this sense of compassion and regard so new to her. Save once,
faintly, in very very early youth, she had felt no tender sentiment for
any human being. Such a woman would, no doubt, watch her own sen-
sations very keenly, and must have smiled after the appearance of this
boy, to mark how her pulses rose above their ordinary beat. She longed
after him. She felt her cheeks flush with happiness when he came near.
Her eyes greeted him with welcome, and followed him with fond pleasure.
"Ah, if she could have had a son like that, how she would have loved
him ! " " Wait," says Conscience, the dark scoffer mocking within her,
" wait, Beatrix Esmond ! You know you will weary of this inclination^
as you have of all. You know, when the passing fancy has subsided,
that the boy may perish, and you won't have a tear for him ; ortalk^
and you weary of his stories ; and that your lot in life is to be lonely —
lonely." Well ? suppose life he a desert ? There are halting-places and
shades, and refreshing waters : let us profit by them for to-day. We
know that we must march when to-morrow comes, and tramp on our
destiny onward.
She smiled inwardly, whilst following the lad's narrative, to recognise
in his simple tales about his mother, traits of family resemblance.
Madam Esmond was very jealous ? — Yes, that Harry owned. She was
fond of Colonel Washington ? She liked him, but only as a friend,
Harry declared. A hundred times he had heard his mother vow that
she had no other feeling towards him. He was ashamed to have to
own that he himself had been once absurdly jealous of the Colonel.
"Well, you will see that my half-sister will never forgive him," said
Madam Beatrix. '*And you need not be surprised, sir, at women
Bi THE VIRGINIANS.
taking a fancy to men younger than themselves ; for don't I dote upon
yoa ; and don't all these Castlewood people crevent with jealousy ?"
However great might be their jealousy of Madame de Bernstein's new
favourite, the family of Castlewood allowed ao feeling of ill-will to
appear in their language or behaviour to their young guest and kinsman.
After a couple of days' stay in the ancestral house, Mr. Harry Warring-
ton had become Cousin Harry with young and middle-aged. Especially
in Madame Bernstein's presence, the Countess of Castlewood was most
gracious to her kinsman, and she took many amiable private opportu-
nities of informing the Baroness how charming the young Huron was, of
vaunting the elegance of his manners and appearance, and wondering
how, in his distant province, the child should ever have learned to be so
polite ?
These notes of admiration or interrogation, the Baroness took with
equal complacency (speaking parenthetically, and, for his own part, the
present chronicler cannot help putting in a little respectful remark here,
and signifying his admiration of the conduct of ladies towards one
another, and of the things which they say, which they forbear to say,
and which they say behind each other's backs. With what smiles and
curtsies they stab each other ! with what compliments they hate each
other I with what determination of long-suffering they won't be offended I
with what innocent dexterity they can drop the drop of poison into the
cup of conversation, hand round the goblet, smiling, to the whole family
to drink, and make the dear, domestic circle miserable!) I burst out of
my parenthesis. I fancy my Baroness and Countess smiling at each other
a hundred years ago, and giving each other the hand or the^cheek, and
calling each other, My dear. My dear creature. My dear Countess, My
dear Baroness, My dear sister, — even, when they were most ready to
light.
"You wonder, my dear Maria, that the boy should be so polite?"
cries Madame de Bernstein. " His mother was bred up by two very
perfect gentlefolks. Colonel Esmond had a certain grave courteousness,
and a grand manner, which I do not see among the gentlemen now-
a-days."
*'Eh, my dear, we all of us praise our own time! My grand-
mamma used to declare there was nothing like Whitehall and Charles
the Second."
" My mother saw King James the Second's court for a short while, and
though not a court- educated person, as you know — her father was a
country clergyman — yet was exquisitely well bred. The Colonel, her
second husband, was a person of great travel and experience, as well as
of learning, and had frequented the finest company of Europe. They
could not go into their retreat and leave their good manners behind
them, and our boy has had them as his natural inheritance."
" Nay excuse me, my dear, for thinking you too partial about your
mother. She could not have been that perfection which your filial
fondness imagines. She left off liking her daughter — my dear creature,
THE YIEGIXIANS. 95
you have owned that she did — and I cannot fancy a complete woman
who has a cold heart. 'No, no, my dear sister-in-law ! Manners are
very requisite, no doubt, and, for a country parson's daughter, your
mamma was very well — I have seen many of the cloth who are very
well. Mr. Sampson, our chaplain, is very well. Dr. Young- is very
well. Mr. Dodd is very well ; but they have not the true air — as how
should they ? I protest, I beg pardon ! I forgot my lord bishop, your
ladyship's first choice. But, as I said before, to be a complete woman,
one must have, what you have, w^hat I may say and bless Heaven for,
I think / have — a pood heart. "Without the affections, all the world is
vanity, my love! I protest I only live, exist, eat, drink, rest, for my
sweet, sweet children ! for my wicked Willy, for my self-willed Fanny,
dear naughty loves ! " (She rapturously kisses a bracelet on each arm
which contains the miniature representations of those two young persons.)
"Yes, Mimi! yes, Fanchon ! you know I do, you dear, dear little
things ! and if they were to die, or you were to die, your poor
mistress would die, too ! " Mimi and Fanchon, two quivering Italian
greyhounds, jump into their lady's arms, and kiss her hands, but
respect her cheeks, which are covered with rouge. "No, my dear!
For nothing do I bless Heaven so much (though it puts me to excrucia-
ting torture very often) as for having endowed me with sensibility and a
feeling heart ! "
** You are full of feeling, dear Anna," says the Baroness. " You are
celebrated for your sensibility. You must give a little of it to our
American nephew — cousin — I scarce know his relationship."
" Nay, I am here but as a guest in Castle wood now. The house is
my Lord Castlewood's, not mine, or his Lordship's w^henever he shall
choose to claim it. What can I do for the young Virginian that has
not been done ? He is charming. Are we even jealous of him for being
so, my ^ear ? and though we see what a fancy the Baroness de Bernstein
has taken for him., do your ladyship's nephews and nieces — your i-eal
nephews and nieces — cry out ? My poor children might be mortified,
for indeed, in a few hours, the charming young man has made as much
way as w?y poor things have been able to do in all their lives : but are
they angry ? Willy hath taken him out to ride. This morning, was
not Maria playing the harpsichord whilst my Fanny taught him the
minuet ? 'Twas a charming young group, I assure you, and it brought
tears into my eyes to look at the young creatures. Poor lad ! we are as
fond of him as you are, dear Baroness ! "
Now, Madame de Bernstein had happened, through her own ears or
her maid's, to overhear what really took place in consequence of this
harmless little scene. Lady Castlewood had come into the room where
the young people were thus engaged in amusing and instructing them-
selves, accompanied by her son William, who arrived in his boots from
the kennel.
'* Bravi, bravi! charming!" said the Countess, clapping her
hands, nodding with one of her best smiles to Harry Warrington, and
«>6 . ■ THE YIRGINIANS.
darting a look at his partner, whicli my Lady Fanny perfectly understood :
and so, perhaps, did my Lady Maria at her harpsichord, for she played
"with redoubled energy, and nodded her waving curls, over the chords.
"Infernal young Choctaw! Is he teaching Fanny the war-dance ?
and is Fan going to try her tricks upon him now ? " asked Mr. William,
whose temper was not of the best.
And that was what Lady Castlewood's look said to Fanny. " Are you
going to try your tricks upon him now ? "
She made Harry a very low curtsey, and he blushed, and they both
stopped dancing, somewhat disconcerted. Lady Maria rose from the
harpsichord and walked away.
"Nay, go on dancing, young people ! Don't let me spoil sport, and
let me play for you," said the Countess ; and she sate down to the
instrument and played.
" I don't know how to dance," says Harry, hanging his head down,
with a blush that the Countess's finest carmine could not equal.
"And Fanny was teaching you? Go on teaching him, dearest
Fanny ! "
" Go on, do ! " says "William, with a sidelong growl.
" I — I had rather not show oif my awkwardness in company," adds
Harry, recovering himself. " When I know how to dance a minuet, be
sure I will ask my cousin to walk one with me."
" That will be very soon, dear Cousin Warrington, I am certain,'*
remarks the Countess, with her most gracious air.
" What game is she hunting now ? " thinks Mr. William to himself,
who cannot penetrate his mother's ways ; and that lady, fondly calling
her daughter to her elbow, leaves the room.
They are no sooner in the tapestried passage leading away to their
own apartment, but Lady Castlewood's bland tone entirely changes.
" You booby ! " she begins to her adored Fanny. " You double idiot !
what are you going o do with the Huron ? You don't want to marry a
creature like that, and be a squaw in a wigwam ? "
"Don't, mamma," gasped Lady Fanny. Mamma was pinching her
Ladyship's arm black and blue. " I am sure our cousin is very well,"
Fanny whimpers, " and you said so yourself."
" Very well ! Yes ; and heir to a swamp, a negro, a log-cabin, and
a barrel of tobacco ! My Lady Frances Esmond, do you remember
what your Ladyship's rank is, and what your name is, and who was
your Ladyship's mother, when, at three days' acquaintance, you
commence dancing — a pretty dance, indeed — with this brat out of
Virginia ? "
" Mr. Warrington is our cousin," pleads Lady Fanny.
"A creature come from nobody knows where is not your cousin!
How do we know he is your cousin ? He may be a valet who has taken
his master's portmanteau and run away in his post-chaise."
" But Madame de Bernstein says he is our cousin," interposes Fasnyj
*' and he is the image of the Esmonds."
THE YIRGrlNIAXS/ • .97
N *' Madame de Bernstein lias her likes and dislikes, takes up people and
forgets people ; and she chooses to profess a mighty fancy for this young
man. Because she likes him to-day, is that any. reason why she sliould
like him to-raorrow ? Before company, and in your aunt's presence, your
Ladyship will please to be as civil to him as necessary ; but, in private,
I forbid you to see liini or encourage him."
"I don't care, madam, whether your Ladyship forbids me or not ! "
cries out Lady Fanny, wrought up to a pitch of revolt.
"Very good, Fanny! then I speak to my Lord, and we return to
Kensington. If I can't bring you to reason, your brother will."
At this juncture the conversation between mother and daughter
stopped, or Madame de Bernstein's informer had no further means of
hearing or reporting it.
It was only in after-days that she told Harry "Warrington a part of
what she knew. At present he but saw that his kinsfolks received him
n©t unkindly. Lady Castlewood was perfectly civil to him ; tlie young
ladies pleasant and pleased; my Lord Castlewood, a man of cold and
haughty demeanour, was not more reserved towards Harry than to any
of the rest of the family ; Mr. William was ready to drink with him, to
ride with bim, to go to races with him, and to play cards with him.
"When be proposed to go away, they one and all pressed him to stay.
Madame de Bernstein did not tell him how it arose that he was the
object of such eager hospitality. He did not know what schemes he
was serving or disarranging, whose or what anger he was creating.
He fancied he was welcome because those around him were his kins-
men, and never thought that those could be his enemies out of whose
cup he was drinking, and whose hand he was pressing every night and
morning.
CHAPTEE XV.
A SUNDAY AT CASTLEWOOD.
The second day after Harry's arrival at Castlewood was a Sunday.
The chapel appertaining to the castle was the village church. A door
from the house communicated with a great state pew which the family
occupied, and here after due time they all took their places in order,
whilst a rather numerous congregation from the village filled the seats
below. A few ancient dusty banners hung from the church- roof ; and
Harry pleased himself in imagining that they had been borne by
retainers of his family in the Commonwealth wars, in which, as he knew
well, his ancestors had taken a loyal and distinguished part, AVithin
the altar-rails was the effigy of the Esmond of the time of King James
the First, the common forefather of all the group assembled in the famiiy-
pew. Madame de Bernstein, in her guality of Bishop's widow, nevS
F
98 THE VIEGINIAITS.
failed in attendance, and conducted her devotions witli a gravity almost
as exemplary as that of the ancestor yonder, in his square beard and red
gown, for ever kneeling on his stone hassock before his great marble
desk and book, under his emblazoned shield of arms. The clergyman, a
tall, high-coloured, handsome young man, read the service in a lively,
agreeable voice, giving almost a dramatic point to the chapters of
Scripture which he read. The music was good — one of the young ladies
of the family touching the organ — and would have been better but for
an interruption and something like a burst of laughter from the servants*
pew, which was occasioned by Mr. Warrington's lacquey Gumbo, who,
knowing the air given out for the psalm, began to sing it in a voice so
exceedingly loud and sweet, that the whole congregation turned towards
the African warbler ; the parson himself put his handkerchief to his
mouth, and the liveried gentlemen from London were astonished out of
all propriety. Pleased perhaps with the sensation which he created,
Mr. Gumbo continued his performance until it became almost a solo,
and the voice of the clerk himself was silenced. For the truth is, that
though Gumbo held on to the book, along with pretty Molly, the porter's
daughter, who had been the first to welcome the strangers to Castlewood,
he sang and recited by ear and not by note, and could not read a syllable
of the verses in the book before him.
This choral performance over, a brief sermon in due course followed,
which, indeed, Harry thought a deal too short. In a lively, familiar,
striking discourse the clergyman described a scene of which he had been
witness the previous week — the execution of a horse-stealer after
Assizes. He described the man and his previous good character, his
family, the love they bore one another, and his agony at parting from
them. He depicted the execution in a manner startling, terrible, and
picturesque. He did not introduce into his sermon the Scripture
phraseology, such as Harry had been accustomed to hear it from those
somewhat Calvinistic preachers whom his mother loved to frequent, but
rather spoke as one man of the world to other sinful people, who might
be likely to profit by good advice. The unhappy man just gone, had
begun as a farmer of good prospects ; he had taken to drinking, card-
playing, horse-racing, cock-fighting, the vices of the age ; against which
the young clergyman was generously indignant. Then he had got to
poaching, and to horse-stealing, for which he suffered. The divine
rapidly drew striking and fearful pictures of these rustic crimes. He
startled his hearers by showing that the Eye of the Law was watching
the poacher at midnight, and setting traps to catch the criminal. He
galloped the stolen horse over highway and common, and from one
county into another, but showed E,etribution ever galloping after, seizing
the malefactor in the country fair, carrying him before the justice, and
never unlocking his manacles till he dropped them at the gallows'-foot.
Heaven be pitiful to the sinner ! The clergyman acted the scene, ITe
whispered in the criminal's ear at the cart. He dropped his handker-
chief on the clerk's head. Harry started back as that handkerchief
THE YIRGIXIAX3. 99
dropped. The clergyman liad been talking for more than twenty
minutes. Harry could have heard him for an hour more, and thouglit
he had not been five minutes in the pulpit. The gentlefolks in the
great pew were very much enlivened by the discourse. Once or twice
Harry, who could see the pew where the house servants sate, remarked
these very attentive; and especially Gumbo, his own man, in an
attitude of intense consternation. But the smock-frocks did not seem to
heed, and clamped out of church quite unconcerned. Gaffer Brown and
Gammer Jones took the matter as it came, and the rosy- cheeked, red-
cloaked village lasses sate under their broad hats entirely unmoved. My
lord, from his pew, nodded slightly to the clergyman in the pulpit, when
that divine's head and wig surged up from the cushion.
"Sampson has been strong to-day," said his lordship, **He has
assaulted the Philistines in great force."
" Beautiful, beautiful ! " says Harry.
" Bet five to four it was his Assize sermon. He has been over to
Winton to preach, and to see those dogs," cries William.
The organist had played the little congregation out into the sunshine.
Only Sir Francis Esmond, temp. Jac. I., still knelt on his marble
hassock, before his prayer-book of stone. Mr. Sampson came out of his
vestry in his cassock, and nodded to the gentlemen still lingering in the
great pew,
" Come up, and tell us about those dogs," says Mr. William, and the
divine nodded a laughing assent.
The gentlemen passed out of the church into the gallery of their
house, which connected them with that sacred building. Mr. Sampson
made his way through the court, and presently joined them. He was
presented by my lord to the Yirginian cousin of the family, Mr. War-
rington ; the chaplain bowed very profoundly, and hoped Mr. Warrington
would benefit by the virtuous example of his European kinsmen. Was
he related to Sir Miles Warrington of Norfolk ? Sir Miles was Mr.
Warrington's father's elder-brother. What a pity he had a son ! 'Twas
a pretty estate, and Mr. Warrington looked as if he would become a
baronetcy, and a fine estate in Norfolk.
'' Tell me about my uncle," cried Virginian Harry.
" Tell us about those dogs ! " said English Will, in a breath.
" Two more jolly dogs, two more drunken dogs, saving your presence,
Mr. Warrington, than Sir Miles and his son, I never saw. Sir Miles
was a staunch friend and neighbour of Sir Robert's. He can drink down
any man in the county, except his son and a few more. The other dogs
about which Mr. William is anxious, for Heaven hath made him a prey
to dogs and all kinds of birds, like the Greeks in the Iliad — "
"I know that line in the Hiad," says Harry, blushing. "I only
know five more, but I know that one." And his heod fell. He was
thinking, ** Ah, my dear brother George knew all the Hiad and all the
Odyssey, and almost every book that was ever written besides ! "
E 2
100 THE VIEGINIANS.
*' What on earth " (only he mentioned a place under the earth) *'are
you talking about now ? " asked "Will of his reverence.
The chaplain reverted to the dogs and their performance. He thought
Mr. William's dogs were more than a match for them. From dogs they
went off to horses. Mr. William was very eager about the Six Year Old
Plate at Huntingdon. ** Have you brought any news of it, Parson? "
" The odds are five to four on Brilliant against the field," says the.
Parson, gravely; '' but, mind you, Jason is a good horse."
" Whose horse ? " asks my lord.
" Duke of Ancaster's. By Cartouche out of Miss Langley," says the
divine. "Have you horse-races in Virginia, Mr. Warrington?"
" Haven't we ! " cries Harry ; *' but Oh ! I long to see a good English
race ! "
** Do you— do you— bet a little ? " continues his reverence.
" I have done such a thing," replies Harry with a smile.
*' I'll take Brilliant even against the field, for ponies with you,
cousin ! " shouts out Mr. William.
'' I'll give or take three to one against Jason ! " says the clergyman.
*'I don't bet on horses I don't know," said Harry, wondering to
hear the chaplain now, and remembering his sermon half an hour
before.
" Hadn't you better write home, and ask your mother ? " says Mr.
William, with a sneer.
" Will, Will! " calls out my lord, *' Our cousin Warrington is free to
bet, or not, as he likes. Have a care how you venture on either of
them, Harry Warrington. Will is an old file, in spite of his smooth
face, and as for Parson Sampson, I defy our ghostly enemy to get the
better of him."
" Him and all his works, my lord ! " said Mr. Sampson, with a bow.
Harry was highly indignant at this allusion to his mother. " I'll tell
you what, cousin Will," he said, "I am in the habit of managing my
own aff"airs in my own way, without asking any lady to arrange them for
me. And I'm used to make my own bets upon my own judgment, and
don't need any relations to select them for me, thank you. But as I am
your guest, and, no doubt, you want to show me hospitality, I'll take
your bet — there. And so Done and Done."
" Done," says Will, looking askance.
" Of course it is the regular odds, that's in the paper which you give
me, cousin
?"
'* AVell, no, it ^5?^'^," growled Will. " The odds are five to four, that's
the fact, and you may have 'era, if you like."
*' Nay, cousin, a bet is a bet ; and I take you, too, Mr. Sampson."
"Three to one against Jason. I lay it. Very good," says Mr,
Sampson.
"Is it to be ponies, too, Mr. Chaplain?" asks Harry with a superb
air, as if lie had Lombard Street in his pocket.
" No, no. Thirty to ten. It is enough for a poor priest to win."
THE VIEGINIANS. 101
" Here goes a great slice out of my quarter's hundred," thinks Harry.
"Well, I shan't let these Englishmen fancy that I am afraid of them.
I didn't begin, but for the honour of Old Virginia I won't go back."
These pecuniary transactions arranged, William Esmond went away
scowling towards the stables, where he loved to take his pipe with the
grooms ; the brisk parson went off to pay his court to the ladies, and
partake of the Sunday dinner which would presently be served. Lord
Castlewood and Harry remained for a while together. Since the
Virginian's arrival my lord had scarcely spoken with him. In his
manners he was perfectly friendly, but so silent that he would often sit
at the head of his table, and leave it without uttering a word.
" I suppose yonder property of yours is a fine one by this time ? " said
my lord to Harry.
*' I reckon it's almost as big as an English county," answered Harry,
" and the land's as good, too, for many things." Harry would not have
the Old Dominion, nor his share in it, underrated.
" Indeed ! " said my lord, with a look of surprise. " When it belonged
to my father it did not yield much."
"Pardon me, my lord. You know how it belonged to your father,"
cried the youth with some spirit. " It was because my grandfather did
not choose to claim his right." *
" Of course, of course," says my lord, hastily.
" I mean, cousin, that we of the Virginian house owe you nothing but
our own," continued Harry Warrington; "but our own, and the
hospitality which you are now showing me."
" You are heartily welcome to both. You were hurt by the betting
just now ? "
" Well," replied the lad, " lam sort o' hurt. Your welcome, you see,
is different to our welcome, and that's the fact. At home we are glad
to see a man, hold out a hand to him, and give him of our best. Here
you take us in, give us beef and claret enough, to be sure, and don't
seem to care when we come, or when we go. That's the remark which
I have been making, since I have been in your lordship's house ; I can't
help telling it out, you see, now 'tis on my mind ; and I think I am a
little easier now I have said it." And with this, the excited young
fellow knocked a billiard-ball across the table, and then, laughed, and
looked at his elder kinsman.
'•^ A la bonne heure ! We are cold to the stranger within and without
our gates. We don't take Mr. Harry Warrington into our arms, and
cry when we see our cousin. We don't cry when he goes away — but do
we pretend ? "
" No, you don't. But you try to get the better of him in a bet," says
Harry, indignantly.
" Is there no such practice in Virginia, and don't sporting men there
* This matter is discussed in the Author's previous work, " The Memoirs of
Colonel Esmond."
102 THE YIEGIXIANS.
try to overreach one another ? "What was that story I heard you
telling our aunt, of the British officers and Tom Somehody of Spot-
sylvania ? "
** That's fair!" cries Harry. *'That is, it's usual practice, and a
stranger must look out. I don't mind the parson ; if he wins, he may
have and welcome. But a relation ! To think that my own blood
cousin wants money out of me ! "
" A Newmarket man would get the better of his father. My brother
has been on the turf, since he rode over to it from Cambridge. If you
play at cards with him— and he will if you will let him — he wiU beat
you if he can.'*
**Well, I'm ready!" cries Harry. **I'll play any game with him
that I know, or I'll jump with him, or I'll ride with him, or I'll rov/
with him, or I'll wrestle with him, or I'll shoot with him — there now 1 "
The Senior was greatly entertained, and held out his hand to the boy.
" Anything, but don't fight with him," said my lord.
''If I do, I'll whip him! hanged if I don't ! " cried the lad. But a
look of surprise and displeasure on the nobleman's part recalled him to
better sentiments. *' A hundred pardons, my lord ! " he said, blushing
very red, and seizing his cousin's hand. " I talked of ill manners,
being angry and hurt just now ; but 'tis doubly ill-mannered of me to
show my anger, and boast about my prowess to my own host and kins-
man. It's not the practice with us Americans to boast, believe me,
it's not."
'' You are the first I ever met," says my lord with a smile, ''and I
take you at your word. And I give you fair warning about the cards,
and the betting, that is all, my boy."
*' Leave a Virginian alone ! "We are a match for most men, we are,"
resumed the boy.
Lord Castlewood did not laugh. His eyebrows only arched for a
moment, and his grey eyes turned towards the ground. " So you can
bet fifty guineas, and aiford to lose them ? So much the better for you,
cousin. Those great Yirginian estates yield a great revenue, do they ? "
" More than sufficient for all of us — for ten times as many as we are
now," replied Harry. (""What, he is pumping me ! " thought the lad.)
" And your mother makes her son and heir a handsome allowance ? "
** As much as ever I choose to draw, my lord ! " cried Harry.
*' Peste ! I wish I had such a mother ! " cried my lord. '* But I have
only the advantage of a stepmother, and she draws on me. There is the
dmner-bell. Shall we go into the eating-room ? " and taking his young
friend's arm, my lord led him to the apartment where that meal was
waiting.
Parson Sampson formed the delight of the entertainment, and amused
the ladies with a hundred agreeable stories. Besides being chaplain to
his lordship, he was a preacher in London, at the new chapel in May
Fair, for wliich my Lady Whittlesea (so well known in the reign of
George I.) had left an endowment. He had the choicest stories of all
THE VIEGIXIAXS. 103
the clubs and coteries — the very latest news of who had run away with
whom — the last bon-mot of Mr. Selwyn — the last wild bet of March and
Ilockingham. He knew how the old king had quarrelled with Madame
"Walmoden — and the Duke was suspected of having a new love — who was
iu favour at Carlton House with the Princess of Wales — and who was
hung last Monday, and how well he behaved in the cart. My lord's
chaplain poured out all this intelligence to the amused ladies and the
delighted young provincial, seasoning his conversation with such plain
terms and lively jokes as made Harry stare, who was newly arrived from
the Colonies, and unused to the elegances of London life. The ladies,
old and young, laughed quite cheerfully at the lively jokes. Do not be
frightened, ye fair readers of the present day ! "We are not going to
outrage your sweet modesties, or call blushes on your maiden cheeks.
But 'tis certain that their ladyships at Castlewood never once thought of
being shocked, but sate listening to the parson's funny tales, until the
chapel bell, clinking for afternoon service, summoned his reverence away
for half-an-hour. There was no sermon. He would be back in the
drinking of a bottle of Burgundy. Mr. Will called a fresh one, and the
chaplain tossed off a glass ere he ran out.
Ere the half-hour was over, Mr. Chaplain was back again bawling
for another bottle. This discussed, they joined the ladies, and a couple
of card-tables were set out, as, indeed, they were for many hours every
day, at which the whole of the family party engaged. Madame de
Bernstein could beat any one of her kinsfolks at picquet, and there was
only Mr. Chaplain in the whole circle who was at all a match for her
ladyship.
In this easy manner the Sabbath day passed. The evening was
beautiful, and there was talk of adjourning to a cool tankard and a
ganve of whist in a summer-house ; but the company voted to sit in-
doors, the ladies declaring they thought the aspect of three honours in
their hand, and some good court cards, more beautiful than the loveliest
scene of nature ; and so the sun went behind the elms, and still they
were at their cards ; and the rooks came home cawing their even song,
and they never stirred except to change partners ; and the chapel clock
tolled hour after hour unheeded, so delightfully were they spent over
the pasteboard; and the moon and stars came out; and it was nine
o'clock, and the groom of the chambers announced that supper was
ready.
Whilst they sate at that meal, the post-boy's twanging horn was
heard, as he trotted into the village with his letter-bag. My lord's bag
was brought in presently from the village, and his letters, which he put
aside, and his newspaper, which he read. He smiled as he came to a
paragraph, looked at his Yirginian cousin, and handed the paper over to
his brother Will, who by this time was very comfortable, having had
pretty good luck all the evening, and a great deal of liquor.
'' llead that, Will," says my lord.
Mr. William took the paper, and, reading the sentence pointed out
104 THE YIRGINIANS.
b}'' his brother, uttered an exclamation which caused all the ladies to
cry out.
"Gracious heavens, William! What has happened?" cries one or
the other fond sister.
** Mercy, child, why do you swear so dreadfully ?" asked the young
man's fond mamma.
" What's the matter ? " inquires Madame de Bernstein, who was fallen
into a doze after her usual modicum of punch and beer.
** Read it, Parson ! " says Mr. William, thrusting the paper over to
the chaplain, and looking as fierce as a Turk.
" Bit, by the Lord !" roars the chaplain, dashing down the paper.
** Cousin Harry, you are in luck,'-' said my lord, taking up the sheet,
and reading from it. *' The Six-year old Plate at Huntingdon was won
by Jason, beating Brilliant, Pytho, and Ginger. The odds were five to
four on Brilliant against the field, three to one against Jason, seven ta
two against Pytho, and twenty to one against Ginger."
"I owe you a half-year's income of my poor living, Mr. Warrington,"
groaned the parson. " I will pay when my noble patron settles with
xne."
*' A curse upon the luck ! " growls Mr. William ; *' that comes of
betting on a Sunday," — and he sought consolation in another great
bumper.
*'Nay, cousin Will. It was but in jest," cried Harry. ** I can't
think of taking my cousin's money."
** Curse me, sir, do you suppose, if I lose, I can't pay?" asks Mr.
AVilliam ; " and that I want to be beholden to any man alive ? That is
a good joke. Isn't it. Parson ? "
" I think I have heard better," said the clergyman ; to which William
replied, "Hang it, let us have another bowl." Let us hope the ladies
did not wait for this last replenishment of liquor, for it is certain they
had had plenty already during the evening.
CHAPTEE XYI.
IN WHICH GUMBO SHOWS SL'ILL WITH THE OLD ENGLISH WEAPON.
OuE young Virginian having won these suras of money from his cousin
and the chai)lain, was in duty bound to give them a chance of recovering
their mpney, and I am afraid his mamma and other sound moralists
would scarcely approve of his way of life. He played at cards a great
deal too much. Besides the daily whist or quadrille with the ladies,
which set in soon after dinner at three o'clock, and lasted until supper
time, there occurred games involving the gain or loss of very consider-
able sums of money, in which all the gentlemen, ray lord included, took
part. Since their Sunday's conversation, his lordship was more free
THE YIRGINIAXS. 105
and confidential with his kinsman than he had previously been, betted
with him quite affably, and engaged him at backgammon and picquet.
Mr. William and the pious chaplain liked a little hazard ; though his
diversion was enjoyed on the sly, and unknown to the ladies of the
house, who had exacted repeated promises from Cousin Will, that he
would not lead the Virginian into mischief, and that he would himself
keep out of it. So Will promised as much as his aunt or his mother
chose to demand from him, gave them his word that he would never
play, no never ; and when the family retired to rest, Mr. Will would
walk over with a dice-box and a rum-bottle to Cousin Harry's quarters,
where he, and Hal, and his reverence would sit and play until daylight.
When Harry gave to Lord Castlewood those flourishing descriptions of
the maternal estate in America, he had not wished to mislead his
kinsman, or to boast, or to tell falsehoods, for the lad was of a very
honest and truth-telling nature ; but, in his life at-home, it must be
owned that the young fellow had had acquaintance with all sorts of
queer company, — horse-jockies, tavern loungers, gambling and sporting-
men, of whom a great number were found in his native colony. A
landed aristocracy, with a population of negroes to work their fields,
and cultivate their tobacco and corn, had little other way of amusement
than in the hunting-field, or over the cards and the punch-bowl. The
hospitality of the province was unbounded : every man's house was his
neighbour's ; and the idle gentlefolks rode from one mansion to another,
finding in each pretty much the same sport — welcome, and rough plenty.
Tlie Virginian Squire had often a bare-footed valet, and a cobbled
saddle ; but there was plenty of corn for the horses, and abundance
of drink and venison for the master within the tumble-down fences,
and behind the cracked windows of the hall. Harry had slept on many
a straw mattrass, and engaged in endless, jolly night-bouts over claret
and punch in cracked bowls till morning came, and it was time to
follow the hounds. His poor brother was of a much more sober sort,
as the lad owned with contrition. So it is that Nature makes folks ;
and some love books and tea, and some like Burgundy and a gallop
across country. Our young fellow's tastes were speedily made visible
to his friends in England. ]S"one of them were partial to the Puritan
discipline ; nor did they like Harry the worse for not being the least
cf a milksop. Manners, you see, were looser a hundred years ago ;
tongues were vastly more free and easy; names were named, and
things were done, which we should screech now to hear mentioned.
1 es. Madam, we are not as our ancestors were. Ought we not to thank
the Fates that have improved our morals so prodigiously, and made us
BO eminently virtuous ?
So keeping a shrewd keen eye upon people round about him, and
fancying, not incorrectly, that his cousins- were disposed to pump him,
Harry Warrington had thought fit to keep his own counsel regarding
his own affairs, and in all games of chance or matters of sport was quite
a match for the three gentlemen into whose company he had fallen.
106 THE VIRGINIANS,
Even in the noble game of billiards lie could bold bis own after a few
days' play -witb bis cousins and their revered pastor. His grandfather
loved the game, and bad over from Europe one of the very few tables
which existed in bis Majesty's province of Virginia. Nor though Mr.
Will could beat him at the commencement, could he get undue odds out of
the young gamester. After their first bet, Harry was on bis guard with
Mr. Will, and cousin William owned, not without respect, that the
American was bis match in most things, and bis better in many. But
though Harry played so well that be could beat the parson, and soon
was the equal of Will, who of course could beat both the girls, how
came it, that in the contests witb these, especially witb one of them,
Mr. Warrington frequently came off second? He was profoundly
courteous to every being who wore a petticoat : nor has that traditional
politeness yet left bis country. All the women of the Castlewood
establishment loved the young gentleman. The grim housekeeper was
mollified by bim : the fat cook greeted him with blowsy smiles ; the
ladies' maids, whether of the French or the English nation, smirked and
giggled in his behalf; the pretty porter's daughter at the lodge bad
always a kind word in reply to bis. Madame de Bernstein took note of
all these things, and, though she said nothing, watched carefully the
boy's disposition and behaviour.
Who can say bow old Lady Maria Esmond was ? Books of the
Peerage were not so many in those days as they are in our blessed times,
and I cannot tell to a few years, or even a lustre or two. When Will
used to say she was five-and- thirty, he was abusive, and, besides, was
always given to exaggeration. Maria was Will's half-sister. She and
my lord were children of the late Lord Castlewood' s first wife, a German
lady, whom, 'tis known, my lord married in the time of Queen Anne's
wars. Baron Bernstein, who married Maria's Aunt Beatrix, Bishop
Tusher's widow, was also a German, a Hanoverian nobleman, and relative
of the first Lady Castlewood. If my Lady Maria was born under George I.,
and his Majesty George II. had been thirty years on the throne, how
could she be seven-and- twenty, as she told Harry Warrington she was ?
"I am old, child," she used to say. She used to call Harry *' child"
when they were alone. " I am a hundred years old. I am seven-and-
twenty. I might be your mother almost." To which Harry would
reply. "Your Ladyship might be the mother of all the cupids, I am
sure. You don't look twenty, on my word you do not ! "
Lady Maria looked any age you liked. She was a fair beauty with
a dazzling white and red complexion, an abundance of fair hair which
flowed over her shoulders, and beautiful round arms which showed to
uncommon advantage when she played at billiards with Cousin Harry.
When she bad to stretch across the table to make a stroke, that youth
caught glimpses of a little ankle, a little clocked stocking, and a little
black satin slipper with a little red heel, which filled him with unutter-
able rapture, and made bim swear that there never was such a foot,
ankle, clocked-stocking, satin slipper in tlie world. And yet, you
THE VIEGIXIAXS. 107
foolish Harry ! your mother's foot was ever so much more slender, and
half an inch shorter, than Lady Maria's. But, somehow, hoys do not
look at their mamma's slippers and ankles with rapture.
Ko doubt Lady Maria was very kind to Harry when they were alone.
Before her sister, aunt, stepmother, she made light of him, calling him
a simpleton, a chit, and who knows what trivial names? Behind his
back, and even before his face, she mimicked his accent, which smacked
somewhat of his province. Harry blushed and corrected the faulty
intonation, under his English monitresses. His aunt pronounced that
they would soon make him a pretty fellow.
Lord Castlewood, we have said, became daily more familiar and
friendly with his guest and relative. Till the crops were off the ground
there was no sporting, except an occasional cock-match at "Winchester,
and a bull-baiting at Hexton Fair. Harry and Will rode off to many
jolly fairs and races round about : the young Yirginian was presented
to some of the county families — the Henleys of the Grange, the Crawleys
of Queen's Crawley, the Eedmaynes of Lionsden, and so forth. The
neighbours came in their great heavy coaches, and passed two or three
days in country fashion. More of them would have come, but for the
fear all the Castlewood family had of offending Madame de Bernstein.
She did not like country company ; the rustical society and conversation
annoyed her. " We shall be merrier when my aunt leaves us," the young
folks o^Tied. '*We have cause, as you may imagine, for being very
civil to her. You know what a favourite she was with our papa ? And
with reason. She got him his earldom, being very well indeed at court
at that time with the King and Queen. She commands here naturally,
perhaps a little too much. We are all afraid of her ; even my elder
brother stands in awe of her, and my stepmother is much more obedient
to her than she ever was to my papa, whom she ruled with a rod of
iron. But Castlewood is merrier when our aunt is not here. At least
we have much more company. You will come to us in our gay days,
Harry, won't you ? Of course you will : this is your home, sir. I was
so pleased, so pleased, when my brother said he considered it was your
home!"
A soft hand is held out after this pretty speech, a pair of very well-
preserved blue eyes look exceedingly friendly. Harry grasps his
cousin's hand with ardour. I do not know what privilege of cousinship
he would not like to claim, only he is so timid. They call the English
selfish and cold. He at first thought his relatives were so: but how
mistaken he was ! How kind and affectionate they are, especially the
Earl, and dear, dear Maria ! How he wishes he could recall that letter
which he had written to Mrs. Mountain and his mother, in which he
hinted that his welcome had been a cold one ! The Earl his cousin was
everything that was kind, had promised to introduce him to London
society, and present him at Court, and at White's. He was to consider
Castlewood as his English home. He had been most hasty in his judg-
ment regarding his relatives in Hampshire. All this, with many contrite
108 THE VIRGINIANS.
expressions, he wrote in his second dispatch to Virginia. And he added,
for it hath heen hinted that the young gentleman did not spell at this
early time with especial accuracy, "My cousin, the Lady Maria, is a
perfect Angle."
" Illepi'ceter omnes angulus ridet,^^ muttered little Mr. Dempster, at
home in Virginia.
"The child can't be falling in love with his angle, as he calls her!"
cries out Mountain.
" Pooh, pooh ! my niece Maria is forty!" says Madam Esmond. " I
perfectly well recollect her when I was at home — a great, gawky,
carroty creature, with a foot like a pair of bellows." Where is truth,
forsooth, and who knoweth it? Is Beauty Beautiful, or is it only our
eyes that make it so ? Does Venus squint ? Has she got a splay foot,
red hair, and a crooked back? Anoint my eyes, good Fairy Puck, so
that I may ever consider the Beloved Object a paragon ! Above all,
keep on anointing my mistress's dainty peepers with the very strongest
ointment, so that my noddle may ever appear lovely to her, and that she
may continue to crown my honest ears with fresh roses !
Now, not only was Harry Warrington a favourite with some in the
drawing-room, and all the ladies of the servants' hall, but, like master
like man, his valet Gumbo was very much admired and respected by
very many of the domestic circle. Gumbo had a hundred accomplish-
ments. He was famous as a fisherman, huntsman, blacksmith. He
could dress hair beautifully, and improved himself in the art under my
Lord's own Swiss gentleman. He was great at cooking many of his
Virginian dishes, and learned many new culinary secrets from my
Lord's French man. We have heard how exquisitely and melodiously
he sang at church ; and he sang not only sacred but secular music, often
inventing airs and composing rude words after the habit of his people.
He played the fiddle so charmingly, that he set all the girls dancing iu
Castlewood Hall, and was ever welcome to a gratis mug of ale at the
Three Castles in the village, if he would but bring his fiddle with him.
He was good-natured, and loved to play for the village children : so that
Mr. Warrington's negro was a universal favourite in all the Castlewood
domain.
Now it was not difficult for the servants' hall folks to perceive that
Mr. Gumbo was a liar, which fact was undoubted in spite of all his
good qualities. For instance, that day at church when he pretended to
read out of Molly's psalm-book, he sang quite other words than those
which were down in the book, of which he could not decipher a syllable.
And he pretended to understand music, whereupon the Swiss valet
brought him some, and Master Gumbo turned the page upside down.
These instances of long-bow practice daily occurred, and were patent to
all the Castlewood household. They knew Gumbo was a liar, perhaps
not thinking the worse of him for this weakness ; but they did not
know how great a liar he was, and believed him much more than they had
any reason for doing, and because, I suppose, they liked to believe Lim,
THE VIRGINIANS. 109
Whatever might be his feelings of wonder and envy on first viewing
tlie splendour and comforts of Castlewood, Mr. Gumbo kept his senti-
ments to himself, and examined the place, park, appointments, stables,
very coolly. The horses, he said, were very well, what there were of
them ; but at Castlewood in Virginia they had six times as many, and
let me see, fourteen eighteen grooms to look after them. Madam
Esmond's carriages were much finer than my lord's, — great deal more
gold on the panels. As for her gardens, they covered acres, and they
grew every kind of flower and fruit under the sun. Pine-apples and
peaches ? Pine-apples and peaches were so common, they were given
to pigs in his country. They had twenty forty gardeners, not white
gardeners, all black gentlemen, like hisself. In the house were twenty
forty gentlemen in livery, besides women-servants, — never could
remember how many women-servants, — dere were so many: tink dere
were fifty women-servants, — all Madam Esmond's property, and worth
ever so many hundred pieces of eight a-piece. How much was a piece
of eight ? Bigger than a guinea, a piece of eight was. Tink, Madam
Esmond have twenty thirty thousand guineas a-year, — have whole
rooms full of gold and plate. Came to England in one of her ships ;
have ever bo many ships. Gumbo can't count how many ships ; and
estates, covered all over with tobacco and negroes, and reaching out for
a week's journey. Was Master Harry heir to all this property ? Of
course, now Master George was killed and scalped by the Indians.
Gumbo had killed ever so many Indians, and tried to save Master
George, but he was Master Harry's boy, — and Master Harry was as
rich, — 0, as rich as ever he like. He wore black now, because Master
George was dead ; but you should see his chests full of gold-clothes,
and lace, and jewels, at Bristol. Of course, Master Harry was the
richest man in all Virginia, and might have twenty sixty servants ;
only he liked travelling with one best, and that one, it need scarcely be
said, was Gumbo.
This story was not invented at once, but gradually elicited from Mr.
Gumbo, who might have uttered some trifling contradictions during the
progress of the narrative, but by the time he had told his tale twice or
thrice in the servants' hall or the butler's private apartment, he was
pretty perfect and consistent in his part, and knew accurately the number
of slaves Madam Esmond kept, and the amount of income which she
enjoyed. The truth is, that as four or five blacks are required to do the
work of one white man, the domestics in American establishments are
much more numerous than in ours ; and like the houses of most other
Virginian landed proprietors. Madam Esmond's mansion and stables
swarmed with negroes.
Mr. Gumbo's account of his mistress's wealth and splendour was
carried to my lord by his lordship's man, and to Madame de Bernstein
and my ladies by their respective waiting-women, and, we may be sure,
lost nothing in the telling. A young gentleman in England is not the
less liked because he is reputed to be the heir to vast wealth and pos-
no THE VIEGINIANS.
sessions; when Lady Castlewood came to hear of Harry's prodigious
expectations, she repented of her first cool reception of him, and of
having pinched her daughter's arm till it was black and blue for having
been extended towards the youth in too friendly a manner. Was it too
late to have him back into those fair arms ? Lady Fanny was welcome
to try, and resumed the dancing-lessons. The Countess would play the
music with all her heart. But, how provoking ! that odious, sentimental
Maria would always insist upon being in the room; and, as sure as
JFanny walked in the gardens or the park, so sure woilld her sister come
trailing after her. As for Madame de Bernstein, she laughed, and was
amused at the stories of the prodigious fortune of her Yirginian rela-
tives. She knew her half-sister's man of business in London, and very
likely was aware of the real state of Madam Esmond's money matters ;
but she did not contradict the rumours which Gumbo and his fellow-
servants had set afloat ; and was not a little diverted by the effect which
these reports had upon the behaviour of the Castlewood family towards
their young kinsman.
" Hang him ! Is he so rich, Molly ? " said my lord to his elder sister.
" Then good-bye to our chances with your aunt. The Baroness will be
sure to leave him all her money to spite us, and because he doesn't want
it. Nevertheless, the lad is a good lad enough, and it is not his fault,
being rich, you know."
*' He is very simple and modest in his habits for one so wealthy,"
remarks Maria.
"Rich people often are so," says my lord. " If I were rich, I often
think I would be the greatest miser, and live in rags and on a crust.
Depend on it there is no pleasure so enduring as money-getting. It
grows on you, and increases with old age. But because I am as poor
as Lazarus, I dress in purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every
day."
Maria went to the book-room and got the " History of Virginia, by
R. B. Gent" — and read therein what an admirable climate it was, and
how all kinds of fruit and corn grew in that province, and what noble
rivers were those of Potomac and Rappahannoc, abounding in all sorts
of fish. And she wondered whether the climate would agree with her,
and whether her aunt would like her ? And Harry was sure his mother
would adore her, so would Mountain. And when he was asked about
the number of his mother's servants, he said, they certainly had more
servants than are seen in England — he did not know how many. But
the negroes did not do near as much work as English servants did :
hence the necessity of keeping so great a number. As for some others
of Gumbo's details which were brought to him, he laughed and said the
boy was wonderful as a romancer, and in telling such stories he supposed
was trying to speak out for the honour of the family.
So Harry was modest as well as rich ! His denials only served to
confirm his relatives' opinion regarding his splendid expectations. More
and more the Countess and the ladies were friendly and affectionate with
THE YIRGINIAXS. Ill
him. llore and more Mr. "Will betted with him, and wanted to sell him
bargains. Harry's simple dress and equipage only served to confirm his
friends' idea of his wealth. To see a young man of his rank and means
with but one servant, and without horses or a carriage of his own — what
modesty ! When he went to London he would cut a better figure ? Of
course he would. Castlewood would introduce him to the best society
in the capital, and he would appear as he ought to appear at St. James's.
No man could be more pleasant, wicked, lively, obsequious than the
worthy chaplain, Mr. Sampson. How proud he would be if he could
show his young friend a little of London life ! — if he could warn rogues
off him, and keep him out of the way of harm ! Mr. Sampson was very
kind : everybody was very kind. Harry liked quite well the respect
that was paid to him. As Madam Esmond's son he thought perhaps it
was his due : and took for granted that he was the personage which his
family imagined him to be. How should he know better, who had
never as yet seen any place but his own province, and why should he
not respect his own condition when other people respected it so ? So all
the little knot of people at Castlewood House, and from these the people
in Castlewood village, and from thence the people in the whole county,
chose to imagine that Mr. Harry Esmond Warrington was the heir of
immense wealth, and a gentleman of very great importance, because his
negro valet told lies about him in the servants'.hall.
Harry's aunt, Madame de Bernstein, after a week or two, began to
tire of Castlewood and the inhabitants of that mansion, and the neigh-
bours who came to visit them. This clever woman tired of most things
and people sooner or later. So she took to nodding and sleeping over
the chaplain's stories, and to doze at her whist and over her dinner, and
to be very snappish and sarcastic in her conversation with her Esmond
nephews and nieces, hitting out blows at my lord and his brother the
jockey, and my ladies, widowed and unmarried, who winced under her
scornful remarks, and bore them as they best might. The cook, whom
she had so praised on first coming, now gave her no satisfaction ; the
wine was corked ; the house was damp, dreary, and full of draughts ; the
doors would not shut, and the chimneys were smoky. She began to
think the Tunbridge waters were very necessary for her, and ordered
the doctor, who came to her from the neighbouring town of Hexton, to
order those waters for her benefit.
" I wish to Heaven she would go ! " growled my lord, who was the
most independent member of his family. "She may go to Tunbridge,
or she may go to Bath, or she may go to Jericho, for me."
*' Shall Fanny and I come with you to Tunbridge, dear Baroness ?"
asked Lady Castlewood of her sister-in-law.
"Not for worlds, my dear! The doctor orders me absolute quiet,
and if you came I should have the knocker going all day, and Fanny's
lovers would never be out of the house," answered the Baroness, who
was quite weary of Lady Castlewood's company.
112 THE VIRGINIxVNS.
*' I wish I could be of any service to my aunt ! " said the sentimental
Lady Maria, demurely.
" My good child, what can you do for me ? You cannot play picquet
so well as my maid, and I have heard all your songs till I am perfectly
tired of them ! One of the gentlemen might go with me : at least make
the journey, and see me safe from highwaymen."
"I'm sure, Ma'am, I shall be glad to ride with you," said Mr. Will.
** 0, not you! I don't want you, William," cried the young man's
aunt. ** Why do not you oflfer, and where are your American manners,
you ungracious Harry Warrington ? Don't swear. Will, Harry is much
better company than you are, and much better ton too, sir."
** Tong, indeed, confound his tong," growled envious Will to himself.
" I dare say I shall be tired of him, as I am of other folks," continued
the Baroness. " I have scarcely seen Harry at all in these last days.
You shall ride with me to Tunbridge, Harry ! "
At this direct appeal, and to no one's wonder more than that of his
aunt, Mr. Harry Warrington blushed, and hemmed and ha'd : and at
length said, " I have promised my cousin Castle wood to go over to
Hexton Petty Sessions with him to-morrow. He thinks I should see
how the Courts here are conducted — and — and — the partridge shooting
will soon begin, and I have promised to be here for that. Ma'am."
Saying which words, Harry Warrington looked as red as a poppy,
whilst Lady Maria held her meek face downwards, and nimbly plied her
needle.
** You actually refuse to go with me to Tunbridge Wells ? " called
out Madame Bernstein, her eyes lightening, and her face flushing up
with anger, too.
" Not to ride with you. Ma'am; that I will do with all my heart;
but to stay there — I have promised . . . ."
*' Enough, enough, sir! I can go alone, and don't want your escort,"
cried the irate old lady, and rustled out of the room.
The Castlewood family looked at each other with wonder. Will
whistled. Lady Castlewood glanced at Fanny, as much as to say. His
chance is over. Lady Maria never lifted up her eyes from her tambour-
frame.
CHAPTEE XYII.
ON THE SCENT.
Young Harry Warrington^s act of revolt came eo suddenly upon
Madame de Bernstein, that she had no other w^ay of replying to it, than
by the prompt outbreak of anger with which we left her in the last
chapter. She darted two fierce glances at Lady Fanny and her mother
as she quitted the room. Lady Maria over her tambour-frame escaped
THE yIRGIXIA^'S. 113
witliout the least notice, and scarcely lifted up her head from her
embroidery, to watch the aunt retreating, or the looks which mamma-
in-law and sister threw at one another.
'' So, iu spite of all, you have^ madam ? " the maternal looks seemed
to say.
" Have what ? " asked Lady Fanny's eyes. But what good in looking
innocent? She looked puzzled. She did not look one-tenth part as
innocent as Maria. Had she been, guilty, she would have looked not
guilty much more cleverly ; and would have taken care to study and
compose a face so as to be ready to suit the plea. "Whatever was the
expression of Fanny's eyes, mamma glared on her as if she would have
• liked to tear them out.
But Lady Castle wood could not operate upon the said eyes then and
there, like the barbarous monsters in the stage-direction in King Lear.
"When her ladyship was going to tear out her daughter's eyes, she would
retire smiling, with an arm round her dear child's waist, and then gouge
her in private.
" So you don't fancy going with the old lady to Tunbridge "Wells ?"
was all she said to Cousin Warrington, wearing at the same time a
perfectly well-bred simper on her face.
** And small blame to our cousin!" interposed my lord. (The face
over the tambour-frame looked up for one instant.) *' A young fellow
must not have it all idling and holiday. Let him mix up something
useful with his pleasures, and go to the fiddles and pump-rooms at
Tunbridge or the Bath later. Mr. "Warrington has to conduct a great
estate in America : let him see how ours in England are carried on.
Will hath shown him the kennel and the stables ; and the games in
vogue, which I think, cousin, you seem to play as well as your teachers.
After harvest we will show him a little English fowling and shooting :
in winter we will take him out a-hunting. Though there has been a
coolness between us and our aunt-kinswoman in Virginia, yet we are of
the same blood. Ere we send our cousin back to his mother, let us show
him what an English gentleman's life at home is. I should like to read
with him as well as sport with him, and that is why I have been pressing
him of late to stay and bear me company."
My lord spoke with such perfect frankness that his mother-in-law
and half-brother and sister could not help wondering what his meaning
could be. The three last-named persons often held little conspiracies
together, and caballed or grumbled against the head of the house. When ■
he adopted that frank tone, there was no fathoming his meaning : often
it would not be discovered until months had passed. He did not say
'' This is true," but, "I mean that this statement should be accepted
and believed in mj' family." It was then a thing convemie, that my
Lord Castlewood had a laudable desire to cultivate the domestic affec-
tions, and to educate, amuse, and improve his young relative; and that
he had taken a great fancy to the lad, and wished that Harry should
stay for some time near his lordship.
I
114 THE YIEGINIANS.
''What is Castlewood's game now?" asked William of his mother
and sister as they disappeared into the corridors. ** Stop ! By George I
have it ! "
"What, William?"
" He intends to get him to play, and to win the Virginia estate back
from Mm. That's what it is ! "
"But the lad has not got the Virginia estate to pay, if he loses,"
remarks mamma.
" If my brother has not some scheme in view, may I be ."
"Hush! Of course he has a scheme in view. But what is it ? '
" He can't mean Maria — Maria is as old as Harry's mother," muses
Mr. William.
' • Pooh ! with her old face and sandy hair and freckled skin ! Impos-
sible ! " cries Lady Fanny, with somewhat of a sigh.
" Of course, your ladyship had a fancy for the Iroquois, too ! " cried
mamma.
" I trust I know my station and duty better, madam ! If I had liked
him, that is no reason why I should marry him. Your ladyship hath
taught me as much as that."
" My Lady Fanny ! "
" I am sure you married our papa without liking him. You have told
me so a thousand times ! "
" And if you did not love our father before marriage, you certainly
did not fall in love with him afterwards," broke in Mr. William, with a
laugh. ' ' Fan and I remember how our honoured parents used to fight.
Don't us, Fan ? And our brother Esmond kept the peace."
"Don't recall those dreadful low scenes, William!" cries mamma.
" When your father took too much drink, he was like a madman ; and
his conduct should be a warning to you, sir, who are fond of the same
horrid practice."
"I am sure, madam, you were not much the happier for marrying
the man you did not like, and your ladyship's title hath brought very
little along with it," whimpered out Lady Fanny. " What is the use
of a coronet with the jointure of a tradesman's wife ? — how many of
them are richer than we are ? There is come lately to live in our
Square, at Kensington, a grocer's widow from London Bridge, whose
daughters have three gowns where I have one ; and who, though they
are waited on but by a man and a couple of maids, I know eat and
drink a thousand times better than we do with our scraps of cold meat on
our plate, and our great flaunting, trapesing, impudent, lazy lacqueys !"
"He! he; giad I dine at the palace, and not at home!" said Mr.
Will. (Mr. Will, through his aunt's interest with Count Puffendorlf,
Groom of the Koyal (and Serene Electoral) Powder-Closet, had one of
the many small places at Court, that of Deputy Powder.)
" Why should I not be happy without any title except myo^vn?"
continued Lady Frances. *' Many people are. I dare say they are even
happy in America,"
THE YIRGINIAXS. 116
" Yes I with a mother-in-law who is a perfect Turk and Tartar, for
all I hear — with Indian war-whoops howling all round you : and with
a danger of losing your scalp, or of being eat up by a wild beast every
time you went to church."
*' I wouldn't go to church," said Lady Fanny.
"You'd go with anybody who asked you, Fan!" roared out Mr,
"Will: '*and so would old Maria, and so would any woman, that's the
fact : " and Will laughed at his own wit.
"Pray, good folks, what is all your merriment about?" here
asked Madame Bernstein, peeping in on her relatives from the
tapestried door which led into the gallery where their conversation was
held.
Will told her that his mother and sister had been having a fight
(which was not a novelty, as Madame Bernstein knew), because Fanny
wanted to marry their cousin, the wild Indian, and my lady countess
would not let her. Fanny protested against this statement. Since the
very first day when her mother had told her not to speak to the young
gentleman, she had scarcely exchanged two words with him. She knew
her station better. She did not want to be scalped by wild Indians, or
eat up by bears.
Madame de Bernstein looked puzzled. "If he is not staying for you,
for whom is he staying ? " she asked. " At the houses to which he has
been carried, you have taken care not to show him a woman that is not a
fright or in the nursery ; and I think the boy is too proud to fall in love
with a dairymaid. Will."
" Humph ! That is a matter of taste, ma'am," says Mr. William,
with a shrug of his shoulders.
" Of Mr. William Esmond's taste, as you say ; but not of yonder
boy's. The Esmonds of his grandfather's nurture, sir, would not go
a-courting in the kitchen."
" Well, ma'am, every man to his taste, I say again. A fellow might
go farther and fare worse than my brother's servants'-hall, and, besides.
Fan, there's only the maids or old Maria to choose from."
"Maria! Impossible!" And yet, as she spoke the very words, a
sudden thought crossed l^ladame Bernstein's mind, that this elderly
Calypso might have captivated her young Telemachus. She called to
mind half-a-dozen instances in her own experience of young men who
had been infatuated by old women. She remembered how frequent
Harry Yfarrington's absences had been of late — absences which she
attributed to his love for field- sports. She remembered how often, when
he was absent, Maria Esmond was away too. Walks in cool avenues,
whisperings in garden temples, or behind dipt hedges, casual squeezes
of the hand in twilight corridors, or sweet glances and ogles in meetings
on the stairs, — a lively fancy, an intimate knowledge of the world, very
likely a considerable personal experience in early days, suggested all
these possibilities and chances to Madame de Bernstein, just as she was
saying that they were impossible.
I2
116 THE VIRGINIANS .
" Impossible, raa'am ! I don't know," Will continued. '* My mother
warned Fan off him."
'* 0, your mother did warn Fanny off ? "
*' Certainlj', my dear baroness! "
"Didn't she? Didn't she pinch Fanny's arm black and blue?
Didn't they fight aboutrtt ? "
"Nonsense, 'William! For shame, William!" cry both the impli-
cated ladies in a breath.
" And now, since we have heard how rich he is, perhaps it is sour
grapes, that is all. And now, since he is warned off the young bird,
perhaps he is hunting the old one, that's all. Impossible ! why impossible ?
You know old Lady Suffolk, ma'am ? "
" William, how can you speak about Lady Suffolk to your aunt?"
A grin passed over the countenance of the young gentleman. * * Because
Lady Suffolk was a special favourite at Court ? Well, other folks have
succeeded her."
" Sir ! " cries Madame de Bernstein, who may have had her reasons
to take offence.
"So they have, I say; or who, pray, is my Lady Yarmouth now!
And didn't old Lady Suffolk go and fall in love with George Berkeley,
and marry him when she was ever so old ? Nay, ma'am, if I remember
right — and we hear a deal of town-talk at our table— Harry Estridge
went mad about your ladyship when you were somewhat rising twenty ;
and would have changed your name a third time if you would but have
let him."
This allusion to an adventure of her own later days, which was, indeed,
pretty notorious to all the world, did not anger Madame de Bernstein,
like Will's former hint about his aunt having been a favourite at George
the Second's Court ; but, on the contrary, set her in good humour.
^' All fait,' ^ she said, musing, as she played a pretty little hand on
the table, and no doubt thinking about mad young Harry Estridge ;
" 'tis not impossible, William, that old folks and young folks, too, should
play the fool."
" But I can't understand a young fallow being^in lojre with Maria,"
continued Mr. William, " however he might be with i/ou, ma'am. That's
oter shose, as our French tutor used to say. You remember the Count,
ma'am ; he, he ! — and so does Maria I "
"William!"
" And I dare say the Count remembers the bastinado Castlewood had
given to hini. A confounded French dancing-master calling himself a
count, and daring to fall in love in our family ! Whenever I want to
make myself uncommonly agreeable to old Maria, I just say a few words
oi parhj voo to her. She knows what I mean."
"Have you abused her to your cousin, Harry Warrington ? " asked
Madame de Bernstein.
" Well — I know she is always abusing me — and I have said my mind
about her," said Will.
THE VIRGINIAXS. 117
'' you idiot ! " cried the old lady. " Who but a gaby ever spoke ill
of a woman to her sweetheart ? He will tell her everything, and they
both will hate you."
"The very thing, ma'am ! " cried "Will, bursting into a great laugh.
** I had a sort of a suspicion, you see, and two days ago, as we were riding
together, I told Harry Warrington a bit of my mind about Maria ; —
why shouldn't I, I say? She is always abusing me, ain't she. Fan?
And your favourite turned as red as my plush waistcoat — wondered how
a gentleman could malign his own flesh and blood, and, trembling all
over with rage, said I was no true Esmond."
"Why didn't you chastise him, sir, as my lord did the dancing-
master?" cried Lady Castlewood.
** Well, mother, — you see that at quarter-staff there's two sticks used,"
replied Mr. William; " and my opinion is, that Harry Warrington can
guard his own head uncommonly well. Perhaps that is one of the reasons
why I did not offer to treat my cousin to a caning. And now you say so,
ma'am, I know he has told Maria. She has been looking battle, murder,
and sudden death at me ever since. All which shows — " and here he
turned to his aunt.
"All which shows what ?"
"That I think we are on the right scent; and that we've found
Maria — the old fox ! " And the ingenuous youth here clapped his hand
to his mouth, and gave a loud halloo.
How far had this pretty intrigue gone ? now was the question. Mr.
Will said, that at her age, Maria would be for conducting matters as
rapidly as possible, not having much time to lose. There was not a
great deal of love lost between Will and his half-sister.
" Who would sift the matter to the bottom? Scolding one party or
the other was of no avail. Threats only served to aggravate people in
such cases. I never was in danger but once, young people," said
Madame de Bernstein, " and I think that was because my poor mother
contradicted me. If this boy is like others of his family, the more wo
oppose him, the more entete he will be ; and we shall never get him out
of his scrape.", *
" Faith, ma'am, suppose we leave him in it ? " grumbled Will. " Old
Maria and I don't love each other too much, I grant you ; but an English
Earl's daughter is good enough for an American tobacco-planter, wheo
all is said and done."
Here his mother and sister broke out. They would not hear of such,
a union. To which Will answered, " You are like the dog in the manger.
You don't want the man yourself, Fanny — "
^# " J want him, indeed ! " cries Lady Fanny, with a toss of her head.
' ' Then why grudge him to Maria ? I think Castlewood wants her to
have him."
" Why grudge him to Maria, sir ? " cried Madame de Bernstein with
great energy. " Do you remember who the poor boy is, and what your
house owes to his family ? His grandfather was the best friend your
118 THE YIRGINIAXS.
father ever had, and gave up this estate, this title, this very castle, in
which you are conspiring against the friendless Virginian lad, that you
and yours might profit by it. And the reward for all this kindness is,
that you all but shut the door on the child when he knocks at it, and
talk of marrying him to a silly elderly creature who might be his mother !
He shanH marry her." ^
** The very thing we were saying and thinking, my dear Baroness ! "
interposes Lady Castle wood. " Our part of the family is not eager about
the match, though my lord and Maria may be."
" You would like him for yourself, now that you hear he is rich — and
may be richer, young people, mind you that," cried Madam Beatrix,
turning upon the other women.
" Mr. Warrington may be ever so rich, madam, but there is no need
why your ladyship should perpetually remind us that we are poor,"
broke in Lady Castlewood, with some spirit. "At least there is very
little disparity in Fanny's age and Mr. Harry's ; and you surely will be
the last to say that a lady of our name and family is not good enough for
any gentleman born in Yirginia or elsewhere."
"Let Fanny take an English gentleman, countess, not an American.
With such a name and such a mother to help her, and with all her good
looks and accomplishments, sure, she can't fail of finding a man worthy
of her. But from what I know about the daughters of this house, and
what I imagine about our young cousin, I am certain that no happy
match could be made between them."
" What does my aunt know about me ? " asked Lady Fanny, turning
very red.
" Only your temper, my dear. You don't suppose that I believe all
the tittle-tattle and scandal which one cannot help hearing in town ?
But the temper and early education are sufficient. Only fancy one of
you condemned to leave St. James's and the Mall, and live in a plan-
tation surrounded by savages ! You would die of ennui, or worry your
husband's life out with your ill-humour. You are born, ladies, to
ornament courts — not wigwams. Let this lad go back to his wilderness
with a wife who is suited to him."
The other two ladies declared in a breath that, for their parts, they
desired no better, and, after a few more words, went on their way, while
Madame de Bernstein, lifting up her tapestried door, retired into her
own chamber. She saw all the scheme now ; she admired the ways of
women, calling a score of little circumstances back to mind. She v/on-
dered at her own blindness during the last few days, and that she should
not have perceived the rise and progress of this queer little intrigue.
How far had it gone ? was now the question. Was Harry's passion of
the serious and tragical sort, or a mere fire of straw which a day or two
would burn out ? How deeply was he committed ? She dreaded the
strength of Harry's passion, and the weakness of Maria's. A woman of
her age is so desperate, Madame Bernstein may have thought, that she
will make any efforts to secure a lover. Scandal, bah ! She will retire
:HE VIRGINIANS. 119
and be a princess in Yirginia, and leave the folks in England to talk aa
mucli scandal as they choose.
Is there always, then, one thing which women do not tell to one
another, and about which they agree to deceive each other ? Does the
concealment arise from deceit or modesty ? A man, as soon as he feels
an inclination for one of the other sex, seeks for a friend of his own to
whom he may impart the delightful intelligence. A woman (with more
or less skill) buries her secret away from her kind. For days and weeks
past, had not this old Maria made fools of the whole house, — Maria, the
butt of the family ?
I forbear to go into too curious inquiries regarding the Lady Maria's
antecedents. I have my own opinion about Madame Bernstein's. A
hundred years ago, people of the great world were not so strait-laced as
they are now, when everybody is good, pure, moral, modest ; when there
is no skeleton in anybody's closet ; when there is no scheming ; no slurring
over of old stories ; when no girl tries to sell herself for wealth, and no
mother abets her. Suppose my Lady Maria tries to make her little
game, wherein is her ladyship's great eccentricity ?
On these points no doubt the Baroness de Bernstein thought, as she
communed with herself in her private apartment.
CHAPTER XYIII.
Ali OLD STORY.
As my Lady Castlewood and her son and daughter passed through one
door of the saloon where they had all been seated, my Lord Castlewood
departed by another issue ; and then the demure eyes looked up from
the tambour-frame on which they had persisted hitherto in examining
the innocent violets and jonquils. The eyes looked up at Harry
Warrington, who stood at an ancestral portrait under the great fire-
place. He had gathered a great heap of blushes, (those flowers which
bloom so rarely after gentlefolks' spring-time ;) and with thera orna-
mented his honest countenance, his cheeks, his forehead, nay, his
youthful ears.
" Why did you refuse to go with our aunt, cousin ?" asked the lady
of the tambour-frame.
''Because your ladyship bade me stay," answered the lad.
*' / bid you stay! La! child! What one says in fun, you take in
earnest ! Are all you Yirginian gentlemen so obsequious as to fancy
every idle word a lady says is a command? Virginia must be a
pleasant country for our sex if it be so ! "
"You said— when — when we walked in the terrace two nights since,
—0 heaven ! " cried Harry, with a voice trembling with emotion.
** Ah, that sweet night, cousin !" cries the Tambour-frame.
120 THE VIEGINIAKS.
" Whe — whe — when you gave me this rose from your own neck — "
roared out Harry, pulling suddenly a crumpled and decayed vegetable
from his waistcoat — *' which I will never part with — with, no, by
heavens, whilst this heart continues to beat ! You said, ' Harry, if
your aunt asks you to go away, you will go, and if you go, you will
forget me.* — Didn't you say so ?"
" All men forget ! " said the Virgin, with a sigh.
**In this cold selfish country they may, cousin, not in ours," con-
tinues Harry, yet in the same state of exultation — " I had rather have
lost an arm almost than refused the old lady. I tell you it went to my
heart to say no to her, and she so kind to me, and who had been the
means of introducing me to — to — heaven!" . . . (Here a kick to an
intervening spaniel, which flies yelping from before the fire, and a
rapid advance on the tambour-frame.) " Look here, cousin ! If you
were to bid me jump out of yonder window, T should do it ; or murder,
I should do it."
"La! but you need not squeeze one's hand so, you silly child!"
remarks Maria.
"I can't help it — we are so in the South. Where my heart is, I
can't help speaking my mind out, cousin — and you know where that
heart is ! Ever since that evening — that— heaven ! I tell you I
have hardly slept since — I want to do something — to distinguish
myself — to be ever so great. I wish there was Giants, Maria, as I
have read of in — in books, that I could go and fight 'em. I wish you
was in distress, that I might help you, somehow. I wish you wanted
my blood, that I might spend every drop of it for you. And when you
told me not to go with Madame Bernstein . . ."
"J tell thee, child? never."
" I thought you told me. You said you knew I preferred my aunt to
my cousin, and I said then what I say now, ' Incomparable Maria ! I
prefer thee to all the women in the world and all the angels in Paradise
— and I would go anywhere, were it to dungeons, if you ordered me!'
And do you think I would not stay anywhere, when you only desired
that I should be near you ?" he added, after a moment's pause.
" Men always talk in that way — that is, — that is, I have heard so,"
said the spinster, correcting herself; " for what should a country-bred
woman know about you creatures ? When you are near us, they say
you are all raptures and flames and promises, and I don't know what ;
when you are away, you forget all about us."
" But I think I never want to go away as long as I live," groaned
out the young man. *'I have tired of many things ; not books and
that, I never cared for study much ; but games and sports which I used
to be fond of when I was a boy. Before I saw you, it was to be a
soldier I most desired ; I tore my hair with rage when my poor dear
brother went away instead of me on that expedition in which we lost
him. But now, I only care for one thing in the world, and you know
what that is."
THE VirvGIXIAXS. 121
**You silly child! dou't you know I am almost old enough to
be . . .?"
"I know — I know ! but what is that to me? Hasn't your br . . . .
—well, never mind who, some of 'em — told me stories against you, and
didn't they show me the Family Bible, where all your names are down,
and the dates of your birth ?"
"The cowards! Who did that?" cried out Lady Maria. "Dear
Harry, tell me who did that ? Was it my mother-in-law, the grasp-
ing, odious, abandoned, brazen harpy ? Do you know all about
her ? How she married my father in his cups — the horrid hussey ! —
and ..."
" Indeed it wasn't Lady Castlewood," interposed the wondering
Harry.
"Then it was my aunt," continued the infuriate lady. " A pretty
moralist, indeed! A Bishop's widow, forsootli, and 1 should like to
know whose widow before and afterwards. Why, Harry, she intrigued
with the Pretender, and with the Court of Hanover, and, I daresay,
would with the Court of Home and the Sultan of Turkey if she had had
the means. Do you know who her second husband was ? A creature
wlio . . ."
"But our aunt never spoke a word against you," broke in Harry,
more and more amazed at the nymph's vehemence.
She checked her anger. In the inquisitive countenance opposite to
her she thought she read some alarm as to the temper which she was
exhibiting.
" Well, well ! I am a fool," she said. " I want thee to think well of
me, Harry ! "
A hand is somehow put out and seized and, no doubt, kissed by the
rapturous youth. "Angel!" he cries, looking into her face with his
eager, honest eyes.
Two fish-pools irradiated by a pair of stars would not kindle to
greater warmth than^id those elderly orbs into which Harry poured
his gaze. Nevertheless, he plunged into their blue depths, and fancied
he saw heaven in their calm brightness. So that silly dog (of whom
jiEsop or the Spelling-book used to tell us in youth) beheld a beef- bone
in the pond, and snapped it, and lost the beef-bone he was carrying.
0, absurd cur I He saw the beef-bone in his own mouth reflected in
the treacherous pool, which dimpled, I daresay, \fith. ever so many
smiles, coolly sucked up the meat, and returned to its usual placidity,
Ah ! what a heap of wreck lie beneath some of those quiet surfaces I
What treasures we have dropped into them! What chased golden
disl.es, what precious jewels of love, what bones after bones, and
sweetest heart's flesh ! Do not some very faithful and unlucky dogs
jump in bodily, when they are swallowed up heads and tails entirely ?
When some women come to be dragged, it is a marvel what will be
found in the depths of them. Cavete, ccmes! Have a care how ye lap
that water. What do they want with us, the mischievous syren sluts P
122 THE VIRGIIsriANS.
A green-eyed Naiad never rests until she has inveigled a fellow under
tlie water ; she sings after him, she dances after him ; she winds round
him, glittering tortuously ; she warbles and whispers dainty secrets at
his cheek ; she kisses his feet ; she leers at him from out of her rushes :
all her beds sigh out, "Come, sweet youth! Hither, hither, rosy
Hylas ! " Pop goes Hylas. (Surely the fable is renewed for ever and
ever ?) Has his captivator any pleasure ? Doth she take any account
of him ? No more than a fisherman landing at Brighton does of one out
of a hundred thousand herrings. . . . The last time Ulysses rowed
by the Syrens' Bank, he and his men did not care though a whole
shoal of them were singing and combing their longest locks. Young
Telemachus was for jumping overboard ; but the tough old crew held
the silly, bawling lad. They were deaf, and could not hear his bawling
nor the sea-nymphs' singing. They were dim of sight, and did not see
how lovely the witches were. The stale, old, leering witches ! Away
with ye ! I daresay you have painted your cheeks by this time ; your
V\Tetched old songs are as out of fashion as Mozart, and it is all false hair
you are combing !
la the last sentence you see Lector Benevolus and Scriptor Doctis-
simus figure as tough old Ulysses and his tough old Boatswain, who
do not care a quid of tobacco for any Syren at Syrens' Point ; but Harry
Warrington is green Telemachus, who, be sure, was very unlike the
soft youth in the good Bishop of Cambray's twaddling story. ITe
does not see that the syren paints the lashes from under which she
ogles him ; will put by into a box when she has done the ringlets into
which she would inveigle him ; and if she eats him, as she proposes to
do, will crunch his bones with a new set of grinders just from the
dentist's, and warranted for mastication. The song is not stale to
Harry Warrington, nor the voice cracked or out of tune that sings it.
But — but — 0, dear me, Brother Boatswain ! Don't you remember how
X^leasant the opera was when we first heard it ? Cost fan tutte was its
name — Mozart's music. Now, I daresay, they 4iave other words, and
other music, and other singers and fiddlers, and another great crowd in
the pit. Well, well, Cosi fan tutte is still upon the bills, and they are
going on singing it over and over and over.
Any man or woman with a pennyworth of brains, or the like precious
amount of personal experience, or who has read a novel before, must,
when Harry pulled out those faded vegetables just now, have gone off
into a digression of his own, as the writer confesses for himself he was
diverging whilst he has been Meriting the last brace of paragraphs. If
he sees a pair of lovers whispering in a garden alley or the embrasure
of a window, or a pair of glances shot across the room from J enny to
the artless Jessamy, he falls to musing on former days when, &c. &c.
These things follow each other by a general law, which is not as old as
the hills, to bo sure, but as old as the people who walk up and down
them. When, I say, a lad pulls a bunch of amputated and now decom-
posing greens from his breast and falls to kissing it, what is the use of
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 123
saying much more? As well tell the market-gardener's name from
whom the slip-rose was bought — the waterings, clippings, trirdmings,
manurings, the plant has undergone — as tell how Harry Warrington
came by it. Hose, elle a vecu la vie des roses, has been trimmed, has
been watered, has been potted, has been sticked, has been cut, worn,
given away, transferred to yonder boy's pocket-book and bosom,
according to the laws and fate appertaining to roses.
And how came Maria to give it to Harry ? And how did he come to
want it and to prize it so passionately when he got the bit of rubbish ?
Is not one story as stale as the other ? Are not they all alike ? What
is the use, I say, of telling them over and over ? Harry values that rose
because Maria has ogled him in the old way ; because she has happened
to meet him in the garden in the old way ; because he has taken her
hand in the old way ; because they have whispered to one another
behind the old curtain (the gaping old rag, as if everybody could not
peep through it!); because, in this delicious weather, they have hap-
pened to be early risers and go into the park ; because dear Goody
Jenkins in the village happened to have a bad knee, and my Lady Maria
went to read to her, and give her calves'-foot jelly, and because some-
body, of course, must carry the basket. Whole chapters might have
been written to chronicle all these circumstances, but a qiioi hon f The
incidents of life, and love-making especially, I believe to resemble each
other so much, that I am surprised, gentlemen and ladies, you read
novels any more. Psha ! Of course that rose in young Harry's pocket-
book had grown, and had budded, and had bloomed, and was now
rotting, like other roses. I suppose you will want me to say that the
young fool kissed it next ? Of course he kissed it. What were lips
made for, pray, but for smiling and simpering and (possibly) hum-
bugging, and kissing, and opening to receive mutton-chops, cigars, and
so forth ? I cannot write this part of the story of our Virginians,
because Harry did not dare to write it himself to anybody at home,
because, if he wrote any letters to Maria (which, of course, he did, as
they were in the same house, and might meet each other as much as
they liked), they were destroyed; because he afterwards chose to be
very silent about the story, and we can't have it from her Ladyship,
who never told the truth about anything. But cui bono f I say again.
What is the good of telling the story ? My gentle reader, take your
story : take mine. To-morrow it shall be Miss Fanny's, who is just
walking away with her doll to the school-room, and the governess (poor
•victim ! she has a yersion of it in her desk) : and next day it shall be
Eaby's, who is bawling out on the stairs for his bottle.
Maria might like to have and exercise power over the young Virginian ;
but she did not want that Harry should quarrel with his aunt for her
sake, or that Madame de Bernstein should be angry with her. Harry
was not the Lord of Virginia yet: he was only the Prince, and the
Q,ueen might marry and have other Princes, and the laws of primo-
geniture might not be established in Virginia, qu'en savait elle ? My
124 THE VIPvGIXIANS.
lord her brother and she had exchanged no words at all about the
delicate business. But they understood each other, and the Earl had a
way of understanding things without speaking. He knew his Maria
perfectly well : in the course of a life of which not a little had been,
spent in her brother's company and under his roof, Maria's disposition,
v^s.^ i, tricks, faults, had come to be perfectly understood by the head of
the family ; and she would find her little schemes checked or aided by
him, as to his lordship seemed good, and without need of any words
between them. Thus three days before, when she happened to be
going to see that poor dear old Goody, who was ill with the sore knee
in the village (and when Harry Warrington happened to be walking
behind the elms on the green, too), my lord with his dogs about him,
and his gardener walking after him, crossed the court, just as Lady
Maria was tripping to the gate-house — and his lordship called his sistei;.
\id said: "Molly, you are going to see Goody Jenkins. You are a
4^.;aritable soul, my dear. Give Gammer Jenkins this half-crown for
me — unless our cousin, Warrington, has already given her money. A
pleasant walk to you. Let her want for nothing." And at supper, my
lord asked Mr. Warrington many questions about the poor in Virginia,
and the means of maintaining them, to which the young gentleman
gave the best answers he might. His lordship wished that in the old
country there were no more poor people than in the new : and recom-
mended Harry to visit the poor and people of every degree, indeed,
high and low — in the country to look at the agriculture, in the city at
the manufactures and municipal institutions— to which edifying advice
Harry acceded with becoming modesty and few words, and Madame
Bernstein nodded approval over her picquet with the chaplain. Next
day, Harry M'as in my lord's justice-room : the next day he was out ever
so long with my lord on the farm— and coming home, what does my
lord do, but look in on a sick tenant ? I think Lady Maria was out on
that day, too, she had been reading good books to that poor dear Goody
Jenkins, though I don't suppose Madame Bernstein ever thought of
asking about her niece.
" Castlewood, Hampshire, England, August 5, 1757.
** My dear Mountain,
" At first, as I wrote, I did not like Castlewood, nor my cousins
there very much. Now, I am used to their ways, and we begin to
understand each other 77iuch better. With my duty to my mother, tell
her, I hope, that considering her ladyship's great kindness to me,
Madam Esmond will be reconciled to her half-sister, the Baroness de
Bernstein. The Baroness, you know, was my Grandmamma's daughter
by her first husband, Lord Castlewood (only Grandpapa really was the
real Lord) ; however, that was not his, that is the other Lord Castle-
wood's fault you know, and he was verj/ kind to Grandpapa, who always
spoke most kindly of him to us as you know.
" Madame the Baroness Bernstein first married a clergyman, Reverend
11 :^ yiRGixiA:<s. 125
^Ir. Tuslier, who was so learned and c/ood, and such a favourite of his
]\icijestY, as was my aunt, too, that he was made a JJisIiopj). When he
died, Oui' gracious King continued his friendship to my aunt ; who
married a Hanoverian nobleman, who occupied a post at the Court —
and I believe left the Baroness very rich. My cousin, my Lord Castle-
wood, told me so much about her, and I am sure / have found from her
tlie greatest kindness and affection.
" The (Dowiger) Countess Castlewood and my cousins "Will and Lady
Tanny have been described per last, that went by the Falmouth packet
en the 20th ult. The ladies are not changed since then. Me and
Cousin "SYill are very good friends. We have rode out a good deal.
We have had some famous cocking matches at Hampton and Winton.
My cousin is a shai'p blade, but I think I have shown him that we in
Virginia know a thing or two. Reverend Mr. Sampson, chaplain of the
famaly, most excellent preacher, luithout any higgatry.
'* The kindness of my cousin the Earl improves every day, and by
next year's ship I hope my mother will send his lordship some of our
best roll tobacco (for tennants) and hainms. He is most charatahle to
the poor. His sister, Lady Maria, equally so. She sits for hours reading
good hooka to the sick ; she is most beloved in the village."
"Nonsense!" said a lady to whom Harry submitted his precious
manuscript. *' Why do you flatter me, cousin?"
" You are beloved in the village and out of it," said Harry, with a
knowing emphasis, " and I have flattered you, as you call it, a little
more still, further on."
** There is a sick old woman there, whom Madam Esmond would like,
a most raligious, good, old lady.
" Lady Maria goes very often to read to her ; which, she says, gives
her comfort. But though her Ladyship hath the sweetest voice, both in
speaking and singeing (she plays the church organ, and singes there most
beautifully), I cannot think Gammer Jenkins can have any comfort from
it, being very deaf, by reason of her great age. She has her memory
perfectly, however, and remembers when my honoured Grandmother
Eachel Lady Castlewood lived here. She says, my Grandmother was
the best woman in the whole world, gave her a cow when she was
married, and cured her husband, Gaffer Jenkins, of the collects, which
he used to have very bad. I suppose it was with the Pills and Drops
which my honored Mother put up in my boxes, when I left dear Virginia,
Having never been ill since, have had no use for the pills. Gumbo
hath, eating and drinking a great deal too much in the Servants' Hall.
The next angel to my Grandmother (X.B. I think I spelt awye/ wrong
per last), Gammer Jenkins says, is Lady Maria, who sends her duty to
her Aunt in Virginia, and remembers her, and my Grandpapa and
Grandmamma when they were in Europe, and she was a little girl.
You know they have Grandpapa's picture here, and 1 livo in the very
126 THE YIEGINIANS.
rooms which lie had, and which are to be called mine, my Lord Castle-
wood says.
" Having no more to say, at present, I close with best love and duty
to my honoured Mother, and with respects to Mr. Dempster, and a kiss
for Panny, and kind remembrances to Old Gumbo, Nathan, Old and
Young Dinah, and the pointer dog and Slut, and all friends, from their
well-wisher.
" Heney Esmond ■Waeei:n'gton-.
"Have wrote and sent my duty to my Uncle Warrington in Norfolk, i|
Ko anser as yet." *
" I hope the spelling is right, cousin ? " asked the author of the letter,
from the critic to whom he showed it.
'*'Tis quite well enough spelt for any person of fashion," answered
Lady Maria, who did not choose to be examined too closely regarding
the orthography.
" One word ' Angel,' I know, I spelt wrong in writing to my mamma,
but I have learned a way of spelling it right, now."
" And how is that, sir ?"
"1 think 'tis by looking at you, cousin;" saying which words,
Mr. Harry made her ladyship a low bow, and accompanied the bow
by one of his best blushes, as if he were offering her a bow and a
bouquet.
CHAPTER XIX.
CONTAINING BOTH LOVE AND LUCK:.
At the next meal, when the family party assembled, there was not a
trace of displeasure in Madame de Bernstein's countenance, and her
behaviour to all the company, Harry included, was perfectly kind and
cordial. She praised the cook this time, declared the fricassee was excel-
lent, and that there were no eels anywhere like those in the Castlewood
moats ; would not allow that the wine was corked, or hear of such extra-
vagance as opening a fresh bottle for a useless old woman liko her ; gave
Madam Esmond "Warrington, of Yirginia, as her toast, when the new
wine was brouglit, and hoped Harry had brought away his mamma's
permission to take back an English wife with him. He did not remember
his grandmother ; her, Madame de Bernstein's dear mother ? The Baro-
ness amused the company with numerous stories of her mother, of her
beauty and goodness, of her happiness with her second husband, though
the wife was so much older than Colonel Esmond. To see them together,
was delightful, she had heard. Their attachment was celebrated all
through the country. To talk of disparity in marriages was vain after
that. My Lady Castlewood and her two children held their peace
THE VIEGINIANS. 127
whilst Madame Bernstein prattled. Harry was enraptured, and Maria
surprised. Lord Castlewood was puzzled to know what sudden freak
or scheme had occasioned this prodigious amiability on the part of his
aunt ; but did not allow the slightest expression of solicitude or doubt
to appear on his countenance, which wore every mark of the most perfect
satisfaction.
The Baroness's good humour infected the whole family ; not one person
at table escaped a gracious word from her. In reply to some compliment
to Mr. Will, when that artless youth uttered an expression of satisfaction
and surprise at his aunt's behaviour, she frankly said : '* Complimentary,
my dear ! Of course I am. I want to make up with you for having
been exceedingly rude to every body this morning. "When I was a
child, and my father and mother were alive, and lived here, I remember
I used to adopt exactly the same behaviour. If I had been naughty in
the morning, I used to try and coax my parents at night. I remember
in this very room, at this very table — 0, ever so many hundred years
ago ! — so coaxing my father, and mother, and your grandfather, Harry
Warrington: and there were eels for supper, as we have had them
to-night, and it was that dish of collared eels which brought the cir-
cumstance back to my mind. I had been just as wayward that day,
when I was seven years old, as I am to-day, when I am seventy, and
so I confess my sins, and ask to be forgiven, like a good girl."
** I absolve your ladyship ! " cried the chaplain, who made one of the
party.
*' But your reverence does not know how cross and ill-tempered I was.
I scolded my sister, Castlewood: I scolded her children, I boxed Harry
Warrington's ears, and all because he would not go with me to Tunbridge
Wells."
<< But I will go, madam, I will ride with you with all the pleasure in
life," said Mr. Warrington.
" You see, Mr. Chaplain, what good, dutiful children they all are.
'Twas I alone who was cross and peevish. 0, it was cruel of me to treat
them so ! Maria, I ask your pardon, my dear."
''Sure, madam j you have done me no wrong!" says Maria to this
humble suppliant.
*' Indeed, I have, a very great wrong, child! Because I was weary of
myself, I told you that your company would be wearisome to me. You
offered to come with me to Tunbridge, and I rudely refused you."
" Xay, ma'am, if you were sick, and my presence annoyed you. . . "
" But it will not annoy me ! You were most kind to say you would
come. I do, of all things, beg, pray, entreat, implore, command that
you will come."
My lord filled himself a glass, and sipped it. Most utterly uncon-
scious did his lordsliip look. This, then, was the meaning of the previous
comedy.
'* Anything which can give my Aunt pleasure, I am sure, will delight
mo," said Maria, trying to look as happy as possible.
12S THE VIEGINIAXS.
"You must come and stay with me, my dear, and I promise to be
good and good-humoured. My dear lord, you will spare your sister
to me ? "
" Lady Maria Esmond is quite of age to judge for herself about such
a matter," said his lordship, with a bow. " If any of us can be of use
to you, madam, you sure ought to command us." Which sentence,
being interpreted, no doubt meant, " Plague take the old woman!
She is taking Maria away in order to separate her from this young
Yirginian."
*' 0, Tunbridge will be delightful ! " sighed Lady Maria.
" Mr. Sampson will go and see Goody Jones for you," my lord con-
tinued. Harry drew pictures with his finger on the table. What
delights had he not been speculating on ? What walks, what rides,
what interminable conversations, what delicious shrubberies and sweet
sequestered summer-houses, what poring over music-books, what moon-
light, what billing and cooing, had he not imagined ! Yes, the day
was coming. They were all departing — my Lady Castlewood to her
friends, Madame Bernstein to her waters — and he was to be left alone
with his divine charmer — alone with her and unutterable rapture!
The thought of the pleasure was maddening. That these people were
all going away. That he was to be left to enjoy that Heaven — to sit at
the feet of that angel and kiss the hem of that white robe. Gods I
'twas too great bliss to be real! "I knew it couldn't be," thought
poor Harry. ** I knew something would happen to take her from me."
" But you will ride with us to Tunbridge, Nephew Warrington, and
keep us from the highwaymen," said Madame de Bernstein.
Harry Warrington hoped the company did not see how red he grew.
He tried to keep his voice calm and without tremor. Yes, he would
ride with their ladyships, and he was sure they need fear no danger.
Danger ! Harry felt he would rather like danger than not. He would
slay ten thousand highwaymen if they approached his mistress's coach.
At least, he would ride by that coach, and now and again see her eyes
at the window. He might not speak to her ; but he should be near her.
He should press the blessed hand at the inn at night, and feel it reposing
on his as he led her to the carriage at morning. They would be two
whole days going to Tunbridge, and one day or two he might stay there.
Is not the poor wretch who is left for execution at Newgate thankful for
even two or three days of respite ?*
You see, we have only indicated, we have not chosen to describe, at
length, Mr. Harry Warrington's condition, or that utter depth of imbe-
cility into which the poor young wretch was now plunged. Some boys
have the complaint of love favourably and gently. Others, when they
get the fever, are sick unto death with it ; or, recovering, carry the
marks of the malady down with them to the grave, or to remotest old
age. I say, it is not fair to take down a young fellow's words when he
is raging in that delirium. Suppose he is in love with a woman twice
as old as himself, have we not all read of the young gentleman whe
THE VIRGINIAXS. 129'
committed suicide in consequence of his fatal passion for Mademoiselle
Ninon de I'Enclos, who turned out to be his grandmother ? Suppose
thou art making an ass of thyself, young Harry Warrington, of Virginia I
are there not people in England who heehaw, too ? Kick and abuse
him, you who have never brayed ; but bear with him, all honest fellow-
cardophagi ; long-eared messmates, recognise a brother donkey !
** You will stay with us for a day or two at the Wells," Madame
Bernstein continued. " You will see us put into our lodgings. Then
you can return to Castlewood and the partridge-shooting, and all the
fine things which you and my lord are to study together."
Harry bowed an acquiescence. A whole week of Heaven ! Life was
not altogether a blank, then.
" And as there is sure to be plenty of company at the Wells, I shall
be able to present you," the lady graciously added.
" Company ! Ah ! I shan't need company," sighed out Harry. " I mean
that I sliall be quite contented in the company of you two ladies," he
added, eagerly; and no doubt Mr. Will wondered at his cousin's taste.
As this was to be the last night of Cousin Harry's present visit to
Castlewood, Cousin Will suggested that he, and his Eeverence, and
Warrington should meet at the quarters of the latter and make up
accounts ; to which process, Harr}', being a considerable winner in his
play transactions with the two gentlemen, had no objection. Accord-
ingly, when the ladies retired for the night, and my lord withdrew — as
his custom was — to his own apartments, the three gentlemen all found
themselves assembled in Mr. Harry's little room before the punch-bowl,
which was AVill's usual midnight companion.
But Will's method of settling accounts was by producing a couple of
fresh packs of cards, and offering to submit Harry's debt to the process
of being doubled or acquitted. The poor chaplain had no more ready cash
than Lord Castlewood's younger brother. Harry Warrington wanted to
win the money of neither. Would he give pain to the brother of his
adored Maria, or allow any one of her near kinsfolk to tax him with any
want of generosity or forbearance ? He was ready to give them their
revenge, as the gentlemen proposed. Up to midnight he would play
with them for what stakes they chose to name. And so they set to work,
and the dice-box was rattled and the cards shuffled and dealt.
Yery likely he did not think about the cards at all. Yery likely ho
was thinking ; — * At this moment, my beloved one is sitting with her
beauteous golden locks outspread under the fingers of her maid. Happy
maid I Now she is on her knees, the sainted creature, addressing prayers
to that Heaven which is the abode of angels like her. Now she has
sunk to rest behind her damask curtains. bless, bless her ! ' ** You
double us all round ? I will take a card upon each of my two. Thank
you, that will do — a ten — now, upon the other, a queen— two natural
vingt-et-uns, and as you doubled us, you owe me so and so."
I imagine volleys of oaths from Mr. William, and brisk pattering of
imprecations from his Eeverence, at the young Virginian's luck. He
130 THE TIRGINIAIs^S.
won because he did not want to win. Fortune, that notoriously
coquettish jade, came to him because he was thinking of another nymph,
who possibly was as fickle. Yv^ill and the chaplain may have played
against him, solicitous constantly to increase their stakes, and sup-
posing that the wealthy Virginian wished to let them recover all their
losings. But this was by no means Harry Warrington's notion.
When he was at home he had taken a part in scores of such games as
these (whereby we may be led to suppose that he kept many little cir-
cumstances of his life mum from his lady mother), and had learned to
play and pay. And as he practised fair play towards his friends, he
expected it from them in return.
" The luck does seem to be with me. Cousin," he said, in reply to
some more oaths and growls of Will, " and I am sure I do not want to
press it ; but you don't suppose I am going to be such a fool as to fling
it away altogether ? I have quite a heap of your promises on paper by
this time. If we are to go on playing, let us have the dollars on the
table, if you please ; or, if not the money— the worth of it."
"Always the way with you rich men," grumbled Will. "Never
lend except on security — always win because you are rich."
" Faith, Cousin, you have been of late for ever flinging my riches into
my face. I have enough for my wants and for my creditors."
" that we could all say as much," groaned the chaplain. "How
happy we, and how happy the duns would be I What have we got
to play against our conqueror ? There is my new gown, Mr. Warrington,
Will you set me five pieces against it ? I have but to preach in stuff
if I lose. Stop ! I have a Chrysostom, a Fox's Martyrs, a Baker's
Chronicle, and a cow and her calf. What shall we set against
these?"
" I will bet one of Cousin Will's notes for twenty pounds," cried
Mr. Warrington, producing one of those documents.
" Or I have my brown mare, and will back her red against your
honour's notes of hand, but against ready money."
"I have my horse. I will back my horse against you for fifty!"
bawls out Will.
Harry took the offers of both gentlemen. In the course of ten
minutes the horse and the bay mare had both changed owners. Cousin
William swore more fiercely than ever. The parson dashed his wig
to the ground, and emulated his pupil in the loudness of his objurga-
tions. Mr. Harry Warrington was quite calm, and not the least elated
by his triumph. They had asked him to play, and he had played. He
knew he should win. beloved slumbering angel! he thought, ara
I not sure of victory when you are kind to me ? He was locking out
from his window towards the casement on the opposite side of the court,
which he knew to be hers. He had forgot about his victims and their
groans, and ill-luck, ere they crossed the court. Under yonder brilliant
flickering star, behind yonder casement where the lamp was burning
faintly, was his joy, and heart, and treasure.
THE nr.GIXIA^^S. 131
CHAPTER XX.
FACILIS DESCEK'SUS.
Whilst the good old Bishop of Cambray, in his romance lately men-
tioned, described the disconsolate condition of Calypso at the departure
of Ulysses, I forget whether he mentioned the grief of Calypso's lady's-
maid on taking leave of Odysseus's own gentleman. The menials must
have wept together in the kitchen precincts whilst the master and
mistress took a last wild embrace in the drawing-room ; they must have
hung round each other in the fore-cabin, whilst their principals broke
their hearts in the grand- saloon. When the bell rang for the last time,
and Ulysses's mate bawled, "Now! anyone for shore!" Calypso and
her female attendant must have both walked over the same plank, with
beating hearts and streaming eyes ; both must have waved pocket-
handkerchiefs (of far different value and texture) as they stood on the
quay to their friends on the departing vessel, whilst the people on the
land and the crew crowding in the ship's bows shouted. Hip, hip,
huzzay (or whatever may be the equivalent Greek for the salutation)
to all engaged on that voyage. But the point to be remembered is, that
if Calypso ne jiouvait se consoler, Calypso's maid ne pouvait se coiisoler
nan plus. They had to walk the same plank of grief, and feel the same
pang of separation ; on their return home, th^y might not use pocket-
handkerchiefs of the same texture and value, but the tears, no doubt,
were as salt and plentiful which one shed in her marble halls, and the
other poured forth in the servants' ditto.
Not only did Harry Warrington leave Castlewood a victim to love,
but Gumbo quitted the same premises, a prey to the same delightful
passion. His wit, accomplishments, good-humour ; his skill in dancing,
cookery, and music ; had endeared him to the whole female domestic
circle. More than one of the men might be jealous of him, but the
ladies all were with him. There was no such objection to the poor
black men then in England as has obtained since among white- skinned
people. Theirs was a condition not perhaps of equality, but they had
a sufferance and a certain grotesque sympathy from all ; and from
women, no doubt, a kindness much more generous. When Ledyard
and Parke, in Blackmansland, were persecuted by the men, did they
not find the black women pitiful and kind to them ? Women are
always kind towards our sex. What (mental) negroes do they not
cherish ? what (moral) hunchblacks do they not adore ? wliat lepers,
what idiots, what dull drivellers, what misshapen -monsters (I speak
figuratively) do they not fondle and cuddle? Gumbo was treated by
the women as kindly as many people no better than himself : it was
only the men in the servants' hall who rejoiced at the Virginian lad's
departure. I should like to see him taking leave. I should like to
K 2
152 THE YIRGINIANS.
see Molly housemaid stealing to the terrace-gardens in the grey dawn-
ing to cull a wistful posy. I should like to see Betty kitchenmaid
cutting off a thick lock of her chestnut ringlets which she proposed to
exchange for a woolly token from young Gumbo's pate. Of course he
said he was return progenies, a descendant of Ashantee kings. In
Caffraria, Connaught, and other places now inhabited hy hereditary
bondsmen, there must have been vast numbers of these potent sovereigns
in former times, to judge from their descendants now extant.
At the morning announced for Madame de Bernstein's departure, all
the numerous domestics of Castlewood crowded about the doors and
passages, some to have a last glimpse of her ladyship's men, and the
fascinating Gumbo, some to take leave of her ladyship's maid, all to
waylay the Baroness and her nephew for parting-fees, which it was
the custom of that day largely to distribute among household servants.
One and the other gave liberal gratuities to the liveried society,
to the gentlemen in black and ruffies, and to the swarm of female
attendants. Castlewood was the home of the Baroness's youth, and as
ibr her honest Harry, who had not only lived at free charges in the
house, but had won horses and money — or promises of money — from
his cousin and the unlucky chaplain, he was naturally of a generous
furn, and felt that at this moment he ought not to stint his benevolent
disposition. "My mother, I know," he thought, "will wish me to be
liberal to all the retainers of the Esmond family." So he scattered
about his gold pieces to right and left, and as if he had been as rich as
Gumbo announced him td be. There was no one who came near him
but had a share in his bounty. From the major-domo to the shoe-black,
— Mr. Harry had a peace-offering for them all. To the grim house-
keeper in her still-room, to the feeble old porter in his lodge, he distri-
buted some token of his remembrance. \ When a man is in love with one
woman in a family, it is astonishing how fond he becomes of every
person connected with it. iHe ingratiates himself with the maids; he
is bland with the butler ; he interests himself about the footman ; he
runs on errands for the daughters ; he gives advice and lends money to
the young son at college ; he pats little dogs which he would kick other-
wise; he smiles at old stories which would make him break out in
yawns, were they uttered by any one but papa ; he drinks sweet port
wine for which he would curse the steward and the whole committee of
a club; he bears even with the cantankerous old maiden aunt; he
beats time when darling little Fanny performs her piece on the piano ;
and smiles when wicked, lively little Bobby upsets the coffee over his
shirt.
Harry "Warrington, in his way, and according to the customs of that
age, had for a brief time past (by which I conclude that only for a brief
time had his love been declared and accepted) given to the Castlewood
family all these artless testimonies of his affection for one of them.
Cousin Will should have won back his money and welcome, or have
wou as much of Harry's own as the lad could spare. Nevertheless,
THE YIECtIXIAXS. 133
the lad, though a lover, was slirewd, keen, and fond of sport and fair
play, and a judge of a good horse when he saw one. Having played
for and won all the money which "Will had, besides a great number
of Mr. Esmond's valuable autographs, Harry was very well pleased
to win "Will's brown horse — that very quadruped ■which had nearly
pushed him into the water on the first evening of his arrival at Castle-
wood. He had seen the horse's performance often, and, in the midst
of all his passion and romance, was not sorry to be possessed of such
a sound, swift, well-bred hunter and roadster. "When he had gazed
at the stars sufficiently as they shone over his mistress's window, and
put her candle to bed, he repaired to his own dormitory, and there, no
doubt, thought of his Maria and his horse with youthful satisfaction,
and how sweet it would be to have one pillioned on the other, and to
make the tour of all the island on such an animal with such a pair of
white arms round his waist. He fell asleep ruminating on these things,
and meditating a million of blessings on his Maria, in whose company he
was to luxuriate at least for a week more.
In the early morning poor Chaplain Sampson sent over his little
black mare by the hands of his groom, footman, and gardener, who
wept and bestowed a great number of kisses on the beast's white nose
as he handed him over to Gumbo. Gumbo and his master were both
affected by the fellow's sensibility ; the negro servant showing his
sympathy by weeping, and Harry by producing a couple of guineas,
with which he astonished and speedily comforted the chaplain's boy.
Then Gumbo and the late groom led the beast away to the stable,
having commands to bring him round with Mr. "William's horse
after breakfast, at the hour when Madame Bernstein's carriages were
ordered.
So courteous was he to his aunt, or so grateful for her departure,
that the master of the house even made his appearance at the morning
meal, in order to take leave of his guests. The ladies and the chaplain
were present — the only member of the family absent was Will : who, how-
ever, left a note for his cousin, in which "Will stated, in exceedingly bad
spelling, that he was obliged to go away to Salisbury races that morning,
but that he had left the horse which his cousin won last night, and which
Tom, Mr. "Weill's groom, would hand over to Mr. "Warrington's servant.
"Will's absence did not prevent the rest of the party from drinking a dish
of tea amicably, and in due time the carriages rolled into the courtyard,
the servants packed them with the Baroness's multiplied luggage, and
the moment of departure arrived.
A large open landau contained the stout Baroness and her niece ; a
couple of men-servants mounting on the box before them with pistols
and blunderbusses ready in event of a meeting with highwaymen. In
another carriage were their ladyships' maids, and another servant in
guard of the trunks, which, vast and numerous as they were, were as
nothing compared to the enormous baggage-train accompanying a lady
of the present time. Mr. "Warrington's modest valises were placed in
134 THE VIRGINIANS.
tkis second carriage under tlic maids' guardianship, and Mr. Gambo
proposed to jide by tlie window for the chief part of the journey.
My lord, "uith his step-mother and Lady Fanny, accompanied their
kinswoman to the carriage-steps, and bade her farewell with many
dutiful embraces. Her Lady Maria followed in a riding- dress, which
Harry Warrington thought the most becoming costume in the world.
A host of servants stood around, and begged Heaven bless her ladyship.
The Baroness's departure was known in the village, and scores of the
folks there stood waiting under the trees outside the gates, and huzzayed
and waved their hats as the ponderous vehicles rolled away.
Gumbo was gone for Mr. Warrington's horses, as my lord, with his
arm under his young guest's, paced up and down the court. ** I hear
you carry away some of our horses out of Castle wood ? " my lord said.
Harry blushed. ** A gentleman cannot refuse a fair game at the
cards," he said. " I never wanted to play, nor would have played for
money, had not my Cousin William force dme. As for the chaplain, it
went to my heart to win from him, but he was as eager as my cousin."
''Iknow — I know I There is no blame to you, my boy. At Rome,
you can't help doing as Eome does ; and I am very glad that you have
been able to give Will a lesson. He is mad about play — would gamble
his coat off his back — and I and the family have had to pay his debts
ever so many times. May I ask how much you have won of him ?"
''Well, some eighteen pieces the first day or two, and his note for a
hundred and twenty more, and the brown horse, sixty — that makes nigh
upon two hundred. But, you know. Cousin, all was fair, and it was even
against my will that we played at all, Will ain't a match for me, my
lord — that is the fact. Indeed he is not."
'' He is a match for most people, though," said my lord. '' His brown
horse, T think you said ? "
"Yes. His brown horse — Prince William, out of Constitution. You
don't suppose I would set him sixty against his bay, my lord ? "
" 0, I didn't know. I saw Will riding out this morning, most likely
I did not remark what horse he was on. And you won the black mare
from the parson ? "
" For fourteen. He will mount Gumbo very well. Why does not
the rascal come round with the horses ? " Harry's mind was away to
lovely Maria. He longed to be trotting by her side.
"When you get to Tunbridge, Cousin Harry, you must be on the
look-out against sharper players than the chaplain and Will. There is
all sorts of queer company at the Wells."
" A Virginian learns pretty early to take care of himself, my lord,"
says Harry, with a knowing nod.
"So it seems ! I recommend my sister to thee, Harry. Although
she is not a baby in years, she is as innocent as one. Thou will see that
she comes to no mischief ? "
" I will guard her with my life, my lord ! " cries Harry.
" Thou art a brave fellow. By the way, Cousin, unless you are very
THE YIIIGIXIAXS. 135
fond of Castlewood, I would in your case not be in a great hurry to
return to this lonely, tumble-down old house. I want myself to go to
another place I have, and shall scarce be back here till the partridge-
shooting. Go you and take charge of the women, of my sister and the
Baroness, will you ? "
"Indeed I will," said Harry, his heart beating with happiness at the
thought.
'' And I will write thee word when you shall bring my sister back to
me. Here come the horses. Have you bid adieu to the Countess and
Lady Fanny ? They are kissing their hands to you from the music-
room balcony."
Harry ran up to bid these ladies a farewell. He made that ceremony
very brief, for he was anxious to be off to the charmer of his heart ; and
came down-stairs to mount his newly-gotten steed, which Gumbo, himself
astride on the parson's black mare, held by the rein.
There was Gumbo on the black mare, indeed, and holding another
horse. But it was a bay horse, not a brown — a bay horse with broken
knees — an aged, worn-out quadruped.
*' What is this ? " cries Harry.
*' Your honour's new horse," says the groom, touching his cap.
*' This brute ?" exclaims the young gentleman, with one or more of
those expressions then in use in England and Yirginia. " Go and bring
me round Prince William — Mr. William's horse — the brown horse."
"Mr. William have rode Prince William this morning away to Salis-
bury races. His last words was, * Sam, saddle my bay horse, Cato, for
Mr. Warrington this morning. He is Mr. Warrington's horse now. I
sold him to him last night.' And I know your honour is bountiful : you
will consider the groom."
My lord could not help breaking into a laugh at these words of Sam
the groom, whilst Harry, for his part, indulged in a number more of
those remarks which politeness does not admit of our inserting here.
" Mr. William said he never could think of parting with the Prince
under a hundred and twenty," said the groom, looking at the young
man.
Lord Castlewood only laughed the more. " Will has been too much
for thee, Harry Warrington."
" Too much for me, my lord ! So may a fellow with loaded dice throw
sixes, and be too much for me. I do not call this betting, I call it ch— "
"Mr. Warrington! Spare me bad words about my brother, if you
please ! Depend on it, I will take care that you are righted. Farewell.
Eide quickly, or your coaches will be at Farnham before you : " and
waving him an adieu, my lord entered into the house, whilst Harry and
his companion rode out of the courtyard. The young Virginian was
much too eager to rejoin the carriages and his charmer, to remark the
glances of unutterable love and affection which Gumbo shot from his fine
eyes towards a young creature in the porter's lodge.
When the youth was gone, the chaplain and my lord sate down to finish
136 THE VIRGINIANS.
their breakfast in peace and comfort. The two ladies did not return to
this meal.
" That was one of Will's confounded rascally tricks," says my lord.
** If our Cousin breaks Will's head, I should not wonder."
** He is used to the operation, my lord, and yet," adds the chaplain,
with a grin, " when we were playing last night, the colour of the horse
was not mentioned. I could not escape, having but one : and the black
boy has ridden off on him. The young Virginian plays like a man, to
do him justice."
*' He wins because he does not care about losing. I think there can
be little doubt but that he is very well to do. His mother's law- agents
are my lawyers, and they write that the property is quite a principality,
and grows richer every year."
"If it were a kingdom, I know whom Mr. Warrington would make
queen of it," said the obsequious chaplain.
" Who can account for taste, parson ? " asks his lordship, with a
sneer. " All men are so. The first woman I was in love with myself
was forty ; and as jealous as if she had been fifteen. It runs in the
family. Colonel Esmond (he in scarlet and the breastplate yonder) mar-
ried my grandmother, who was almost old enough to be his. If this
lad chooses to take out an elderlv princess to Virginia, we must not
balk him."
" 'Twere a consummation devoutly to be wished! " cries the chaplain.
** Had I not best go to Tunbridge Wells myself, my lord, and be on the
spot, and ready to exercise my sacred function in behalf of the young
couple ? "
'* You shall have a pair of new nags, parson, if you do," said my
lord. And with this we leave them peaceable over a pipe of tobacco after
breakfast.
Harry was in such a haste to join the carriages that he almost forgot
to take off his hat, and acknowledge the cheers of the Castlewood vil-
lagers : they all liked the lad, whose frank, cordial ways and honest face
got him a welcome in most places. Legends were still extant in Castle-
wood of his grand-parents, and how his grandfather, Colonel Esmond,
might have been Lord Castlewood, but would not. Old Lockwood at the
gate, often told of the Colonel's gallantry in Queen Anne's wars. His
feats were exaggerated, the behaviour of the present family was con-
trasted with that of the old lord and lady : who might not have been
very popular in their time, but were better folks than those now in pos-
session. Lord Castlewood was a hard landlord : perhaps more disliked
because he was known to be poor and embarrassed than because he was
severe. As for Mr. Will, nobody was fond of him. The young gentleman
had had many brawls and quarrels about the village, had received and
given broken heads, had bills in the neighbouring towns which he could
not or would not pay : had been arraigned before magistrates for tam-
pering with village girls, and waylaid and cudgelled by injured husbands^
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 137
fathers, sweethearts. A hundred years ago his character and actions
might have been described at length by the painter of manners : but the
Comic Muse, now-a-days, does not lift up Molly Seagrim's curtain ; she
only indicates the presence of some one behind it, and passes on primly,
with expressions of horror, and a fan before her eyes. The village had
heard how the young Virginian squire had beaten Mr. "Will at riding, at
jumping, at shooting, and finally, at card-playing, for everything is
known ; and they respected Harry all the more for this superiority.
Above all, they admired him on account of the reputation of enormous
wealth which Gumbo had made for his master. This fame had travelled
over the whole county, and was preceding him at this moment on the
boxes of Madame Bernstein's carriages, from which the valets, as they
descended at the inns to bait, spread astounding reports of the young
Yirginian's rank and splendour. He was a prince in his own country.
He had gold mines, diamond mines, furs, tobaccos, — who knew what, or
how much ? No wonder the honest Britons cheered him and respected
him for his prosperity, as the noble-hearted fellows always do. I am
surprised city corporations did not address him, and offer gold boxes with
the freedom of the city — he was so rich. Ah, a proud thing it is to be a
Briton, and think that there is no country where prosperity is so much
respected as in ours ; and where success receives such constant afiecting
testimonials of loyalty.
So, leaving the villagers bawling, and their hats tossing in the air,
Harry spurred his sorry beast, and galloped, with Gumbo behind him,
until he came up with the cloud of dust in the midst of which his charmer's
chariot was enveloped. Penetrating into this cloud, he found himself at
the window of the carriage. The Lady Maria had the back seat to
herself; by keeping a little behind the wheels, he could have the delight
of seeing her divine eyes and smiles. She held a finger to her lip»
Madame Bernstein was already dozing on her cushions. Harry did not
care to disturb the old lady. To look at his cousin was bliss enough
for him. The landscape around him might be beautiful, but what did
he heed it ? All the skies and trees of summer were as nothing compared
to yonder face : the hedgerow birds sang no such sweet music as her
sweet monosyllables.
The Baroness's fat horses were accustomed to short journeys, easy
paces, and plenty of feeding ; so that, ill as Harry "Warrington was
mounted, he could without much difficulty keep pace with his elderly
kinswoman. At two o'clock they baited for a couple of hours for dinner.
Mr. Warrington paid the landlord generously. What price could be toa
great for the pleasure which he enjoyed in being near his adored Maria,
and having the blissful chance of a conversation with her, scarce inter-
rupted by the soft breathing of Madame de Bernstein, who, after a com-
fortable meal, indulged in an agreeable half- hour's slumber ? In voices
soft and low, Maria and her young gentleman talked over and over
again those delicious nonsenses which people in Harry's condition never
tire of hearing and uttering.
138 TIIE VIKGINIANS.
They were going to a crowded watering-place, where all sorts of beauty
and fashion would be assembled ; timid Maria was certaiu that amongst
the young beauties, Harry would discover some, whose charms were far
more worthy to occupy his attention, than any her homely face and
figure could boast of. By all the gods, Harry vowed, that Venus herself
could not tempt him from her side. It was he who for his part had
occasion to fear. When the young men of fashion beheld his peerless
Maria they would crowd round her car ; they would cause her to forget
the rough and humble American lad who knew nothing of fashion or
wit, who had only a faithful heart at her service.
Maria smiles, she casts her eyes to Heaven, she vows that Harry
knows nothing of the truth and fidelity of woman ; it is his sex, on the
contrary, which proverbially is faithless, and which delights to play
with poor female hearts. A scuffle ensues ; a clatter is heard among
the knives and forks of the dessert ; a glass tumbles over and breaks.
An'^O!" escapes from the innocent lips of Maria. The disturbance
has been caused by the broad cuff of Mr. Warrington's coat, which has
been stretched across the table to seize Lady Maria's hand, and has
upset the wine-glass in so doing. Surely nothing could be more natural,
or indeed necessary, than that Harry, upon hearing his sex's honour
impeached, should seize upon his fair accuser's hand, and vow eternal
fidelity upon those charming fingers ?
What a part they play, or used to play, in love-making, those hands !
How quaintly they are squeezed at that period of life ! How they are
pushed into conversation ! what absurd vows and protests are palmed off
by their aid ! What good can there be in pulling and pressing a thumb
and four fingers ? I fancy I see Alexis laugh, who is haply reading
this page by the side of Araminta. To talk about thumbs indeed ! . . .
Maria looks round, for her part, to see if Madame Bernstein has been
awakened by the crash of the glass ; but the old lady slumbers quite
calmly in her arm-chair, so her niece thinks there can be no harm in
yielding to Harry's gentle pressure.
The horses are put to : Paradise is over — at least until the next
occasion. When my landlord enters with the bill, Harry is standing
quite at a distance from his cousin, looking from the window at the
cavalcade gathering below. Madame Bernstein wakes up from her
slumber, smiling and quite unconscious. With what profound care and
reverential politeness Mr. Warrington hands his aunt to her carriage !
how demure and simple looks Lady Maria as she follows ! Away go the
carriages, in the midst of a profoundly bowing landlord and waiters ;
■ of country folks gathered round the blazing inn-sign ; of shopmen
gazing from their homely little doors ; of boys and market-folks under
the colonnade of the old town-hall ; of loungers along the gabled street.
** It is the famous Baroness Bernstein. That is she, the old lady in the
capuchin. It is the rich young American who is just come from Vir-
ginia, and is worth millions and millions. Well, sure, he might have
a better horse." The cavalcade disappears, and the little town lapses
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 139
into its usual quiet. The landlord goes back to his friends at the club,
to tell how the great folks are going to sleep at the Bush, at Farnham,
to-night.
The inn-dinner had been plentiful, and all the three guests of the inn
had done justice to the good cheer. Harry had the appetite natural to
his period of life. Maria and her aunt were also not indiiferent to a
good dinner: Madame Bernstein had had a comfortable nap after hers,
which had no doubt helped her to bear all the good things of the meal —
the meat pies, and the fruit pies, and the strong ale, and the heady port
wine. She reclined at ease on her seat of the landau, and looked back
affably, and smiled at Harry and exchanged a little talk with him as he
rode by the carriage side. But what ailed the beloved being who sate
with her back to the horses ? Her complexion, which was exceedingly
fair, was farther ornamented with a pair of red cheeks which Harry took
to be natural roses. (You see, madam, that your surmises regarding
the Lady Maria's conduct with her cousin are quite wrong and un-
charitable, and that the timid lad had made no such experiments as you
suppose, in order to ascertain whether the roses were real or artificial.
A kiss indeed ! I blush to think you should imagine that the present
writer could indicate anything so shocking !) Maria's bright red cheeks,
I say still, continued to blush as it seemed with a strange metallic
bloom: but the rest of her face, which had used to rival the lily in
whiteness, became of a jonquil colour. Her eyes stared round with a
ghastly expression. Harry was alarmed at the agony depicted in the
charmer's countenance ; which not only exhibited pain, but was exceed-
ingly unbecoming. Madame Bernstein also at length remarked her
niece's indisposition, and asked her if sitting backwards in the carriage
made her ill, which poor Maria confessed to be the fact. On this,
the elder lady was forced to make room for her niece on her own side,
and, in the course of the drive to Farnliam, uttered many gruff, dis-
agreeable, sarcastic remarks to her fellow-traveller, indicating her great
displeasure that Maria should be so impertinent as to be ill on the first
day of a journey.
When they reached the Bush Inn at Farnham, under which name a
famous inn has stood in Farnham town for these three hundred yearg
— the dear invalid retired with her maid to her bedroom : scarcely
glancing a piteous look at Harry as she retreated, and leaving the lad's
mind in a strange confusion of dismay and sympathy. Those yellow,
yellow cheeks, those livid wrinkled eyelids, that gastly red — how ill his
blessed Maria looked ! And not only how ill, but how — away, horrible
thought, unmanly suspicion ! He tried to shut the idea out from liia
mind. He had little appetite for supper, though the jolly Baroness par-
took of that repast as if she had had no dinner ; and certainly as if she
had no sympathy with her invalid niece.
She sent her major domo to see if Lady Maria would have anything
from the table. The servant brought back word that her ladyship was
still very unwell, and declined any refreshment.
140 THE YIRGINIxVXS.
** I hope she intends to be well to-morrow morning," cried Madame
Bernstein, rapping her little hand on the table. ** I hate people to be ill
in an inn, or on a journey. "Will you play picquet with me, Harry ? "
Harry was happy to be able to play picquet with his aunt. *' That
absurd Maria ! " says Madame Bernstein, drinking from a great glass of
negus, " she takes liberties with herself. She never had a good consti-
tution. She is forty-one years old. All her upper teeth are false, and
she can't eat with them. Thank Heaven, I have still got every tooth in
my head. How clumsily you deal, child ! "
**Deal clumsily, indeed!" Had a dentist been extracting Harry's
own grinders at that moment, would he have been expected to mind
his cards, and deal them neatly ? When a man is laid on the rack at
the inquisition, is it natural that he should smile and speak politely and
coherently to the grave, quiet Inquisitor ? Beyond that little question
regarding the cards, Harry's Inquisitor did not show the smallest dis-
turbance. Her face indicated neither surprise, nor triumph, nor cruelty.
Madame Bernstein did not give one more stab to her niece that night :
but she played at cards, and prattled with Harry, indulging in her
favourite talk about old times, and parting from him with great cor-
diality and good humour. Very likely he did not heed her stories.
Very likely other thoughts occupied his mind. Maria is forty -one years
old, Maria has false — 0, horrible, horrible ! Has she a false eye ? Has
she false hair ? Has she a wooden leg ? I envy not that boy's dreams
that night.
Madame Bernstein, in the morning, said she had slept as sound as a
top. She had no remorse, that was clear. (Some folks are happy and
easy in mind when their victim is stabbed and done for.) Lady Maria
made her appearance at the breakfast table, too. Her ladyship's indis-
position was fortunately over : her aunt congratulated her affectionately
on her good looks. She sate down to her breakfast. She looked appeai-
ingly in Harry's face. He remarked, with his usual brilliancy and
originality, that he was very glad her ladyship was better. AVhy, at
the tone of his voice, did she start, and again gaze at him with
frightened eyes ? There sate the Chief Inquisitor, smiling, perfectly
calm, eating ham and muffins. 0, poor writhing, rack-rent victim!
0, stony Inquisitor ! 0, Baroness Bernstein I It was cruel ! cruel !
Round about Farnham the hops were gloriously green in the sunshine,
and the carriages drove through the richest, most beautiful country.
Maria insisted upon taking her old seat. She thanked her dear aunt. It
would not in the least incommode her now. She gazed, as she had
done yesterday, in the face of the young knight riding by the carriage
side. She looked for those answering signals which used to be lighted
up in yonder two windows, • and told that love was burning within.
She smiled gently at him, to which token of regard he tried to answer
with a sickly grin of recognition. Miserable youth ! Those were not
false teeth he saw when she smiled. He thought they were, and they
tore and lacerated him.
THE VIRGINIANS. 141
Aud so the day sped on — sunshiny and brilliant overhead, but all over
clouds for Harry and Maria. He saw nothing : he thought of Virginia :
he remembered how he had been in love with Parson Broadbent's
daughter at Jamestown, and how quickly that business had ended. He
longed vaguely to be at home again. A plague on all these cold-hearted
English relations ! Did they not all mean to trick him ? "Were they not
all scheming against him ? Had not that confounded Will cheated him
about the horse ?
At this very juncture, Maria gave a scream so loud and shrill, that
Madame Bernstein woke, that the coachman pulled his horses up, and
the footman beside him sprang down from his box in a panic.
"Let me out! let me out!" screamed Maria. "Let me go to him!
let me go to him ! "
" What is it ? " asked the Baroness.
It was that Will's horse had come down on his knees and nose, had
sent his rider over his head, and Mr. Harry, who ought to have known
better, was lying on his own face quite motionless.
Gumbo, who had been dallying with the maids of the second carriage,
clattered up, and mingled his howls with Lady Maria's lamentations.
Madame Bernstein descended from her landau, and came slowly up,
trembling a good deal.
" He is dead — he is dead! " sobbed Maria.
" Don't be a goose, Maria ! " her aunt said. " Ring at that gate,
some one ! "
Will's horse had gathered himself up and stood perfectly quiet after
his feat : but his late rider gave not the slightest sign of life.
CHAPTEE XXI.
SAMABITANS.
Lest any tender-hearted reader should be in alarm for Mr. Harry
Warrington's safety, and fancy that his broken-kneed horse had carried
him altogether out of this life and history, let us set her mind easy at
the beginning of this chapter, by assuring her that nothing very serious
has happened. How can we afibrd to kill off our heroes, when they are
scarcely out of their teens, and we have not reached the age of manhood
of the story ? We are in mourning already for one of our Virginians,
who has come to grief in America ? Surely we cannot kill off the other
in England ? No, no. Heroes are not dispatched with such hurry and
violence unless there is a cogent reason for making away with them.
Were a gentleman to perish every time a horse came down with him,
not only the hero, but the author of this chronicle would have gone
under ground, whereas the former is but sprawling outside it, and will
be brought to life again as soon as he has been carried into the house
where Madame de Bernstein's servants have rung the bell.
142 THE \7RGIXIAXS.
And to convince you that at least this youngest of the Virginians ia
still alive, here is an authentic copy of a letter from the lady into
whose house he was taken after his fall from Mr. Will's brute of a
broken-kneed horse, and in whom he appears to have found a kind
friend.
TO MRS. ESM0:N'D WARRINGTON, OF CASTLEWOOD,
AT HER HOUSE AT RICHMOND, IN VIRGINIA.
If Mrs. Esmond Warrington of Virginia can call to mind twenty-
three years ago, when Miss Eachel Esmond was at Kensington Boarding
School, she may perhaps remember Miss Molly Benson, her class-mate,
who has forgotten all the little quarrels which they used to have
together (in which Miss Molly was very often in the wrong), and only
remembers the (/enerouSf high-spirited, sprightly, Miss Eshond, the
Princess Pocahontas, to whom so many of our school-fellows paid
court.
Dear Madam ! I can never forget that you were dear Rachel once
upon a time, as I was your dearest Molly. Though we parted not very
good friends when you went home to Virginia, yet you know how fond
we once were. I still, Pachel, have the gold Stui your papa gave me
when he came to our speech-day at Kensington, and we two performed
the quarrel of Brutus and Cassius out of Shakspeare ; and 'twas only
'yesterday morning I was dreaming that we were both called up to say
our lesson before the awful Miss Hardwood, and that I did not know it,
and that as usual Miss Rachel Esmond went above me. How well
remembered those old days are ! How young we grow as we think of
them ! I remember our walks and our exercises, our good King and
Q,ueen as they walked in Kensington Gardens, and their court following
them, whilst we of Miss Hardwood's school curtsied in a row. I can
tell still what we had for dinner on each day of the week, and point to
the place where your garden was, which was always so much better
kept than mine. So was Miss Esmond's chest of drawers a model of
neatness, whilst mine were in a sad condition. Do you remember how
we used to tell stories in the dormitory, and Madame Hibou, the
French governess, would come out of bed and interrupt us with her
hooting? Have you forgot the poor dancing master, who told us he
had been waylaid by assassins, but who was beaten, it appears, by my
lord your brother's footmen ? My dear, your cousin, the lady Maria
Esmond (her papa was, I think, but Viscount Castlewood in those
times), has just been on a visit to this house, where you may be sure
I did not recall those sad times to her remembrance, about which I am
now chattering to Mrs. Esmond.
Her ladyship has been staying here, and another relative of yours,
the Baroness of Bernstein, and the two ladies are both gone on to
Tunbridge Wells ; but another and dearer relative still remains in my
house, and is sound asleep, I trust, in the very next room, and the
name of this gentleman is Mr. Henry Esmond Warrington, Kow, do
fi UNIVERSITY ,
THE YIEGINIANSV ^ ^^ v». 4/ 1^3
you understand how you come to hear from an old friend ? Do not be
alarmed, dear Madam! I know you are thinking at this moment,
* My boy is ill. That is why Miss Molly Benson writes to me.' No,
my dear ; Mr. Warrington was ill yesterday, but to-day he is very
comfortable ; and our Doctor, who is no less a person than my dear
husband, Colonel Lambert, has blooded him, has set his shoulder, which
was dislocated, and pronounces that in two days more Mr. "Warrington
will be quite ready to take the road.
I fear, I and my girls are sorry that he is so soon to be well.
Yesterday evening, as we were at tea, there came a great ringing at our
gate, which disturbed us all, as the bell very seldom sounds in this
quiet place, unless a passing beggar pulls it for charity ; and the
servants, running out, returned with the news, that a young gentleman,
who had a fall from his horse, was lying lifeless on the road, sur-
rounded by the friends in whose company he was travelling. At this,
my Colonel (who is sure the most Samaritan of men !) hastens away,
to see how he can serve the fallen traveller, and presently, with the aid
of the servants, and followed by two ladies, brings into the house such
a pale, lifeless, beautiful, young man ! Ah, my dear, how I rejoice to
think that your child has found shelter and succour under my roof !
that my husband has saved him from pain and fever, and has been the
means of restoring him to you and health ! We shall be friends again
now, shall we not r I was very ill last year, and 'twas even thought I
should die. Do you know, that I often thought cf you then, and how
you had parted from me in anger so many years ago ? I began then a
foolish note to you, which I was too sick to finish, to tell you that if I
went the way appointed for us all, I should wish to leave the world in
charity with every single being I had known in it.
Tour cousin, the Right Honourable Lady Maria Esmond, showed a
great deal of maternal tenderness and concern for her young kinsman
after his accident. I am sure she hath a kind heart. The Baroness
dc Bernstein, who is of an advanced age, could not be expected to feel
so keenly as ice young people ; but was, nevertheless, very much moved
and interested ilntil Mr. Warrington was restored to consciousness,
when she said she was anxious to get on towards Tunbridge, whither she
was bound, and was afraid of all things to lie in a place where there
vras no doctor at hand. My -S^sculapius laughingly said, he would not
offer to attend upon a lady of quality, though he would answer for his
young patient. Indeed, the Colonel, during his campaigns, has had
plenty of practice in accidents of this nature, and I am certain, were
we to call in all the faculty for twenty miles round, Mr. Warrington
could get no better treatment. So, leaving the young gentleman to the
care of me and my daughters, the Baroness and her ladyship took
their leave of us, the latter very loth to go. When he is well enough,
my Colonel will ride with him as far as Westerham, but on his own
horseSy where an old army-comrade of Mr. Lambert's resides. And, as
this letter will not take the post for Falmouth until, by God's blessing,
144 THE VIEGINIANS.
your son is well and perfectly restored, you need be under no sort of
alarm for Mm whilst under the roof of,
Madam,
Your affectionate humble servant,
Maiit Lambeet.
P.S. Thursday. „ „ ?
I am glad to hear (Mr. "Warrington's coloured gentleman hath
informed our people of the gratifyiny circumstance) that Providence
hath blessed Mrs. Esmond with such vast wealth, and with an heir so
liliely to do credit to it. Our present means are amply sufficient, but
will be small when divided amongst our survivors ! Ah, dear Madam !
I have heard of your calamity of last year. Though the Colonel and I
have reared many children (live), we have lost two, and a mother's heart
can feel for yours ! I own to you, mine yearned to your boy to-day,
when (in a manner inexpressibly affecting to me and Mr. Lambert) he
mentioned his dear brother. 'Tis impossible to see your son, and not
to love and regard him. I am thankful that it has been our lot
to succour him in his trouble, and that in receiving the stranger
within our gates, we should be giving hospitality to the son of an old
friend.
Nature has written a letter of credit upon some men's faces, which is
honoured almost wherever presented. Harry Warrington's countenance
was so stamped in his youth. His eyes were so bright, his cheek so
red and healthy, his look so frank and open, that almost all who beheld
him, nay, even those who cheated him, trusted him. Nevertheless, as
we have hinted, the lad was by no means the artless stripling he
seemed to be. He was knowing enough with all his blushing cheeks ;
perhaps more wily and wary than he grew to be in after age. Sure, a
shrewd and generous man (who has led an honest life and has no secret
blushes for his conscience) grows simpler as he grows older ; arrives at
his sum of right by moie rapid processes of calculation ; learns to
eliminate false arguments more readily, and hits the mark of truth
with less previous trouble of aiming and disturbance of mind. Or is
it only a senile delusion, that some of our vanities are cured with our
growing years, and that we become more just in our perceptions of our
own and our neighbours' short -comings ? . . , I would humbly suggest
that young people, though they look prettier, have larger eyes, and not
near so many wrinkles about their eyelids, are often as artful as some
of their elders. What little monsters of cunning your frank school-
boys are ! How they cheat mamma ! how they hoodwink papa ! how
they humbug the housekeeper ! how they cringe to the big boy for whom
they fag at school ! what a long lie and live years' hypocrisy and flattery
is their conduct towards Dr. Birch ! And the little boys' sisters ? Are
they any better, and is it only after they come out in the world that the
little darlings learn a trick or two ?
You may see, by the above letter of Mrs. Lambert, that she, like all
THE VIRGINIANS. 145
good women (and, indeed, almost all bad women), was a sentimental
person; and, as she looked at Harry Warrington laid in her best bed,
after the Colonel had bled him and clapped in his shoulder, as holding
by her husband's hand she beheld the lad in a sweet slumber, murmuring
a faint inarticulate word or two in his sleep, a faint blush quivering on
his cheek, she owned he was a pretty lad indeed, and confessed with
a sort of compunction that neither of her two boys — Jack who was
at Oxford, and Charles who was just gone back to school after the
Bartlemytide holidays — was half so handsome as the Virginian. What
a good figure the boy had, and when papa bled him, his arm was as white
as any lady's !
" Yes, as you say, Jack might have been as handsome but for the
small-pox: and as for Charley " ''Always took after his papa,
my dear Molly," said the Colonel, looking at his own honest face in a
little looking-glass with a cut border and a japanned frame, by which the
chief guests of the worthy gentleman and lady had surveyed their patches
and powder, or shaved their hospitable beards.
'^ Did I say so, my love?" whispered Mrs. Lambert, looking rather
scared.
" No; but you thought so, Mrs. Lambert."
*' How can you tell one's thoughts so, Martin ? " asks the lady.
*' Because I am a conjuror, and because you tell them yourself, my
dear," answered her husband. ** Don't be frightened; he won't wake
after that draught I gave him. Because you never see a young fellow
but you are comparing him with your own. Because "you never hear of
one but you are thinking which of our girls he shall fall in love with
and marry."
'' Don't be foolish, sir," says the lady, putting a hand up to the
Colonel's lips. They have softly trodden out of their guest's bed-
chamber by this time, and are in the adjoining dressing-closet, a snug
little wainscoted room looking over gardens, with India curtains, more
Japan chests and cabinets, a treasure of china, and a most refreshing
odour of fresh lavender.
"You can't deny it, Mrs. Lambert," the Colonel resumes ; ** as you
were looking at the young gentleman just now, you were thinking to
yourself which of my girls will he marry ? Shall it be Theo, or shall it
be Hester? And then you thought of Lucy who was at boarding-
Bchool."
''There is no keeping any thing from you, Martin Lambert," sighs
the wife.
" There is no keeping it out of your eyes, my dear. What is
this burning desire all you women have for selling and marry-
ing your daughters ? We men don't wish to part with 'em. I
am sure, for my part, I should not like yonder young fellow half
as well if I thought he intended to carry one of my darlings away with
him."
" Sure, Martin, I have been so happy myself," says the fond wife and
L
146 THE YirtGINIANS.
mother, looking at her husband witli her very best eyes, 'Ubat I must
wish my girls to do as I have done, and be happy, too ! "
"Then you think good husbands are common, Mrs. Lambert, and
that you may walk any day into the road before the house and find one
shot out at the gate like a sack of coals ? "
*' AVasn't it providential, sir, that this young gentleman should be
hrown over his horse's head at our very gate, and that he should turn
out to be the son of my old schoolfellow and friend ? " asked the wife.
** There is something more than accident in such cases, depend upon
that, Mr. Lambert ! "
'*And this was the stranger you saw in the candle three nights
running, I suppose ?"
** And in the fire, too, sir; twice a coal jumped out close by Theo.
You may sneer, sir, but these things are not to be despised. Did I not
see you distinctly coming back from Minorca, and dream of you at the
very day and liour when you were wounded in Scotland ? "
" How many times have you seen me wounded, when 1 had not a
scratch, my dear? How many times have you seen me ill when I had
no sort of hurt ? You are always prophesying, and 'twere very hard
on you if you were not sometimes right. Come ! Let us leave our
guest asleep comfortably, and go down and give the girls their French
^lesson.
So saying, the honest gentleman put his wife's arm under his, and
they descended together the broad oak staircase of the comfortable old
hall, round which hung the effigies of many foregone Lamberts, worthy
magistrates, soldiers, country gentlemen, as was the Colonel whose
acquaintance we have just made. The Colonel was a gentleman of
pleasant, waggish humour. The French lesson which he and his
daughters conned together was a scene out of Monsieur Moliere's
comedy of ** Tartuffe," and papa was pleased to be very facetious with
Miss Theo, by calling her Madam, and by treating her with a great
deal of mock respect and ceremony. The girls read together with their
father a scene or two of his favourite author (nor were they less modest
in those days, though their tongues were a little more free), and papa
was particularly arch and funny as he read from Orgon'a part in that
celebrated play :
Obgon, Or sus, nous voila bien. J'ai, Mariane, en voua
Eeconnu de tout temps un e.-^pvit assez doux,
Et de tout temps aussi vous m'avez ete chei'C.
Makiake. Je suis fort redevable a cet amour de pere.
Orgon. Fort bien. Que dites-vous de Tartuffe notre hfite jf
Makiane. Qui? Moi?
Orgon. Vous. Voyez bien comrae vous repondrez.
Mariane. Helas ! J'en dirai, moi, tout ce quo vous voudrez !
{Mademoiselle Mariane latighs and blushes in spite of herself whilst reading thii
line.)
Okgon. C'est parler sagement. Ditcs moi done, ma fille,
Qu'en toute sa personne un haut merite bi'ille,
Qu'il louche votre ccour, et qu'il vous seroit doux
De le voir par mon choix devemr votre epouxl
THE VIRGINIANS. U7
** Have we not read the scene prettily, Elmire ? " says the Colonel,
laughing, and turning round to his wife.
Elmira prodigiously admired Orgon's reading, and so did his
daughters, and almost everything besides which Mr. Lambert said or
did. Canst thou, friendly reader, count upon the fidelity of aa
artless and tender heart or two, and reckon among the blessings which
Heaven hath bestowed on thee the love of faithful women ? Purify
thine own heart, and try to make it worthy theirs. On thy knees, on
thy knees, give thanks for the blessing awarded thee ! All the prizes
of life are nothing compared to that one. All the rewards of ambition,
wealth, pleasure, only vanity and disappointment — grasped at greedily
and fought for fiercely, and, over and over again, found worthless
by the weary winners. But love seems to survive life, and to reach
beyond it. I think we take it with us past the grave. Do we not still
give it to those who have left us ? May we not hope that they feel it
for us, and that we shall leave it here in one or two fond bosoms, when
we also are gone ?
And whence, or how, or why, pray, this sermon ? You see I know
more about this Lambert family than you do to whom I am just
presenting them : as how should you who never heard of them before ?
You may not like my friends ; very few people do like strangers to
whom they are presented with an outrageous flourish of praises on the
part of the introducer. You say (quite naturally) what ? Is this all ?
Are these the people he is so fond of ? Why the girl's not a beauty —
the mother is good-natured, and may have been good-looking once, but
she has no trace of it now — and, as for the father, he is quite an ordi-
nary man. Granted : but don't you acknowledge that the sight of an
honest man, with an honest, loving wife by his side, and surrounded by
loving and obedient children, presents something very sweet and affect-
ing to you ? If you are made acquainted with such a person, and see
the eager kindness of the fond faces round about him, and that pleasant
confidence and affection which beams from his own, do you mean to say
you are not touched and gratified ? If you happen to stay in such a
man's house, and at morning or evening see him and his children
and domestics gathered together in a certain name, do you not join
humbly in the petitions of those servants, and close them with a reverend
Amen ? That first night of his stay at Oakhurst, Harry Warrington,
who had had a sleeping potion, and was awake sometimes rather
feverish, thought he heard the evening hymn, and that his dearest
bi other George was singing it at home, in which delusion the patient
went off again to sleep.
148 THE VniGIXlAXS.
CHAPTEE XXII.
IN HOSPITAL.
Sinking into a sweet slumber, and lulled by those harmonious sounds,
our young patient passed a night of pleasant unconsciousness, and awoke
in the morning to find a summer sun streaming in at the window, and his
kind host and hostess smiling at his bed-curtains. He was ravenously
hungry, and his doctor permitted him straightway to partake of a mess
of chicken, which the doctor's wife told him had been prepared by the
hands of one of her daughters.
One of her daughters? A faint image of a young person — of two
young persons— with red cheeks and black waving locks, smiling round
his couch, and suddenly departing thence, soon after he had come to
himself, arose in the young man's mind. Then, then, there returned
the remembrance of a female — lovely, it is true, but more elderly —
certainly considerably older — and with f horror and remorse I
He writhed with anguish, as a certain recollection crossed him. An
immense gulph of time gaped between him and the past. How long
was it since he had heard that those pearls were artificial, — that those
golden locks were only pinchbeck ? A long, long time ago, when he
was a boy, an innocent boy. Now he was a man, — quite an old man.
He had been bled copiously ; he had a little fever ; he had had nothing
to eat for very many hours ; he had had a sleeping-draught, and a long,
deep slumber after.
*' What is it, my dear child?" cries kind Mrs. Lambert, as he started.
" Nothing, madam ; a twinge in my shoulder," said the lad. ** I speak
to my host and hostess ? Sure you have been very kind to me."
" We are old friends, Mr. Warrington. My husband, Colonel Lambert,
knew your father, and I and your mamma were school-girls together at
Kensington. You were no stranger to us when your aunt and cousin told
us who you were."
** Are they here ? '* asked Harry, looking a little blank.
** They must have lain at Tunbridge Wells last night. They sent a
horseman from Reigate yesterday for news of you."
** Ah ! I remember," says Harry, looking at his bandaged arm.
" I have made a good cure of you, Mr. Warrington. And now Mrs.
Lambert and the cook must take charge of you."
" Nay ; Theo prepared the chicken and rice, Mr. Lambert," said the
lady. ''Will Mr. Warrington get up after he has had his breakfast?
We will send your valet to you."
** If howling proves fidelity, your man must be a most fond, attached
creature," says Mr. Lambert.
*'He let yonr baggage travel off after all in your aunt's carriage,'*
THE YIRGIXIA^'S. 149
said Mrs. Lambert. " You must wear my husband's linen, which, I
daresay, is not so fine as yours."
" Pish, my dear ! my shirts are good shirts enough for any Christian/'
cries the Colonel.
*' They are Theo's and Hester's work," says mamma. At which her
husband arches his eyebrows and looks at her. " And Theo hath ripped
and sewed your sleeve to make it quite comfortable for your shoulder,'*
the lady added.
" What beautiful roses ! " cries Harry, looking at a fine china vase
full of them that stood on the toilet- table under the japan-framed
glass.
" My daughter Theo cut them this morning. "Well, Mr. Lambert?
She did cut them ! "
I suppose the Colonel was thinking that his wife introduced Theo too
much into the conversation, and trod on Mrs. Lambert's slipper, or pulled
her robe, or otherwise nudged her into a sense of propriety.
*' And I fancied I heard some one singing the Evening Hymn very
sweetly last night — or was it only a dream ? " asked the young patient.
"Theo again, Mr. Warrington ! " said the Colonel, laughing. "My
servants said your negro man began to sing it in the kitchen as if he was
a church organ."
"Our people sing it at home, sir. My grandpapa used to love it very
much. His wife's father was a great friend of good Bishop Ken who
wrote it; and — and my dear brother used to love it too," said the boy,
his voice dropping.
It was then, I suppose, that Mrs. Lambert felt inclined to give the
boy a kiss. His little accident, illness, and recovery, the kindness of the
people round about him, had softened Harry Warrington's heart, and
opened it to better influences than those which had been brouglit to bear
on it for some six weeks past. He was breathing a purer air than that
tainted atmosphere of selfishness, and worldliness, and corruption into
which he had been plunged since his arrival in England. Sometimes
the young man's fate, or choice, or weakness, leads him into the fellow-
ship of the giddy and vain ; happy he, whose lot makes him acquainted
with the wiser company, whose lamps are trimmed, and whose pure
hearts keep modest watch.
The pleased matron left her young patient devouring Miss Theo's mess
of rice and chicken, and the Colonel seated by the lad's bedside. Grati-
tude to his hospitable entertainers, and contentment after a comfortable
meal, caused in Mr, Warrington a very pleasant condition of mind and
body. He was ready to talk now more freely than usually was his
custom ; for, unless excited by a strong interest or emotion, the young
man was commonly taciturn and cautious in his converse with his fellows,
and was by no means of an imaginative turn. Of books our youth had
been but a very remiss student, nor were his remarks on such simple
works as he had read, very profound or valuable ; but regarding dogs,
horses, and the ordinary business of life, he was a far better critic;
150 THE YIRGINIANS.
and, with any person interested in such subjects, conversed on them
freely enough.
Harry's host, who had considerable shrewdness, and experience of
books, and cattle, and men, was pretty soon able to take the measure of
his young guest in the talk which they now had together. It was now,
for the first time, the Virginian learned that Mrs. Lambert had been an
early friend of his mother's, and that the Colonel's own father had served
with Harry's grandfather. Colonel Esmond, in the famous wars of Queen
Anne. He found himself in a friend's country. He was soon at ease
with his honest host, whose manners were quite simple and cordial, and
who looked and seemed perfectly a gentleman, though he wore a plain
fustian coat, and a waistcoat without a particle of lace.
"My boys are both away," said Harry's host, ''or they would have
shown you the country when you got up, Mr. "Warrington. Now you
can only have the company of my wife and her daughters. Mrs. Lambert
hath told you already about one of them, Theo, our eldest, who made
your broth, who cut your roses, and who mended your coat. She is not
such a wonder as her mother imagines her to be : but little Theo is a
smart little housekeeper, and a very good and cheerful lass, though her
father says it."
*' It is very kind of Miss Lambert to take so much care for me," says
the young patient.
** She is no kinder to you than to any other mortal, and doth but her
duty." Here the Colonel smiled. " I laugh at their mother for praising
our children," he said, " and I think I am as foolish about them myself.
The truth is, God hath given us very good and dutiful children, and I
see no reason why I should disguise my thankfulness for such a blessing.
You have never a sister, I think ? "
*'!N"o, sir, I am alone now," Mr. "Warrington said.
*' Ay, truly, I ask your pardon for my thoughtlessness. Tour man
hath told our people what befel last year. I served with Braddock in
Scotland ; and hope he mended before he died. A wild fellow, sir, but
there was a fund of truth about the man, and no little kindness under
his rough swaggering manner. Your black fellow talks very freely about
his master and his affairs. I suppose you permit him these freedoms as
lie rescued you "
*' Rescued me ? " cries Mr. Warrington.
** From ever so many Indians on that very expedition. My Molly
and I did not know we were going to entertain so prodigiously wealthy
a gentleman. He saith that half Virginia belongs to you ; but if the
whole of North America were yours, we could but give you our best."
"Those negro boys, sir, lie like the father of all lies. They think it
is for our honour to represent us as ten times as rich as we are. My
mother has what would be a vast estate in England, and is a very good
one at home. We are as well off as most of our neighbours, sir, but
no better ; and all our splendour is in Mr. Gumbo's foolish imagination.
He never rescued me from an Indian in his life, aud would run away
THE YIEGINIANS. 151
at the sight of one, as my poor brother's boy did on that fatal day when
befell."
"The bravest man will do so at unlucky times," said the Colonel
" I myself saw the best troops in the world run at Preston, before a
ragged mob of Highland savages."
" That was because the Highlanders fought for a good cause, sir."
" Do you think," asks Harry's host, " that the French Indians had
the good cause in the fight of last year ? "
" The scoundrels ! I would have the scalp of every murderous red-
skin among 'em ! " cried Harry, clenching his fist. *' They were robbing
and invading the British territories, too. But the Highlanders were
fighting for their king."
"We, on our side, were fighting for our king; and we ended by
winning the battle," said the Colonel, laughing.
"Ah! "cried Harry; " if His Royal Highness the Prince had not
turned back at Derby, your king and mine, now, would be His Majesty
King James the Third ! "
" Who made such a Tory of you, Mr. Warrington ? " asked Lambert.
" Kay, sir, the Esmonds were always loyal ! " answered the youtli.
"Had we lived at home, and twenty years sooner, brother and I often
and often agreed that our heads would have been in danger. We certainly
would have staked them for the king's cause."
" Yours is better on your shoulders than on a pole at Temple Bar.
I have seen them there, and they don't look very pleasant, Mr.
Warrington."
" I shall take off my hat, and salute them, whenever I pass the gate,"
cried the young man, "if the king and the whole court are standing by!"
" I doubt whether your relative, my Lord Castlewood, is as staunch a
supporter of the king over the water," said Colonel Lambert, smiling:
" or your aunt, the Baroness of Bernstein, who left you in our charge.
Whatever her old partialities may have been, she has repented of them ;
she has rallied to our side, landed her nephews in the Household,
and looks to find a suitable match for her nieces. If you have Tory
opinions, Mr. Warrington, take an old soldier's advice, and keep them
to yourself."
"Why, sir, I do not think that you will betray me ! " said the boy.
"Not I, but others might. You did not talk in this way at Castle-
wood ? I mean the old Castlewood which you have just come from."
"I might be safe amongst my own kinsmen, surely, sir ?" cried Harry.
" Doubtless. I would not say no. But a man's own kinsmen can
play him slippery tricks at times, and he finds himself none the better
for trusting them. I mean no ofience to you or any of your family ;
but lacqueys have ears as well as their masters, and they carry about
all sorts of stories. For instance, your black fellow is ready to tell all
he knows about you, and a great deal more besides, as it would appear."
"Hath he told about the broken-knee'd horse?" cried out Harry,
turning very red.
152 THE VIRGINIANS.
" To say truth, my groom seemed to know something of the story,
and said it was a shame a gentleman should sell another such a brute ;
let alone a cousin. I am not here to play the Mentor to you, or to
carry about servants' tittle-tattle. When you have seen more of your
cousins, you will form your own opinion of them ; meanwhile, take an
old soldier's advice, I say again, and be cautious with whom you deal,
and what you say."
Very soon after this little colloquy, Mr. Lambert's guest rose, with
the assistance of Gumbo, his valet, to whom he, for a hundredth time at
least, promised a sound caning if ever he should hear that Gumbo had
ventured to talk about his affairs again in the servants' hall — which
prohibition Gumbo solemnly vowed and declared he would forever obey;
but I daresay he was chattering the whole of the Castlewood secrets to
his new friends of Colonel Lambert's kitchen ; for Harry's hostess cer-
tainly heard a number of stories concerning him which she could not
prevent her housekeeper from telling ; though of course I would not
accuse that worthy lady, or any of her sex, or ours, of undue curiosity
regarding their neighbours' affairs. But how can you prevent servants
talking, or listening when the faithful attached creatures talk to you ?
Mr. Lambert's house stood on the outskirts of the little town of
Oakhurst, which, if he but travels in the right direction, the patient
reader will find on the road between Farnham and Eeigate, — and
Madame Bernstein's servants naturally pulled at the first bell at hand,
when the young Virginian met with his mishap. A few hundred yards
farther was the long street of the little old town, where hospitality
might have been found under the great swinging ensigns of a couple of
inns, and medical relief was to be had, as a blazing gilt pestle and
mortar indicated. But what surgeon could have ministered more
cleverly to a patient than Harry's host, who tended him without a fee ?
or what Boniface could make him more comfortably welcome ?
Two tall gates, each surmounted by a couple of heraldic monsters, led
from the high road up to a neat, broad stone terrace, whereon stood
Oakhurst House ; a square brick building, with windows faced with
stone, and many high chimneys, and a tall roof surmounted by a fair
balustrade. Behind the house stretched a large garden, where there
was plenty of room for cabbages as well as roses to grow ; and before
the mansion, separated from it by the high-road, was a field of many
acres, where the Colonel's cows and horses were at grass. Over the
centre window was a carved shield supported by the same monsters who
pranced or ramped upon the entrance-gates ; and a coronet over the
shield. The fact is, that the house had been originally the jointure-
house of Oakhurst Castle, which stood hard by, — its cliimneys and
turrets appearing over the surrounding woods, now bronzed with the
darkest foliage of summer. Mr. Lambert's was the greatest house in
Oakhurst town ; but the Castle was of more importance than all the
town put together. The Castle and the jointure-house had been friends
of many years' date. Their fathers had fought side by side in Queen
THE VIRGIXIANS. 153
Anne's wars. There were two small pieces of ordnance on the terrace
of the jointure-house, and six before the Castle, which had been taken
out of the same privateer, which Mr. Lambert and his kinsman and
commander, Lord Wrotham, had brought into Harwich in one of their
voyages home from Flanders with dispatches from the great Duke.
His toilette completed with Mr. Gumbo's aid, his fair hair neatly
dressed by that artist, and his open ribboned sleeve and wonnded
shoulder supported by a handkerchief which hung from his neck, Harry
"Warrington made his way out of his sick chamber, preceded by his
kind host, who led him first down a broad oak stair, round which hung
many pikes and muskets of ancient shape, and so into a square marble
paved room, from which the living-rooms of the house branched off.
There ^ere more arms in this hall — pikes and halberts of ancient date,
pistols and jack-boots of more than a century old, that had done service
in Cromwell's wars, a tattered French guidon which had been borne by
a French gendarme at Malplaquet, and a pair of cumbrous Highland
broadswords, which, having been carried as far as Derby, had been flung
away on the fatal field of Culloden. Here were breastplates and black
morions of Oliver's troopers, and portraits of stern warriors in buff
jerkins and plain bands and short hair. ''They fought against your
grandfathers and King Charles, Mr. Warrington," said Harry's host.
*' I don't hide that. They rode to join the Prince of Orange at Exeter.
We were Whigs, young gentleman, and something more. John
Lambert, the Major- General, was a kinsman of our house, and we were
all more or less partial to short hair and long sermons. You do not
seem to like either ? " Indeed, Harry's face manifested signs of any-
thing but pleasure whilst he examined the portraits of the Parliamentary
heroes. " Be not alarmed, we are very good Churchmen now. My
eldest son will be in orders ere long. He is now travelling as governor
to my Lord Wrotham's son in Italy ; and as for our women, they are all
for the Church, and carry me with 'em. Every woman is a Tory at
heart. Mr. Pope says a rake, but I think t'other is the more charitable
word. Come, let us go see them," and, flinging open the dark oak
door, Colonel Lambert led his young guest into the parlour where the
ladies were assembled.
" Here is Miss Hester," said the Colonel, " and this is Miss Theo, the
soup-maker, the tailoress, the harpsichord player, and the songstress,
who set you to sleep last night. Make a curtsey to the gentleman, young
ladies ! 0, I forgot, and Theo is the mistress of the roses which you
admired a short while since in your bedroom. I think she has kept
some of them in her cheeks."
In fact. Miss Theo was making a profound curtsey and blushing most
modestly as her papa spoke. I am not going to describe her person, —
though we shall see a great deal of her in the course of this history.
She was not a particular beauty. Harry Warrington was not over head
and ears in love with her at an instant's warning and faithless to — to
that other individual with whom, as we have seen, the youth had lately
154 THE VIEGIXIANS.
been smitten. Miss Tlieo had kind eyes and a sweet voice ; a ruddy-
freckled cheek and a round white neck, on which, out of a little cap
such as misses wore in those times, fell rich ciirling clusters of dark
b^own hair. She was not a delicate or sentimental-looking person. Her
.arms, which were worn bare from the elbow like other ladies' arms in
those days, were very jolly and red. Her feet were not so miraculously
small but that you could see them without a telescope. There was
nothing waspish about her waist. This young person was sixteen years
of age, and looked older.) I don't know what call she had to blush so
when she made her curtsey to the stranger. It was such a deep
ceremonial curtsey as you never see at present. She and her sister both
made these ** cheeses " in compliment to the new comer, and with much
stately agility.
As Miss Theo rose up out of this salute, her papa tapped her under
the chin (which was of the double sort of chins), and laughingly hummed
out the line which he had read the day before. ^'JEh hien ! que elites^
vous, ma fille^ cle notre hote f "
** ]N"onsense, Mr. Lambert ! " cries mamma.
"Nonsense is sometimes the best kind of sense in the world," said
Colonel Lambert. His guest looked puzzled.
*' Are you fond of nonsense ?" the Colonel continued to Harry, seeing
by the boy's face that the latter had no great love or comprehension of
his favourite humour. "We consume a vast deal of it in this house.
Rabelais is my favourite reading. My wife is all for Mr. Fielding and
Theophrastus. I think Theo prefers Tom Brown, and Mrs. Hetty here
loves Dean Swift."
"Our papa is talking what he loves," says Miss Hetty.
" And what is that, miss ? " asks the father of his second daughter.
" Sure, sir, you said yourself it was nonsense," answers the young
lady, jvith a saucy toss of her head.
"Which of them do you like best, Mr. Warrington?" asked the
honest Colonel.
" Which of whom, sir ? "
" The Curate of Meudon, or the Dean of St. Patrick's, or honest Tom,
or Mr. Fielding ? "
" And what were they, sir ? "
" They ! Why thpy wrote books."
"Indeed, sir. I never heard of either one of 'em," said Harry»
hanging down his head. " I fear my book learning was neglected at
home, sir. My brother had read every book that ever was wrote, I
think. He could have talked to you about 'em for hours together."
With this little speech Mrs. Lambert's eyes turned to her daughter,
► and Miss Theo cast hers down and blushed.
" K'ever mind ; honesty is better than books any day, Mr. Warrington! "
cried the jolly Colonel. " You may go tlirough the world very honour-
ably without reading any of the books I have been talking of, and some
of them might give you more pleasure than profit."
THE VIEGINIANS. 155
"I know more about horses and dogs than Greek and Latin, sir.
"We most of us do in Virginia," said Mr. Warrington.
" You are like the Persians ; you can ride and speak the truth."
*' Are the Prussians yery good on horseback, sir ? I hope I shall see
their king and a campaign or two, either with 'em or against 'em,"
remarked Colonel Lambert's guest. Why did Miss The( look at her
mother, and why did that good woman's face assume a sad expression ?
Why ? Because young lasses are bred in humdrum country towns,
do you suppose they never indulge in romances? Because they are
modest and have never quitted mother's apron, do you suppose they
have no thoughts of their own ? What happens in. spite of all those
precautions which the King and Q,ueen take for their darling princess,
those dragons, and that impenetrable forest, and that castle of steel ?
The fairy pHnce penetrates the impenetrable forest, finds the weak point
in the dragon's scale-armour, and gets the better of all the ogres who
guard the castle of steel. Away goes the princess to him. She knew
him at once. Her bandboxes and portmanteaus are filled with her best
clothes and all her jewels. She has been ready ever so long.
That is in fairy tales, you understand — where the blessed hour and
youth always arrive, the ivory horn is blown at the castle gate ; and far
off in her beauteous bower the princess hears it, and starts up, and
knows that there is the right champion. He is always ready. Look I
how the giants' heads tumble off" as, falchion in hand, he gallops over
the bridge on his white charger ! How should that virgin, locked up in
that inaccessible fortress, where she has never seen any man that was
not eighty, or hump-backed, or her father, know that there were such
beings in the world as young men ? I suppose there's an instinct. _ I
suppose there's a season. I never spoke for my part to a fairy princess,
or heatd as much from any unenchanted or enchanting maiden. Ne'er
a one of them has ever whispered her pretty little secrets to me, or
perhaps confessed them to herself, her mamma, or her nearest and
dearest confidante. But they tvill fall in love. Their little hearts are
constantly throbbing at the window of expectancy on the look-out for
the champion. They are always hearing his horn. They are for ever
on the tower looking out for the hero. Sister Ann, Sister Ann, do you
see him? Surely 'tis a knight with curling mustachios, a flashing
scimitar, and a suit of silver armour. Oh, no ! it is only a coster-
monger with his donkey and a pannier of cabbage ! Sister Ann, Sister
Ann, what is that cloud of dust ? Oh, it is only a farmer's man driving
a flock of pigs from market. Sister Ann, Sister Ann, who is that
splendid warrior advancing in scarlet and gold ? He nears the castle,
he clears the drawbridge, he lifts the ponderous hammer at the gate.
Ah, me, he knocks twice ! 'Tis only the postman with a double letter
from Northamptonshire ! So it is we make false starts in life. I don't
believe there is any such thing known as first love — not within man's or
woman's memory. No male or female remembers liis or her first inclina-
tion any more than his or her own christening. What ? You fancy that
156 THE YIEGINIAXS.
your sweet mistress, your spotless spinster, your blank maiden just
out of the school-room, never cared for any but you ? And she tells
you so ? 0, you idiot ! When she was four years old she had a tender
feeling towards the Buttons who brought the coals up to the nursery, or
the little sweep at the crossing, or the music master, or never mind
whom. Sht had a secret longing towards her brother's schoolfellow, or
the third cnarity boy at church, and if occasion had served, the comedy
€nacted with you had been performed along with another. I do not mean
to say that she confessed this amatory sentiment, but that she had it.
Lay down this page, and think how many and many and many a time
you were in love before you selected the present Mrs. Jones as the
partner of your name and affections !
So, from the way in which Theo held her head down, and exchanged
looks with her mother, when poor unconscious Harry called the Persians
the Prussians, and talked of serving a campaign with them, I make no
doubt she was feeling ashamed, and thinking within herself, *' Is this
the hero with whom my mamma and I have been in love for these
twenty-four hours, and whom we have endowed with every perfection?
How beautiful, pale, and graceful he looked yesterday as he lay on the
ground ! How his curls fell over his face ! How sad it was to see his
poor white arm, and the blood trickling from it when papa bled him !
And now he is well and amongst us, he is handsome certainly, but oh,
is it possible he is — he is stupid?" When she lighted the lamp and
looked at him, did Psyche find Cupid out; and is that the meaning of
the old allegory ? The wings of love drop off at this discovery. The
fancy can no more soar and disport in skiey regions : the beloved object
ceases at once to be celestial, and remains plodding on earth, entirely
unromantic and substantial.
CHAPTEE XXIII.
HOLTDAYS.
Mrs. Lambert's little day-dream was over. Miss Theo and her
mother were obliged to confess, in their hearts, that their hero was but
an ordinary mortal. They uttered few words on the subject, but each
knew the other's thoughts as people who love each other do ; and mamma,
by an extra tenderness and special caressing manner towards her
daughter, sought to console her for her disappointment. "Never mind,
my dear" — the maternal kiss whispered on the filial cheek — " our hero
has turned out to be but an ordinary mortal, and none such is good
enough for my Theo. Thou shalt have a real husband ere long, if there
be one in England. Why, I was scarce fifteen when your father saw
me at the Bury Assembly, and while I was yet at school, I used to vow
that I never would have any other man. If Heaven gave me such a
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 157
husband — the best man iu the whole kingdom — sure it -will bless my
child equally, who deserves a king, if she fancies him ! " Indeed, I am
not sure that Mrs. Lambert — who, of course, knew the age of the
Prince of Wales, and was aware how handsome and good a young prince
he was — did not expect that he too would come riding by her gate, and
perhaps tumble down from his horse there, and be taken into the house,
and be cured, and cause his royal grandpapa to give Martin Lambert a
regiment, and fall in love with Theo.
The Colonel for his part, and his second daughter Miss Hetty, were on
the laughing, scornful, unbelieving side. Mamma was always match-
making. Indeed, Mrs. Lambert was much addicted to novels, and cried
her eyes out over them with great assiduity. No coach ever passed the
gate, but she expected a husband for her girls would alight from it and
ring the bell. As for Miss Hetty, she allowed her tongue to wag in a
more than usually saucy way : she made a hundred sly allusions to their,
guest. She introduced Prussia and Persia into their conversation with
abominable pertness and frequency. She asked whether the present
King of Prussia was called the Shaw or the Sophy, and how far it waa
from Ispahan to Saxony, which his Majesty was at present invading,
and about which war papa was so busy with his maps and his news-
papers ? She brought down the Persian Tales from her mamma's closet,
and laid them slily on the table in the parlour where the family sate.
She would not marry a Persian prince for her part ; she would prefer a
gentleman who might not have more than one wife at a time. She called
our young "Virginian, Theo's gentleman, Theo's prince. She asked
mamma if she wished her, Hetty, to take the other visitor, the black
prince, for herself ? Indeed, she rallied her sister and her mother un-
ceasingly on their sentimentalities, and would never stop until she had
made them angry, when she would begin to cry herself, and kiss them
violently one after the other, and coax them back into good humour.
Simple Harry "Warrington meanwhile knew nothing of all the jokes, the
tears, quarrels, reconciliations, hymeneal plans, and so forth, of which
he was the innocent occasion. A hundred allusions to the Prussians and
Persians were shot at him, and those Parthian arrows did not penetrate
his hide at all. A Shaw ? A Sophy ? Very likely he thought a Sophy
was a lady, and would have deemed it the height of absurdity that a
man with a great black beard should have any such name. We fall
into the midst of a quiet family : we drop like a stone, say, into a pool,
— we are perfectly compact and cool, and little know the flutter and
excitement we make there, disturbing the fish, frightening the ducks^
and agitating the whole surface of the water. How should Harry know
the effect which his sudden appearance produced in this little, quiet,
sentimental family ? He thought quite well enough of himself on many
points, but was diffident as yet regarding women, being of that age when
young gentlemen require encouragement and to be brought forward, and
having been brought up at home in very modest and primitive relations
towards the other sex. So Miss Hetty's jokes played round the lad, and
158 THE VIRGINIANS.
he minded them no more than so many summer gnats. It was not triafe
he was stupid, as she certainly thought him : he was simple, too much
occupied with himself and his own private affairs to think of others.
Why, what tragedies, comedies, interludes, intrigues, farces, are going
on under our noses in friends' drawing-rooms where we visit every day,
and we remain utterly ignorant, self-satislied, and hlind! As these
sisters sate and combed their flowing ringlets of nights, or talked with
each other in the great bed where according to the fashion of the day
they lay together, how should Harry know that he had so great a share
in their thoughts, jokes, conversation ? Three days after his arrival,
his new and hospitable friends were walking with him in my Lord Wro-
tham's fine park, where they were free to wander ; and here, on a piece
of water, they came to some swans, which the young ladies were in the
habit of feeding with bread. As the birds approached the young
women, Hetty said, with a queer look at her mother and sister, and
then a glance at her father, who stood by, honest, happy, in a red
waistcoat, — Hetty said : " Mamma's swans are something like these,
papa."
" What swans, my dear ?" says mamma.
** Something like, but not quite. They have shorter necks than these,
and scores of them are on our common," continues Miss Hetty. *M
saw Betty plucking one in the kitchen this morning. We shall have it
for dinner, with apple-sauce and "
''Don't be a little goose ! " says Miss Theo.
" And sage and onions. • Do you love swan, Mr. Warrington?"
*' I shot three last winter on our river," said the Virginian gentleman.
*'Ours are not such white birds as these — they eat very well though."
The simple youth had not the slightest idea that he himself was an alle-
gory at that very time, and that Miss Hetty was narrating a fable
regarding him. In some exceedingly recondite Latin work I have read
that, long before Virginia was discovered, other folks were equally dull
of comprehension.
So it was a premature sentiment on the part of Miss Theo — that
little tender flutter of the bosom which we have acknowledged she felt
on first beholding the Virginian, so handsome, pale, and bleeding.
This was not the great passion which she knew her heart could feel.
Like the birds, it had wakened and begun to sing, at a false dawn.
Hop back to thy perch, and cover thy head with thy wing, thou
tremulous little fluttering creature ! It is not yet light, and roosting is
as yet better than singing. Anon will come morning, and the whole sky
will redden, and you shall soar up into it and salute the sun with your
music.
One little phrase, some five-and- thirty lines back, perhaps the fair
and suspicious reader has remarked: ^^ Three days after his arrival^
Harry was walking with," &c., &c. If he could walk — whicli it
appeared he could do perfectly well — what business had he to be walking
with anybody but Lady Maria Esmond on the Pantiles, Tiinbridg:o
THE YIRGINIAXS. 159
WelV ? His shoulder was set : his health was entirely restored : he
had not even a change of coats, as we have seen, and was obliged to th©
Colonel for his raiment. Surely a young man in such a condition had
no right to be lingering on at Oakhurst, and was bound by every tie of
duty and convenience, by love, by relationship, by a gentle heart waiting
for him, by the washerwoman finally, to go to Tunbridge. Why did he
stay behind, unless he was in love with either of the young ladies ? (and
we say he wasn't). Could it be that h.e did not want to go ? Only a
week ago was he whispering in Castlewood shrubberies, and was he now
ashamed of the nonsense he had talked there ? What ? A passion that
was to endure for ever and ever dead and buried in a week, and remem-
bered only with shame ? Had there, besides whispering in those shrub-
beries been any hand kissing, clasping, and so forth ? What if for two
days past he has felt those hands throttling him round the neck? if
his fell aunt's purpose is answered, and if his late love is killed as dead
by her poisonous communications as Fair Eosamond was by her royal
and legitimate rival ? Is Hero then lighting the lamp up, and getting
ready the supper, whilst Leander is sitting comfortably with some other
party, and never in the least thinking of taking to the water ? Ever
since that coward's blow was struck in Lady Maria's back by her own
relative, surely kind hearts must pity her ladyship. I know she has
faults — ay, and wears false hair and false never mind what. But a
woman in distress, sliall we not pity her — a lady of a certain age, are
we going to laugh at her because of her years ? Between her old aunt
and her unhappy delusion, be sure my Lady Maria Esmond is having no
very pleasant time of it at Tunbridge Wells. There is no one to protect
her. Madam Beatrix has her all to herself. Lady Maria is poor, and
hopes for money from her aunt. Lady Maria has a secret or two which
the old woman knows, and brandishes over her. I for one am quite
melted and grow soft-hearted as I think of her. Imagine her alone, and
a victim to that old woman ! Paint to yourself that antique Andro-
meda (if you please we will allow that rich flowing head of hair to fall
over her shoulders) chained to a rock on Mount Ephraim, and given up
to that dragon of a Baroness ! Succour, Perseus ! Come quickly with.
thy winged feet and flashing falchion ! Perseus is not in the least hurry.
The dragon has her williof Andromeda for day after day.
Harry Warrington, who would not have allowed his dislocated and
mended shoulder to keep him from going out hunting, remained day
after day contentedly at Oakhurst, with each day finding the kindly
folks who welcomed him more to his liking. Perhaps he had never,
since his grandfather's death, been in such good company. His lot
had lain amongst fox-hunting Yirginian squires, with whose society
he had put up very contentedly, riding their horses, living their lives
and sharing their punch- bowls. The ladies of his own and mother's
acquaintance were very well bred, and decorous, and pious, no doubt,
but somewhat narrow-minded. It was but a little place, his home, with
its pompous ways, small etiquettes and punctilios, small flatteries-
160 THE VIRGINIAXS.
small conversations and scandals. TJutil lie had left the place, some
time after, he did not know how narrow and confined his life had been
there. He was free enough personally. He had dogs and horses, and
might shoot and hunt for scores of miles round about ; but the little
lady mother domineered at home, and when there he had to submit to
her influence and brea the her air.
Here the lad found himself in the midst of a circle where everything
about him was incomparably gayer, brighter, and more free. He was
living with a man and woman who had seen the world, though they
lived retired from it, who had both of them happened to enjoy from
their earliest times the use not only of good books, but of good company
— those live books, which are such pleasant and sometimes such profit-
able reading. Society has this good at least : that it lessens our conceit,
by teaching us our insignificance, and making us acquainted with our
betters. If you are a young person who read this, depend upon it, sir
or madam, there is nothing more wholesome for you than to acknow-
ledge and to associate with your superiors. If I could, I would not
have my son Thomas first Greek and Latin prize boy, first oar, and
cock of the school. Better for his soul's and body's welfare that he
should have a good place, not the first — a fair set of competitors round
about him, and a good thrashing now and then, with a hearty shake
afterwards of the hand which administered the beating. "What honest
man that can choose his lot would be a prince, let us say, and have all
society walking backwards before him, only obsequious household-
gentlemen to talk to, and all mankind mum except when your High
Mightiness asks a question and gives permission to speak ? One of
the great benefits which Harry Warrington received from this family,
before whose gate Fate had shot him, was to begin to learn that he
•\\ras a profoundly ignorant young fellow, and that there were many
people in the world far better than he knew himself to be. Arrogant
a little with some folks, in the company of his superiors he was
magnanimously docile. "We have seen how faithfully he admired his
brother at home, and his friend, the gallant young Colonel of Mount
Vernon : of the gentlemen, his kinsmen at Castlewood, he had felt
himself at least the equal. In his new acquaintance at Oakhurst he
found a man who had read far more books than Harry could pretend
to judge of, who had seen the world and come unwounded out of it, as
he had out of the dangers and battles which he had confronted, and
who had goodness and honesty written on his face and breathing from
his lips, for which qualities our brave lad had always an instinctive
sympathy and predilection.
As for the women, they were the kindest, merriest, most agreeable
he had as yet known. They were pleasanter than Parson Broadbent's
black-eyed daughter at home, whose laugh carried as far as a gun.
Tliey were quite as well-bred as the Castlewood ladies, with the excep-
tion of Madam Beatrix (who, indeed, was as grand as an empress on
some occasions). But somehow, after a talk with Madam Beatrix, and
THE YIllGINIAXS. I6i
vast amusement and interest in her stories, the lad would come away
with a bitter taste in his mouth, and fancy all the world wicked
round about him. The Lamberts were not squeamish : and laughed
over pages of Mr. Fielding, and cried over volumes of Mr. Eichardson,
containing jokes and incidents which would make Mrs. Grundy's hair
ctand on end, yet their merry prattle left no bitterness behind it : their
tales about this neighbour and that were droll, not malicious; the
curtsies and salutations with which the folks of the little neighbouring
town received them, how kindly and cheerful ! their bounties how
cordial ! Of a truth it is good to be with good people. How good
Harry Warrington did not know at the time, perhaps, or until subse-
quent experience showed him contrasts, or caused him to feel remorse.
Here was a tranquil sunshiny day of a life that was to be agitated and
stormy — a happy hour or two to remember. Not much happened
during the happy hour or two. It was only sweet sleep, pleasant
waking, friendly welcome, serene pastime. The gates of the old house
seemed to shut the wicked world out somehow, and the inhabitants
within to be better, and purer, and kinder than other people. He was
not in love ; no ! not the least, either with saucy Hetty or generous
Theodosia: but when the time came for going away, he fastened
on both their hands, and felt an immense regard for them. He
thought he should like to know their brothers, and that they must
be fine fellows ; and as for Mrs. Lambert, I believe she was as senti-
mental at his departure as if he had been the last volume of Clarissa
Harlowe.
"He is very kind and honest," said Theo, gravely, as, looking from
the terrace, they saw him and their father and servants riding away on
the road to Westerham.
" I don't think him stupid at all now," said little Hetty ; ** and,
mamma, I think, he is very like a swan indeed.'*
*' It felt just like one of the boys going to school," said mamma.
'* Just like it," said Theo, sadly.
** I am glad he has got papa to ride with him to Westerham,"
resumed Miss Hetty, ''and that he bought Farmer Briggs's horse. I
don't like his going to those Castlewood people. I am sure that Madame
Lernstein is a wicked old woman. I expected to see her ride away on
her crooked stick."
" Hush, Hetty ! "
** Do you think she would float if they tried her in the pond as poor
old Mother Hely did at Elmhurst ? The other old woman seemed fond
of him — I mean the one with the fair tour. She looked very melancholy
when she went away ; but Madame Bernstein whisked her off with her
crutch, and she was obliged to go. I don't care, Theo. I knoia she is
a wicked woman. You think everybody good, you do, because you
never do anything wrong yourself."
♦' My Theo is a good girl," says the mother, looking fondly at both
her dau2:hters.
162 THE VIRGINIAXS.
'' Then why do we call her a miserable sinner r "
'' We are all so, my love," said mamma.
*' What, papa too ? You know you don't think so," cries Miss Hester.
And to allow this was almost more than Mrs. Lambert could afford.
*' What was that you told John to give to Mr. Warrington's black
man?"
Mamma owned, with some shamefacedness, it was a bottle of her
cordial water and a cake which she had bid Betty make. *' I feel quite
like a mother to him, my dears, I can't help owning it, — and you know
both our boys still like one of our cakes to take to school or college with
them."
CHAPTEE XXIV.
FEOM OAKHUEST TO TUXBEIDGE.
Wavixg her lily handkerehief in token of adieu to the departing
travellers, Mrs. Lambert and her girls watched them pacing leisurely on
the first few hundred yards of their journey, and until such time as a
tree-clumped corner of the road hid them from the ladies' view. Behind
that clump of limes the good matron had many a time watched those she
loved best disappear. Husband departing to battle and danger, sons to
school, each after the other, had gone on his way behind yonder green
trees, returning as it pleased Heaven's will at his good time, and
bringing pleasure and love back to the happy little family. Besides
their own instinctive nature (which to be sure aids wonderfully in the
matter), the leisure and contemplation attendant upon their home life
serve to foster the tenderness and fidelity of our women. The men gone,
there is all day to think about them, and to-morrow and to-morrow —
when there certainly will be a letter — and so on. There is the vacant
room to go look at, where the boy slept last night, an.d the impression of
his carpet-bag is still on the bed. There is his whip hung up in the
hall, and his fishing-rod and basket — mute memorials of the brief by-
gone pleasures. At dinner there comes up that cherry tart, half of
which our darling ate at two o'clock in spite of his melancholy, and M'ith
a choking little sister on each side of him. The evening prayer is said
without that young scholar's voice to utter the due responses. Mid-
night and silence come, and the good mother lies wakeful, thinking how
one of the dear accustomed brood is away from the nest. Morn breaks,
home and holydays have passed away, and toil and labour have begun
for him. So those rustling limes formed, as it were, a screen between
the world and our ladies of the house at Oakhurst. Kind-hearted
Mrs. Lambert always became silent and thoughtful, if by chance she and
her girls walked up to the trees in the absence of the men of the family.
She said she would like to carve their names upon the grey silvered
THE YIRGIXIANS. 163
tmnKs, m the midst of true-lovers' knots, as was then the kindly
fashion; and Miss Theo, who had an exceeding elegant turn that way,
made some verses regarding the trees, which her delighted parent trans-
mitted to a periodical of those days.
''Now we are out of sight of the ladies," says Colonel Lambert,
giving a parting salute with his hat, as the pair of gentlemen trotted
past the limes in question. '' I know ray wife always watches at her
window until we are round this corner. I hope we shall have you seeing
the trees and the house, again, Mr. Warrington ; and the boys being at
home, mayhap there will be better sport for you."
*' I never want to be happier, sir, than I have been," replied Mr.
Warrington; " and I hope you will let me say, that I feel as if I am
leaving quite old friends behind me."
**The friend at whose house we shall sup to night hath a son, who is
an old friend of our family, too, and my wife, who is an inveterate
marriage-monger, would have made a match between him and one of
my girls, but that the Colonel hath chosen to fall in love with somebody
else."
" Ah ! " sighed Mr. Warrington.
" Other folks have done the same thing. There were brave fellows
before Agamemnon."
** I beg your pardon, sir. Is the gentleman's name — Aga— , I did
not quite gather it," meekly inquired the younger traveller.
*' No, Ms name is James Wolfe," cried the Colonel, smiling. " He is
a young fellow still, or what we call so, being scarce thirty years old.
He is the youngest lieutenant- colonel in the army, unless, to be sure
we except a few scores of our nobility, who take rank before us common
folk."
**0f course, of course!" says the Colonel's young companion, with
true colonial notions of aristocratic precedence.
'' And I have seen him commanding captains, and very brave captains,
who were thirty years his seniors, and who had neither his merit nor his
good fortune. But, lucky as he hath been, no one envies his superiority,
for, indeed, most of us acknowledge that he is our superior. He is
beloved by every man of our old regiment, and knows every one of them.
He is a good scholar as well as a consummate soldier, and a master of
many languages."
" Ah, sir ! " said Harry Warrington, with a sigli of great humility ;
*'I feel that I have neglected my own youth sadly; and am come to
England but an ignoramus. Had my dear brother been alive he
v/ould have represented our name and our colony, too, better than I can
do. George was a scholar; George was a musician; George could
talk with the most learned people in our country, and I make no doubt
WDuld have held his own here. Do you know, sir, I am glad to have
come home, and to you especially, if but to learn how ignorant I am."
** If you know that well, 'tis a great gain already," said the Colonel,
wit^\ a smile.
M 2
iC4 THE YIRGIXIANS.
** At home, especiallr of late, and since we lost my brother, I \^-<ed
to tliink myself a migh y fine fellow, and have no doubt that the folks
round about flattered me. I am wiser now, — that is, I hope I am, —
though perhaps I am wrong, and only bragging again. But you see,
sir, the gentry in our colony don't know very much, except about dogs
and horses, and betting and games. I wish I knew more about books,
and less about them."
*']S"ay. Dogs and horses are very good books, too, in their way,
and we may read a deal of truth out of 'em. Some men are not made
to be scholars, and may be very worthy citizens and gentlemen in spite
of their ignorance. "What call have all of us to be especially learned or
wise, or to take a first place in the world ? His Eoyal Highness is
commander, and Martin Lambert is colonel, and Jack Hunt, who rides
behind j^onder, was a private soldier, and is now a very honest, worthy
groom. So as we all do our best in our station, it matters not much
whether that be high or low. Nay, how do we know what is high and
what is low ? and whether Jack's currycomb, or my epaulets, or his
Iloyal Highness's baton, may not turn out to be pretty equal ? "When
I began life, et militavi non sine — never mind what — I dreamed of
saccess and honour ; now I think of duty, and yonder folks, from whom
we parted a few hours ago. Let us trot on, else we shall not reach
Westerham before nightfall."
At "Westerham the two friends were welcomed by their hosts, a
stately matron, an old soldier, whose recollections and services were of
five and forty years back, and the son of this gentlemen and lady, the
lieutenant-colonel of Kingsley's regiment, that ,;as then stationed at
Maidstone, whence the Colonel had come over on a brief visit to his
parents. Harry looked with some curiosity at this officer, who, young
as he was, had seen so much service, and obtained a character so high.
There was little of the beautiful in his face. He was very lean and
very pale ; his hair was red, his nose and cheek-bones were high ; but
he had a fine courtesy towards his elders, a cordial greeting towards
his friends, and an animation in conversation which caused those who
heard him to forget, even to admire his homely looks.
Mr. Warrinojton was going to Tunbridge ? Their James woidd bear
him company, the lady of the house said, and whispered something to
Colonel Lambert at supper, which occasioned smiles and a knowing
wink or two from that officer. He called for wine, and toasted ** Miss
Lowther." *' With all my heart," cried the enthusiastic Colonel James,
and drained his glass to the very last drop. Mamma whispered her
friend how James and the lady were going to make a match, and how
fihe came of the famous Lowther family of the North.
" If she was the daughter of King Charlemagne," cries Lambertj
** she is not too good for James Wolfe, or for his mother's son."
'* Mr. Lambert would not say so if he knew her," the young Colonel
declared.
** 0, of course, she is the priceless pearl, and you are nothing," cries
THE \^RGINIANS. 165
mamma. " Xo. I am of Colonel Lambert's opinion; and, if she
brought all Cumberland to j'ou for a jointure, I should say it was but
James's due. That is the way with 'em, Mr. Warrington. We tend our
children through fevers, and measles, and hooping-cough, and small-
pox ; we send them to the army and can't sleep at night for thinking ;
we break our hearts at parting with 'em, and have them at home only
for a week or two in the year, or may-be ten years, and, after all our
care, there comes a lass with a pair of bright eyes, and away goes our
boy, and never cares a fig for us afterwards."
"And pray, my dear, how did you come to marry James's papa ? '*
said the elder Colonel Wolfe. ** And why didn't you stay at home
with your parents ? "
*' Because Jaihes's papa was gouty and wanted somebody to take
care of him, I suppose ; not because I liked him a bit," answers the
lady : and so with much easy talk and kindness the evening passed
away.
On the morrow, and with many expressions of kindness and friend-
ship for his late guest. Colonel Lambert gave over the young Vir-
ginian to Mr. Wolfe's charge, and turned his horse's head homewards,
while the two gentlemen sped towards Tunbridge Wells. Wolfe was in
a hurry to reach the place, Harry Warrington was, perhaps, not quite
so eager : nay, when Lambert rode towards his own home, Harry's
thoughts followed him with a great deal of longing desire to the
parlour at Oakhurst, where he had spent three days in happy calm.
Mr. Wolfe agreed in all Harry's enthusiastic praises of Mr. Lambert,
and of his wife, an^. of his daughters, and of all that excellent
family. *' To have such a good name, and to live such a life as
Colonel Lambert's," said Wolfe, " seem to me now the height of
human ambition."
"And glory and honour?" asked Warrington, "are those nothing?
and would you give up the winning of them ? "
" They were my dreams once," answered the Colonel, who had now
different ideas of happiness, "and now my desires are much more
tranquil. I have followed arms ever since I was fourteen years of
age. I have seen almost every kind of duty connected with my
calling. I know all the garrison towns in this country, and have
had the honour to serve wherever there has been work to be done during
the last ten years. I have done pretty nearly the whole of a soldier's
duty, except, indeed, the command of an army, which can hardly be
hoped for by one of my years ; and now, methinks, I would like quiet,
books to read, a wife to love me, and some children to dandle on my
knee. I have imagined some such Elysium for myself, Mr. Warring-
ton. True love is better than glory ; and a tranquil fireside, with the
woman of your heart seated by it, the greatest good the gods can send
to us."
Harry imagined to himself the picture which his comrade called up.
He said "Yes" in answer to the other's remark; but, no doubt, did
1G5 THE virgin:
not give a very cheerful assent, for his eompanion observed upon tho
exuression of his face.
" Yoa say * Yes' as if a fireside and a sweetheart were not particularly
to your taste."
"Why, look you. Colonel; there are other things which a young
fellow might like to enjoy. You have had sixteen years of the world:
and I am but a few months away from my mother's apron-strings.
"When 1 have seen a campaign or two, or six, as you have : wlien I have
distinguished myself like Mr. Wolfe, and made the world talk of m--, I
then may think of retiring from it."
To these remarks, Mr. Wolfe, whose heart was full 'of a very different
matter, replied by breaking out in a farther encomium of the joys of
marriage ; and a special rhapsody upon the beauties and merits of his
mistress — a theme intensely in.teresting to himself, though not so,
possibly, to his hearer, whose views regarding a married life, if he per-
mitted himself to entertain any, were somewhat melancholy and
despondent. A pleasant afternoon brought them to the end of tlieir
ride ; nor did au}^ accident or incident accompany it, save, perhaps, a
mistake which Plarry Warrington made at some few miles' distance
from Tunbridge Wells, where two horsemen stopped them, whom Ilarr}-
was for charging, pistol in hand, supposing them to be highwaymen.
Colonel Wolfe, laughing, bade Mr. Warrington reserve his fire, for these
folks were only innkeeper's agents, and not robbers (except in their
calling). Gumbo, w^hose horse ran aw^ay with him at this particular
juncture, w^as brought back after a great deal of bawling on his master's
part, and the two gentlemen rode into the little toj\m, alighted at their
inn, and then separated each in quest of the ladies whom he had come to
visit.
Mr. Warrington found his aunt installed in handsome lodgings, with
a guard of London lacqueys in her ante-room, and to follow her chair
when she went abroad. She received him with, the utmost kindness.
His cousin my Lady Maria was absent when he arrived : I don't know
whether the young gentleman was unhappy at not seeing her : or
whether he disguised his feelings, or whether Madame de Bernstein
took any note regarding them.
A beau in a rich figured suit, the first specimen of the kind Harry
had seen, and two dowagers with voluminous hoops and plenty of rouge,
were on a visit to the Baroness when her nephew made his bow to her.
She introduced the young man to these personages as her nephew, the
young Croesus out of Virginia, of whom they had heard. She talked
about the immensity of his estate, wdiich v,'as as large as Kent ; and, as
she had read, infinitely more fruitful. She mentioned how her half-
sister, Madame Esmond, was called Princess Pocahontas in her own
country. She never tired in her praises of mother and son, of their
riches and their good qualities. The beau shook the young man by the
hand, and was delighted to have the honour to make his acquaintance.
The ladies praised him to his aunt so loudly that the modest vouth was
THE VIEGIXIAXS. 167
fain to blusli at their compliments. They went av/ay to inform the
Tunbridge soeiet}' of the news of his arrival. The little place was j-oon
buzzing with aceoimts' of the wealth, the good breeding, and the good
looks of the Virginian.
*'You could not have come at a better moment, my dear," the
Baroness said to her nephew, as her visitors departed with many
■curtsies and congees. *' Those three individuals have the most active
tongues in the Wells. They will trumpet your good qualities in every
company where they go. I have introduced you to a hundred people
already, and, Heaven help me ! have told all sorts of fibs, about the
geography of Virginia in order to describe your estate. It is a pro-
<ligious large one, but I am afraid I have magnified it. I have filled
it with all sorts of wonderful animals, gold mines, spices ; I am not
-sure I have not said diamonds. As for your negroes, I have given
your mother armies of them, and, in fact, represented her as a sove-
reign princess reigning over a magnificent dominion. So she has a
magnificent dominion : I cannot tell to a few hundred thousand pounds
how much her yearly income is, but I have no doubt it is a very great
one. And you must prepare, sir, to be treated here as the heir-appa-
rent of this rojal lady. Do not let your head be turned ! From this
day forth you are going to be flattered as you have never been flattered
in your life."
"And to what end, ma'am?" asked the young gentleman. "I
see no reason why I should be reputed so rich, or get so much
flattery."
' ' In the first place, sir, you must not contradict your old aunt, who
has no desire to be made a fool of before her company. And as for
your reputation, you must know we found it here almost ready-made
on our arrival. A London newspaper has somehow heard of you, and
come out with a story of the immense wealth of a ^''oung gentleman
from Virginia lately landed, and a nephew of my Lord Castlewood.
Immensely wealthy you are, and can't help yourself. All the world is
eager to see you. You shall go to church to-morrow morning, and see
how the whole congregation will turn away from its books and prayers,
to worship the golden calf in j^our person. You would not have had
me undeceive them, would you, and speak ill of my own flesh and
blood?"
"But how am I bettered by this reputation for money?" asked
Harry.
"You are making your entry into the world, and the gold key will
open most of its doors to you. To be thought rich is as good as to be
rich. You need not spend much money. People will say that you
lioard it, and your reputation for avarice will do you good rather than
iiarm. You'll see how the mothers will smile upon you, and the
daughters will curtsey ! Don't look surprised ! When I was a young
woman myself I did as all the rest of the world did, and tried to better
myself by more than one desperate attempt at a good marriage. Your
168 THE YIEGINIAXS.
poor grandmother, who "was a saint upon, earth to be sure, bating a
little jealousy, used to scold me, and called me worldly. "Wordly, my
dear ! So is the world worldly ; and we must serve it as it serves us ;
and give it nothing for nothing. Mr. Henry Esmond Warrington — I
can't help loving the two first names, sir, old woman as I am, and that
I I tell you — on coming here or to London, would have been nobody.
■ Our protection would have helped him but little. Our family has little-
credit, and entre nous, not much reputation. I suppose you know that
Castlewood was more than suspected in '45, and hath since ruined
himself by play ?"
Harry had never heard about Lord Castlewood or his reputation.
*' He never had much to lose, but he has lost that and more : his
wretched estate is eaten up with mortgages. He has been at all sorts
of schemes to raise money : — my dear, he has been so desperate at
times, that I did not think my diamonds were safe with him ; and
have travelled to and from Castlewood without them. Terrible, isn'"t
it, to speak so of one's own nephew ? But you are my nephew too^
and not spoiled by the world yet, and I wish to warn you of its wicked-
ness. I heard of your play-doings with Will and the chaplain, but
they could do you no harm, — nay, I am told you had the better of
them. Had you played with Castlewood, you would have had no such
luck : and you would have played, had not an old aunt of yours warned
my Lord Castlewood to keep his hands off you."
" What, ma'am, did you interfere to preserve me?"
*' I kept his clutches off from you: be thankful that you are come out
of that ogre's den with any flesh on your bones ! My dear, it has been
the rage and passion of all our family. My poor silly brother played ;
both his wives played, especially the last one, who has little else to live
upon now but her nightly assemblies in London, and the money for the
cards. I would not trust her at Castlewood alone with you : the passion
is too styong for them, and they would fall upon you, and fleece you ;
and then fall upon each other, and fight for the plunder. But for his
place about the Court my poor nephew hath nothing, and that is Will's
fortune too, sir, and Maria's and her sister's."
'' And are they, too, fond of the cards ?"
" No ; to do poor Molly justice, gaming is not her passion : but when
she is amongst them in London, little Fanny will bet her eyes out of
her head. I know what the passion is, sir: do not look so astonished ;
I have had it, as I had the measles when I was a child. I am not cured
quite. For a poor old woman there is nothing left but that. You will
see some high play at my card-tables to-night. Hush I my dear ! It
was that I wanted, and without which I moped so at Castlewood I
I could not win of my nieces or their mother. They would not pay if
they lost. 'Tis best to warn you, my dear, in time, lest you should be
shocked by the discovery. I can't live without the cards, there's the-
truth!"
A few days before, and while staying with his Castlewood relatives,.
THE TIRGIXIAXS. 169
Harry, -who loved cards, and cock-fighting, and betting, and everj^ con-
ceivable sport himself, would have laughed very likely at this confession.
Amongst that family into whose society he had fallen, many things were
laughed at, over which some folks looked grave. Faith and honour were
laughed at : pure lives were disbelieved ; selfishness was proclaimed as
common practice ; sacred duties were sneeringly spoken of, and vice
flippantly condoned. These were no Pharisees : they professed no hypo-
crisy of virtue : they fl.ung no stones at discovered sinners : — they smiled,
shrugged their shoulders, and passed on. The members of this family
did not pretend to be a whit better than their neighbours, whom they
despised heartily; they lived quite familiarly with the folks, about
whom and whose wives they told such wicked, funny stories ; they took
their share of what pleasure or plunder came to hand, and lived from
day to day till their last day came for them. Of course there are no
such people now ; and human nature is very much changed in the last
hundred years. At any rate, card- playing is greatly out of mode :
about that there can be no doubt : and very likely there are not six
ladies of fashion in London who know the difference between Spadille
and Manille.
" How dreadfully dull you must have found those hum-drum people
at that village where we left you — but the savages were very kind to
you, child ! " said Madame de Bernstein, patting the young man's cheek
with her pretty old hand.
"They were very kind; and it was not at all dull, ma'am, and I
think they are some of the best people in the world," said Harry, with
his face flushing up. His aunt's tone jarred upon him. He could not
bear that any one should speak or think lightly of the new friends whom
he had found. He did not want them in such company.
The old lady, imperious and prompt to anger, was about to resent the
check she had received, but a second thought made her pause. " Those
two girls," she thought, ** a sick-bed — an interesting stranger — of course
he has been falling in love with one of them." Madame Bernstein
looked round with a mischievous glance at Lady Maria, who entered the
room at this juncture.
CHAPTER XXy.
ITEW ACQUAINTANCES.
CorsiN' Maeia made her appearance, attended by a couple of
gardener's boys bearing baskets of flowers, with which it was proposed
to decorate Madame de Bernstein's drawing-room against the arrival of
her ladyship's company. Three footmen in livery, gorgeously laced with
170 THE VIEGIXIANS.
worsted, set out twice as many card-tables. A major-domo in black and
a bag, with fine laced ruffles, and looking as if he ought to have a sword
by his side, followed the lacqueys, bearing fasces of wax candles, which
he placed, a pair on each card-table, and in the silver sconces on the
wainscoted wall that was now gilt with the slanting rays of the sun, as
"was the prospect of the green common beyond, with its rocks and clumps
of trees and houses twinkling in the sunshine. Groups of many-
coloured figures in hoops and powder and brocade sauntered over the
green, and dappled the plain with their shadows. On the other side
from the Baroness's windows you saw the Pantiles, where a perpetual
fair was held, and heard the clatter and buzzing of the company. A
band of music was here performing for the benefit of the visitors to the
"Wells. Madame Bernstein's chief sitting-room might not suit a recluse
or a student, but for those who liked bustle, gaiety, a bright cross light,
and a view of all that was going on in the cheery busy place, no lodging
could be pleasanter. And when the windows were lighted up, the pas-
sengers walking below were aware that her ladyship was at home and
holding a card assembly, to which an introduction was easy enough.
By the way, in speaking of the past, I think the night-life of societj' a
hundred years since was rather a dark life. There was not one wax
candle for ten which we now see in a lady's drawing-room : let alone gas
and the wondrous new illuminations of clubs. Horrible guttering tallow
smoked and stunk in passages. The candle-snuff'er was a notorious
officer in the theatre. See Hogarth's pictures : how dark they are, and
how his feasts are as it were begrimed with tallow ! In Marriage a la
Mode, in Lord Viscount Squanderfield's grand saloons, where he and his
wife are sitting yawning before the horror-stricken steward when their
party is over — there are but eight candles — one on each card-table, and
half-a-dozen in a brass chandelier. If Jack Briefless convoked his
friends to oysters and beer in his chambers. Pump Court, he would have
twice as many. Let us comfort ourselves by thinking that Louis
Quatorze in all his glory held his revels in the dark, and bless Mr. Price
and other Luciferous benefactors of mankind, for banishing the abomin-
able mutton of our youth.
So Maria with her flowers (herself the fairest flower), popped her roses,
sweetwilliams, and so forth, in vases here and there, and adorned the
apartment to the best of her art. She lingered fondly over this bowl
and that dragon jar, casting but sly timid glances the while at young
Cousin Harry, whose ow^n blush would have become any young woman,
and you might have thought that she possibly intended to outstay her
aunt ; but that Baroness, seated in her arm-chair, her crooked tortoise-
shell stick in her hand, pointed the servants imperiously to their duty :
rated one and the other soundly : Tom for haying a darn in his stocking;
John for having greased his locks too profusely out of the candle-box';
and so forth — keeping a stern domination over them. Another remark
concerning poor Jeames of a hundred years ago : Jeames slept two in a
bed, four in a room, and that room a cellar very likely, and he washed
THE YirtGINIAXS. 171
in a trough sucli as you would hardly see anywhere in London now out
of the barracks of her Majesty's Foot Guards.
If Maria hoped a present interview, her fond heart was disappointed.
** "Where are you going to dine, Harry?" asks Madame de Bernstein.
** My niece Maria and I shall have a chicken in the little" parlour — I
think you should go to the best ordinary. There is one at the White
Horse at three, we shall hear his bell in a minute or two. And you will
understand, sir, that you ought not to spare expense, but behave like
Princess Pocahontas's son. Your trunks have been taken over to the
lodging I have engaged for you. It is not good for a lad to be always
hanging about the aprons of two old women. Is it, Maria?"
''No," says her ladyship, dropping her meek eyes : whilst the other
lady's glared in triumph. I think Andromeda had been a good deal
exposed to the Dragon in the course of the last five or six days : and if
Perseus had cut the latter's cruel head off he would have committed not
unjustifiable monstricide. But he did not bare sword or shield ; he only
looked mechanically at the lacqueys in tawny and blue as they creaked
about the room.
" And there are good mercers and tailors from London always here to
wait on the company at the Wells. You had better see them, my dear,
for your suit is not of the very last fashion — a little lace "
"I can't go out of mourning, ma'am," said the young man, looking
down at his sables.
"Ho, sir," cried the lady, rustling up from her chair and rising on
her cane, " wear black for your brother till you are as old as Methuselah,
if you like. I am sure I don't want to prevent you. I only want you
to dress, and to do like other people, and make a figure worthy of your
name."
*' Madam," said Mr. Warrington with great state, *' I have not done
anything to disgrace it that I know."
\Yhj did the old woman stop, and give a little start as if she had
been struck ? Let bygones be bygones. She and the boy had a score
of little passages of this kind in which swords were crossed and thrusts
rapidly dealt or parried. She liked Harry none the worse for his courage
in facing her. '^ Sure a little finer linen than that shirt you wear will
not be a disgrace to you, sir," she said, with rather a forced laugh.
Harry bowed and blushed. It was one of the homely gifts of his
Oakhurst friends. He felt pleased somehow to think he wore it ;
thought of the new friends, so good, so pure, so simple, so kindly, with
immense tenderness, and felt, while invested in this garment, as if evil
could not touch him. He said he would go to his lodging, and make a
point of returning arrayed in the best linen he had.
" Come back here, sir," ^aid Madame Bernstein, '' and if our company
has not arrived, Maria and I will find some ruffies for you ! " And
herewith, under a footman's guidance, the young fellow walked ofi" lo
his new lodgings.
Harry found not only handsome and spacious apartments provided for
173 THE VIRGINIAXS.
liira, but a groom in attendance waiting to be engaged by his honour,
and a second valet, if he was inclined to hire one to wait upon Mr.
Gumbo. Ere he had been many minutes in his rooms, emissaries from
a London tailor and bootmaker waited him with the cards and compli-
ments of their employers Messrs. Regnier and Tull ; the best articles in
his modest wardrobe were laid out by Gumbo, and the finest linen with
which his thrifty Yirginian mother had provided him. Visions of the
snow-surrounded home in his own country, of the crackling logs and
the trim quiet ladies working by the lire, rose up before him. For the
first time a little thought that the homely clothes were not quite smart
enough, the home-worked linen not so fine as it might be, crossed the
young man's mind. That he should be ashamed of anything belonging
to him or to Castlewood ! That was strange. The simple folks there
were only too well satisfied with all things that were done or said, or
produced at Castlewood ; and Madame Esmond, when she sent her son
forth on his travels, thought no young nobleman need be better pro-
vided. The clothes might have fitted better and been of a later fashion,
to be sure — but still the young fellow presented a comely figure enough
when he issued from his apartments, his toilette over; and Gumbo
calling a chair, marched beside it, until they reached the ordinary where
the young gentleman was to dine. .
Here he expected to find the beau whose acquaintance he had made
a few hours before at his Aunt's lodging, and who had indicated to
Harry that the "White Horse was the fltost modish place for dining at
the Wells, and he mentioned his friend's name to the host : but the
landlord and waiters leading him into the room with many smiles and
bows assured his honour that his honour did not need any other intro-
duction than his own, helped him to hang up his coat and sword on a
peg, asked him whether he would drink Burgund}', Pontac, or Cham-
pagne to his dinner, and led him to a table.
Though the most fashionable ordinary in the village, the "White
Horse did not happen to be crowded on this day. Monsieur Barbeau,
the landlord, informed Harry that there was a great entertainment at
Summer Hill, which had taken away most of the company ; indeed,
when Harry entered the room, there were but four other gentlemen in
it. Two of these guests were drinking wine, and had finished their
dinner : the other two were young men in the midst of their meal, to
whom the landlord, as he passed, must have whispered the name of the
new comer, for they looked at him with some appearance of interest,
and made him a slight bow across the table as the smiling host bustled
away for Harry's dinner.
Mr. Warrington returned the salute of the two gentlemen who bade
him welcome to Tunbridge, and hoped he would like the place upon
better acquaintance. Then they smiled and exchanged waggish looks
with each other, of which Harry did not understand the meaning, nor
why they cast knowing glances at the two other guests over their
THE YirtGINL\:N'S. • 17S
Oae of these persons was in a somewhat tarnished velvet coat with a
huge queue and bag, and voluminous ruffles and embroidery. The
other was a little beetle-browed, hook-nosed, high-shouldered gentle-
man, whom his opposite companion addressed as Milor, or my lord, in a
very high voice. My lord, who was sipping the wine before him, barely
glanced at the new comer, and then addressed himself to his own.
companion.
"And so you know the nephew of the old woman — the Croesus who
comes to arrive ? "
''You're thrown out there. Jack ! " says one young gentleman to the
other.
"Never could manage the lingo," said Jack. The two elders had
begun to speak in the French language.
"But assuredly, my dear lord!" says the gentleman with the long
queue.
" You have shown energy, my dear Baron! He has been here but
two hours. My people told me of him only as I came to dinner."
" I knew him before! — I have met him often in London with the
Baroness and my lord, his cousin," said the Baron,
A smoking soup for Harry here came in, borne by the smiling host.
"Behold, sir! Behold a potage of my fashion!" says my landlord,
laying down the dish and whispering to Harry the celebrated name of
the nobleman opposite, Harry thanked Monsieur Barbeau in his own
language, upon which the foreign gentleman, turning round, grinned
most graciously at Harry, and said, " Fous bossedez notre langue
barfaidement. Monsieur." Mr. "Warrington had never heard the French
language pronounced in that manner in Canada, He bowed in return to
the foreign gentleman.
"Tell me more about the Croesus, my good Baron," continued his
lordship, speaking rather superciliously to his companion, and taking no
notice of Harry, which perhaps somewhat nettled the young man.
" What will you, that I tell you, my dear lord ? Croesus is a youth
like other youths ; he is tall, like other youths ; he is awkward, like
other youths ; he has black hair, as they all have who come from the
Indies. Lodgings have been taken for him at Mrs. E-ose's toy-shop."
" I have lodgings there, too," thought Mr. Warrington. " Who is
Croesus they are talking of ? How good the soup is ! "
"He travels with a large retinue," the Baron continued, *'four
servants, two post-chaises, and a pair of outriders. His chief attendant
is a black man who saved his life from the savages in America, and
who will not hear, on any account, of being made free. He persists
in wearing mourning for his elder brother from whom he inherits his
principality."
"Could anything console you for the death of yours? Chevalier,"
cried out the elder gentleman.
"Milor! His property might," said the Chevalier, "which you
know is not small."
174 THE VIRGINIAXS.
''Your brother lives on his patrimony — ^ which you have told me is
immense — you by your industry, my dear Chevalier."
'* Milor !" cries the individual addressed as Chevalier.
**By your industry or your esprit, — how much more noble ! Shall
you be at the Baroness's to-night? She ought to be a little of your
parents, Chevalier?"
''Again I fail to comprehend your lordship," said the other gentle-
man, rather sulkily.
*' Why, she is a woman of great wit—she is of noble birth — she has
undergone strange adventures — she has but little principle (there you
happily have the advantage of her). But what care we men of the
world ? You intend to go and play with the young Creole, no doubt,
and get as much money from him as you can. By the way, Baron,
suppose he should be a guet a pens, that young Creole ? Suppose our
excellent friend has invented him up in London, and brings him down
with his character for wealth to prey upon the innocent folks, here ? "
" J'y ai souvent pense, my lor," says the little Baron, placing his
finger to his nose very knowingly, "that Baroness is capable of any-
thing."
"A Baron — a Baroness, que voulez vous? my friend. I mean the
late lamented husband. Do you know who he was ?"
"Intimately. A more notorious villain never dealt a card. At
Yenice, at Brussels, at Spa, at Yienna — the gaols of every one of which
places he knew. I knew the man, my lord."
"I thought you would. 1 saw him at the Hague, where I first had
the honour of meeting you, and a more disreputable rogue never entered
my doors. A minister must open them to all sorts of people, Baron, —
spies, sharpers, ruffians of every sort."
" Parbleu, milor, how you treat them !" says my lord's companion.
" A man of my rank, my friend — of the rank I held then — of course,
must see all sorts of people — entre autres your acquaintance. "What
his wife could want with such a name as his I can't conceive."
" Apparently, it was belter than the lady's own."
" Effectively ! So I have heard of my friend Paddy changing clothes
with the scarecrow. I don't know which name is the most distin-
guished, that of the English bishop or the German baron."
" My lord," cried the other gentleman, rising and laying his hand on
a large star on his coat, "you forget that I; too, am a baron and a
Chevalier of the Holy Roman — "
*'* — Order of the Spur ! — not in the least, ray dear knight and baron !
You will have no more wine ? We shall meet at Madame de Bernstein's
to-night." The knight and baron quitted the table, felt in his em-
broidered pockets, as if for money to give the waiter, who brought him
his great laced hat, and waving that menial off with a hand surrounded
by large rufiles and blazing rings, he stalked away from the room.
" It was only when the person addressed as my lord had begun to
speak of tht bishop's widow and the German baron's wife that Harry
THE VmGINIAXS. 175
Warrington was aware how his Aunt and himself had been the subject
of the two gentlemen's conversation. Ere the conviction had settled
itself on his mind, one of the speakers had quitted the room, and the
other turniug to a table at which two gentlemen sate, said, " What a
little sharper it is ! Everything I said about Bernstein relates mutato
nomine to him. I knew the fellow to be a spy and a rogue. He has
changed his religion, I don't know how may times. I had him turned
out of the Hague myself when I was ambassador, and I know he
was caned in Vienna."
"I wonder my Lord Chesterfield associates with such a villain!"
called out Harry from his table. The other couple of diners looked at
him. To his surprise the nobleman so addressed went on talking.
'* There cannot be a more jieffe coquin than this Poellnitz. Why,
Heaven be thanked, he has actually left me my snuff-box ! You
laugh? — the fellow is capable of taking it:" and my lord thought it
was his own satire at which the young men were laughing.
" You are quite right, sir," said one of the two diners, turning to
Mr. Warrington, ''though, saving your presence, I don't know what
business it is of yours. My lord will play with anybody who will set
him. Don't be alarmed, he is as deaf as a post, and did not hear a
word that you said ; and that's why my lord will play with anybody
who will put a pack of cards before him, and that is the reason why he
consorts with this rogue."
"Faith, I know other noblemen who are not particular as to their
company," says Mr. Jack.
'■'■ Do you mean because I associate with you? I know my company,
my good friend, and I defy most men to liave the better of me."
jS[ot having paid the least attention to Mr. Warrington's angry inter-
ruption, my lord opposite was talking in his favorite French with
Monsieur Barbeau, the landlord, and graciously complimenting him on
his dinner. The host bowed again and again ; was enchanted that his
Excellency was satisfied : had not forgotten the art vrhich he had
learned when he was a young man in his Excellency's kingdom of
Ireland. The salmi was to my lord's liking ? He had just served a
dish to the young American seigneur who sate opposite the gentleman
from Virginia.
" To whom .?" My lord's pale face became red for a moment, as he
asked this question, and looked towards Harry Warrington opposite to
him.
*' To the young gentleman from Virginia who has just arrived, and
who perfectly possesses our beautiful language!" says Mr. Barbeau,
thinking to kill two birds, as' it were, with 'this one stone of a compli-
ment. •
•'And to whom your lordship will be answerable for language
reflecting upon my family, and uttered in the presence of these gentle-
men," cried out Mr. Warrington, at the top of his voice, determined
that his opponent should hear.
176 THE YIRCtIXIxVXS.
** You must go and call into his ear, and then he may perchance heap
you," said one of the younger guests
"I will take care that his. lordship shall understand my meaning,
one way or other," Mr. "Warrington said, with much dignity: **and
will not suffer calumnies regarding my relatives to be uttered by him
or any other man !"
Whilst Harry was speaking, the little nobleman opposite to him did
not hear him, but had time sufficient to arrange his own reply. He
had risen, passing his handkerchief once or twice across his mouth,
and laying his slim fingers on the table. *' Sir," said he, *'you will
believe, on the word of a gentleman, that I had no idea before whom I
was speaking, and it seems that ray acquaintance. Monsieur de PoeUnitz,
knew you no better than myself. Had I known you, believe me that
I should have been the last man in the world to utter a syllable that
should give you annoyance ; and I tender you my regrets, and apologies
before my Lord March and Mr. Morris here present."
To these words, Mr. Warrington could only make a bow, and mumble
out a few words of acknowledgment : which speech having made believe
to hear, my lord made Harry another very profound bow, and saying he
should have the honour of waiting upon Mr. Warrington at his lodgings,
saluted the company, and went away.
CHAPTEE XXYI.
IN WHICH "WE AEE AT A VEKY GEEAT DISTANCE FEOM OAKHUEST.
WiTHii^ the precinct of the White Horse Tavern, and coming up to
the windows of the eating-room, was a bowling-green, with a table or
two, where guests might sit and partake of punch or tea. The three gen-
tlemen having come to an end of their dinner about the same time, Mr.
Morris proposed that they should adjourn to the Green, and there drink
a cool bottle. " Jack Morris would adjourn to the Dust Hole, as a pre-
text for a fresh drink," said my lord. On which Jack said he supposed
each gentleman had his own favourite way of going to the deuce. His
weakness, he owned, was a bottle.
** My Lord Chesterfield's deuce is deuce-ace," says my Lord March.
" His lordship can't keep away from the cards or dice."
*' My Lord March has not one devil, but several devils. He love^
gambling, he loves horse-racing, he loves betting, he loves drinking, he
loves eating, he loves money, he loves women ; and you have fallen into
bad company, Mr. Warrington, when you lighted upon his lordship.
He will play you for every acre you have in Virginia."
*' With the greatest pleasure in life, Mr. Warrington!" interposes my
lord.
THE YIEGIXIAXS. I77
** And for all your tobacco, and for all your spices, and for all your
slaves, and for all your oxen and asses, and lor everything that is
yours."
*' S«hall we begin now? Jack you are never without a dice-box or a
bottle-screw. I will set Mr. Warrington for what he likes."
" Unfortunately, my lord, the tobacco, and the slaves, and the asses,
and the oxen, are not mine, as yet. I am just of age, and my mother,
scarce twenty years older, has quite as good chance of long life as I
have."
** I will bet you that you survive her. I will pay you a sum now
against four times the sum to be paid at her death. I will set you a fair
sum over this table against the reversion of your estate in Virginia at
the old lady's departure. What do you call your. place ?"
<' Castle wood."
** A principality, I hear it is. I will bet that its value has been exag-
gerated ten times at least amongst the quidnuncs here. How came you
by the name of Castlewood ? — you are related to my lord ? O stay, I
know, — my lady, your mother, descends from the real head of the house.
He took the losing side in 'fifteen. I have had the story a dozen times
from my old Duchess. She knew your grandfather. He was friend of
Addison and Steele, and Pope and Milton, I dare say, and the bigwigs.
It is a pity he did not stay at home, and transport the other branch of
the family to the plantations." '
"I have just been staying at Castlewood with my cousin there,"
remarked Mr. Warrington.
* ' Hm ! Did you play with him ? He's fond of pasteboard and
bones."
" Never, but for sixpences and a pool of commerce with the ladies."
** So much the better for both of you. But you played with Will
Esmond if he was at home ? I will lay ten to one you played with
AVill Esmond?"
Harry blushed, and owned that of an evening his cousin and he had
had a few games at cards.
*' And Tom Sampson, the chaplain," cried Jack Morris, **was he of
the party ? I wager that Tom made a third, and the Lord deliver you
from Tom and Will Esmond together !"
"Xay ; the truth is, I won of both of them," said Mr. Warrington.
" And they paid you ? Well, miracles will never cease !"
** I did not say any thing about miracles," remarked Mr. Harry,
smiling over his wine.
"And you don't tell tales out of school — and so much the better, Mr.
Warrington ?" says my lord.
If Mr. Warrington has been to school to Lord Castlewood and Will
Esmond, your tutors must have cost you a pretty penny. Mustn't they,
March ?
" Must they, Morris?" said my lord, as if he only half liked the
other's familiarity.
178 THE YIEGINIAXS.
Both of the two gentlemen were dressed alike, in small scratch-wigs
without powder, in blue frocks with plate buttons, in buckskins, and
riding-boots, in little hats with a narrow cord of lace, and no outwar-.
mark of fashion.
" I don't care for indoor games much, my lord," says Harry, warmino-
with his w4ne; " but I should like to go to j^ewmarket, and long to se*
a good English hunting-field."
" "We will show you Newmarket and the hunting-field, sir. Can yo»
ride pretty well?"
"I think I can," Harry said; **and I can shoot pretty well, an^
jump some."
" What's your weight ? I bet you we weigh even, or I weigh most.
I bet you Jack Morris beats you at birds or a mark, at five-and-twenty
paces. I bet you I jump farther than you on flat ground, here on this
green."
''I don't know Mr. Morris's shooting — I never saw either gentleman
before — but I take your bets, my lord, at what you please," cries Harry,
who by this time was more than warm with Burgundy.
" Ponies on each !" cried my lord.
''Done and done!" cried my lord and Harry together. The young
man thought it was for the honaur of his country not to be ashamed of
tny bet made to him.
" We can try the last bet now, if your feet are pretty steady," said
my lord, springing up, stretching his arms and limbs, and looking at the
crisp dry grass. He drew his boots ofi", then his coat and waistcoat,
buckling his belt round his waist, and flinging his clothes down to the
ground.
Harry had more respect for his garments. It was his b?st suit. He
took oft' the velvet coat and waistcoat, folded them up daintily, and, as
the two or three tables round were slopped with drink, went to place
tiie clothes on a table in the eating-room, of which the windows were
open.
Here a new guest had entered ; and this was no other than Mr. Wolfe,
who was soberly eating a chicken and salad, with a modest pint of wine.
Harry was in liigh spirits. He told the Colonel he had a bet with my
Ljrd March — would Colonel W^olfe stand him halves ? The Colonel said
he was too poor to bet. Would he come out and see fair play ? That
he would with all his heart. Colonel Wolfe set down his glass, and
stalked through the open window after his young friend.
" Who is that tallow-faced Put with the carroty hair?" says Jack
Morris, on whom the Burgundy had had its due efiect.
Mr. Warrington explained that this was Lieutenant-Colonel Wolfe,
of the 2()th Eegiment.
"Your humble servant, gentlemen !" says the Colonel, making the
company a rigid military bow.
"Never saw sucli a figure in mv life; " cries Jack Morris. " Did you
—March?"
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 179
** I beg your pardon, I think you said March ?" said the Colonel, look-
ing very much surprised.
" 1 am the Earl of March, sir, at Colonel Wolfe's service," said the
noblemRn, bowing. " My friend, Mr. Morris, is so intimate with me,
that, after dinner, we are quite like brothers."
Why is not all Tunbridge Wells by to hear this ? thought Morris.
And he was so delighted that he shouted out *' Two to one on my
lord!"
''Done!" calls out Mr. Warrington; and the enthusiastic Jack wa3
obliged to cry " Done !" too.
" Take him, Colonel," Harry whispers to his friend.
But the Colonel said he could not afford to lose, and therefore could
not hope to win.
" I see you have won one of our bets already, Mr. Warrington," my
Lord March remarked. "lam taller than you by an inch or two, but
you are broader round the shoulders."
"Pooh, my dear AVilU I bet you you weigh tioice as much as he
does ! " cries Jack Morris.
"Done, Jack!" says my lord, laughing. "The bets are all ponies.
Will you take him, Mr. Warrington?"
"1*^0, my dear fellow — one's enough," says Jack.
" Yery good, my dear fellow," says my lord ; "and now we will settle
the other wager."
Having already arrayed himself in his best silk stockings, black sattin-
net breeches, and neatest pumps, Harry did not care to take off his shoes
as his antagonist had done, whose heavy riding-boots and spurs were, to
be sure, little calculated for leaping. They had before them a fine even
green turf of some thirty yards in length, enough for a run and enough
for a jump. A gravel- walk ran around this green, beyond which was a
wall and gate-sign — a field azure, bearing the Hanoverian White Horse
rampant between two skittles proper, and for motto the name of the
landlord and of the animal depicted.
My lord's friend laid a handkerchief on the ground as the mark
whence the leapers were -to take their jump, and Mr. Wolfe stood at the
other end of the grass-plat to note the spot where each came down.
" My lord went first," writes Mr. Warrington, in a letter to Mrs. Moun-
tain, at Castlewood, Virginia, still extant. " He was for having me
take the lead ; but, remembering the story about the Battel of Fonta-
noy which my dearest George used to tell, I says, ' Monseigneur le
Comte tirez le premier, s'il vous play.' So he took his run in his
stocken-feet, and for the honour of Old "Virginia, I had the gratafacation
of beating his lordship by more than two feet — viz., two feet nine inches
— me jumping twenty-one feet three inches, by the drawer's measured
tape, and his lordship only eighteen six. I had won from him about
my weight before (which I knew the moment I set my eye upon him).
So he and Mr. Jack paid me these two hetts. And with my best duty
to my mother — she will not be displeased with me, for I bett for tlU
H 2
180 THE YIRGINIAXS.
ho7ior of the Old DominioUj and my opponent was a nobleman of the first
quality, himself holding two Erldomes, and heir to a Duke. Betting is
all the rage here, and the bloods and young fellows of fashion are
betting away from morning till night.
" r told them — and that was my mischief perhaps — that there was a
gentleman at home who could beat me by a good foot ; and when they
asked who it was, and I said Col. Gr. Washington, of Mount Yernon
— as you know he can, and he's the only man in his county or mine
that can do it — Mr. Wolfe asked me ever so many questions about Col.
G. W., and showed that he had heard of him, and talked over last year's
unhapjjy canipane as if he knew every inch of the ground, and he knew
the names of all our rivers, only he called the Potowmac Pottaraac, at
which we had a good laugh at him. My Lord of March and Ruglen was
not in the least ill-humour about losing, and he and his friend handed
me notes out of their pocket-books, which filled mine that was getting
very empty^ for the vales to the servants at my Cousin Castlewood's
house and buying a horse at Oakhurst have very nearly put me on the
necessity of making another draft upon my honoured mother or her
London or Bristol agent."
These feats of activity over, the four gentlemen now strolled out of
the tavern garden into the public walk, where, by this time, a great
deal of company was assembled : upon whom Mr. Jack, who was of a frank
and free nature, with a loud voice, chose to make remarks that were
not always agreeable. And here, if my Lord March made a joke,
of which his lordship was not sparing. Jack roared, ** 0, ho, ho! 0,
good Gad ! 0, my dear earl ! 0, my dear lord, you'll be the death of
me ! " "It seemed as if he wished everybody to know," writes Harry
sagaciously to Mrs. Mountain, "that his friend and companion was
anErir'
There was, indeed, a great variety of characters who passed. M. Poell-
nitz, no finer dressed than he had been at dinner, grinned, and saluted
with his great laced hat and tarnished feathers. Then came by my Lord
Chesterfield, in a pearl coloured suit, with his blue ribbon and star, and
saluted the young men in his turn. •
" I will back the old boy for taking his hat off against the whole
kingdom, and France, either," says my Lord March. *' He has never
changed the shape of that hat of his for twenty years. Look at it.
There it goes again ! Do you see that great, big, awkward, pock-marked,
snuff-coloured man, who hardly touches his clumsy beaver in reply.
D — his confounded impudence — do you know who that is ? "
♦* No, curse him ! Who is it, March ? " asks Jack, with an oath.
"It's one Johnson, a Dictionary-maker, about whom my Lord Chester-
field wrote some most capital papers, when his dixonary was coming out,
to patronise the fellow. I know they were capital. I've heard Horry
Walpole say so, and he knows all about that kind of thing. Confound
the impudent schoolmaster ! "
" Hang him, he ought to stand in the pillory ! " roars Jack,
THE VIRGINIANS. 181
" That fat man he's walking with is another of your writing
fellows, — a printer, — his name is Eichardson ; he wrote * Clarissa,' you
know."
*' Great heavens ! my lord, is that the great Richardson ? Is that the
man who wrote ' Clarissa ? '" called out Colonel Wolfe and Mr. War-
rington, in a breath.
Harry ran forward to look at the old gentleman toddling along the
"walk with a train of admiring ladies surrounding him.
" Indeed, my very dear sir," one was saying, " you are too great
and good to live in such a world ; but sure you were sent to teach it
virtue ! "
" Ah, my Miss Mulso ! Who shall teach the teacher ? " said the good,
fat old man, raising a kind, round face, skywards. ** Even he has his
faults and errors ! Even his age and experience does not prevent him
from stumbl — . Heaven bless my soul, Mr. Johnson ! I ask your
pardon if I have trodden on your corn."
" You have done both, sir. You have trodden on the corn and received
the pardon," said Mr. Johnson, and went on mumbling some verses,
swaying to and fro, his eyes turned towards the ground, his hands be-
hind him, and occasionally endangering with his great stick the honest,
meek eyes of his companion-author.
'* They do not see very well, my dear Mulso," he says to the young
lady, " but such as they are, I would keep my lash from Mr. Johnson's
cudgel. Your servant, sir." Here he made a low bow, and took off his
hat to Mr. Warrington, who shrank back with many blushes, after
saluting the great author. The great author was accustomed to be
adored. A gentler wind never puffed mortal vanity. Enraptured
fipinsters flung tea-leaves round him, and incensed him with the coffee-
pot. Matrons kissed the slippers they had worked for him. There was
a halo of virtue round his nightcap. All Europe had thrilled, panted,
admired, trembled, wept, over the pages of the immortal, little, kind,
honest man with the round paunch. Harry came back quite glowing
and proud at having a bow from him. *' Ah ! " says he, " my lord I am
glad to have seen him ! "
" Seen him ! why, dammy, you may see him any day in his shop, I
suppose ? " says Jack, with a laugh.
" My brother declared that he and Mr. Fielding, I think, was the
name, were the greatest geniuses in England ; and often used to say,
that when we came to Europe, his first pilgrimage would be to Mr.
Pvichardson," cried Harry, always impetuous, honest and tender, when
he spoke of the dearest friend.
*' Your brother spoke like a man," cried Mr. Wolfe, too, his pale face
likewise flushing up. " I would rather be a man of genius, than a peer
of the realm."
"Every man to his taste. Colonel," says my lord, much amused.
"Your enthusiasm — I don't mean anything personal — refreshes me, on
my honour, it does."
182 THE VIRGII^IANS.
*' So it does me— by gad — perfectly refreshes me," cries Jack.
*' So it does Jack — you see— it actually refreshes Jack! I say, Jack,
■whicli would you rather be ? — a fat old printer, who has written a story
about a confounded girl and a fellow that ruins her, — or a peer of Par-
liament with ten thousand a year ?"
''March — my Lord March, do you take me for a fool?" says Jack,,
with a tearful voice. " Have I done anything to deserve this language
from you ? "
"I would rather win honour than honours: I would rather have
genius than wealth. I would rather make my name than inherit it,
though my father's, thank God, is an honest one," said the young Colonel.
"But pardon me, gentlemen," and here making them a hasty salutation,
he ran across the parade towards a young and elderly lady, and a gen-
tleman, who were now advancing.
" It is the beautiful Miss Lowther. I remember now," says my lord.
** See ! he takes her arm ! The report is, he is engaged to her."
*' You don't mean to say such a fellow is engaged to any of the-
Lowthers of the North ?" cries out Jack. *' Curse me, what is the world
come to, with your printers, and your half-pay ensigns, and your school-
masters, and your infernal nonsense ? "
The Dictionary-maker, who had shown so little desire to bow to my
Lord Chesterfield, when that famous nobleman courteously saluted him,
was here seen to take off his beaver, and bow almost to the ground
before a florid personage in a large round hat, with bands and a gown
who made his appearance in the Walk. This was my Lord Bishop of
Salisbury, wearing complacently the blue riband and badge of the Garter^,
of which Noble Order his Lordship -was prelate.
Mr. Johnson stood, hat in hand, during the whole time of his conver-^
sation with Dr. Gilbert ; who made many flattering and benedictory
remarks to Mr. Eichardson, declaring that he was the supporter of virtue,
the preacher of sound morals, the main- stay of religion, of all which-
points the honest printer himself was perfectly convinced.
Do not let any young lady trip to her grandpapa's bookcase in-
consequence of this eulogiura, and rashly take down " Clarissa" from the^
shelf. She would not care to read the volumes, over which her pretty
ancestresses wept and thrilled a hundred years ago ; which were com-
mended by divines from pulpits, and belauded all Europe over. I
wonder, are our women more virtuous than their grandmothers, or only-
more squeamish ? If the former, then Miss Smith of JSTew York is.
certainly more modest than Miss Smith of London, who still does not-
scruple to say, that tables, pianos, and animals have legs. 0, my faithful,
good old Samuel lliohardson! Hath the news yet reached thee in Hades,
that thy sublime novels arc huddled away in corners, and that our
daughters may no more read Clarissa than Tom Jones ? Go up, Samuel,
and be reconciled with thy brother scribe, whom in life thou didst hate
BO. I wonder whether a century hence the novels of to-day will be
hidden behind locks and wires, and make pretty little maidens blush.
THE VIRGINIANS. 183
**TVho is yonder queer person iu the high head-dress of my grand-
mother's time, who stops and speaks to Mr. Ricriardson ?" asked
Harry, as a fantastically-dressed lady came up, and performed a curtsey
and a compliment to the bowing printer.
Jack Morris nervously struck Harry a blow in the side with, the butt-
end of his whip. Lord March laughed.
" Yonder queer person is my gracious kinswoman, Katharine,^^^
Duchess of Dover and Q,ueensberry, at your service, Mr. Warring .
ton. She was a beauty once ! She is changed now, isn't she ? Wha;^
an old Gorgon it is ! She is a great patroness of your book-men ,
and when that old frump was young, they actually made verses about
her."
The Earl quitted his friends for a moment to make his bow to tho
old Duchess, Jack Morris explaining to Mr. Warrington how, at the
Duke's death, my Lord of March and Ruglen would succeed to his
cousin's dukedoms.
" I suppose," says Harry, simply, "his lordship is here in attendance
upon the old lady ? "
Jack burst into a loud laugh.
"Oyes! very much ! exactly!" says he. "Why, my dear fellow,
you don't mean to say youliaven't heard about the little Opera-dancer?"
" I am but lately arrived in England, Mr. Morris," said Harry, with
a smile, " and in Virginia, I own, we have not heard much about the
little Opera-dancer."
Luckily for us, the secret about the little Opera-dancer never was
revealed, for the young men's conversation was interrupted by a lady in
a cardinal cape, and a hat by no means unlike those lovely headpieces
which have returned into vogue a hundred years after the date of our
present history, who made a profound curtsey to the two gentlemen, and
received their salutation in return. She stopped opposite to Harry; she
held out her hand rather to his wonderment :
" Have you so soon forgotten me, Mr. Warrington ? " she said.
Off went Harry's hat in an instant. He started, blushed, stam-
mered, and called out Good Heavens ! as if there had been any celestial
wonder in the circumstance ! It was Lady Maria come out for a walk.
He had not been thinking about her. She was, to say truth, for the
moment so utterly out of the young gentleman's mind that her sudden
re-entry there and appearance in the body startled Mr. Warrington's
faculties, and caused those guilty blushes to crowd into his cheeks.
•No. He was not even thinking of her! A week ago — a year, a
hundred years ago it seemed — he would not have been surprised to meet
her anywhere. Appearing from amidst darkling shrubberies, gliding
over green garden terraces, loitering on stairs, or corridors, hovering
even in his dreams, all day, or all night bodily or spiritually, he ha*'
been accustomed to meet her. A week ago his heart used to beat. A
week ago, and at the very instant when he jumped out of his sleep thero
was her idea smiling on him. And it was only last Tuesday that his
184 THE VIRGINIAXS.
.love was stabbed and slain, and he not only had left off mourning for
her, but had forgotten her !
**You -will come and walk with me a little?" she said. *' Or
would you like the music best? I daresay you will like the music
best."
*'You know," said Harry, "I don't care about any music much
except" — he was thinking of the Evening Hymn — "except of your
playing." He turned very red again as he spoke, he felt he was per-
I juring himself horribly.
The poor lady was agitated herself by the flutter and agitation
which she saw in her young companion. Gracious Heaven ! Could
that tremor and excitement mean that she was mistaken, and that the
lad was still faithful? ''Give me your arm, and let us take a little
walk," she said, waving round a curtsey to the other two gentlemen :
*' my Aunt is asleep after her dinner." Harry could not but offer the
arm, and press the hand that lay against his heart. Maria made
another fine curtsey to Harry's bowing companions, and walked off with
her prize. In her griefs, in her rages, in the pains and anguish of
wrong and desertion, how a woman remembers to smile, curtsey, caress,
dissemble ! How resolutely they discharge the social proprieties ; how
they have a word, or a hand, or a kind little speech or reply for th»
passing acquaintance who crosses unknowing the path of the tragedy,
drops a light airy remark or two (happy self-satisfied rogue !), and
passes on. He passes on, and thinks : " That woman was rather pleased
with what I said. That joke I made was rather neat. I do really
think Lady Maria looks rather favourably at me, and she's a dev'lish
fine woman, begad she is I " you wiseacre ! Such was Jack
Morris's observation and case as he walked away, leaning on the arm
of his noble friend, and thinking the whole Society of the Wells was
looking at him. He had made some exquisite remarks about a par-
ticular run of cards at Lady Flushington's the night before, and Lady
Maria had replied graciously and neatly, and so away went Jack per-
fectly happy.
The absurd creature ! I declare we know notliing of anybody (but
that, for my part, I know better and better every day). You enter
smiling to see your new acquaintance, Mrs. A. and her charming
• family. You make your bow in the elegant drawing-room of Mr. and
Mrs. B. ? I tell you that in your course through life you are for ever
putting your great clumsy foot uppn the mute invisible wounds of
bleeding tragedies. Mrs. B.'s closets for what you know are stuffed
with skeletons. Look there under the sofa-cushion. Is that merely
Missy's doll, or is it the limb of a stifled Cupid peeping out ? "What
do you suppose are those ashes smouldering in the grate ? — Yery
likely a suttee has been offered up there just before you came in : a
faithful heart has been burned out upon a callous corpse, and you are
looking on the cineri doloso. You see B. and his wife receiving their
company before dinner. Gracious powers ! Do you know that that
THE VIRGINIANS. 185
bouquet which she wears is a signal to Captain C, and that he will find
a note under the little bronze Shakespear on the mantelpiece in the
study ? And with all this you go up and say some uncommonly neat
thing (as you fancy) to Mrs. B. about the weather (clever dog!), or
about Lady E.'s last party (fashionable buck !), or about the dear
children in the nursery (insinuating rogue !). Heaven and earth, my
good sir, how can you tell that B. is not going to pitch all the chil-
dren out of the nursery window this very night, or that his lady has
not made an arrangement for leaving them, and running off with the
Captain ? How do you know that those footmen are not disguised
bailiffs ? — that yonder large-looking butler (really a skeleton) is not
the pawnbroker's man ? and that there are not skeleton rotis and
entrees under every one of the covers ? Look at their feet peeping from
nnder the tablecloth. Mind how you stretch out your own lovely little
slippers, Madam, lest you knock over a rib or two. Remark the
Death's-head moths fluttering among the flowers. See, the pale wind-
ing-sheets gleaming in the wax-candles ! I know it is an old story,
and especially that this preacher has yelled vanitas vanitatum five
hundred times before. I can't help always falling upon it, and cry out
with particular loudness and wailing, and become especially melancholy,
when I see a dead love tied to a live love. Ha ! I look up from my
desk, across the street: and there come in Mr. and Mrs. D. from their
walk in Kensington Gardens. How she hangs on him! how jolly and
happy he looks, as the children frisk round ! My poor dear benighted
Mrs. D., there is a Regent's Park as well as a Kensington Gardens in
the world. Go in, fond wretch 1 Smilingly lay before him what you
know he likes for dinner. Show him the children's copies and the re-
ports of their masters. Go with Missy to the piano, and play your
artless duet together ; and fancy you are happy !
There go Harry and Maria taking their evening walk on the common,
away from the village which is waking up from its after-dinner siesta,
and where the people are beginning to stir and the music to play.
With the music Maria knows Madame de Bernstein will waken : with
the candles she must be back to the tea-table and the cards. Never
mind. Here is a minute. It may be my love is dead, but here is a
minute to kneel over the grave and pray by it. He certainly was
not thinking about her : he was startled and did not even know her.
He was laughing and talking with Jack Morris and my Lord March.
He is twenty years younger than she. Never mind. To-day is to-day
in which we are all equal. This moment is ours. Come, let us walk a
little way over the heath, Harry. She will go, though she feels a
deadly assurance that he will tell her all is over between them, and
that he loves the dark-haired girl at Oakhurst,
186 THE VIRGINIANS.
CnAPTEE XXYII.
PLENUM OPUS ALE^.
"Let me hear about those cHldreri, child, whom I saw running about
at the house where they took you in, poor dear boy, after your dreadful
fall ? " says Maria, as they paced the common. " that fall, Harry! I
thought I should have died when I saw it ! You needn't squeeze one's
arm so. You know you don't care for me."
"The people are the very best, kindest, dearest. people I have ever
met in the world," cries Mr. AYarrington. " Mrs. Lambert was a
friend of my mother when she was in Europe for her education.
Colonel Lambert is a most accomplished gentleman, and has seen ser-
vice everywhere. He was in Scotland with his lloyal Highness, in
Flanders, at Minorca. No natural parents could be kinder than they
were to me. How can I show my gratitude to them ? I want to make
them a present: I 77iust make them a present," says Harry, clapping
his hand into his pocket, which was filled with the crisp spoils of
Morris and March.
"We can go to the toy-shop, my dear, and buy a couple of dolls for
the children," says Lady Maria. "You would offend the parents by
offering anything like payment for their kindness."
" Dolls for Hester and Theo ! "Why, do you think a woman is not
woman till she is forty, Maria?" (The arm under Harry's here gave
a wince perhaps, — ever so slight a wince.) " I can tell you Miss Hester
by no means considers herself a child, and Miss Theo is older than
her sister. They know ever so many languages. They have read
books — oh ! piles and piles of books ! They play on the harpsichord.
and sing together admirable ; and Theo composes, and sings songs of
ker own.*'
"Indeed! I scarcely saw them. I thought they were children.
They looked quite childish. I had no idea they had all these perfec-
tions, and were such wonders of the world."
" That's just the way with you women ! At home, if me or Georgo
praised a woman, Mrs. Esmond, and Mountain, too, would be sure to
find fault with her ! " cries Harry.
"I am sure I would find fault with no one who is kind to yo«, Mr.
Warrington," sighed Maria, "though you are not angry with me for
envying them because they had to take care of you when you were
wounded and ill—whilst I — I had to leave you ? "
" You dear good Maria ! "
"No, Harry! I am not dear and good. There sir, you needn't be
■0 pressing in your attentions. Look ! There is your black man walk-
THE VIRGINTAXS. 187
ing with a score of other wretches in livery. The horrid creatures are
going to fuddle at the tea-garden, and get tipsy like their masters.
That dreadful Mr. Morris was perfectly tipsy when I came to you,
and frightened you so."
''I had just won great bets from both of them. What shall I buy
for you, my dear cousin ? " And Harry narrated the triumphs which
he had just achieved. He was in high spirits : he laughed, he bragged
a little, " For the honour of Virginia I was determined to show them
what jumping was," he said. ** With a little practice I think I could
leap two foot further."
Maria was pleased with the victories of her young champion. *' But
you must beware about play, child," she said. " You know it hath
been the ruin of our family. My brother Castlewood, Will, our poor
father, our aunt Lady Castlewood herself, they have all been victims to
it : as for my Lord March, he is the most dreadful gambler and the most
successful of all the nobility."
"I don't intend to be afraid of him, nor of his friend Mr. Jack
Morris, neither," says Harry, again fingering the delightful notes.
''What do you play at Aunt Bernstein's? Cribbage, all- fours, brag,
whist, commerce, picquet, quadrille ? I'm ready at any of 'em. What
o'clock is that striking — sure 'tis seven ! "
"And you want to begin now," said the plaintive Maria. "You
don't care about walking with your poor cousin. Not long ago vou
did."
"Hey! Youth is youth, cousin!" cried Mr. Harry, tossing up his
head, " and a young fellow must have his fling ! " and he strutted by
his partner's side, confident, happy, and eager for pleasure. Not long
ago, he did like to walk with her. Only yesterday, he liked to be with
Theo and Hester, and good Mrs. Lambert; but pleasure, life, gaiety,
the desire to shine and to conquer, had also their temptations for the
lad, who seized the cup like other lads, and did not care to calculate on
the head-ache in store for the morning. Whilst he and his cousin
were talking, the fiddles from the open orchestra on the Parade made a
great tuning and squeaking, preparatory to their usual evening concert.
Maria knew her aunt was awake again, and that she must go back to
her slavery. Harry never asked about that slavery, though he must
have known it, had he taken the trouble to think. He never pitied
his cousin. He was not thinking about her at all. Yet when his
mishap befel him, she had been wounded far more cruelly than he
was. He had scarce ever been out of her thoughts, which of course
she had had to bury under smiling hypocrisies, as is the way with
her sex. I know, my dear Mrs. Grundy, you think she was an old
fool? Ah! do you suppose fools' caps do not cover grey hair, as well
as jet or auburn ? Bear gently with our elderly fredaines, you
Minerva of a woman ! Or perhaps you are so good and wise that you
don't read novels at all. This I know, that there are late crops of
\?ild oats, as well as early harvests of them ; and (from observation of
188 THE VIRGINIANS.
self and neighbour) I have an idea that the avena fatua grows up to
the very last days of the year.
Like worldly parents anxious to get rid of a troublesome child, and
go out to their evening party, Madame Bernstein and her attendants
had put the sun to bed, whilst it was as yet light, and had drawn the
curtains over it, and were busy about their cards and their candles, and
their tea and negus, and other refreshments. One chair after another
landed ladies at the Baroness's door, more or less painted, patched,
brocaded. To these came gentlemen in gala raiment. M. Poellnitz's
star was the largest, and his coat the most embroidered of all present.
My Lord of March and Ruglen, when he made his appearance, was quite
changed from the individual with whom Harry had made acquaintance
at the White Horse. His tight brown scratch was exchanged for a
neatly curled feather top, with a bag and grey powder, his jockey-dress
and leather breeches replaced by a rich and elegant French suit. Mr.
Jack Morris had just such another wig, and a suit of stuff as closely as
possible resembling his lordship's. Mr. Wolfe came in attendance upon
his beautiful mistress. Miss Lowther, and her aunt, who loved cards, as
all the world did. When ray Lady Maria Esmond made her appearance,
'tis certain that her looks belied Madame Bernstein's account of her.
Her shape was very fine, and her dress showed a great deal of it. Her
complexion was by nature exceeding fair, and a dark frilled ribbon,
clasped by a jewel, round her neck, enhanced its snowy whiteness. Her
cheeks were not redder than those of other ladies present, and the roses
were pretty openly purchased by everybody at the perfumery-shops.
An artful patch or two, it was supposed, added to the lustre of her
charms. Her hoop was not larger than the iron contrivances which
ladies of the present day hang round their persons; and we may pro-
nounce that the costume, if absurd in some points, was pleasing alto-
gether. Suppose our ladies took to wearing of bangles and nose-rings ?
I daresay we should laugh at the ornaments, and not dislike them, and
lovers would make no difficulty about lifting up the ring to be able to
approach the rosy lips underneath.
As for the Baroness de Bernstein, when that lady took the pains of
making a grand toilette, she appeared as an object, handsome still, and
niagniticent, but melancholy, and even somewhat terrifying to behold.
You read the past in some old faces, while some others lapse into mere
meekness and content. The fires go quite out of some eyes, as the crow's
feet pucker round them ; they flash no longer with scorn, or with anger,
or love ; they gaze, and no one is melted by their sapphire glances ; they
look, and no one is dazzled. My fair young reader, if you are not so
perfect a beauty as the peerless Lindamira, Queen of the Ball ; if, at the
end of it, as you retire to bed, you meekly own that you have had but
two or three partners, whilst Lindamira has had a crowd round her all
night — console yourself with thinking that, at fifty, you will look as
kind and pleasant as you appear now eighteen. You will not have to
lay down your coach and six of beauty and see another step into it, and
THE VIRGINIAXS. 189
walk yourself through the rest of life. You will have to forego no long-
accustomed homage ; you will not witness and own the depreciation of
your smiles. You will not see fashion forsake your quarter ; and remain
all dust, gloom and cobwebs within your once splendid saloons, with pla-
cards in your sad windows, gaunt, lonelj^ and to let I You may not have
known any grandeur, but you won't feel any desertion. You will not
have enjoyed millions, but you will have escaped bankruptcy. ** Our
hostess," said my Lord Chesterfield to his friend in a confidential
whisper, of which the utterer did not in the least know the loudness,
** puts me in mind of Covent Garden in my youth. Then it was the
court end of the town, and inhabited by the highest fashion. Now, a
nobleman's house is a gaming-house, or you may go in with a friend and
call for a bottle."
" Hey ! a bottle and a tavern are good things in their way," says my
Lord March, with a shrug of his shoulders. *' I was not born before the
Georges came in, though I intend to live to a hundred. I never knew
the Bernstein but as an old woman; and if she ever had beauty, hang
me if I know how she spent it."
*' No, hang me, how did she spend it ?" laughs out Jack Morris,
" Here's a table ! Shall we sit down and have a game ? — Don't let
the German come in. He won't pay. Mr. Warrington, will you
take a card?" Mr. AVarrington and my Lord Chesterfield found them-
selves partners against Mr. Morris and the Earl of March. " You have
come too late, Baron," says the elder nobleman to the other noble-
man who was advancing. " We have made our game. What, have
you forgotten Mr. Warrington of Virginia — the young gentleman whom
you met in London ?"
"The young gentleman whom I met at Arthur's Chocolate House
had black hair, a little cocked nose, and was by no means so fortunate
in his personal appearance as Mr. Warrington," said the Baron with
much presence of mind. Warrington, Dorrington, Harrington ? We
of the continent cannot retain your insular names. I certify that this
gentleman is not the individual of whom I spoke at dinner." And,
glancing kindly upon him, the old Beau sidled away to a farther end of
the room, where Mr. Wolfe and Miss Lowther were engaged in deep
conversation in the embrasure of a window. Here the Baron thought
fit to engage the Lieutenant- Colonel upon the Prussian manual exercise,
which had lately been introduced into King George IL's army — a sub-
ject with which Mr. Wolfe was thoroughly familiar, and which no
doubt would have interested him at any other moment but that. Never-
theless the old gentleman uttered his criticisms and opinions, and
thought he perfectly charmed the two persons to whom he communi-
cated them.
At the commencement of the evening the Baroness received her guests
personally, and as they arrived engaged them in talk and introductory
courtesies. But as the rooms and tables filled, and the parties were
made up, Madame de Bernstein became more and more restless, and
190 THE VIHGIXIANS.
finally retreated ivitli three friends to her own corner, where a table
specially reserved for lier was occupied by her Major Domo. And here
the old lady sate down resolutely, never changing her place or quitting
her game till cock-crow. The charge of receiving the company devolved
now upon my Lady Maria, who did not care for cards, but dutifully
did the honours of the house to her aunt's guests, and often rustled
by the table where her young cousin was engaged with his three
friends.
** Come and cut the cards for us," said my Lord March to her Lady-
ship, as she passed on one of her wistful visits. ''Cut the cards, and
bring us luck. Lady Maria! AYe have had none to-night, and Mr.
Warrington is winning everj'thing."
" I hope you are not playing high, Harry ?" said the lady, timidly.
*' 0, no, only sixpences," cried my lord, dealing.
<' Only sixpences," echoed Mr. Morris, who was Lord March's partner.
But Mr. Mon-is must have been very keenly alive to the value of six-
pence, if the loss of a few such coins could make his round face look so
dismal. My lord Chesterfield sate opposite Mr. Warrington, sorting his
cards. No one could say, by inspecting that calm physiognomy whether
good or ill fortune was attending his lordship.
Some word, not altogether indicative of delight, slipped out of Mr,
Monis's lips, on which his partner cried out, ''Hang it, Morris, play
your cards, and hold your tongue!" Considering they were only
playing for sixpences, his lordship, too was strangely afi'ected.
Maria, still fondly lingering by Harry's chair, with her hand at the
back of it, could see his cards, and that a whole covey of trumps was
ranged in one corner. She had not taken away his luck. She was
pleased to think she had cut that pack which had dealt him all those
pretty trumps. As Lord March was dealing, he had said in a quiet
voice to Mr. Warrington, " The bet as before, Mr. Warrington, or shall
twe double it?"
" Anything you like, my lord," said Mr. Warrington, very quietly,
<' We will say, then, — shillings."
" Yes, shillings," says Mr. Warrington, and the game proceeded.
The end of the day's, and some succeeding days', sport may be
gathered from the following letter, w^liich was never delivered to the
person to whom it was addressed, but found its way to America in the
papers of Mr. Henry Warrington.
TuNBRiDGE Wells, Atigust 10, 17t>o.
Beae George,
As White's two bottles of Burgundy and a pack of cards con-
stitute all the joys of your life, I take for granted that you are in
London at this moment, preferring smoke and faro to fresh air and fresh
haystacks. This will be delivered to you by a young gentleman with
whom I have lately made acquaintance, and whom you will be charmed
THE VIEGINIAxNS. 191
to know. He will play with j'ou at any game for any stake, up to any
hour of the night, and drink any reasonable number of bottles during
the play. Mr. "Warrington is no other than the Fortunate Youth about
whom so many stories have been told in the Public Advertiser and other
prints. He hag an estate in Virginia as big as Yorkshire, with the
incumbrance of a mother, the reigning Sovereign : but, as the country
is unwholesome, and fevers plentiful, let us hope that Mrs. Esmond
will die soon, and leave this virtuous lad in undisturbed possession.
She is aunt of that 2^olisson of a Castlewood, who never pays his
play- debts, unless he is more honourable in his dealings with you
than he has been with me. Mr. W. is de bonne race. We must have
him of our society, if it be only that I may win my money back
from him.
He has had the devil's luck here, and has been winning everything,
whilst his old card-playing beldam of an aunt has been losing. A few
nights ago, when I first had the ill-luck to make his acquaintance, he
beat me in jumping (having practised the art amongst the savages, and
running away from bears in his native woods) ; he won bets of me and
Jack Morris about my weight ; and at night, when we sat down to play,
at old Bernstein's, he won from us all round. If you can settle our last
Epsom account, please hand over to Mr. Warrington £350, which I still
owe him, after pretty well emptying my pocket-book. Chesterfield has
dropped six hundred to him, too ; but his lordship does not wish to have
it known, having sworn to give up play, and live cleanly. Jack Morris,
who has not been hit as hard as either of us, and can afford it quite as
well, for the fat chuff has no houses nor train to keep up, and all his
misbegotten father's money in hand, roars like a bull of Bashan about
his losses. We had a second night's play, en petit comite, and Barbeau
served us a fair dinner in a private room. Mr. Warrington holds his
tongue like a gentleman, and none of us have talked about our losses ;
but the whole place does, for us. Yesterday the Cattarina looked as sulky
as thunder, because I would not give her a diamond necklace, and says,
I refuse her, because I have lost five thousand to the Virginian. My
old Duchess of Q. has the verj' same story, besides knowing to a fraction
what Chesterfield and Jack have lost.
Warrington treated the company to breakfast and music at the
rooms; and you should have seen how the women tore him to pieces.
That fiend of a Cattarina ogled him out of my vis-a-vis, and under my
very i;ose, yesterday, as we were driving to Penshurst, and I have no
doubt has sent him a billet-doux ere this. He shot Jack Morris all to
pieces at a mark : we shall try him with partridges when the season
comes.
Ho is a fortunate fellow, certainly. He has youth (which is not
deboshed by evil courses in Virginia, as ours is in England), he has
good health, gcod looks, and good luck.
In a word, Mr. Warrington has won our money in a very gentleman-
like manner ; and, as I like him, and wish to win some of it back
192 THE YIRGIXIAXS.
again, I put him under your worship's saintly guardianship. Adieu!
I am going to the North, and shall be back for Doncaster.
Yours ever, dear Getirge,
M. &II.
To George Augustus Selwyn, Esq., at White's Chocolate House,
St. James's Street.
CHAPTER XXVIIT.
THE WAT OF THE WORLD.
Our young Virginian found himself, after two or three days at Tun-
bridge Wells, by far the most important personage in that merry little
watering place. No nobleman in the place inspired so much curiosity.
My Lord Bishop of Salisbury himself was scarce treated with more
respect. People turned round to look after Harry as he "passed, and
country folks stared at him as they came into market. At the rooms,
matrons encouraged him to come round to them, and found means to
leave him alone with their daughters, most of whom smiled upon him.
Everybody knew, to an acre and a shilling, the extent of his Virginian
property, and the amount of his income. At every tea-table in the
Wells, his winnings at play were told and calculated. Wonderful is the
knowledge which our neighbours have of our affairs ! So great was the
interest and curiosity which Harry inspired, that people even smiled
upon his servant, and took Gumbo aside and treated him with ale and
cold meat, in order to get news of the young Virginian. Mr. Gumbo
fattened under the diet, became a leading member of the Society of
Valets in the place, and lied more enormously than ever. No party was
complete unless Mr. Warrington attended it. The lad was not a little
amused and astonished by this prosperity, and bore his new honours
jDretty well. He had been bred at home to think too well of himself,
and his present good fortune no doubt tended to confirm his self-satisfac-
tion. But he was not too much elated. He did not brag about his
Tictories or give himself any particular airs. In engaging in play with
the gentlemen who challenged him, he had acted up to his queer code of
honour. He felt as if he was bound to meet them when they summoned
him, and that if they invited him to a horse-race, or a drinking-bout, or
a match at cards, for the sake of Old Virginia he must not draw back.
Mr. Harry found his new acquaintances ready to try him at all these
sports and contests. He had a strong head, a skilful hand, a firm seat,
an unflinching nerve. The representative of Old Virginia came off very
well in his friendly rivalry with the mother country.
Madame de Bernstein, who got her fill of cards every night, and, n«
doubt, repaired the ill-fortune of which we heard in the last chapter.
THE Yir.GIXIAXS. 193
\7as delighted with her nephew's victories and reputation. He had
fihot with Jack Morris and beat him : he had ridden a match with Mr.
Scamper and won it. He pLayed tennis with Cai)tain Batts, and,
though the boy had never tried the game before, in a few days he held
his own uncommonly well. He had engaged in play with those cele-
brated gamesters, my Lords of Chesterfield and March ; and they both
bore testimony to his coolness, gallantry, and good breeding. At his
books Harry was not brilliant certainly : but he could write as well as
a great number of men of fashion ; and the naivete of his ignorance
amused the old lady. She had read books in her time, and could talk
very well about them with bookish people : she had a relish for humour
and delighted in Molidre and Mr. Fielding, but she loved the world far
better than the library, and was never so interested in any novel but
that she would leave it for a game of cards. She superintended with
fond pleasure the improvements of Harry's toilette; rummaged out fine
laces for his ruffles and shirt ; and found a pretty diamond-brooch for
his frill. He attained the post of prime favourite of all her nephews
and kinsfolk. I fear Lady Maria was only too well pleased at the lad's
successes : and did not grudge him his superiority over her brothers :
but those gentlemen must have quaked with fear and envy when they
heard of Mr. Warrington's prodigious successes, and the advance which
he had made in their wealthy aunt's favour.
After a fortnight of Tunbridge, Mr. Harry had become quite a
personage. He knew all the good company in the place. Was it his
fault if he became acquainted with the bad likewise ? Was he very
wrong in taking the world as he found it, and drinking from that sweet
sparkling pleasure- cup, which was filled for him to the brim ? The
old aunt enjoyed his triumphs, and for her part only bade him pursue
his enjoyments. She was not a rigorous old moralist, nor, perhaps, a
very wholesome preceptress for youth. If the Cattarina wrote him
billets-doux, I fear Aunt Bernstein would have bade him accept the
invitations : but the lad had brought with him from his colonial home
a. stock of modesty, which he still wore along with the honest home- spun
linen. Libertinism was rare in those thinly-peopled regions from which
he came. The vices of great cities were scarce known or practised in
the rough towns of the American Continent. Harry Warrington
blushed like a girl at the daring talk of his new European associates :
€ven Aunt Bernstein's conversation and jokes astounded the young
Virginian, so that the worldly old woman would call him Joseph, or
simpleton.
But, however innocent ho was, the world gave him credit for being
as bad as other folks. How was he to know that he was not to asso-
ciate with that saucy Cattarina ? He had seen my Lord March driving
her about in his lordship's phaeton. Harry thought there was no harm
in giving her his arm, and parading openly with her in the public walks.
She took a fancy to a trinket at the toyshop ; and, as his pockets were
I'uli 01 money, he was delighted to make her a present of the locket
194 THE VIRGINIANS.
which she coveted. The next day it was a piece of lace : again Harry
gratified her. The next day it was something else : there was no end to
Madam Cattarina's fancies : but here the young gentleman stopped,
turning off her request with a joke and a laugh. He was shrewd
enough, and not reckless or prodigal, though generous. He had no idea
of purchasing diamond drops for the petulant little lady's pretty ears.
But who was to give him credit for his modesty ? Old Bernstein,
insisted upon believing that her nephew was playing Don Juan's part,
and supplanting my Lord March. She insisted the more when poor
Maria was by ; loving to stab the tender heart of that spinster, and
enjoying her niece's piteous silence and discomfiture.
*' Why, my dear," says the Baroness, *' boys will be boys, and I don't
want Harry to be the first milksop in his family ! " The bread which
Maria ate at her aunt's expense choked her sometimes. me, how
hard and indigestible some women know how to make it !
Mr. Wolfe was for ever coming over from Westerham to pay court to
the lady of his love ; and, knowing that the Colonel was entirely engaged
in that pursuit, Mr. Warrington scarcely expected to see much of him,
however much he liked that ofiicer's conversation and society. It was
different from the talk of the ribald people round about Harry. Mr»
Wolfe never spoke of cards, or horses' pedigrees ; or bragged of his
performances in the hunting-field, or boasted of the favours of women;
or retailed any of the innumerable scandals of the time. It was not a
good time. That old world was more dissolute than ours. There was an
old king with mistresses openly in his train, to whom the great folks of
the land did honour. There was a nobility, many of whom were mad
and reckless in the pursuit of pleasure ; there was a looseness of words
and acts which we must note, as faithful historians, without going into
particulars, and needlessly shocking present readers. Our young gentle-
man had lighted upon some of the wildest of these wild people, and had
found an old relative who lived in the very midst of the rout.
Harry then did not remark how Colonel Wolfe avoided him, or when
they casually met, at first, notice the Colonel's cold and altered
demeanour. He did not know the stories that were told of him. Who
does know the stories that are told of him? Who makes them? Who
are the fathers of those wondrous lies ? Poor Harry did not know the
reputation he was getting ; and that, whilst he was riding his horse and
playing his game and taking his frolic, he was passing amongst many
respectable persons for being the most abandoned and profligate and
godless of young men.
Alas, and alas ! to think that the lad whom we liked so, and who was
so gentle and quiet when with us, so simple and so easily pleased, should
be a hardened profligate, a spendthrift, a confirmed gamester, a
frequenter of abandoned women ! These stories came to worthy Colonel
Lambert at Oakhurst : first one bad story, then another, then crowds of
them, till the good man's kind heart was quite filled with griei and
care, so that his family saw that something annoyed him. At first he
THE VIEGIKIANS. 195
would not speak on the matter at all, and put aside tlie wife's fond
queries. Mrs. Lambert thought a great misfortune had happened ; that
her husband had been ruined ; that he had been ordere J on a dangerous
service ; that one of the boys was ill, disgraced, dead : who can resi-t
an anxious woman, or escape the cross-examination of the conjugal
pillow ? Lambert was obliged to tell a part of what he knew about
Harry "Warrington. The wife was as much grieved and amazed as her
husband had been. From papa's and mamma's bed-room the grief, after
being stifled for a while under the bed- pillows there, came down-stairs.
Theo and Hester took the complaint after their parents, and had it very
bad. kind, little wounded hearts ! At first Hester turned red, flew
into a great passion, clenched her little fists, and vowed she would not
believe a word of the wicked stories ; but she ended by believing them.
Scandal almost always does master people ; especially good and innocent
people. 0, the serpent they had nursed by their fire ! 0, the wretched,
wretched boy ! To think of his walking about with that horrible
painted Frenchwoman, and giving her diamond necklaces, and parading
his shame before all the society at the Wells ! The three ladies having
cried over the story, and the father being deeply moved by it, took the
parson into their confidence. In vain he preached at church next
Sunday his favourite sermon about scandal, and inveighed against our
propensity to think evil. "We repent : we promise to do so no more ;
but when the next bad story comes about our neighbour we believe it.
So did those kind, wretched Oakhurst folks believe what they heard
about poor Harry Warrington.
Harry Warrington meanwhile was a great deal too well pleased with
himself to know how ill his friends were thinking of him, and was
pursuing a very idle and pleasant, if unprofitable, life, without having
the least notion of the hubbub he was creating, and the dreadful repute
in which he was held by many good men. Coming out from a match
at tennis with Mr. Batts, and pleased with his play and all the world,
Harry overtook Colonel Wolfe, who had been on one of his visits to the
lady of his heart. Harry held out his hand, which the Colonel took,
but the latter's salutation was so cold, that the young man could not
help remarking it, and especially noting how Mr. Wolfe, in return for a
fine bow from Mr. Batts's hat, scarcely touched his own with his fore-
finger. The tennis Captain walked away looking somewhat disconcerted,
Harry remaining behind to talk with his friend of Westerham. Mr.
Wolfe walked by him for a while, very erect, silent, and cold.
*' I have not seen you these many days," says Harry.
** You have had other companions," remarks Mr. Wolfe, curtly.
"But I had rather be with you than any of them," cries the young
man.
" Indeed I might be better company for you than some of them,"
says the other.
" Is it Captain Batts you mean ? " asked Harry.
**He is no favourite of mine I own: he bore a rascally reputation
2
196 THE TIEGIXIAXS.
when lie was in the army, and I doubt has not mended it since he tti3
tui*ned out. You certainly might find a better friend than Captain
Batts. Pardon the freedom which I take in saying so," says Mr. Wolfe,
grimly.
** Friend ! he is no friend : he only teaches me to play tennis : he is
hand-in- glove with my lord, and all the people of fashion here who
play."
'* I am not a man of fashion," says Mr. Wolfe.
" My dear Colonel, what is the matter ? Have I angered you in any
way ? You speak almost as if I had, and I am not conscious of having
done anything to forfeit your regard," said Mr. Warrington.
" I will be free with you, Mr. Warrington," said the Colonel, gravely,
<* and tell you with frankness that I don't like some of your friends."
** Why, sure, they are men of the first rank and fashion in England,"
cries Harry, not choosing to be offended with his companion's bluntness.
<' Exactly, they are men of too high rank and too great fashion for a
hard-working poor soldier like me ; and if you continue to live with
such, believe me, you will find numbers of us humdrum people can't
afford to keep such company. I am here, Mr. Warrington, paying my
addresses to an honourable lady. I met you yesterday openly walking
with a French ballet-dancer, and you took off your hat. I must frankly
tell you, that I had rather you would not take off your hat when you
go out in such company."
"Sir," said Mr. Warrington, growing very red, *' do you mean that
I am to forego the honour of Colonel Wolfe's acquaintance altogether ? "
"I certainly shall request you to do so when you are in company
with that person," said Colonel Wolfe, angrily ; but he used a word
not to be written at present, though Shakspeare puts it in the mouth of
Othello.
** Great Heavens! what a shame it is to speak so of any woman!"
cries Mr. Warrington. " How dare any man say that that poor creature
is not honest ? "
" You ought to know best, sir," says the other, looking at Harry
with some surprise, " or the world belies you very much."
*' What ought I to know best ? I see a poor little French dancer who
is come hither with her mother, and is ordered by the doctors to drink
the waters. I know that a person of my rank in life does not ordinarily
keep company with people of hers : but really. Colonel Wolfe, are you
go squeamish ? Have I not heard you say that you did not value birth,
and that all honest people ought to be equal ? Why should I not give
this little unprotected woman my arm ? there are scarce half-a-dozen
people here who can speak a word of her language. I can talk a littlo
French, and she is welcome to it ; and if Colonel Wolfe does not choose
to touch his hat to me, when I am walking with her, by George he may
leave it alone," cried Harry, flushing up.
" You don't mean to say," says Mr. Wolfe, eyeing him, " that ,7«>u
don't know the woman's character ? "
THE VIEGINIAXS. 197
*'0f course, sir, she is a dancer, and, I suppose, no better or worse
than her neighbours. But I mean to say that, had she been a duchess,
or your grandmother, I couldn't have respected her more."
*' You don't mean to say that you did not win her at dice, from Lord
March."
*< At what!"
" At dice, from Lord March. Everybody knows the story. Not a
person at the Wells is ignorant of it. I heard it but now, in the
company of that good old Mr. Richardson, and the ladies were saying
that you would be a character for a colonial Lovelace."
" What on earth else have they said about me ? " asked Harry War-
rington ; and such stories as he knew the Colonel told. The most
alarming accounts of his own wickedness and profligacy were laid before
him. He was a corrupter of virtue, an habitual drunkard and gamester,
a notorious blasphemer and freethinker, a fitting companion for my Lord
March, finally, and the company into whose society he had fallen. " I
tell you these things," said Mr. Wolfe, ** because it is fair that you
should know what is said of you, and because I do heartily believe,
from your manner of meeting the last charge brought against you, that
you are innocent on most of the other counts. I feel, Mr. Warrington,
that I, for one, have been doing you a wrong ; and sincerely ask you to
pardon me."
Of course, Harry was eager to accept his friend's apology, and they
shook hands with sincere cordiality this time. In respect of most of the
charges brought against him, Harry rebutted them easily enough : as
for the play, he owned to it. He thought that a gentleman should not
refuse a fair challenge from other gentlemen, if his means allowed him:
and he never would play beyond his means. After winning considerably
at first, he could afibrd to play large stakes, for he was playing with
other people's money. Play he thought was fair, — it certainly was
pleasant. Why, did not all England, except the Methodists, play ?
Had he not seen the best company at the Wells over the cards — his aunt
amongst them ?
Mr. Wolfe made no immediate comment upon Harry's opinion as to
the persons who formed the best company at the Wells, but he frankly
talked with the young man, whose own frankness had won him, and
warned him that the life he was leading might be the pleasantest, but
surely was not the most profitable of lives. " It can't be, sir," said the
Colonel, " that a man is to pass his days at horse-racing and tennis, and.
his nights carousing or at cards. Sure, every man was made to do some
work : and a gentleman, if he has none, must make some. Do you
know the laws of your country, Mr. Warrington ? Being a great
proprietor, you will doubtless one day be a magistrate at home. Have
you travelled over the country, and made yourself acquainted with its
trades and manufactures? These are fit things for a gentleman to
study, and may occupy him as well as a cockfight or a cricket match.
Do you know anything of our profession ? That, at least, you will
198 THE VIIIGIXIANS.
allow is a nohle one ; and, believe me, there is plenty in it to learn,
and suited, I should think, to you. I speak of it rather than of books
and the learned professions, because, as far as I can judge, your genius
does not lie that way. But honour is the aim of life," cried Mr.
AVolfe, *'and every man can serve his country one way or the other.
Be sure, sir, that idle bread is the most dangerous of all that is eaten ,
that cards and pleasure may be taken by way of pastime after work,
but not instead of work, and all day. And do you know, Mr. Warring-
ton, instead of being the Fortunate Touth, as all the world calls you,
I tliink you are rather Warrington the Unlucky, for you are followed
by daily idleness, daily flattery, daily temptation, and the Lord, I say,
send you a good deliverance out of your good fortune."
Harry did not like to tell his aunt that afternoon why it was he
looked so grave. He thought he would not drink, but there were some
jolly fellows at the ordinary who passed the bottle round; and he
meant not to play in the evening, but a fourth was wanted at his
aunt's table, and how could he resist ? He' was the old lady's partner
several times during the night, and he had Somebody's own luck to be
sure ; and once more he saw the dawn, and feasted on chickens and
champagne at suurise.
CHAPTER XXIX.
JN WniCH ITArtRT CO^'TIKUES TO ENJOY OTIUM SINE DIGNITATE.
Whilst there were card-players enough to meet her at her lodgings
and the assembly-rooms, Madame de Bernstein remained pretty con-
tentedly at the Wells, scolding her niece, and playing her rubber. At
Harry's age almost all places are pleasant, where you can have livelj''
company, fresh air, and your share of sport and diversion. Even all
pleasure is pleasant at twenty. AVe go out to meet it with alacrity,
s]ieculate upon its coming, and. when its visit is announced, count the
days until it and we shall come together. How very gently and coolly
we regard it towards the close of Life's long season! Madam, don't you
recollect your first ball ; and does not your memory stray towards that
happy past, sometimes as you sit ornamenting the wall whilst your
daughters are dancing ? I, for my part, can remember when I thought
it was delightful to walk three miles and back in the country to dine
with old Captain Jones. Fancy liking to walk three miles, now, to dine
with Jones and drink his half-pay port ! No doubt it was bought from
the little country-town wine merchant, and cost but a small sum ; but
'twas offered with a kindly welcome, and youth gave it a flavour which
ao age of wine or man can impart to it now-a-days. Viximus nuper.
I am not disposed to look so severely upon young Harry's conduct and
idleness, as his friend the stem Colonel of the Twentieth llegiment.
THE \TRGINIANS. 199
blessed idleness ! Divine lazy nymph ! Eeach me a novel as I lie in
my dressing-gown at three o'clock in the afternoon ; compound a sherry-
cobbler for me, and bring me a cigar ! Dear slatternly, smiling Enchant-
ress ! They may assail thee with bad names — swear thy character away,
and call thee the Mother of Evil ; but, for aU that, thou art the best
company in the world !
My Lord of March went away to the North ; and my Lord Chesterfield,
finding the Tunbridge waters did no good to his deafness, returned to
his solitude at Blackheath ; but other gentlemen remained to sport and
take their pleasure, and Mr. Warrington had quite enough of companions
at his ordinary at the White Horse. He soon learned to order a French
dinner as v/ell as the best man of fashion out of St. James's; could talk
to Monsieur Barbeau, in Monsieur B.'s native language, much more
fluently than most other folks, — discovered a very elegant and decided
taste in v»'ines, and could distinguish between Oios Yougeot and
Eomanee with remarkable skill. He was the young King of the Wells,
of which the general frequenters were easy-going men of the world,
who were, by no' means, shocked at that reputation for gallantry and
extravagance which Harry had got, and which had so frightened Mr.
Wolfe,
Though our Virginian lived amongst the revellers, and swam and
sported in the same waters with the loose fish, the boy had a natural
shrewdness and honesty which kept him clear of the snares and baits
which are commonly set for the unwary. He made very few foolish bets
with the jolly idle fellows round about him, and the oldest hands found
it difficult to take him in. He engaged in games out-doors and in,
because he had a natural skill and aptitude for them, and was good to
hold almost any match with any fair competitor. He was scrupulous to
play only with those gentlemen whom he knew, and always to settle his
own debts on the spot. He would have made but a very poor figure at
a college examination ; though he possessed prudence and fidelity, keen,
shrewd perception, great generosity, and dauntless personal courage.
And he was not without occasions for showing of what stuff he was
made. For instance, when that unhappy little Cattarina, who had
brought him into so much trouble, carried her importunities beyond
the mark at which Harry thought his generosity should stop; he with-
drew from the advances of the Opera-House Syren with perfect coolness
and skill, leaving her to exercise her blandishments upon some more
easy victim. In vain the mermaid's hysterical mother waited upon
Harry, and vowed that a cruel bailiff had seized all her daughter's goods
for debt, and that her venerable father was at present languishing in a
London gaol : Harry declared that between himself and the bailiff there
could be no dealings ; and that because he had had the good fortune to
become known to Mademoiselle Cattarina, and to gratify her caprices
by presenting her with various trinkets and knick-knacks for which she
had a fancy, he was not bound to pay the past debts of her family, and
must decline being bail for her papa in London, or settling her outstand-
200 THE VIRGINIANS.
ing accounts at Timbridge. The Cattarina's mother first called him a
monster and an ingrate, and then asked him, with a veteran smirk, why-
lie did not take pay for the services he had rendered to the young person ?
At first, Mr. Warrington could not understand what the nature of the
payment might be : but when that matter was explained by the old
woman, the simple lad lose up in horror, to think that a woman
should traffic in her child's dishonour, told her that he came from a
country where the very savages would recoil from such a bargain ; and,
having bowed the old lady ceremoniously to the door, ordered Gumbo to-
mark her well, and never admit her to his lodgings again. No doubt
she retired breathing vengeance against the Iroquois: no Turk or Per-
sian, she declared, would treat a lady so : and she and her daughter
retreated to London as soon as their anxious landlord would let them..
Then Harry had his perils of gaming, as well as his perils of gallantry.
A man who plays at bowls, as the phrase is, must expect to meet with
rubbers. After dinner at the ordinary, having declined to play picquet
any further with Captain Batts, and being roughly asked his reason for
refusing, Harry fairly told the Captain that he only played with gen-
tlemen who paid, like himself : but expressed himself so ready to satisfy
Mr. Batts, as soon as their outstanding little account was settled, that
the Captain declared himself satisfied d'avance, and straightway left ths'
Wells without paying Harry or any other creditor. Also he had an
occasion to show his spirit by beating a chairman who was rude to old
Miss Whiffler one evening as she was going to the assembly : and find-
ing that the calumny regarding himself and that unlucky opera-dancer
was repeated by Mr. Hector Buckler, one of the fiercest frequenters of
the Wells, Mr. Warrington stepped up to Mr. Buckler in the pump-
room, where the latter was regaling a number of water-drinkers with
the very calumny, and publicly informed Mr. Buckler that the story
was a falsehood, and that he should hold any person accountable to him-
self who henceforth uttered it. So that thougli our friend, being at
Rome, certainly did as Eome did, yet he showed himself to be a valorous
and worthy Roman ; and, hurlant avec les loups, was acknowledged by
Mr. Wolfe himself to be as brave as the best of the wolves.
If that officer had told Colonel Lambert the stories which had given
the latter so much pain, we may be sure that when Mr. Wolfe found his
young friend was innocent, he took the first opportunity to withdraw the
odious charges against him. And there was joy among the Lamberts in
consequence of the lad's acquittal — something, doubtless, of that plea-
sure, which is felt by higher natures than ours, at the recovery of sinners.
Never had the little family been so happy — no, not even when they got
the news of brother Tom winning his scholarship, as when Colonel Wolfe
rode over with the account of the conversation which he had with Harry
Warrington. *' Hadst thou brought me a regiment, James, I think I
should not have been better pleased," said Mr. Lambert. Mrs. Lambert
called to her daughters, who were in the garden, and kissed them both
when they came in, and cried out the good news to them. Hetty jumped
THE VIRGINIANS. 201
for joy, and Theo performed some uncommonly brilliant operations upon
the harpsichord that night ; and when Dr. Boyle came in for his back-
gammon, he could not, at first, account for the illumination in all their
faces, until the three ladies, in a happy chorus, told him how right he
had been in his sermon, and how dreadfully they had wronged that poor
dear, good young Mr. Warrington.
" What shall we do, my dear ?" says the Colonel to his wife. " The
hay is in, the corn won't be cut for a fortnight, — the horses have nothing
to do. Suppose we .... " And here he leans over the table and
whispers in her ear.
'* My dearest Martin! The very thing! " cries Mrs. Lambert, taking
her husband's hand and pressing it.
" What's the very thing, mother ?" cries young Charley, who is home
for his Bartlemy-tide holidays.
"The very thing is to go to supper. Come, Doctor! We will have
a bottle of wine to-night, and drink repentance to all who think evil.''
" Amen," says the Doctor ; "with all my heart!" And with this,
the worthy family went to their supper.
I
CHAPTEE XXX.
CONTAINS A LETTER TO VIEGINIA.
Having repaired one day to his accustomed dinner at the White
Horse Ordinary, Mr. Warrington was pleased to see amongst the faces
round the table the jolly good-looking countenance of Parson Sampson,
who was regaling the company when Harry entered, with stories and
hons mots, which kept them in roars of laughter. Though he had not
been in London for some months, the Parson had the latest London
news, or what passed for such with the folks at the Ordinary : what
was doing in the King's house at Kensington ; and what in the Duke's
in Pall Mall : how Mr. Byng was behaving in prison, and who came to
him : what were the odds at Newmarket, and who was the last reigning
toast in Covent Garden ; — the jolly chaplain could give the company
news upon all these points, — news that might not be very accurate
indeed, but was as good as if it were for the country gentlemen who
heard it. For suppose that my Lord Viscount Squanderfield was ruinino*
himself for Mrs. Polly, and Sampson called her Mrs. Lucy ? that it was
Lady Jane who was in love with the actor, and not Lady Mary ? that it
was Harry Hilton of the Horse Grenadiers, who had the quarrel with
Chevalier Solinger, at Marybone Garden, and not Tommy Puffier of the
Foot Guards ? The names and dates did not matter much. Provided
the stories were lively and wicked, their correctness was of no great
importance ; and Mr. Sampson laughed and chattered away amongst
his country gentlemen, charmed them with his spirits and talk, and
202 THE VIRGINIANS.
drank his share of one bottle after another, for which his delighted
auditory persisted in calling. A hundred years ago, the Abbe Parson,
the clergyman who frequented the theatre, the tavern, the race-course*
the world of fashion, was no uncommon character in English society :
his voice might be heard the loudest in the hunting-field : he could sing
the joUiest song at the Rose or the Bedford Head, after the play was
over at Covent Garden, and could call a main as well as any at the
gaming table.
It may have been modesty, or it may have been claret, which caused
his reverence's rosy face to redden deeper, but when he saw Mr. War-
rington enter, he whispered maxima debetur to the laughing country
squire who sat next him in his drab coat and gold-laced red waiscoat,
and rose up from his chair and ran, nay, stumbled forward in his haste
to greet the Yirginian : " My dear sir, my very dear sir, my conqueror
of spades, and clubs, and hearts, too, I am delighted to see your honour
looking so fresh and well," cries the Chaplain.
Harry returned the clergyman's greeting with great pleasure : he was
glad to see Mr. Sampson ; he could also justly compliment his reverence
upon his cheerful looks and rosy gills.
The squire in the drab coat knew Mr. Warrington ; he made a place
beside himself ; he called out to the parson to return to his seat on the
other side, and to continue his story about Lord Ogle and the grocer's
wife in where he did not say, for his sentence was interrupted
by a shout, and an oath addressed to the parson for treading on his
gouty toe.
The Chaplain asked pardon, hurriedly turned round to Mr. Warring-
ton, and informed him, and the rest of the company indeed, that my
Lord Castlewood sent his affectionate remembrances to his cousin, and
had given special orders to him (Mr. Sampson) to come to Tunbridge
Wells and look after the young gentleman's morals ; and that my Lady
Viscountess and my Lady Fanny were gone to Harrowgate for the
waters ; that Mr. Will had won his money at Newmarket, and was
going on a visit to my Lord Duke ; that Molly the housemaid was crying
her eyes out about Gumbo, Mr. Warrington's valet ; — in fine, all the news
of Castlewood and its neighbourhood. Mr. Warrington was beloved by
all the country round, Mr. Sampson told the company, managing to
introduce the names of some persons of the very highest rank into his
discourse. *' All Hampshire had heard of his successes at Tunbridge,
successes of every kind," says Mr. Sampson, looking particularly arch ;
my 'lord hoped, their ladyships hoped, Harry would not be spoilt for his
quiet Hampshire home.
The guests dropped off one by one, leaving the young Virginian to his
bottle of wine and the Chaplain.
*' Though I have had plenty," says the jolly Chaplain, " that is no
reason why I should not have plenty more," and he drank toast after
toast, and bumper after bumper, to the amusement of Harry, who always
enjoyed his society.
THE VIRGINIANS. 203
By the time when Sampson had had his " plenty more," Harry, too,
was become specially generous, warm hearted and friendly. A lodging ?
— why should Mr. Sampson go to the expense of an inn, when there was
a room at Harry's quarters ? The Chaplain's trunk was ordered thither,
Gumbo was bidden to make Mr. Sampson comfortable — most comfort-
able ; nothing would satisfy Mr. Warrington bat that Sampson should
go down to his stables and see his horses ; he had several horses now ;
and when at tbe stable Sampson recognised his own horse, which
Harry had won from him ; and the fond beast whinnied with pleasure,
and rubbed his nose against his old master's coat ; Harry rapped out a
brisk energetic expression or two, and vowed by Jupiter that Sampson
should have his old horse back again : he would give him to Sampson,
that he would ; a gift which the Chaplain accepted by seizing Harry's
hand, and blessing him, — by flinging his arms round the horse's neck,
and weeping for joy there, weeping tears of Bordeaux and gratitude.
Arm-in-arm the friends walked to Madame Bernstein's, from the stable
of which they brought the odours into her ladyship's apartment. Their
flushed cheeks and brightened eyes showed what their amusement had
been. Many gentlemen's cheeks were in the habit of flushing in those
days, and from the same cause.
Madame Bernstein received her nephew's Chaplain kindly enough.
The old lady relished Sampson's broad jokes and rattling talk from time
to time, as she liked a highly spiced dish or a new entree composed by
her cook, upon its two or three flrst appearances. The only amusement
of which she did not grow tired, she owned, was cards. ** The cards
don't cheat," she used to say. *'A bad hand tells you the truth to
your face : and there is nothing so flattering in the world as a good suite
of trumps." And when she was in a good humour, and sitting down to
her favourite pastime, she would laughingly bid her nephew's Chaplain
say grace before the meal. Honest Sampson did not at flrst care to take
a hand at Tunbridge AVells. Her Ladyship's play was too high for
him, he would own, slapping his pocket with a comical piteous look,
and its contents had already been handed over to the fortunate youth at
Castlewood. Like most persons of her age and indeed her sex, Madame
Bernstein was not prodigal of money. I suppose it must have been
from Harry Warrington, whose heart was overflowing with generosity
as his purse with guineas, that the Chaplain procured a small stock of
ready coin, with which he was presently enabled to appear at the card
table.
Our young gentleman welcomed Mr. Sampson to his coin, as to all
the rest of the good things which he had gathered about him. 'Twas
surprising how quickly the young Virginian adapted himself to the
habits of life of the folks amongst whom he lived, His suits were still
black, but of the finest cut and quality. " With a star and ribbon,
and his stocking down, and his hair over his shoulder, he would make
a pretty Hamlet," said the gay old Duchess (^ueensberry, " And I
make no doubt he has been the death of a dozen Ophelias already, here
204 THE TIRGINIANS.
and amongst the Indians," she added, thinking not at all the worse of
Harry for his supposed successes among the fair. Harry's lace and
linen were as fine as his aunt could desire. He purchased fine shaving-
plate of the toyshop women, and a couple of magnificent brocade bed-
gowns, in which his worship lolled at ease, and sipped his chocolate of
a morning. He had swords and walking- canes, and French watches
with painted backs and diamond settings, and snuff-boxes enamelled
by artists of the same cunning nation. He had a lev6e of grooms,
jockeys, tradesmen, daily waiting in his ante-room, and admitted one
by one to him and Parson Sampson, over his chocolate, by Gumbo the
groom of the chambers. We have no account of the number of men
whom Mr. Gumbo now had under him. Certain it is that no single
negro could have taken care of all the fine things which Mr. Warrington
now possessed, let alone the horses and the post-chaise which his honour
had bought. Also Harry instructed himself in the arts which became a
gentleman in those days. A French fencing-master, and a dancing-
master of the same nation, resided at Tunbridge during that season
when Harry made his appearance : these men of science the young
Virginian sedulously frequented, and acquired considerable skill and
grace in the peaceful and warlike accomplishments which they taught.
Ere many weeks were over he could handle the foils against his master
or any frequenter of the fencing school, — and, with a sigh. Lady Maria
(who danced very elegantly herself) owned that there was no gentleman
at Court who could walk a minuet more gracefully than Mr. War-
rington. As for riding, though Mr. Warrington took a few lessons
on the great horse from a riding-master who came to Tunbridge,
he declared that their own Virginian manner was well enough for him,
and that he saw no one amongst the fine folks and the jockeys who
could ride better than his friend Colonel George Washington of Mount
Vernon.
The obsequious Sampson found himself in better quarters than he
had enjoyed for ever so long a time. He knew a great deal of the
world, and told a great deal more, and Harry was delighted with his
stories, real or fancied. The man of twenty looks up to the man of
thirty, admires the latter's old jokes, stale puns, and tarnished anecdotes
that are slopped with the wine of a hundred dinner-tables. Sampson's
town and college pleasantries were all new and charming to the young
Virginian. A hundred years ago, — no doubt there are no such people
left in the world now, — there used to be grown men in London who
loved to consort with fashionable youths entering life ; to tickle their
young fancies with merry stories; to act as Covent-Garden Mentors
and masters of ceremonies at the Round-house ; to accompany lads to
the gaming-table, and perhaps have an understanding with the punters ;
to drink lemonade to Master Hopeful's Burgundy, and to stagger into
the streets with perfectly cool heads when my young lord reeled out to
beat the watch. Of this, no doubt extinct race, Mr. Sampson was a
specimen : and a great comfort it is to think (to those who choose to
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 205
believe the statement), that in Queen Victoria's reign there are no
flatterers left, such as existed in the reign of her royal great-grand-
father, no parasites pandering to the follies of young men ; in fact,
that all the toads have been eaten off the face of the island (except
one or two that are found in stones, where they have lain perdus these
hundred years), and the toadeaters have perished for lack of nourish'
ment.
With some sauce, as I read, the above-mentioned animals are said
to be exceedingly fragrant, wholesome, and savoury eating. Indeed, no
man could look more rosy and healthy, or flourish more cheerfully than
friend Sampson upon the diet. He became our young friend's con-
fidential leader, and, from the following letter, which is preserved in
the Warrington correspondence, it will be seen that Mr. Harry not only
had dancing and fencing-masters, but likewise a tutor, chaplain, and
secretary.
TO MES. ESMOND WAREIXGTOX, OF CASTLEWOOD,
AT HEB HOUSE AT RICHMOXD, VI&GINIA.
Mrs. Bligh's lodgings, Pantiles, Tunbridge "Wells,
August 25th, 1756.
HoNOTiEED Madam,
Your honoured letter of 20 June, per Mr. Trail of Bristol, has
been forwarded to me duly, and I have to thank your goodness and
kindness for the good advice which you are pleased to give me, as also
for the remembrances of dear home, which I shall love never the worse
for having been to the home of our ancestors in Englayid.
I writ you a letter by the last monthly packet, informing my
honoured mother of the little accident I had on the road hither, and of
the kind friends who I found and whom took me in. Since then I
have been profiting of the fine weather and the good company here, and
have made many friends among our nobility, whose acquaintance I
am sure you will not be sorry that I should make. Among their lord-
ships I may mention the famous Earl of Chesterfield, late ambassador
to Holland, and Viceroy of the kingdom of Ireland ; the Earl of March
and Ruglen, who will be Duke of Queensberry at the death of his
Orace ; and her Grace the Duchess, a celebrated beauty of the Queen's
time, when she remembers my grandpapa at Court. These and many
more persons of the first fashion attend my aunt's assemblies, which
are the most crowded at this crowded p-lace. Also on my way hither
I stayed at Westerham, at the house of an officer, Lieut.-Gen. Wolfe,
who served with my grandfather and General Webb in the famous wars
of the Duke of Marlborough. Mr. Wolfe has a son, Lieut.-Col. James
Wolfe, engaged to be married to a beautiful lady now in this place,
Miss Lowther of the North — and though but 30 years old, he is looked
up to as much as any officer in the whole army, and hath served with
honour under His Royal Highness the Pv'ke wherever our arms have
been employed.
205 THE VIRGINIANS.
I tliank my honoured mother for anuouncing to me that a quarter's
allowance of £52-10 will be paid me by Mr. Trail. I am in no present
■want of cash, and by practising a rigid economy, which will be neces-
sary (as I do not disguise) for the maintenance of horses, Gumbo, and
the equipage and apparel requisite for a young gentleman of good
family, hope to be able to maintain my credit without unduly tres-
passing upon yours. The linnen and clothes which I brought with me
will with due care last for some years — as you say. 'Tis not quite so
fine as worn here by persons of fashion, and I may have to purchase
a few very fine shirts for great days : but those I have are excellent for
daily wear.
I am thankful that I have been quite without occasion to use your
excellent family pills. Gumbo hath taken them with great benefit, who
grows fat and saucy upon English beef, ale, and air. He sends his
humble duty to his mistress, and prays Mrs. Mountain to remember him
to all his fellow-servants, especially Dinah and Lily, for whom he has
bought posey-rings at Tunbridge Fair.
Besides partaking of all the pleasures of the place, I hope my
honoured mother will believe that I have not been unmindful of my
education. I have had masters in fencing and dancing, and my Lord
Castle wood's chaplain, the Reverend Mr. Sampson, having come hither
to drink the waters, has been so good as to take a vacant room at my
lodging. Mr. S. breakfasts with me, and we read together of a morning
— he saying that I am not quite such a dunce as I used to appear at
home. We have read in Mr. Rapin's History, Dr. Barrow's Sermons,
and for amusement, Shakspeare, Mr. Pope's Homer, and (in French)
the translation of an Arabian Work of Tales, very diverting. Several
men 0/ /earwm^ have been staying here besides the persons of fashion,
and amongst the former was Mr. Richardson, the author of the famous
books which you and Mountain and my dearest brother used to love so.
He was pleased when I told him that his works were in your closet in
Yirginia, and begged me to convey his respectful compliments to my
lady mother. Mr. R. is a short fat man, with little of the fire of genius
visible in his eye or person.
My aunt and my cousin, the Lady Maria, desire their affectionate
compliments to you, and with best regards for Mountain, to whom I
enclose a note, I am,
Honoured Madam,
Your dutiful Son.
H. Esmond Wk-r-rtsgtots,
Note in Madam Esmond's handwriting^ — From ray son. Received
October 15 at Richmond. Sent 16 jars preserved peaches, 224 lbs.
best tobacco, 24 finest hams, per Royal William of Liverpool, 8 jars
peaches, 12 hams for my nephew, the Rt. Honourable the Earl of Castle-
wood. 4 jars, 6 hams for the Baroness Bernstein, ditto ditto for Mrs.
Lambert of Oakhurst, Surrey, and \ cwt. tobacco. Packet of lufallibls
THE TIRGIXIAXS. 207
Family Pills for Gumbo. My Papa's large silver gilt shoe-buckles for
H. and red silver-laced saddle cloth.
II. (enclosed in No. T.)
For Mrs. Mountain.
"What do you mien, you silly old Mountain, by sending an order for
your poor old divadends dew at Xmas ? I'd have you to know I don't
want your 7.1 0£, and have toar your order up into 1000 hitts. I've
plenty of money. But I'm ahleaged to you all same. A kiss to Fanny
from Tour loving
Note in Madam Esmond's handier iting, — This note, which I desired
M. to show to me, proves that she hath a good hearty and that she
wished to show her gratitude to the family, by giving up her half-
yearly divd. (on 500£ 3 per ct.) to my boy. Hence I reprimanded her
very slvjhtly for daring to send money to Mr. E. Warrington, unknowu
to his mother. Note to Mountain not so well spelt as letter to me.
Mem. to write to Eevd. Mr. Sampson desire to know what theolog.
books he reads with H. Eecommend Law, Baxter, Drelineourt. — •
Request H. to say his catechism to Mr. S., which he has never quite
been able to mr.ster. By next ship peaches (3), tobacco | cwt. Hams
ia£ Mr. S.
The mother of the Virginians and her sons have long long since
passed away. So how are we to account for the fact, that of a couple of
letters sent under one enclosure and by one packet, one should be well
spelt, and the other not entirely orthographical ? Had Harry found
some wonderful instructor such as exists in the present lucky times,
and who would improve his writing in six lessons ? My view of the
case, after deliberately examining the two notes, is this. No. 1, in
which there appears a trifling grammatical slip ("the kind friends who
1 fouDd and ichom took me in "), must have been re-written from a
rough copy which had probably undergone the supervision of a tutor or
friend. The more artless composition. No. 2, was not referred to the
scholar who prepared No. 1 for the maternal eye, and to whose correc-
tions of *' who " and " whom" Mr. Warrington did not pay very close
attention. Who knows how he may have been disturbed ? A pretty
milliner may have attracted Harry's attention out of window — a dancing
bear with pipe and tabor may have passed along the common — a jockey
come under his windows to show off a horse there ? There are some
days when any of us may be ungrammatical and spell ill. Finally,
suppose Harry did not care to spell so elegantly for Mrs. Mountain as
for his lady mother, what affair is that of the present biograplier,
century reader ? And as for your objection that Mr. Warrington, in
the above communication to his mother, showed some little hypocrisy
and reticence in his dealings with that venerable person, I daresay,
208 THE TIRGIXIAXS.
young folks, you in your time liave written more than one prim letter
to your papas and mammas in which not quite all the transactions of
your lives were narrated, or if narrated, were exhibited in the most
favourable light for yourselves — I daresay, old folks ! you, in your time,
were not altogether more candid. There must be a certain distance
between me and my son Jacky. There must be a respectful, an amiable,
a virtuous hypocrisy between us. I do not in the least wish that he
should treat me as his equal, that he should contradict me, take my
arm-chair, read the newspaper first at breakfast, ask unlimited friends
to dine when I have a party of my own, and so forth. No ; where there
is not equality there must be hypocrisy. Continue to be blind to my
faults ; to hush still as mice when I fall asleep after dinner ; to laugh at
my old jokes ; to admire my sayings ; to be astonished at the impudence
oC those unbelieving reviewers ; to be dear filial humbugs, my chil-
dren ! In my castle I am king. Let all my royal household back before
me. 'Tis not their natural way of walking, I know: but a decorous,
becoming, and modest behaviour highly agreeable to me. Away from
me they may do, nay, ihej do do, what they like. They may jump,
fikip, dance, trot, tumble over head and heels, and kick about freely,
when they are out of the presence of my majesty. Do not then, my
dear young friends, be surprised at your mother and aunt when they
cry out, "0, it was highly immoral and improper of Mr. Warrington
to be writing home humdrum demure letters to his dear mamma, when
he was playing all sorts of merry pranks ! " — but drop a curtsey, and
eay, " Yes, dear grandmamma (or aunt as may be), it was very wrong
of him : and I suppose you never had your fun when i/ou were young."
Of course, she didn't! And the sun never shone, and the blossoms
never budded, and the blood never danced, and the fiddles never sang,
in her spring time. JEh, Babet! mon lait de poule et mon bonnet de
nuit! Ho, Betty! ray gruel and my slippers! And go, ye frisky,
merry, little souls I and dance, and have your merry little supper of
eakes and ale !
\
CHAPTER XXXr.
THE BEAE AND THE LEADEB.
Our candid readers know the real state of the case regarding Harry
Warrington and that luckless Cattarina ; but a number of the old ladies
at Tunbridge Wells supposed the Virginian to be as dissipated as any
young English nobleman of the highest quality, and Madame de
Bernstein was especially incredulous about her nephew's innocence. It
was the old lady's firm belief that Harry was leading not only a merry
life but a wicked one, and her wish was father to the thought that the
THE VIEGIXIAXS. 209
lad might be no better than his neighbours. An old Roman herself, she
liked her nephew to do as Rome did. All the scandal regarding Mr.
Warrington's Lovelace adventures she eagerly and complacently accepted.
We have seen how, on one or two occasions, he gave tea and music to the
company at the Wells : and he was so gallant and amiable to the ladies
(to ladies of a much better figure and character than the unfortunate
Cattarina), that Madam Bernstein ceased to be disquieted regarding the
silly love affair which had had a commencement at Castlewood, and relaxed
in her vigilance over Lady Maria. Some folks — many old folks — are too
selfish to interest themselves long about the afi'airs of their neighbours.
The Baroness had her trumps to think of, her dinners, her twinges of
rheumatism : and her suspicions regarding Maria and Harry, lately so
lively, now dozed, and kept a careless unobservant watch. She may
have thought that the danger was over, or she may have ceased to care
whether it existed or not, or that artful Maria, by her conduct, may
have quite cajoled, soothed, and misguided the old Dragon, to whose
charge she was given over. At Maria's age, nay, earlier indeed, maidens
have learnt to be very sly, and at Madam Bernstein's time of life,
dragons are not so fierce and alert. They cannot turn so readily, some
of their old teeth have dropped out, and their eyes require more sleep
than they needed in days when they were more active, venomous, and
dangerous. I, for my part, know a few female dragons, de parlemonde^
and, as I watch them and remember what they were, admire the
softening influence of years upon these whilome destroyers of man-
and womankind. Their scales are so soft, that any knight with a
moderate power of thrust can strike them : their claws, once strong
enough to tear out a thousand eyes, only fall with a feeble pat that scarce
raises the skin : their tongues, from their toothless old gums, dart a
venom which is rather disagreeable than deadly. See them trailing their
languid tails, and crawling home to their caverns at roosting time !
How weak are their powers of doing injury ! their maleficence how feeble !
How changed are they since the brisk days when their eyes shot wicked
fire ; their tongue spat poison ; their breath blasted reputation ; and they
gobbled up a daily victim at least !
If the good folks at Oakhurst could not resist the testimony which was
brought to them regarding Harry's ill-doings, why should Madam Bern-
stein, who in the course of her long days had had more experience of evil
than all the Oakhurst family put together, be less credulous than they ?
Of course every single old woman of her ladyship's society believed every
story that was told about Mr. Harry AVarrington's dissipated habits,
and was ready to believe as much more ill of him as you please. When
the little dancer went back to London, as she did, it was because that
heartless Harry deserted her. He deserted her for somebody else, whose
name was confidently given, — whose name ? — whose half-dozen names
the society at Tunbridge Wells would whisper about; where there con-
gregated people of all ranks and degrees, women of fashion, women of
reputation, of demi-reputation, of virtue, of no virtue, — all mingling
p
210 THE VIEGIM/VNS
in the same rooms, dancing to the same fiddles, drinking out of the
same glasses at the Wells, and alike in search of health, or society, or
pleasure. A century ago, and our ancestors, the most free or the
most straightlaced, met together at a score of such merry places as that
•where our present scene lies, and danced, and frisked, and gamed, and
drank at Epsom, Bath, Tunbridge, Harrogate, as they do at Hombourg
and Baden now.
Harry's bad reputation then comforted his old Aunt exceedingly, and
eased her mind in respect to the boy's passion for Lady Maria, So easy
was she in her mind, that when the Chaplain said he came to escort her
ladyship home, Madam Bernstein did not even care to part from her
niece. She preferred rather to keep her under her eye, to talk to her
about her wicked young cousin's wild extravagances, to whisper to her
that boys would be boys, to confide to Maria her intention of getting a
proper wife for Harry, — some one of a suitable age, — some one with a
suitable fortune, — all which pleasantries poor Maria had to bear with as
much fortitude as she could muster.
There lived, during the last century, a certain French duke and
marquis, who distinguished himself in Europe, and America likewise,
and has obliged posterity by leaving behind him a choice volume of
memoirs, which the gentle reader is specially warned not to consult.
Having performed the part of Don Juan in his own country, in ours,
and in other parts of Europe, he has kindly noted down the names of
many court-beauties who fell victims to his powers of fascination ; and
very pleasant reading no doubt it must be for the grandsons and
descendants of the fashionable persons amongst whom our brilliant
nobleman moved, to find the names of their ancestresses adorning
M. le Due's sprightly pages, and their frailties recorded by the candid
"writer who caused them.
In the course of the peregrinations of this nobleman, he visited
North America, and, as had been his custom in Europe, proceeded
straightway to fall in love. And curious it is to contrast the elegant
refinements of European society, where, according to Monseigneur, he
had but to lay siege to a woman in order to vanquish her, with the
simple lives and habits of the colonial folks, amongst whom this
European enslaver of hearts did not, it appears, make a single conquest,
[lad he done so, he would as certainly have narrated his victories in.
Pennsylvania and New England, as he described his successes in this and
his own country. Travellers in America have cried out quite loudly
enough against the rudeness and barbarism of transatlantic manners;
let the present writer give the humble testimony of his experience that
the conversation of American gentlemen is generally modest, and, to the
best of his belief, the lives of the women pure.
We have said that Mr. Harry Warrington brought his colonial modesty
along with him to the old country ; and though he could not help hear-
ing the free talk of the persons amongst whom he lived, and who were
men of pleasure and the world, he sat pretty silent himself in the midst
THE VIRGINIANS. 211
of. their rattle; never indulged in double entendre in his conversation
with women ; had no victories over the sex to boast of; and was shy and
awkward when he heard such narrated by others.
This youthful modesty Mr. Sampson had remarked during his inter-
course with the lad at Castlewood, where Mr. Warrington had more than
once shown himself quite uneasy whilst cousin Will was telling some of
his choice stories ; and my lord had curtly rebuked his brother, bidding
him keep his jokes for the usher's table at Kensington, and not give
needless ofience to their kinsman. Hence the exclamation of " Eeve-
rentia pueris," which the Chaplain had addressed to his neighbour at the
ordinary on Harry's first appearance there. Mr. Sampson, if he had not
strength sufficient to do right himself, at least had grace enough not to
offend innocent young gentlemen by his cynicism.
The Chaplain was touched by Harry's gift of the horse ; and felt a
genuine friendliness towards the lad. *' You- see, sir," says he, "I am
of the world, and must do as the rest of the world does. I have led a
rough life, Mr. Warrington, and can't afford to be more particular than
my neighbours. Yideo meliora, deteriora sequor, as we said at college.
I have got a little sister, who is at boarding-school, not very far from
here, and, as I keep a decent tongue in my head when I am talking
with my little Patty, and expect others to do as much, sure I may try
and do as much by you."
The Chaplain was loud in his praises of Harry to his aunt, the old
Baroness. She liked to hear him praised. She was as fond of him as she
could be of anything ; was pleased in his company, with his good looks,
his manly courageous bearing, his blushes, which came so readily, his
bright eyes, his deep youthful voice. His shrewdness and simplicity
constantly amused her ; she would have wearied of him long before, had
he been clever, or learned, or witty, or other than he was. *' We must
find a good wife for him, chaplain," she said to Mr. Sampson. " I have
one or two in my eye, who, I think, will suit him. We must set him up
here ; he never will bear going back to his savages again, or to live with
his little methodist of a mother."
j^ow about this point Mr. Sampson, too, was personally anxious, and
had also a wife in his eye for Harry. I suppose he must have had some
conversations with his lord at Castlewood, whom we have heard, express-
ing some intention of complimenting his Chaplain with a good living or
other provision, in the event of his being able to carry out his lordship's
wishes regarding a marriage for Lady Maria. If his good offices could
help that anxious lady to a husband, Sampson was ready to employ
them ; and he now waited to see in what most effectual manner he could
bring his influence to bear.
Sampson's society was most agreeable, and he and his young friend
were intimate in the course of a few hours. The parson rejoiced in
high spirits, good appetite, good humour ; pretended to no sort of squeam-
ishness, and indulged in no sanctified hypocritical conversation;
nevertheless, he took care not to shock his young friend by any needless
p 2
212 THE VIRGINIAXS.
outbreaks of levity or immorality of talk, initiating his pupil, perhaps
from policy, perhaps from compunction, only into the minor mysteries,
as it were ; and not telling him the secrets with which the unlucky a(ie[)t
himself was only too familiar. With Harry, Sampson was only a brisk,
lively, jolly companion, ready for any drinking bout, or any sport, a cock-
light, a shooting match, a game at cards, or a gallop 'across the common ;
but his conversation was decent, and he tried much more to amuse the
young man, than to lead him astray. The Chaplain was quite successful :
he had immense animal spirits as well as natural wit, and aptitude as
well as experience in that business of toad-eater which had been his
calling and livelihood from his very earliest years, — ever since he first
entered college as a servitor, and cast about to see by whose means he
could make his fortune in life. That was but satire just now, when we
said there were no toad-eaters left in the world. There are many men
of Sampson's profession now, doubtless ; nay, little boys at our public
schools are sent thither at the earliest age, instructed by their parents,
and put out apprentices to toad-eating. But the flattery is not so
manifest as it used to be a hundred years since. Young men and old
have hangers on, and led captains, but they assume an appearance of
equality, borrow money, or swallow their toads in private, and walk
abroad arm in arm with the great man, and call him by his name with-
out his title. In those good old times, when Harry "Warrington first
came to Europe, a gentleman's toad-eater pretended to no airs of equality
at all ; openly paid court to his patron, called him by that name to other
folks, went on his errands for him, — any sort of errands which the patron
might devise, — called him Sir in speaking to him, stood up in his pre-
sence until bidden to sit down, and flattered him er. officio. Mr. Samp-
son did not take the least shame in speaking of Harry as his young
patron, — as a young Yirginian nobleman recommended to him by his
other noble patron, the Earl of Castlewood. He was proud of appearing
at Harry's side, and as his humble retainer, in public talked about him
to the company, gave orders to Harry's tradesmen, from whom, let us
hope, he received a per centage in return for his recommendations, per-
formed all the functions of aide-de-camp — others, if our young gentle-
man demanded them from the obsequious divine, who had gaily
discharged the duties oi ami du prince to ever so many young men of
fashion, since his own entrance into the world. It must be confessed
that, since his arrival in Europe, Mr. "Warringti a had not been uniformly
lucky in the friendships which he had made.
** What a reputation, sir, they have made for you in this place ! '^
cries Mr. Sampson, coming back from the coff'ee-house to his patron.
" Monsieur de Richelieu was nothing to you ! "
** How do you mean, Monsieur de Richelieu? — Never was at Minorca
in my life," says down-right Harry, who had not heard of those victories
at home, which made the French duke famous.
Mr. Sampson explained. The pretty widow Patcham who had just
arrived was certainly desperate about Mr. Warrington : her way of
THE YIEGIXIAXS. 218
going on at the rooms, the night before, proved that. As for ^Irs.
Hooper, that was a known ease, and the Alderman had fetched his wife
back to London for no other reason. It was the talk of the whole Wells.
" Who says so ?" cries out Harry, indignantly. " I should like to
meet the man who dares say so, and confound the villain ! "
" I should not like to show him to you," says Mr. Sampson, laughing.
■** It might be the worse for him,"
" It's a shame to speak with such levity about the character of ladies
or of gentlemen, either," continues Mr. Warrington, pacing up and
down the room in a fume,
*' So I told them," says the Chaplain, wagging his head and looking
very much moved and very grave, though, if the truth were known, it
had never come into his mind at all to be angry at hearing charges of
this nature against Harry.
"It's a shame, I say, to talk away the reputation of any man or
woman as people do here. Do you know, in our country, a fellow's ears
would not be safe ; and a little before I left home, three brothers shot
down a man for having spoken ill of their sister."
" Serve the villain right ! " cries Sampson.
** Already they have had that calumny about me set a-going here,
Sampson, — about me and the poor little French dancing-girl."
** I have heard," says Mr. Sampson, shaking powder out of his wig.
"Wicked; wasn't it?"
"Abominable."
** They said the very same thing about my Lord March. Isn't it
Bhameful ? "
" Indeed it is," says Mr. Sampson, preserving a face of wonderful
gravity.
"I don't know what I should do if these stories were to come to my
mother's ears. It would break her heart, I do believe it would. Why,
-only a few days before you came, a military friend of mine, Mr. Wolfe,
told me how the most horrible lies were circulated about me. Good
heavens ! What do they think a gentleman of my name and country
can be capable of — I a seducer of women 1 They might as well say I
was a horse-stealer or a housebreaker. I vow if I hear any man say so,
I'll have his ears ! "
" I have read, sir, that the Grand Seignior of Turkey has bushels of
ears sometimes sent in ^ him," says Mr. Sampson, laughing. " If you
took all those that had heard scandal against you or others, what
baskets you would fill ! "
"And so I would, Sampson, as soon as look at 'em: — any fellow's
who said a word against a lady or a gentleman of honour!" cries the
Virginian.
" If you'll go down to the Well, you'll find a harvest of 'em. I just
«ame from there. It was the high tide of Scandal. Detraction was at
its height. And you may see the mj^nphas discentes and the aures
satyrorum aaitas,^^ cries the Chaplain, with a shrug of his shoulders.
214 THE VIRGINIANS.
** That may be as you say, Sampson," Mr. "Warrington replies ; ** but
if ever I hear any man speak against my character I'll punish him.
Mark that."
" I shall be very sorry for his sake, that I should; for you'll mark
hira in a way he won't like, sir ; and I know you are a man of your
word."
" You may be sure of that, Sampson. And now shall fve go to dinner,
and afterwards to my Lady Trumpington's tea ? "
'' You know, sir, I can't resist a card or a bottle," says Mr. Sampson.
** Let ns have the last first and then the first shall come last." And
with this the two gentlemen went oif to their accustomed place of
refection.
That was an age in which wine-bibbing was more common than in
our politer time ; and, especially since the arrival of General Braddock's
army in his native country, our young Virginian had acquired rather a
liking for the filling of bumpers and the calling of toasts ; having heard
that it was a point of honour among the officers never to decline a
toast or a challenge. So Harry and his Chaplain drank their claret in
peace and plenty, naming, as the simple custom was, some favourite
lady with each glass.
The Chaplain had reasons of his own for desiring to know how far the
affair between Harry and my Lady Maria had gone ; whether it was
advancing, or whether it was ended ; and he and his young friend were
just warm enough with the claret to be able to talk with that great
eloquence, that candour, that admirable friendliness, which good wine
taken in a rather injudicious quantity inspires. kindly harvests of
the Aquitanian grape ! sunny banks of Graronne ! friendly caves
of Gledstane, where the dusky flasks lie recondite! May we not say a
word of thanks for all the pleasure we owe you ? Are the Temperance
men to be allowed to shout in the public places ? are the Vegetarians to-
bellow *' Cabbage for ever ?" and may we modest (Enophilists not sing
the praises of our favourite plant ? After the drinking of good Bordeaux
wine, there is a point (I do not say a pint) at which men arrive, when
all the generous faculties of the soul are awakened and in full vigour;
when the wit brightens and breaks out in sudden flashes ; when the
intellects are keenest ; when the pent-up words and confined thoughtt
get a night-rule, and rush, abroad and disport themselves ; when the
kindest affections come out and shake hands with mankind, and the
timid Truth jumps up naked out of his well and proclaims himself to
all the world. How, by the kind influence of the wine-cup, we succour
the poor and humble ! How bravely we rush to the rescue of the
oppressed ! I say, in the face of all the pumps which ever spouted, that
there is a moment in a bout of good wine at which, if a man could but
remain, wit, wisdom, courage, generosity, eloquence, happiness, were
his; but the moment passes, and that other glass somehow spoils the
state of beatitude. There is a headache in the morning ; we are not going
into Parliament for our native town; we are not going to shoot those
THE TIRGINIANS. 215
French officers who have been speaking disrespectfully of our country ;
and poor Jeremy Diddler calls about eleven o'clock for another half-
sovereign, and we are unwell in bed, and can't see him, and send him
empty away.
Well, then, as they sate over their generous cups, the company
having departed, and the — th bottle of claret being brought in by
Monsieur Barbeau, the Chaplain found himself in an eloquent state,
with a strong desire for inculcating sublime moral precepts, whilst
Harry was moved by an extreme longing to explain his whole private
history, and impart all his present feelings to his new friend. Mark
that fact. Why must a man say everything that comes uppermost in
his noble mind, because forsooth he has swallowed a half-pint more of
wine than he ordinarily drinks ? Suppose I had committed a murder
(of course I allow the sherry and champagne at dinner), should I
announce that homicide somewhere about the third bottle (in a small
party of men) of claret at dessert ? Of course : and hence the fidelity
of water-gruel announced a few pages back.
" I am glad to hear what your conduct has really been with regard to
the Cattarina, Mr. Warrington. , I am glad from my soul ! " says the
impetuous Chaplain. "The wine is with you. You have shown that
you can bear down calumny, and resist temptation. Aii ! my dear sir,
men are not all so fortunate. What famous good wine this is ! " and ho
sucks up a glass with " A toast from you, my dear sir, if you please ? "
'' I give you 'Miss Fanny Mountain, of Virginia,' " says Mr. War^
rington, filling a bumper as his thoughts fly straightway, ever so many
thousand miles, to home.
*' One of your American conquests, I suppose," says the Chaplain.
*' Nay, she is but ten years old, and I have never made any conquests
at all in Virginia, Mr. Sampson,'^ says the young gentleman.
" You are like a true gentleman, and don't kiss and tell, sir."
" I neither kiss nor tell. It isn't the custom of our country, Sampson,
to ruin girls, or frequent the society of low women. We Virginian
gentlemen honour women : we don't wish to bring them to shame,"
cries the young toper, looking very proud and handsome. "The young
lady whose name I mentioned hath lived in our family since her
infancy, and I would shoot the man who did her a wrong ; — by Heaven,
I would."
"Your sentiments do you honour ! Let me shake hands with you!
I will shake hands with you, Mr. Warrington," cried the enthusiastic
Sampson. " And let me tell you, 'tis the grasp of honest friendship
offered you, and not merely the poor retainer paying court to the
wealthy patron. No ! with such liquor as this, all men are equal ; —
faith, all men are rich, whilst it lasts ! and Tom Sampson is as wealthy
with his bottle as your honour with all the acres of your principality I "
" Let us have another bottle of riches," says Harry, with a laugh.
"Encore du cachet jaune, mon bon Monsieur Barbeau I" and exit
Monsieur Barbeau to the caves below.
216 THE yiRGINIAXS.
** Another bottle of riclies ! Capital, capital! How beautifully you
speak French, Mr. Harry."
"I do speak it well," says Harry. "At least, when I speak,
Monsieur Barbeau understands me well enough."
" You do everything well, I think. You succeed in whatever you
try. That is why they have fancied here you have won the hearts of
80 many women, sir."
'' There you go again about the women ! I tell you I don't like
these stories about women. Confound me, Sampson, why is a gentle-
man's character to be blackened so ? "
" Well, at any rate there is one, unless my eyes deceive me very
much indeed, sir ! " cries the Chaplain.
''Whom do you mean ? " asked Harry, flushing very red.
*'Nay. I name no names. It isn't for a poor Chaplain to
meddle with his betters' doings, or to know their thoughts," says Mr.
Sampson.
" Thoughts ! wJmt thoughts, Sampson ?"
** I fancied I saw on the part of a certain lovely and respected lady
at Castle wood, a preference exhibited. I fancied on the side of a certain
distinguished young gentleman a strong liking manifested itself : but I
may have been wrong, and ask pardon."
"0 Sampson, Sampson! " broke out the young man. *' I tell you I
am miserable. I tell you I have been longing for some one to confide
in, or ask advice of. You do know, then, that there has been some-
thing going on — something between me and — Help Mr. Sampson,
Monsieur Barbeau — and — some one else ? "
" I have watched it this month past," says the Chaplain.
** Confound me, sir, do you mean you have been a spy on me ?" says
the other hotly.
*' A spy ! You made little disguise of the matter, Mr. Warrington,
and her ladyship wasn't a much better hand at deceiving.* You were
always together. In the shrubberies, in the walks, in the village, in
the galleries of the house, — you always found a pretext for being
together, and plenty of eyes besides mine watched you."
''Gracious powers! What c?/c? you see, Sampson?" cries the
lad.
"Nay, sir, 'tis forbidden to kiss and tell. I gay so again," says the
Chaplain.
The young man turned very red. ** Sampson ! " he cried, " can
I — can I confide in you ? "
" Dearest sir — dear generous youth — you know I would shed my
heart's blood for you ! " exclaims the Chaplain, squeezing his patron's
hand, and turning a brilliant pair of eyes ceiling-wards.
" Sampson ! I tell you I am miserable. With all this play and
wine, whilst I have been here, I tell you I have been trying to drive
away care. I own to you that when we were at Castlewood there was
thingg passed between a certain lady and me."
THE YIEGIXIAX3. 217
The parson gave a slight whistle over his glass of Bordeaux.
** And they've made me wretched, those things have. I mean, you
see, that if a gentleman has given his word, why, it's his word, and he
must stand by it you know. I mean that I thought I loved her, — and
so I do very much, and she's a most dear, kind, darling, affectionate
creature, and very handsome, too, — quite beautiful ; but then, you
know, our ages, Sampson. Think of our ages, Sampson ! She's as old
as my mother ! "
*' Who would never forgive you."
** I don't intend to let anybody meddle in my affairs, not Madam
Esmond nor anybody else," cries Harry: "but you see, Sampson, she
is old — and, hang it ! Why did Aunt Bernstein tell me ? "
''Tell you what?"
''Something I can't divulge to anybody, something that tortures
me!"
"Not about the — the " the chaplain paused: he was going to say
about her ladyship's little affair with the French dancing-master;
about other little anecdotes affecting her character. But he had not
drunk wine enough to be quite candid, or too much, and was past the
real moment of virtue.
" Yes, yes, every one of 'em false— every one of 'em! " shrieks out
Harry.
" Great powers, what do you mean ? " asks his friend.
" These, sir, these ! " says Harry, beating a tattoo on his own white
teeth. " I didn't know it when I asked her. I swear I didn't know
it. 0, it's horrible— it's horrible! and it has caused me nights of
agony, Sampson. My dear old grandfather had a set, a Frenchman at
Charlestown made them for him, and we used to look at 'em grinning
in a tumbler, and when they were out, his jaws used to fall in — I never
thought she had 'em."
" Had what, sir ? " again asked the Chaplain.
" Confound it, sir, don't you see I mean teeth f" says Harry, rapping
the table.
"Nay, only two."
"And how the devil do you know, sirP" asks the young man
fiercely.
" I — I had it from her maid. She had two teeth knocked out by a
etone which cut her lip a little, and they have been replaced."
"0, Sampson, do you mean to say they ain't all sham ones?" cries
the boy.
"But two, sir, at least, so Peggy told me, and she would just as
soon have blabbed about the whole two and thirty — the rest are as
sound as yours, which are beautiful."
"And her hair, Sampson, is that all right, too?" asks the young
gentleman.
" 'Tis lovely— I have seen that. I can take my oath to that. Her
ladyship can sit upon it ; and her figure is very fine ; and her skin is
218 THE YIHGIXIAXS.
as white as snow ; and her heart is the kindest that ever was ; and I
know, that is I feel sure, it is very tender about you, Mr. Warrington."
"0, Sampson, Heaven, Heaven bless you! What a weight you've
taken off my mind with those — those — never mind them ! 0, Sam !
How happy — that is, no, no — 0, how miserable I am ! She's as old
as Madam Esmond — by George she is — she's as old as my mother.
You wouldn't have a fellow marry a woman as old as his mother ? It's
too bad : by George it is. It's too bad." And here, I am sorry to say,
Harry Esmond Warrington, Esquire, of Castlewood, in Virginia, began
to cry. The delectable point, you see, must have been passed several
glasses ago.
<' You don't want to marry her, then ? " asks the Chaplain.
''What's that to you, sir? I've promised her, and an Esmond — a
Virginia Esmond, mind that — Mr. What's your name — Sampson — has
but his word ! " The sentiment was noble, but delivered by Harry
with rather a doubtful articulation.
" Mind you, I said a Virginia Esmond," continued poor Harry, lift-
ing up his finger, '* I don't mean the younger branch here. I don't
mean Will, who robbed me about the horse, and whose bones I'll break.
I give you Lady Maria— Heaven bless her, and Heaven bless you^
Sampson, and you deserve to be a bishop, old boy! "
*' There are letters between you, I suppose ?" says Sampson.
''Letters! Dammy, she's always writing me letters! — never gets
me into a window but she sticks one in my cufi". Letters, that is a
good idea. Look here ! Here's letters ! " And he threw down a
pocket-book containing a heap of papers of the poor lady's composi-
tion.
" Those are letters, indeed. What a post-bag ! " says the Chaplain.
" But any man who touches them — dies — dies on the spot ! "
shrieks Harry, starting from his seat, and reeling towards his sword ;
which he draws, and then stamps with his foot, and says " Ha ! ha ! "
and then lunges at M. Barbeau, who skips away from the lunge behind
the Chaplain, who looks rather alarmed. And in my mind I behold
an exciting picture of the lad with his hair dishevelled, raging about
the Toom Jlamherge au vent, and pinking the affrighted innkeeper and
chaplain. But 0, to think of him stumbling over a stool, and pro-
strated by an enemy who has stole away his brains I Come Gumbo I
and help your master to bed I
THE VIKGIXIAXS. 219
CHAPTER XXXIT.
IN- WKECH A FAitlLT COACH IS OKDEKED.
Ottr pleasing duty now is to divulge the secret which Mr. Lambert
whispered in his wife's ear at the close of the antepenultimate chapter,
and the publication of which caused such great pleasure to the whole of
the Oakhurst family. As the hay was in, the corn not ready for
cutting, and by consequence the farm horses disengaged, why, asked
Colonel Lambert, should they not be put into the coach, and should
we not all pay a visit to Tunbridge Wells, taking friend -Wolfe at
Westerham on our way ?
Mamma embraced this proposal, and I dare say the gentleman who
made it. All the children jumped for joy. The girls went off straight-
way to get their best calamancoes, paduasoys, falbalas, furbelows, capes,
cardinals, sacks, negligees, solitaires, caps, ribbons, mantuas, clocked
stockings, and high-heeled shoes, and I know not what articles of
toilette. Mamma's best robes were taken from the presses, whence they
only issued on rare, solemn occasions, retiring immediately afterwards
to lavender and seclusion ; the brave Colonel produced his laced hat
and waistcoat and silver- hilted hanger; Charley rejoiced in a rasee
holiday suit of his father's, in which the Colonel had been married,
and whioh Mrs. Lambert cut up, not without a pang. Ball and Dump-
ling had their tails and manes tied with ribbon, and Chump, the old
white cart-horse, went as unicorn leader, to help the carriage-horses up
the first hilly five miles of the road from Oakhurst to Westerham. The
carriage was an ancient vehicle, and was believed to have served in the
procession which had brought George I. from Greenwich to London, on
his first arrival to assume the sovereignty of these realms. It had
belonged to Mr. Lambert's father, and the family had been in the
habit of regarding it, ever since they could remember anything, as one
of the most splendid coaches in the three kingdoms. Brian, coach-
man, and — must it also be owned ? — ploughman, of the Oakhurst
family, had a place on the box, with Mr. Charley by his side. The precious
elothes were packed in imperials on the roof. The Colonel's pistols
were put in the pockets of the carriage, and the blunderbuss hung
behind the box, in reach of Brian, who was an old soldier. I^o high-
wayman, however, molested the convoy ; not even an innkeeper levied
contributions on Colonel Lambert, who, with a slender purse and a
large family, was not to be plundered by those or any other depredators
on the king's highway ; and a reasonable cheap modest lodging had
been engaged for them by young Colonel Wolfe, at the house where he
was in the habit of putting up, and whither he himself accompanied
them on horseback.
It happened that these lodgings were opposite Madam Bernstein's:
220 THE VIRGINIANS.
and as the Oakhurst family reached their quarters on a Saturday even-
ing, they could see chair after chair discharging powdered beaux and
patched and brocaded beauties at the Baroness's door, who was holding
one of her many card parties. The sun was not yet down (for our
ancestors began their dissipations at early hours, and were at meat,
drink, or cards, any time after three o'clock in the afternoon until any
time in the night or morning), and the young country ladies and their
mother from their window could see the various personages as they
passed into the Bernstein rout. Colonel Wolfe told the ladies who most
of the characters were. 'Twas almost as delightful as going to the
party themselves, Hetty and Theo thought, for they not only could see
the guests arriving, but look into the Baroness's open casements and
watch many of them there. Of a few of the personages we have before
had a glimpse. "When the Duchess of Q,ueensberry passed, and Mr.
"Wolfe explained who she was, Martin Lambert was ready with a score
lof lines about *' Kitty, beautiful and young," from his favourite Mat
^rior.
"Think that that old lady was once like you, girls!'* cries the
llolonel.
"Like us, papa? Well, certainly we never set up for being
beauties ! " says Miss Hetty, tossing up her little head.
" Yes, like you, you little baggage ; like you at this moment, who
want to go to that drum yonder : —
" Inflamed with rage at sad restraint
AVhich wise mamma ordained
And sorely vexed to play the saint
Whilst wit and beauty reigned."
** We were never invited, papa ; and I am sure if there's no beauty
more worth seeing than that, the wit can't be much worth the hearing,"
again says the satirist of the family.
"0, but he's a rare poet. Mat Prior!" continues the Colonel;
** though, mind you, girls, you'll skip over all the poems I have
marked with a cross. A rare poet ! and to think you should see one of
his heroines ! * Fondness prevailed, mamma gave way ' (she always
will, Mrs. Lambert !) —
*' Fondness prevailed, mamma gave way,—
Kitty at heart's desire
Obtained the chariot for a day.
And set the world on fire ! "
** I am sure it must have been very inflammable," says mamma.
" So it was, my dear, twenty years ago, much more inflammable than
it is now," remarks the Colonel.
" Nonsense, Mr. Lambert," is mamma's answer.
"Look, look!" cries Hetty, running forward and pointing to the
little square, and the covered gallery, where was the door leading to
Madam Bernstein's apartments, and round which stood a crowd of
street urchins, idlers and yokels, watching the company.
THE VIRGINIANS. 221
'* It's Harry Warrington ! " exclaims Theo, waving a handkerchief
to the young Virginian: but Warrington did not see Miss Lambert.
The Virginian was walking arm-in-arm with a portly clergyman in a
crisp rustling silk gown, and the two went into Madame de I3ernstein'a
door.
*' I heard him preach a most admirable sermon here last Sun-
day." says Mr. Wolfe : ** a little theatrical, but most striking and
eloquent."
" You seem to be here most Sundays, James," says Mrs. Lambert.
" And Monday, and so on till Saturday," adds the Colonel. *' See,
Harry has beautified himself already, hath his hair in buckle, and I
have no doubt is going to the drum too."
" I had rather sit quiet generally of a Saturday evening," says sober
Mr. Wolfe; "at any rate away from card-playing and scandal; but I
own, dear Mrs. Lambert, I am under orders. Shall I go across the way
and send Mr. Warrington to you?"
" Xo, let him have his sport. We shall see him to-morrow. He
won't care to be disturbed amidst his fine folks by us country people,'^
said meek Mrs. Lambert.
" I am glad he is with a clergyman who preaches so well," says Theo,
softly ; and her eyes seemed to say. You see, good people, he is not so
bad as you thought him, and as I, for my part, never believed him to be.
•* The clergyman has a very kind, handsome face."
" Here comes a greater clergyman," cries Mr. AYolfe : ** It is my Lord
of Salisbury, with his blue ribbon, and a chaplain behind him."
"And whom a mercy's name have we here ?" breaks in Mrs. Lambert,
as a sedan-chair, covered with gilding, topped with no less than five
earl's coronets, carried by bearers in richly laced clothes, and preceded
by three footmen in the same splendid livery, now came up to Madame
de Bernstein's door. The Bishop, who had been about to enter, stopped,
and ran back with the most respectful bows and curtsies to the sedan
chair, giving his hand to the lady who stepped thence.
"Who on earth is this? " asks Mrs. Lambert.
" Sprechen sie Deutsch? Ja, meinherr. Kichts verstand," says the
waggish colonel.
"Pooh, Martin."
" Well, if you can't understand High Dutch, my love, how can I help
it ? Y'our education was neglected at school. Can you understand
heraldr}' — I know you can ? "
"I make," cries Charley, reciting the shield, "three merlons on a
field or, with an earl's coronet.
" A countess's coronet, my son. The Countess of Y'armouth, my son.'*
" And pray who is she ?"
" It hath ever been the custom of our sovereigns to advance persons
of distinction to honour," continues the colonel, gravely, " and this
eminent lady hath been so promoted by our gracious monarch, to ti;o
rank of Countess of this kingdom."
222 THE VIRGINIANS.
*' But why, papa ? " asked the daughters together.
*' Never mind, girls !" said mamma.
But that incorrigible colonel would go on.
*' Y, my children, is one of the last and the most awkward letters of
the whole alphabet. When I tell you stories, you are always saying
Why. Why should my Lord Bishop be cringing to that lady ? Look
at him rubbing his fat hands together, and smiling into her face ! It's
not a handsome face any longer. It is all painted red and white, like
Scaramouch's in the pantomime. See, there comes another blue-riband,
as I live. My Lord Bamborough. The descendant of the Hotspurs.
The proudest man in England. He stops, he bows, he smiles ; he is
hat in hand, too. See, she taps him with her fan. Get away, you
crowd of little blackguard boys, and don't tread on the robe of the lady
whom the king delights to honour."
" But why does the king honour her ?" ask the girls once more.
** There goes that odious last letter but one ! Did you ever hear of
her Grace the Duchess of Kendal ? No. Of the Duchess of Ports-
mouth ? Non plus. Of the Duchess of La Yalliere ? Of Fair Eosa-
mond, then?"
" Hush, papa ! There is no need to bring blushes on the cheeks of
my dear ones, Martin Lambert ! " said the mother, putting her finger to
her husband's lip.
"'Tis not I; it is their sacred Majesties who are the cause of the
shame," cries the son of the old republican. ** Think of the Bishops
of the Church and the proudest nobility of the world cringing and
bowing before that painted High Dutch Jezebel. it's a shame ! a
shame!"
" Confusion !" here broke out Colonel Wolfe, and, making a dash at
his hat, ran from the room. He had seen the young lady whom he
admired and her guardian walking across the Pantiles on foot to the
Baroness's party, and they came up whilst the Countess of Yarmoutli-
Walmoden was engaged in conversation with the two lords spiritual and
temporal, and these two made the lowest reverences and bows to the
Countess, and waited until she had passed in at the door on the
Bishop's arm.
Theo turned away from the window with a sad, almost awe-stricken
face. Hetty still remained there, looking from it with indignation in
her eyes, and a little red spot on each cheek.
*' A penny for little Hetty's thoughts," says mamma, coming to the
window to lead the child away.
''I am thinking what I should do if I saw papa bowing to that
woman," says Hetty.
Tea and a hissing kettle here made their appearance, and the family
sate down to partake of their evening meal, leaving however Miss Hetty,
from their place, command of the window, which she begged her brother
not to close. That young gentleman had been down amongst the crowd
to inspect the armorial bearings of the Countess's and other sedans, no
THE VIRGINIANS. 223
doubt, and also to invest sixpence in a clieese-cake by mamma's order
and his own desire, and he returned presently with this delicacy
wrapped up in a paper.
** Look, mother," he comes back and says, ** do you see that big man
in brown, beating all the pillars with his stick ? That is the learned
Mr. Johnson. He comes to the Friars sometimes to see our master.
He was sitting with some friends just now at the tea-table before
Mrs. Brown's tart-shop. They have tea there, twopence a cup ; I
heard Mr. Johnson say he had had seventeen cups — that makes two-and
tenpence — what a sight of money for tea ! "
** What would you have, Charley ?" asks Theo.
*' I think I would have cheese-cakes," says Charley, sighing, as his teeth
closed on a large slice, " and the gentleman whom Mr. Johnson was
with," continues Charley, with his mouth quite full, " was Mr. Richardson,
who wrote "
*' Clarissa!" cry all the women in a breath, and run to the window
to see their favourite writer. By this time the sun was sunk, the stars
were twinkling overhead, and the footman came and lighted the candles
in the Baroness's room opposite our spies.
Theo and her mother were standing together looking from their place
of observation. There was a small illumination at Mrs. Brown's tart
and tea-shop, by which our friends could see one lady getting Mr.
Richardson's hat and stick, and another tying a shawl round his neck,
after which he walked home.
" dear me ! he does not look like Grrandison !" cries Theo.
" I rather think I wish we had not seen him, my dear," says mamma,
who has been described as a most sentimental woman and eager novel
reader ; and here again they were interrupted by Miss Hetty, who cried :
** Never mind that little fat man, but look yonder, mamma."
And they looked yonder. And they saw, in the first place, Mr.
Warrington undergoing the honour of a presentation to the Countess of
Yarmouth, who was still followed by the obsequious peer and prelate
with the blue ribands. And now the Countess graciously sate down to
a card-table, the Bishop and the Earl, and a fourth person being her
partners. And now Mr. Warrington came into the embrasure of the
window with a lady whom they recognised as the lady whom they had
seen for a few minutes at Oakhurst.
*' How much finer he is," remarks mamma.
*' How he is improved in his looks. What has he done to himself ?"
asks Theo.
** Look at his grand lace frills and ruffles ! My dear, he has not got
on our shirts any more," cries the matron.
*' What are you talking about, girls?" asks papa, reclining on his
sofa, where, perhaps, he was dozing after the fashion of honest house-
fathers.
The girls said how Harry Warrington was in the window, talking
with his cousin Lady Maria Esmond.
224 THE VIRGINIANS.
''Come away !" cries papa. "You have no right to be spying tne
young fellowa Down with the curtains, I say !"
And down the curtains went, so that the girls saw no more of Madam
Bernstein's guests or doings for that night.
I pray you not be angry at my remarking, if only by way of contrast
between these two opposite houses, that while Madam Bernstein and
her guests — bishop, dignitaries, noblemen, and whatnot — were gambling
or talking scandal, or devouring champagne and chickens (which I
hold to be venial sin), or doing honour to her ladyship the king's favour-
ite, the Countess of Yarmouth- Walmoden, our country friends in their
lodgings knelt round their table, whither Mr. Brian the coachman
came as silently as his creaking shoes would let him, whilst Mr. I^am-
bert, standing up, read in a low voice, a prayer that Heaven would
lighten their darkness and defend them from the perils of that night,
and a supplication that it would grant the req^uest of those two or three
gathered together.
Our young folks were up betimes on Sunday morning, and arrayed
themselves in those smart new dresses which were to fascinate the Tun-
bridge folks, and, with the escort of brother Charley, paced the little
town, and the quaint Pantiles, and the pretty common, long ere the
company was at breakfast, or the bells had rung to church. It was
Hester who found out where Harry Warrington's lodging must be, by
remarking Mr. Gumbo in an undress, with his lovely hair in curl-papers,
drawing a pair of red curtains aside, and opening a window-sash,
whence he thrust his head and inhaled the sweet morning breeze. Mr.
Gumbo did not happen to see the young people from Oakhurst, though
they beheld him clearly enough. He leaned gracefully from the
window ; he waved a large feather brush with which he condescended to
dust the furniture of the apartment within ; he affably engaged in con-
versation with a cherry-cheeked milkmaid, who was lingering under
the casement, and kissed his lily hand to her. Gumbo's hand sparkled
•with rings, and his person was decorated with a profusion of jewellery —
gifts, no doubt, of the fair who appreciated the young African. Once
or twice more before breakfast-time the girls passed near that window.
It remained open, but the room behind it was blank. No face of Harry
"Warrington appeared there. Neither spoke to the other of the subject
on which both were brooding. Hetty was a little provoked with Charley,
who was clamorous about breakfast, and told him he was always think-
ing of eating. In reply to her sarcastic inquiry, he artlessly owned he
should like another cheese-cake, and good-natured Theo, laughing, said
she had a sixpence, and if the cake-shop were open of a Sunday morn-
ing Charley should have one. The cake-shop was open : and Theo took
out her little purse, netted by her dearest friend at school, and contain-
ing her pocket-piece, her grandmother's guinea, her slender little store
of shillings — nay, some copper money at one end; and she treated
Charley to the meal w^hich he loved.
THE YILGIXIAXS. 226
*' A great deal of fine company was at church.. There was that fimnjr
old duchess, and old Madam Bernstein, with Lady Maria at her side,
and Mr. Wolfe, of course, by the side of Miss Lowther, and singing with
her out of the same psalm-book ; and Mr. Richardson with a bevy of
ladies. One of them is Miss Fielding, papa tells them after church,
Harry rieldiny:'s sister. girls, what good company he was ! And ius
books are worth a dozen of your milk-sop Pamelas and Clarissas, Mrs.
Lambert : but what woman ever loved true humour ? And there was
Mr. J ohnson sitting amongst the charity-children. Did you see how he
turned round to the altar at the Belief, and upset two or three of the
scared little urchins in leather breeches ? And what a famous sermon
Harry's parson gave, didn't he ? A sermon about scandal. How he
touched up some of the old harridans who were seated round ! AYhy
wasn't Mr. Warrington at church ? It was a shame he wasn't at
church."
" I really did not remark whether he was there or not," says Miss
Hetty, tossing her head up.
But Theo, who was all truth, said, " Yes, I thought of him, and was
sorry he was not there ; and so did you think of him, Hetty."
*' I did no such thing. Miss," persists Hetty.
** Then why did you whisper to me it was Harry's clergyman who
preached ?"
*'To think of Mr. Warrington's clergyman is not to think of Mr.
Warrington. It was a most excellent sermon, certainly, and the children^
sang most dreadfully out of tune. And there is Lady Maria at the
window opposite, smelling at the roses ; and that ^s Mr. Wolfe's step, I
know his great military tramp. Kight left — right left ! How do you
do, Colonel Wolfe?"
" Why do you look^ so glum, James ? " asks Colonel Lambert, gooa-
naturedly. '' Has the charmer been scolding thee, or is thy conscience
pricked by the sermon. Mr. Sampson, isn't the parson's name ? A
famous preacher, on my word ! "
"A pretty preacher, and a pretty practitioner!" says Mr. Wolfe,
with a shrug of his shoulders.
" Why, I thought the discourse did not last ten minutes, and madam
did not sleep one single wink during the sermon, didst thou, Molly ? "
"Did you see when the fellow came into church? " asked the* indig-
nant Colonel Wolfe. *' He came in at the open door of the common,
just in time, and as the psalm was over."
" Well, he had been reading the service probably to some sick person,
there are many here," remarks Mrs. Lambert.
" Reading the service! 0, my good Mrs. Lambert? Do you know
where I found, him ? I went to look for your young scapegrace of a
Yirgiuian."
" His own name is a very pretty name, I'm sure," cries out Hetty.
•* It isn't Scapegrace ! It is Henry Esmond Warrington, Esquire.
** Miss Hester, I found the parson in his cassock, and Henry Esmond
Q
THE VIEGINIANS.
"Warrington, Esquire, in his bed-gown, at a quarter before eleven
o'clock in the morning, when all the Sunday bells were ringing, and
they were playing over a game of picquet they had had the night
before ! "
" "Well, nupabers of good people play at cards of a Sunday. The King
plays at cards of a Sunday."
" Hush, my dear ! "
** I know he does," says Hetty, " with that painted person we saw
yesterday, that Countess what d'you call her ? "
** I think, my dear Miss Hester, a clergyman had best take to God's
books instead of the Devil's books on that day — and so I took the liberty
of telling your parson." Hetty looked as if she thought it was a liberty
which Mr. Wolfe had taken! ** And I told our young friend that I
thought he had better have been on his way to church than there in his
bedgown."
*' You wouldn't have Harry go to church in a dressing-gown and
nightcap. Colonel Wolfe ? That would be a pretty sight, indeed ! "
again says Hetty fiercely.
" I would have my little girl's tongue not wag quite so fast," remarks
papa, patting the girl's flushed little cheek.
" Not speak when a friend is attacked, and nobody says a word in his
favour ? No ; nobody ! "
Here the two lips of the little mouth closed on each other ; the whole
^ittle frame shook : the child fiung a parting look of defiance at Mr. Wolfe,
and went out of the room, Just in time to close the door, and burst out
crying on the stair. •
Mr. Wolfe looked very much discomfited. ** I am sure. Aunt Lambert,
I did not intend to hurt Hester's feelings."
" No, James," she said, very kindly. The young officer used to call
her Aunt Lambert, in quite early days, and she gave him her hand.
Mr. Lambert whistled his favourite tune of ^' Over the hills and far
away," with a drum accompaniment performed by his fingers on the
window. *' I say, you musn't whistle on Sunday, papa ! " cried the
artless youn^ gown-boy from Grey Friars ; and then suggested that it
was three hours from breakfast, and he should like to finish Theo's
cheesecake.
** 0, ^ou greedy child ! " cries Theo. But here, hearing a little excla-
matory noise outside, she ran out of the room, closing the door behind
her. And we will not pursue her. The noise was that sob which broke
, from Hester's panting, over-loaded heart ; and, though we cannot see,
I am sure the little maid fiung herself on her sister's npck, and wept
upon Theo's kind bosom, ^^
Hetty did not walk out in the afternoon when the family took the
air on the common, but had a headache and lay on her bed, where her
mother watched her. Charley had discovered a comrade from Grey
Friars ! Mr. Wolfe of course paired ofi" with Miss Lowther : and Theo
and her father, taking their sober walk in the Sabbath sunshine, found
THE VIEGINIANS. ' 227
Madame Bernstein basking on a bench under a tree, her niece and
nephew in attendance. Harry ran up to greet his dear friends: he
was radiant with pleasure at beholding them — the elder ladies were
most gracious to the colonel and his wife, who had so kindly welcomed
their Harry.
How noble and handsome he looked ! Theo thought— she called him
by his Christian name, as if he were really her brother. " Why did we
not see you sooner to-day, Harry?" she asked,
" I never thought you were here, Theo."
*' But you might have seen us if you wished."
** Where ? " asked Harry.
" There, sir," she said, pointing to the church. And she held her
hand up as if in reproof ; but a sweet kindness beamed in her face.
Ah, friendly young reader, wandering on the world and struggling with
temptation, may you also have one or two pure hearts to love and pray
for you I
CHAPTEE XXXIII.
CONTAINS A. SOLILOQTJT BY HESTEE.
' Maetin Lambert's first feeling, upon learning the little secret which
his younger daughter's emotion had revealed, was to be angry with the
lad who had robbed his child's heart away from him and her family.
" A plague upon all scapegraces, English or Indian !" cried the Colonel
to his wife, " I wish this one had broke his nose against any doorpost
but ours."
*' Perhaps we are to cure him of being a scapegrace, my dear," says
Mrs. Lambert, mildly interposing, *' and the fall at our door hath some-
thing providential in it. You laughed at me, Mr. Lambert, when I said
so before ; but if Heaven did not send the young gentleman to us, who
did ? And it may be for the blessing and happiness of us all that he
came, too."
** It's hard, Molly!" groaned the Colonel. **We cherish and fondle
and rear 'em : we tend them through sickness and health ; we toil and
we scheme : we hoard away money in the stocking, and patch our own
old' coats: if they've a headache we can't sleep for thinking of their
ailment ; if they have a wish or fancy, we work day and night to com-
pass it, and 'tis darling daddy and dearest pappy, and whose father
is like ours ? and so fo^th. On Tuesday morning I am king of my
house and family. On Tuesday evening Prince Whippersnapper makes
his appearance, and my reign is over. A whole life is forgotten and
forsworn for a pair of blue eyes, a pair of lean shanks, and a head of
yellow hair."
e2
228 THE VIRGINIANS.
'* 'Tis written that we women should leave all to follow our husband.
I think our courtship was not very long, dear Martin ! " said the matron,
laying her hand on her husband's arm.
" 'Tis human nature, and what can you expect of the jade ?" sighed
the Colonel.
'* And I think I did my duty to my husband, though I own I left my
papa for him," added Mrs. Lambert, softly.
''Excellent wench ! Perdition catch my soul! but I do love thee,
Molly!" says the good Colonel; "but, then mind you, your father
never did me ; and if ever I am to have sons-in-law "
" Ever, indeed ! Of course my girls are to have husbands, Mr.
Lambert!" cries mamma.
'' Well, when they come. I'll hate them, madam, as your father did
me, and quite right too, for taking his treasure away from him."
" Don't be irreligious and unnatural, Martin Lambert ! I say you are
unnatural, sir !" continues the matron.
** Nay, my dear, I have an old tooth in my left jaw, here ; and 'tis
natural that the tooth should come out. But when the tooth-drawer
pulls it, 'tis natural that I should feel pain. Do you suppose, madam,
that I don't love Hetty better than any tooth in my head ?" asks Mr.
Lambert. But no woman was ever averse to the idea of her daughter
getting a husband, however fathers revolt against the invasion of the
son-in-law. As for mothers and grandmothers, those good folks are
married over again in the marriage of their young ones ; and their souls
attire themselves in the laces and muslins of twenty — forty years ago ;
the postilion's white ribbons bloom again, and they flutter into the post-
chaise, and drive away. What woman, however old, has not the bridal-
favours and raiment stowed away, and packed in lavender, in the inmost
cupboards of her heart ?
*' It will be a sad thing, parting with her," continued Mrs. Lambert,
with a sigh.
" You have settled that point already, Molly," laughs the Colonel.
" Had I not best go out and order raisins and corinths for the weddicg-
cake?"
" And then I shall have to leave the house in their charge when I go
to her, you know, in Virginia. How many miles is it to Yirginia,
Martin ? T should think it must be thousands of miles."
'* A hundred and seventy-three thousand three hundred and ninety-
one and three-quarters, my dear, by the near way," answers Lambert,
gravely ; *' that, through Prester John's country. By the other route,
through Persia "
"0 give me the one where there is the least of the sea, and your
horrid ships, which I can't bear! " cries the Colonel's spouse. *' I hope
Ilachel Esmond and I shall be better friends. She had a very high
spirit when we were girls at school."
''Had we not best go about the baby linen, Mrs. Martin Lambert ?"
here .interposed her wondering husband. Now, Mrs. Lambert, I dare
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 229
say, thought there was no matter for -wondermeiit at all, and had
remarked some very pretty lace caps and bibs in Mrs. Bobbinit's toy-
shop. And on that Sunday afternoon, when the discovery was made,
and while little Hetty was lying upon her pillow with feverish cheeks,
closed eyes, and a piteous face, her mother looked at the child with the
most perfect ease of mind, and seemed to be rather pleased than other-
wise at Hetty's woe.
The girl was not only unhappy, but enraged with herself for having
published her secret. Perhaps she had not known it until the sudden
emotion acquainted her with her own state of mind; and now the little
maid chose to be as much ashamed as if she had done a wrong, and
been discovered in it. She was indignant with her own weakness, and
broke into transports of wrath against herself. She vowed she never
would forgive herself for submitting to such a humiliation. So the
young pard, wounded by the hunter's dart, chafes with rage in the
forest, is angry with the surprise of the rankling steel in her side,
and snarls and bites at her sister-cubs, and the leopardess, her spotted
mother.
Little Hetty tore and gnawed, and growled, so that I shoutd not like
to have been her fraternal cub, or her spotted dam or sire. " What
business has any young woman," she cried out, "to indulge in any
such nonsense ? Mamma, I ought to be whipped, and sent to bed. I
know perfectly well that Mr. Warrington does not care a fig about me.
I dare say he likes French actresses and the commonest little milliner-
girl in the toyshop better than me. And so he ought, and so they ai-e
better than me. Why, what a fool I am to burst out crying like a
ninny about nothing, and because Mr. Wolfe said Harry played cards of
a Sunday ! I know he is not clever, like papa. I believe he is stupid
• — I am certain he is stupid : but he is not so stupid as I am. Why,
of course, I can't marry him. How am I to go to America, and leave
you and Theo ? Of course, he likes somebody else, at America, or at
Tunbridge, or at Jericho, or somewhere. He is a prince in his own
country, and can't think of marrying a poor half-pay officer's daughter,
with twopence to her fortune. Used not you to tell me how, when I was
a baby, I cried and wanted the moon ? I am a baby now, a most absurd,
silly, little baby — don't talk to me, Mrs. Lambert, I am. Only there is
this to be said, he don't know anything about it, and I would rather cut
my tongue out than tell him."
Dire were the threats with which Hetty menaced Theo, in case her
sister should betray her. As for the infantile Charley, his mind being
altogether set on cheesecakes, he had not remarked or been moved by
Miss Hester's emotion ; and the parents and the kind sister of course all
promised not to reveal the little maid's secret.
" I begin to think it had been best for us to stay at home," sighed
Mrs. Lambert to her husband.
" i^ay, my dear," replied the other. ** Human nature will be human
nr.ture ; surely Hetty's mother told me herself that she had the beginning
230 THE VIRGINIANS.
of a liking for a certain young curate before she fell over head and heels
in love with a certain young officer of Kingsley's. And as for me, my
heart was wounded in a dozen places ere Miss Molly Benson took entire
possession of it. Our sons and daughters must follow in the way of their
parents before them, I suppose. Why, but yesterday, you were scolding
me for grumbling at Miss Het's precocious fancies. To do the child
justice, she disguises her feelings entirely, and I defy Mr, Warrington
to know from her behaviour how she is disposed towards him."
** A daughter of mine and yours, Martin," cries the mother with great
dignity, " is not going to fling herself at a gentleman's head !"
*' Neither herself nor the teacup, my dear," answers the Colonel.
** Little Miss Het treats Mr. Warrington like a vixen. He never comes
to us, but she boxes his ears in one fashion or t'other. I protest she is
barely civil to him ; but, knowing wdiat is going on in the young hypo-
crite's mind, I am not going to be angry at her rudeness."
*' She hath no need to be rude at all, Martin; and our girl is good
enough for any gentleman in England or America. Why, if their ages
suit, shouldn't they marry after all, sir ? "
" Why, if he wants her, shouldn't he ask her, my dear? I am sorry
we came. I am for putting the horses into the carriage, and turning
their heads towards home again."
But mamma fondly said, *' Depend on it, my dear, that these matters
are wisely ordained for us. Depend upon it, Martin, it was not for
nothing that Harry Warrington was brought to our gate in that way ;
and that he and our children are thus brought together again. If that
marriage has been decreed in Heaven, a marriage it will be."
"At what age, Molly, I wonder, do women begin and leave off match-
making? If our little chit falls in love and falls out again, she will not
be the first of her sex, Mrs. Lambert. I wish we were on our way home
again, and, if I had my will, would trot off this very night."
" He has promised to drink his tea here to-night. You would not take
away our child's pleasure, Martin ?" asked the mother, softly.
In his fashion, the father was not less good-natured. *' You know, my
dear," says Lambert, *' that if either of 'em had a fancy to our ears, we
would cut them off and serve them in a fricassee."
Mary Lambert laughed at the idea of her pretty little delicate ears
being so served. When her husband was most tender-hearted, his habit
was to be most grotesque. When he pulled the pretty little delicate ear,
behind which the matron's fine hair was combed back, wherein twinkled
a shining line or two of silver, I daresay he did not hurt her much. I
daresay she was thinking of the soft, well-remembered times of her own
modest youth and sweet courtship. Hallowed remembrances of sacred
times ! If the sight of youthful love is pleasant* to behold, how much
more charming the aspect of the affection that has survived years,
sorrows, faded beauty perhaps, and life's doubts, differences, trouble !
In regard of her promise to disguise her feelings for Mr. Warrington
in that gentleman's presence, Miss Hester was better, or worse if you
THE VIRGINIANS. 231
b
will, than her word. Harry not only came to take tea with his friends,
but invited them for the next day to an entertainment at the Eooms, tc
be given in their special honour.
*' A dance, and given for us ! " cries Theo. *' Harry, how delight-
ful ; I wish we could begin this very minute ! "
" Why, for a savage Virginian, I declare, Harry Warrington, thou
art the most civilised young man possible I " says the Colonel. *'My
dear, shall we dance a minuet together ? "
"We have done such a thing before, Martin Lambert!" says the
soldier's fond wife. Her husband hums a minuet tune ; whips a plate
from the tea-table, and makes a preparatory bow and flourish with it as
if it were a hat, whilst madam performs her best curtsey.
Only Hetty, of the party, persists in looking glum and displeased.
*' Why, child, have you not a word of thanks to throw to Mr. Warring-
ton ? " asks Theo of her sister.
** I never did care for dancing much," says Hetty. " What is the
use of standing up opposite a stupid man, and dancing down a room
with him ? "
" Merci du comi^jlimejit !" says Mr. Warrington.
*'I don't say that you are stupid — that is — that is, I — I only meant
country dances," says Hetty, biting her lips, as she caught her sister's
eye. She remembered she had said Harry was stupid, and Theo's droll
humorous glance was her only reminder.
But with this Miss Hetty chose to be as angry as if it had been quite
a cruel rebuke. " I hate dancing — there — I own it," she says, with a
toss of her head.
" Nay, you used to like it well enough, child !" interposes her mother.
** That was when she was a child : don't you see she is grown up to
be an old woman ? " remarks Hetty's father. " Or perhaps Miss Hester
has got the gout ?"
** Fiddle ! " says Hester, snappishly, drubbing with her little feet.
"What's a dance without a iiddle ?" says imperturbed papa.
Darkness has come over Harry Warrington's face. *' I come to try
my best, and give them pleasure and a dance," he thinks, '' and the
little thing tells me she hates dancing. We don't practise kindness, or
acknowledge hospitality so in our country. No — nor speak to our
parents so, neither." I am afraid, in this particular, usages have
changed in the United States during the last hundred years, and that
the young folks there are considerably Hettijied.
Not content with this, Miss Hester must proceed to make such fun of
all the company at the Wells, and especially of Harry's own immediate
pursuits and companions, that the honest lad was still farther pained at
her behaviour ; and, when he saw Mrs. Lambert alone, asked how or in
what he had again offended, that Hester was so angry with him ? The
kind matron felt more than ever well disposed towards the boy, after
her daughter's conduct to him. She would have liked to tell the secret
which Hester hid so fiercely, Theo, too, remonstrated with her sister
232 THE VIRGINIANS.
in private ; but Hester would not listen to the subject, and was as angry
in her bedroom, when the girls were alone, as she had been in the
parlour before her mother's company. *' Suppose he hates me ? " says
she. "I exi)ect he will. I hate myself, I do, and scorn myself for
being such an idiot. How ought he to do otherwise than hate me ?
Didn't I abuse him, call him goose, all sorts of names ? And I know
he is not clever all the time. I know I have better wits than he has.
It is only because he is tall, and has blue eyes, and a pretty nose that
I lilve him. What an absurd fool a girl must be to like a man merely
because he has a blue nose and hooked eyes ! So I am a fool, and I
won't have you say a word to the contrary, Theo ! "
'Now Theo thought that her little sister, far from being a fool, was a
wonder of wonders, and that if any girl was worthy of any prince in
Christendom, Hetty was that spinster. ** You are silly sometimes,
Hetty," says Theo, ** that is when you speak unkindly to people who
mean you well, as you did to Mr. Warrington at tea to-night. When
he proposed to us his party at the Assembly Rooms, and nothing could
be more gallant of him, why did you say you didn't care for music, or
dancing, or tea ? You know you love them all ! "
*' I said it merely to vex myself, Theo, and annoy myself, and whip
myself, as I deserve, child. And, besides, how can you expect such an
idiot as I am to say anything but idiotic things ? Do you know it quite
pleased me to see him angry. I thought, ah ! now I have hurt his
feelings I Now he will say, Hetty Lambert is an odious little set-up,
sour- tempered vixen. And tliat will teach him, and you, and mamma,
and papa, at any rate, that I am not going to set my cap at Mr. Harry.
No ; our papa is ten times as good as he is. I will stay by our papa,
and if he asked me to go to Yirginia with him to-morrow I wouldn't,
Theo. My sister is worth all the Virginians that ever were made since
the world begnn."
And here, I suppose, follow osculations between the sisters, and
mother's knock comes to the door, who has overheard tlieir talk through
the wainscot, and calls out, " Children, 'tis time to go to sleep." Theo's
eyes close speedily, and she is at rest ; but, 0, poor little Hetty '. Tliink
of the hours tolling one after another, and the child's eyes wide open,
as she lies tossing and wakeful with the anguish of the new v.'ound I
"It is a judgment upon me," she says, ''for having thought and
spoke scornfully of him. Only, why should there be a judgment upon
me ? I was only in fun. I knew I liked him very much all the time :
but I thought Theo liked him too, and I would give up anything for
my darling Theo. If she had, no tortures should ever have drawn a
word from me — I would have got a rope ladder to help her to run away
with Harry, that I would, or fetched the clergyman to marry them.
And then I would have retired alone, and alone, and alone, and taken
care of papa and mamma, and of the poor in the village, and have read
sermons, though I hate 'em, and have died without telling a word — not
a word — and I shall die soon, I know I shall." But when the dawn
THE YIEGINIANS. 233
rises, tlie little maid is asleep nestling by her sister, the stain of a tear
or two upon lier ilushed downy cheek.
Most of us play with edged tools at some period of our lives, and cut
ourselves accordingly. At first the cut hurts and stings, and down
drops the knife, and we cry out like wounded little babies as we are.
Some very very few and unlucky folks at the game cut their heads sheer
off, or stab themselves mortally, and perish outright, and there is an end
of them. But, — Heaven help us!— many people have fingered those
ardentes sagittas which. Love sharpens on his whetstone, and are stabbed,
scarred, pricked, perforated, tattooed all over with the wounds, who
recover, and live to be quite lively. Wii' auch have tasted das irdische
Gliick ; we also have geleht imd — U7id so welter. "Warble your death
song, sweet Thekla ! Perish off the face of the earth, poor pulmonary
victim, if so minded ! Had you survived to a later period of life, my
dear, you would have thought of a sentimental disappointment without
any reference to the undertaker. Let us trust there is no present need
of a sexton for Miss Hetty. But meanwhile, the very instant she
wakes, there, tearing at her little heart, will that Care be, which has
given her a few hours respite, melted, no doubt, by her youth and her
tears.
CHAPTER XXXIY.
IN "WHICH ME. WAERINGTOX TREATS THE COMPANY WITH TEA.
AND A BALL.
Geneeotjs with his very easily gotten money, hospitable and cordial
to all, our young Virginian, in his capacity of man of fashion, could
not do less than treat his country friends to an entertainment at the
Assembly Eooms, whither, according to the custom of the day, he
invited almost all the remaining company at the Wells. Card-tables
were set in one apartment, for all those who could not spend an evening
without the pastime then common to all European society : a supper
with champagne in some profusion and bowls of negus was prepared in
another chamber: the large assembly room was set apart for the
dance, of which enjoyment Harry Warrington's guests partook in our
ancestors' homely fashion. I cannot fancy that the amusement was
especially lively. First, minuets were called ; two or three of which
were performed by as many couple. The spinsters of the highest rank
in the assembly went out for the minuet, and my Lady Maria Esmond,
being an earl's daughter, and the person of the highest rank present
(with the exception of Lady Augusta Crutchley, who was lame), Mr.
Warrington danced the first minuet with his cousin, acquitting himself
to the satisfaction of the whole room, and performing much mora
234 THE YIEGINfANS.
elegantly than Mr. "Wolfe, who stood up with Miss Lowther. Having
completed the dance with Lady Maria, Mr. Warrington begged Miss
Theo to do him the honour of walking the next minuet, and accordinglj'-
Miss Theo, blushing and looking very happy, went through her exercise
to the great delight of her parents and the rage of Miss Humpleby, Sir
John Hurapleby's daughter, of Liphook, who expected, at least, to have
stood up next after my Lady Maria. Then, after the minuets, came
country dances, the music being performed by a harp, fiddle, and
flageolet; perched in a little balcony, and thrumming through the
evening rather feeble and melancholy tunes. Take up an old book of
music, and play a few of those tunes now, and one wonders how people
at any time could have found the airs otherwise than melancholy.
And yet they loved and frisked and laughed and courted to that sad
accompaniment. There is scarce one of the airs that has not an amari
aliquid, a tang of sadness. Perhaps it is because they are old and
defunct, and their plaintive echoes call out to us from the limbo of the
past, whither they have been consigned for this century. Perhaps they
were gay when they were alive ; and our descendants when they hear —
well, never mind names — when they hear the works of certain maestri
now popular, will say : Bon Dieu, is this the music which amused our
forefathers ?
Mr. Warrington had the honour of a duchess's company at his tea-
drinking — Colonel Lambert's and Mr. Prior's heroine, the Duchess of
Q,ueensberry. And though the duchess carefully turned her back upon
a countess who was present, laughed loudly, glanced at the latter over
her shoulder, and pointed at her with her fan, yet almost all the com-
pany pushed, and bowed, and cringed, and smiled, and backed before
this countess, scarcely taking any notice of her Grace of Queensberry
and her jokes, and her fan, and her airs. Now this countess was no
other than the Countess of Yarmouth- Walmoden, the lady whom his
Majesty George the Second, of Great Britain, France, and Ireland,
King, Defender of the Faith, delighted to honour. She had met
Harry Warrington in the walks that morning, and had been mighty
gracious to the young Yirginian. She had told him they would have
a game at cards that night ; and purblind old Colonel Blinkinsop, who
fancied the invitation had been addressed to him, had made the pro-
foundest of bows. *' Pooh ! pooh ! " said the Countess of England and
Hanover, *'I don't mean you. I mean the young Firshinian ! " And
everybody congratulated the youth on his good fortune. At night, all
the world, in order to show their loyalty, doubtless, thronged round
my Lady Yarmouth ; my Lord Bamborough was eager to make her
2nirtie at quadrille ; my Lady Blanche Pendragon, that model of virtue;
Sir Lancelot Quintain, that pattern of knighthood and valour ; Mr.
Dean of Ealing, that exemplary divine and preacher ; numerous gentle-
men, noblemen, generals, colonels, matrons, and spinsters of the highest
rank, were on the watch for a smile from her, or eager to jump up and
join her card-table. Lady Maria waited upon her with meek respect,
THE ^^E&IXIANS. 235
ftnd Madame de Bernsteia treated the Hanoverian lady with profound
gravity and courtesy.
Harry's bow had been no lower than hospitality required ; but,
Buch as it was, Miss Hester chose to be indignant with it. She
scarce spoke a word to her partner during their dance together ; and
when he took her to the supper-room for refreshment she was little
more communicative. To enter that room they had to pass by Madame
"Walmoden's card-table, who good-naturedly called out to her host
as he was passing, and asked him if his '' breddy lid die bardner liked
tanzing ? "
" I thank your ladyship, I don't like tanzing, and I don't like cards,"
says Miss Hester, tossing up her head ; and, dropping a curtsey like a
** cheese," she strutted away from the countess's table.
Mr. Warrington was very much offended. Sarcasm from the young
to the old pained him : flippant behaviour towards himseK hurt him.
Courteous in his simple way to all persons whom he met, he expected a
like politeness from them. Hetty perfectly well knew what offence she
was giving; could mark the displeasure reddening on her partner's
honest face, with a side-long glance of her eye ; nevertheless, she tried
to wear her most ingenuous smile ; and, as she came up to the sideboard
where the refreshments were set, artlessly said : —
" What a horrid, vulgar old woman that is ; don't you think so ?"
** What woman?" asked the young man.
" That German woman — my lady Yarmouth — -to whom all the men
are bowing and cringing."
" Her ladyship has been very kind to me," says Harry, grimly.
•** Won't you have some of this custard ? "
"And you have been bowing to her, too! You look as if your negus
was not nice," harmlessly continues Miss Hetty.
" It is not very good negus," says Harry, with a gulp.
*' And the custard is bad too! I declare 'tis made with bad eggs!"
cries Miss Lambert.
" I wish, Hester, that the entertainment and the company had been
better to your liking," says poor Harry.
" 'Tis very unfortunate ; but I daresay you could not help it," cries
the young woman, tossing her little curly head.
Mr. Warrington groaned in spirit, perhaps in body, and clenched his
fists and his teeth. The little torturt-r artlessly continued, "You seem
disturbed : shall we go to my mamma? "
"Yes, let us go to your mamma," cries Mr. Warrington, with glaring
eyes and a " Curse you, why are you always standing in the way ? " to
an unlucky waiter.
"La! Is that the way you speak in Virginia ? " asks Miss Pert-
ness.
"We are rough there sometimes, madam, and can't help being dis-
turbed," he says slowly, and with a quiver in his whole frame, looking
down upon her with fire flashing out of his eyes. Hetty saw nothing
238 THE VIRGINIANS.
distinctly afterwards, and until she came to her motlier. Never had
she seen Harry look so handsome or so noble.
" You look pale, child ! " cries mamma, anxious like all pavid<^
matres.
'* 'Tis the cold — no, I mean the heat. Thank you, Mr. Warrington."
And she makes him a faint curtsey, as Harry bows a tremendous bow,
and walks elsewhere amongst his guests. He hardly knows what is
happening at first, so angry is he.
He is aroused by another altercation between his aunt and the
Duchess of Q,ueensberry. When the royal favourite passed the duchess,
her grace gave her ladyship an awful stare out of eyes that were not so
bright now as they had been in the young days when they ''set the
world on fire ; " turned round with an aifected laugh to her neighbour,
and shot at the jolly Hanoverian lady a ceaseless fire of giggles and
sneers. The countess pursued her game at cards, not knowing, or not
choosing perhaps to know, how her enemy was jibing at her. There
iiad been a feud of many years' date between their Graces of Q,ueens-
berry and the family on the throne.
"How you all bow down to the idol ! Don't tell me! You are as
bad as the rest, my good Madam Bernstein ! " the Duchess says.
" Ah, what a true Christian country this is! and how your dear first
husband, the Bishop, would have liked to see such a sight ! "
'Torgive me, if I fail quite to understand your Grace."
" We are both of us growing old, my good Bernstein, or, perhaps, we
won't understand when we don't choose to understand. That is the way
with us women, my good young Iroquois."
"Your Grace remarked, that it was a Christian country," said
Madame de Bernstein, " and I failed to perceive the point of the
remark."
" Indeed, my good creature, there is very little point in it ! I meant
we were such good Christians, because we were so forgiving. Don't
you remember reading when you were young, or your husband the
Bishop reading when he was in the pulpit, how, when a woman amongst
the Jews was caught doing wrong, the Pharisees were for stoning her
out of hand ? Far from stoning such a woman now, look, how fond
we are of her ! Any man in this room would go round it on his
knees if yonder woman bade him. Yes, Madam Walmoden, you may
look up from your cards with your great painted face, and frown with
your great painted eyebrows at me. You know I am talking about
you ; and I intend to go on talking about you, too. I say any man
here would go round the room on his knees, if you bade him ! "
"I think, madam, I know two or three who wouldn't ! " says Mr.
Warrington, with some spirit.
"Quick, let me hug them to my heart of hearts!" cries the old
Duchess. "Which are they? Bring 'em to^me, my dear Iroquois!
Let us have a game of four — of honest men and women : that is to say,
if we can find a couple more partners, Mr. Warrington ! "
THE YIRGIXIA^'S. 237
** Here are we three," says tlie Baroness Bernstein, witli a forced
laugh, ; '* let us play a dummy."
*'Pray, madam, where is the third?" asks the old Duchess, looking
round.
"Madam!" cries out the other elderly lady, "I leave your Grace
to boast of your honesty, which I have no doubt is spotless : but I
will thank you not to doubt mine before my own relatives and
children ! "
" See how she fires up at a word ! I am sure, my dear creature, you
are quite as honest as most of the company," says the Duchess.
" Which may not be good enough for her Grace the Duchess of
Queensberry and Dover, who, to be sure, might have stayed away in
such a case, but it is the best my nephew could get, madam, and his
best he has given you. You look astonished, Harry, my deaj — and
well you may. He is not used to our ways, madam."
" Madam, he has found an aunt who can teach him our ways, and a
great deal more ! " cries the Duchess, rapping her fan.
" She will teach him to try and make all his guests welcome, old or
young, rich or poor. That is the Virginian way, isn't' it, Harry?
She will tell him, when Catherine Hyde is angry with his old aunt,
that they were friends as girls, and ought not to quarrel now they are
old women. And she will not be wrong, will she. Duchess ? " And
herewith the one dowager made a superb curtsey to the other, and the
battle just impending between them passed away.
" Egad, it was like Byng and Galissoniere ! " cried Chaplain Samp-
son, as Harry talked over the night's transactions with his pupil next
morning. " No power on earth, I thought, could have prevented those
two from going into action ! "
*' Seventy-fours at least — both of 'em ! " laughs Harry.
*'But the Baroness declined the battle, and sailed out of fire with,
inimitable skUl."
" Why should she be afraid? I have heard you say my aunt is as
witty as any woman alive, and need fear the tongue of no dowager in
England."
"Hem! Perhaps she had good reasons for being peaceable!"
Sampson knew very well what they were, and that poor Bernstein's
reputation was so hopelessly flawed and cracked, that any sarcasms
levelled at Madame Walmoden were equally applicable to her.
"Sir," cried Harry, in great amazement, "you don't mean to say
there is anything against the character of my aunt, the Baroness de
Bernstein ! "
The Chaplain looked at the young Virginian with such an air of
utter wonderment, that the latter saw there must be some history
against his aunt, and some charge which Sampson did not choose to
reveal. "Great Heavens!" Harry groaned out, "are there two then
in the family, who are "
" Which two ?" asked the Chaplain.
238 THE YIRGIMAXS.
But here Harry stopped, blushing Tery red. He remembered, and
we shall presently have to state, whence he had got his information
regarding the other family culprit, anti bit his lip, and was silent.
" Bj'gones are always unpleasant things, Mr. Warrington," said the
Chaplain ; ** and we had best hold our peace regarding them. No man.
or woman can live long in this wicked world of ours, without some
scandal attaching to them, and I fear our excellent Baroness has been,
no more fortunate than her neighbours. We cannot escape calumny,
my dear young friend! You have had sad proof enough of that in
your brief stay amongst us. But we can have clear consciences, and
that is the main point ! " And herewith the Chaplain threw his hand-
some eyes upward, and tried to look as if his conscience was as white as
the ceiling.
" Has there been anything very wrong then, about my aunt Bern-
stein?" continued Harry, remembering how at home his mother had
never spoken of the Baroness.
" O sancta simplicitas /" the Chaplain muttered to himself. ** Stories,
my dear sir, much older than your time or mine. Stories such as were
told about everybody, de we, de te ; you know with what degree of
truth in your own case."
*' Confound the villain! T should like to hear any scoundrel say a
word against the dear old lady," cries the young gentleman. ** Why,
this world, parson, is full of lies and scandal !"
** And you are just beginning to find it out, my dear sir," cries the
clergyman, with his most beatified air. *' Whose character has not been
attacked ? My lord's, yours, mine, — every one's. We must bear as well
as we can, and pardon to the utmost of our power."
** You may. It's your cloth, you know; but, by George, /won't!"
cries Mr. Warrington, and again goes down the fist with a thump on
the table. ** Let any fellow say a word in my hearing against that dear
old creature, and I'll pull his nose, as sure as my name is Henry
Esmond. How do you do, Colonel Lambert. You find us late again,
sir. Me and his Reverence kept it up pretty late with some of the
young fellows, after the ladies went away. I hope the dear ladies are
well, sir?" and here Harry rose, greeting his friend the Colonel very
kindly, who had come to pay him a morning visit, and had entered
the room followed by Mr. Gumbo (the latter preferred walking very
leisurely about all the afi'airs of life) just as Harry — suiting the action
to the word — was tweaking the nose of Calumny.
**The ladies are purely. Whose nose were you pulling when I came
in, Mr. Warrington ?" says the Colonel, laughing.
" Isn't it a shame, sir ? The parson, here, was telling me, that there
are villains here who attack the character of my aunt, the Baroness of
Bernstein ! "
'* You don't mean to say so!" cries Mr. Lambert.
" I tell Mr. Harry that everybody is calumniated ! " says the Chaplain,
with a clerical intonation ; but, at the same time, he looks at Colonel
THE VIRGINIANS. 239
Lambert and winks, as mucli as to say, " He knows nothing — keep him
in the dark."
The Colonel took the hint. ** Yes," says he, ** the jaws of slander are
for ever wagging. Witness that story about the dancing- girl, that we
all believed against you, Harry Warrington."
*' What all, sir?"
" No, not all. One didn't — Hetty didn't. Ton should have heard
her standing up for you, Harry, t'other day, when somebody— a little
bird — brought us another story about you ; about a game of cards on
Sunday morning, when you and a friend of yours might have been
better employed." And here there was a look of mingled humour and
reproof at the clergyman.
" "Faith, I own it, sir ! " says the Chaplain. " It was mea culpa, mea
maxima — no, mea minima culpa, only the rehearsal of an old game at
picquet, which we had been talking over."
*' And did Miss Hester stand up for me ?" says Harry.
** Miss Hester did. But why that wondering look ?" asks the Colonel.
** She scolded me last night like — like anything," says downright
Harry. *' I never heard a young girl go on so. She made fun of every-
body — hit about at young and old — so that I couldn't help telling her,
sir, that in our country, leastways in Virginia (they say the Yankees
are very pert), young people don't speak of their elders so. And,
do you know, sir, we had a sort of a quarrel, and I'm very glad
you've told me she spoke kindly of me," says Harry, shaking his
friend's hand, a ready boyish emotion glowing in his cheeks and in his
eyes.
"You won't come to much hurt if you find no worse enemy than
Hester, Mr. Warrington," said the girl's father, gravely, looking not
without a deep thrill of interest at the flushed face and moist eyes of
his young friend. "Is he fond of her?" thought the Colonel. "And
how found ? 'Tis evident he knows nothing, and Miss Het has been
performing some of her tricks. He is a fine, honest lad, and God bless
him." And Colonel Lambert looked towards Harry with that manly,
friendly kindness which our lucky young Virginian was not unaccus-
tomed to inspire, for he was comely to look at, prone to blush, to kindle,
nay, to melt, at a kind story. His laughter was cheery to hear : his
eyes shone confidently : his voice spoke truth.
" And the young lady of the minuet ? She distinguished herself to
perfection : the whole room admired," asked the courtly Chaplain, " I
trust Miss — Miss "
" Miss Theodosia is perfectly well, and ready to dance at this minute
with your reverence," says her father. " Or stay, Chaplain, perhaps
you only dance on Sunday ?" The Colonel then turned to Harry again,
" You paid your court very neatly to the great lady, Mr. Flatterer. My
Lady Yarmouth has been trumpeting your praises at the Pump Room.
She says she has got a leedel boy in Hanover dat is wery like vou, and
you are a sharming young mans,"
240 THE YIRGINIANS.
" If her ladyship were a queen, people could scarcely be more respectful
to her," says the Chaplain.
"Let us call her a vice-queen, parson," says the Colonel, with a
twinkle of his eye.
** Her majesty pocketed forty of my guineas at quadrille," cries Mr.
Warrington, with a laugh.
'* She will play you on the same terms another day. The Countess is
fond of play, and she wins from most people," said the Colonel, dryly.
** Why don't you bet her ladyship five thousand on a bishopric, parson ?
I have heard of a clergyman who made such a bet, and who lost it, and
who paid it, and who got the bishopric."
" Ah! who will lend me the five thousand ? Will you, sir ?" asked
the Chaplain.
" No, sir. I won't give her five thousand to be made Commander-in-
Chief or Pope of Rome," says the Colonel, stoutly. " I shall fling no
stones at the woman ; but I shall bow no knee to her, as I see a pack
of rascals do. No oifence — I don't mean you. And I don't mean
Harry Warrington, who was quite right to be civil to her, and to lose
his money with good humour. Harry, I am come to bid thee farewell,
my boy. We have had our pleasuring — my money is run out, and we
must jog back to Oakhurst. Will you ever come and see the old place
again?"
" Now, sir, now ! I'll ride back with you ! " cries Harry, eagerly.
" Why — no — not now," says the Colonel in a hurried manner. *' We
haven't got room — that is, we're — we're expecting some friends [the
Lord forgive me for the lie!" he mutters]. " But — but you'll come to
us when — when Tom's at home — yes, when Tom's at home. That will
be famous fun — and I'd have you to know, sir, that my wife and I love
you sincerely, sir — and so do the girls, however much they scold you.
And if you ever are in a scrape — and such things have happened, Mr.
Chaplain ! — you will please to count upon me. Mind that, sir ! "
And the Colonel was for taking leave of Harry then and there, on the
spot, but the young man followed him down the stairs, and insisted upon
saying good-bye to his dear ladies.
Instead, however, of proceeding immediately to Mr. Lambert's lodging,
the two gentlemen took the direction of the common, where, looking
from Harry's windows, Mr. Sampson saw the pair in earnest conversa-
tion. First, Lambert smiled and looked roguish. Then, presently, at
a farther stage of the talk, he flung up both his hands and performed
other gestures indicating surprise and agitation.
"The boy is telling him," thought the Chaplain. When Mr. War-
rington came back in an hour, he found liis Reverence deep in the
composition of a sermon. Harry's face was grave and melancholy ; he
flung down his hat, buried himself in a great chair, and then came from
his lips something like an execration.
"The young ladies are going and our heart is afiected ? " said tho
Chaplain, looking up from his manuscript.
THE VIRGINIANS. 241
** Heart! " sneered Harry.
" "Which of the young hidies is the conqueror, sir ? I thought the
youngest's eyes followed you about at your ball."
" Confound the little termagant! " broke out Harry, *' what does she
mean by being so pert to me ? She treats me as if I was a fool ! "
" A^id no man is, sir, with a woman ! " said the scribe of the sermon,
"Ain't they. Chaplain?" And Harry growled out more naughty
words expressive of inward disquiet. ^
" By the way, haye you heard anything of your lost property ? " asked
the Chaplain, presently looking up from his pages.
Harry said, " No I " with another word, which I would not print for
the world.
* ' I begin to suspect, sir, that there was more money than you like to
own in that book. I wish I could find some."
"There were notes in it," said Harry, very gloomily, "and — and
papers that I am very sorry to lose. What the deuce has come of it ? I
had it when we dined together."
" I saw you put it in your pocket ! " cried the Chaplain. " I saw you
take it out and pay at the toyshop a bill for a gold thimble and work-
box for one of your young ladies. Of course you have asked there,
sir?"
" Of course I have," says Mr. "Warrington, plunged in melancholy.
" Gumbo put you to bed, at least, if I remember right. I was so cut
myself that I scarce remember anything. Can you trust those black
fellows, sir ? "
"I can trust him with my head. With my head?" groaned out
Mr. Warrington, bitterly. *' I can't trust myself with it."
" that a man should put an enemy into his mouth to steal away
his brains ! "
" You may well call it an enemy. Chaplain. Hang it, I have a great
mind to make a vow never to drink another drop ! A fellow says anything
when he is in drink."
The Chaplain laughed. " You, sir," he said, " are close enough ! "
And the truth was, that, for the last few days, no amount of wine would
unseal Mr. Warrington's lips, when the artless Sampson by chance
touched on the subject of his patron's loss.
"And so the little country nymphs are gone, or going, sir?" asked
the Chaplain. "They were nice, fresh little things; but I think the
mother was the finest woman of the three. I declare, a woman at five-
and-thirty or so is at her prime. What do you say, sir ? "
Mr. Warrington looked for a moment, askance at the Clergyman.
" Confound all women, I say ! " muttered the young misogynist. For
v.hich sentiment every weU- conditioned person will surely rebuke him.
242 THE VIRGINIANS.
CHAPTER XXXy.
* — ENTAIfGLEMENTS.
Our good Colonel had, p^oubt, taken counsel with his good wife,
and they had determined to remove their little Hetty as speedily as
possible out of the reach of the charmer. In complaints such as that
under which the poor little maiden was supposed to be suffering, the
remedy of absence and distance often acts effectually with men ; but I
believe women are not so easily cured by the alibi treatment. Some of
them will go away ever so far, and for ever so long, and the obstinate
disease hangs by them, spite of distance or climate. You may whip,
abuse, torture, insult them, and still the little deluded creatures will
persist in their fidelity. Nay, if I may speak, after profound and exten-
sive study and observation, there are few better ways of securing the
faithfulness and admiration of the beautiful partners of our existence
than a little judicious ill-treatment, a brisk dose of occasional violence
as an alterative, and, for general and wholesome diet, a cooling but
pretty constant neglect. At sparin^g intervals, administer small quanti-
ties of love and kindness ; but not every day, or too often, as this
medicine, much taken, loses its effect. Those dear creatures who are the
most indifferent to their husbands, are those who are cloyed by too much
surfeiting of the sugarplums and lollypops of Love. I have known a
young being, with every wish gratified, yawn in her adoring husband's
face, and prefer the conversation and petits soins of the merest booby and
idiot ; whilst, on the other hand, I have seen Chloe, — at whom Strephon.
has flung his bootjack in the morning, or whom he has cursed before !;he
servants at dinner, — come creeping and fondling to his knee at teatime,
when he is comfortable after his little nap and his good wine ; and pat
his head and play him his favourite tunes ; and, when old John, the
butler, or old Mary, the maid, comes in with the bed-candles, look round
proudly, as much as to say, now John look how good my dearest Henry
is ! Make your game, gentlemen, then ! There is the coaxing, fondling
adoring line, when you are henpecked, and Louisa is indifferent, and
bored out of her existence. There is the manly, selfish, effectual
system, where she answers to the whistle ; and comes in at " Down
Charge ; " and knows her master ; and frisks and fawns about him ; and
nuzzles at his knees ; and *' licks the hand that's raised " — that's raised
to do her good, as (I quote from memory) Mr. Pope finely observes.
What used the late lamented O'Connell to say, over whom a grateful
country has raised such a magnificent testimonial ? *' Hereditary bonds-
men," he used to remark, " know ye not, who would be free, themselves
must strike the blow f" Of course you must, in political as in domestic
circles. So up wit-h your cudgels, my enslaved, injured boys !
THE VIRGINIANS. 243
Women will be pleased with these remarks, because they have such a
taste for humour and understand irony : and I should not be surprised
*if young Grubstreet, who corresponds with three penny papers and
describes the persons and conversation of gentlemen whom he meets at
his *' clubs," will say, '* I told you so ! He advocates the thrashing of
women ! He has no nobility of soul ! He has no heart ! " Kor have I,
my eminent young Grubstreet ! any more than you have ears. Dear
ladies ! I assure you I am only joking in the above remarks, — I do not
advocate the thrashing of your sex at all, — and, as you can't understand
the commonest bit of fun, beg leave flatly to tell you, that I consider your
sex a hundred times more loving and faithful than ours.
So, what is the use of Hetty's parents taking her home, if the little
maid intends to be just as fond of Harry absent as of Harry present ?
Why not let her see him before Ball and Dobbin are put to, and say
*' Good-bye, Harry ! I was very wilful and fractious last night, and
you were very kind : but good-bye, Harry ! " She will show no special
emotion ; she is so ashamed of her secret, that she will not betray it.
Harry is too much preoccupied to discover it for himself. He does not
know what grief is lying behind Hetty's glances, or hidden under the
artifice of her innocent young smiles. He has, perhaps, a care of his own.
He will part from her calmly, and fancy she is happy to get back to her
music and her poultry and her flower-garden.
He did not even ride part of the way homewards by the side of his
friend's carriage. He had some other party arranged for that afternoon,
and when he returned thence, the good Lamberts were gone from Tun-
bridge Wells. There were their windows open, and the card in one of
them signifying that the apartments were once more to let. A little
passing sorrow at the blank aspect of the rooms lately enlivened by
countenances so frank and friendly, may have crossed the young gentle-
man's mind ; but he dines at the White Horse at four o'clock, and eats
his dinner and calls fiercely for his bottle. Poor little Hester will choke
over her tea about the same hour when the Lamberts arrive to sleep at
the house of their friends at Westerham. The young roses will be wan
in her cheeks in the morning, and there will be black circles round her
€yes. It was the thunder : the night was hot : she could not sleep : she
will be better when she gets home again the next day. And home they
come. There is the gate where he fell. There is the bed he lay in^ the
chair in which he used to sit — what ages seem to have passed ! What a
gulf between to-day and yesterday ! Who is that little child calling her
chickens, or watering her roses yonder ? Are she and that girl the same
Hester Lambert ? Why, she is ever so much older than Theo now —
Theo, who has always been so composed, and so clever, and so old for her
age. But in a night or two Hester has lived — 0, long, long years ! So
have many besides : and poppy and mandragora will never medicine
them to the sweet sleep they tasted yesterday. ys,
Maria Esmond saw the Lambert cavalcade drive away, and felt a grini
relief. She looks with hot eyes at Harry when he comes in to his aunt's
K 2
in til;' vinGixiAXS.
card-tables, flushed with Barbeau's good wine. He laughs, rattles, in
reply to his aunt, who asks him which of the girls is his sweetheart ?
He gaily says, he loves them both like sisters. He has never seen a
better gentleman, nor better people, than the Lamberts. Why is
Lambert not a general ? He has been a most distinguished officer :
his Royal Highness the Duke is very fond of him. Madame Bernstein
says, that Harry must make interest with Lady Yarmouth for his prot6g6.
''Elle ravvole de fous, cher bedid anche!" says Madame Bernstein,
mimicking the countess's German accent. The baroness is delighted
with her boy's success. *' You carry off the hearts of all the old women,
doesn't he, Maria?" she says with a sneer at her niece, who quivers
Tinder the stab.
** You were quite right, my dear, not to perceive that she cheated at
cards, and you play like a grand seigneur," continues Madame de
Bernstein.
" Bid she cheat ?" cries Harry astonished. *' I am sure, ma'am, I
saw no unfair play." ♦
** No more did I, my dear, but I am sure she cheated. Bah ! every
woman cheats. I and Maria included, when we can get a chance. But,
when you play with the Walmoden, you don't do wrong to lose in
moderation: and many men cheat in that way. Cultivate her. She
has taken a fancy to your heaux yeux. Why should your Excellency
not be Governor of Yirginia, sir ? You must go and pay your respects
to the Duke and his Majesty at Kensington. The Countess of Yar-
mouth will be your best friend at Court."
'' Why should you not introduce me, aunt ?" asked Harry.
The old lady's rouged cheek grew a little redder. " I am not in
favour at Kensington," she said. " I may have been once ; and there
are no faces so unwelcome to kings as those they wish to forget. All of
us want to forget something or somebody. I daresay our ingenu here
would like to wipe a sum or two off the slate. Wouldst thou not, Harry ?"
Harry turned red, too, and so did Maria, and his aunt laughed one of
those wicked laughs which are not altogether pleasant to hear. What
meant those guilty signals on the cheeks of her nephew and niece ? What
account was scored upon the memory of either, which they were desirous
to efface ? I fear Madame Bernstein was right, and that most folks have
some ugly reckonings written up on their consciences, which we were
glad to be quit of.
Had Maria known one of the causes of Harry's disquiet, that middle-
aged spinster would have been more unquiet still. For some days he had
missed a pocket-book. He had remembered it in his possession on that
day when he drank so much claret at the White Horse, and Gumbo
carried him to bed. He sought for it in the morning, but none of his
servants had, seen it. He had inquired for it at the White Horse, but
there were no traces of it. He could not cry the book, and could only
make very captious inquiries respecting it. He must not have it known
that the boi.k was lost. A pretty condition of mind Lady ]Maria Esmond
THE VIRGINIANS. 2-t.5
would be in, if she knew that the outpourings of her heart were in the
hands of the public I The letters contained all sorts of disclosures : a
hundred family secrets were narrated by the artless correspondent : there
•was ever so much satire and abuse of persons with whom she and Mr.
"Warrington came in contact. There were expostulations about his
attentions to other ladies. There was scorn, scandal, jokes, appeals,
protests of eternal fidelity ; the usual farrago, dear madam, which you
may remember you wrote to your Edward, when you were engaged to
him, and before you became Mrs. Jones. Would you like those letters
to be read by anyone else ? Do you recollect what you said about the
Miss Browns in two or three of those letters, and the unfavourable
opinion you expressed of Mrs. Thompson's character ? Do you happen to
recall the words which you used regarding Jones himself, whom you sub-
sequently married (for in consequence of disputes about the settlements
your engagement with Edward was broken off) ? and would you like
Mr. J. to see those remarks ? You know you wouldn't. Then be pleased
to withdraw that imputation which you have already cast in your mind
upon Lady Maria Esmond. No doubt her letters were very foolish, as
most loveletters are, but it does not follow that there was anything
■wrong in them. They are foolish when written by young folks to one
another, and how much more foolish when written by an old man to a
young lass, or by an old lass to a young lad ! No wonder Lady Maria
should not like her letters to be read. Why, the very spelling— but that
didn't matter so much in her ladyship's days, and people are just as
foolish now, though they spell better. No, it is not the spelling which,
matters so much ; it is the writing at all. I for one, and for the future,
am determined never to speak or write my mind out regarding any thing
or any body. I intend to say of every woman that she is chaste and
handsome ; of every man that he is handsome, clever, and rich ; of every
book that it is delightfully interesting ; of Snobmore's manners that they
are gentlemanlike ; of Screwby's dinners that they are luxurious ; of
Jawkins's conversation that it is lively and amusing ; of Xantippe, that
she has a sweet temper ; of Jezebel, that her colour is natural ; of Blue-
beard, that he really was most indulgent to his wiv^s, and that very
likely they died of bronchitis. What? a word against the spotless
Messalina ? What an unfavourable view of human nature ? What ?
King Cheops was not a perfect monarch ? 0, you railer at royalty and
slanderer of all that is noble and good ! When this book is concluded,
I shall change the jaundiced livery which my books have worn since I
began to lisp in numbers, have rose-coloured coats for them with cherubs
on the cover, and all the characters within shall be perfect angels.
Meanwhile we are in a society of men and women, from whose
shoulders no sort of wings have sprouted as yet, and who, without any
manner of doubt, have their little failings. There is Madame Bern-
stein : she has fallen asleep after dinner, and eating and drinking too
much, — those are her ladyship's little failings. Mr. Harry Warrington
has gone to play a match at billiards with Count Caramboli : I suspect
246 THE VIEGINIAXS.
idleness is his failing. That is what Mr. Chaplain Sampson remarks to
Lady Maria, as they are talking together in a low tone, so as not to
interrupt Aunt Bernstein's doze in the neighbouring room.
"A gentleman of Mr. "Warrington's means can afford to be idle,"
says Lady Maria. ** Why, sure, you love cards and billiards yourself,
my good Mr. Sampson ? "
" I don't say, madam, my practice is good, only my doctrine is
sound," says Mr. Chaplain with a sigh. " This young gentleman
should have some employment. He should appear at Court, and enter
the service of his country, as befits a man of his station. He should
settle down, and choose a woman of a suitable rank as his wife.'*
Sampson looks in her ladyship's face as he speaks.
*' Indeed, my cousin is wasting his time," says Lady Maria, blushing
slightly.
"Mr. Warrington might see his relatives of his father's family/*'
suggests Mr. Chaplain.
''Suffolk country boobies drinking beer and hallooing after foxes t
I don't see anything to be gained by his frequenting them, Mr, Samp-
son ! "
"They are of an ancient family, of which the chief has been, knight
of the shire these hundred years," says the Chaplain. " I have heard
Sir Miles hath a daughter of Mr. Harry's age — and a beauty, too."
"I know nothing, sir, about Sir Miles Warrington, and his daughters^
and his beauties ! " cries Maria, in a fluster.
"The baroness stirred — no — her ladyship is in a sweet sleep," says
the Chaplain, in a very soft voice. " I fear, madam, for your lady-
ship's cousin, Mr. Warrington. I fear for his youth ; for designing
persons who may get about him ; for extravagances, follies, intriguer
even into which he will be led, and into which everybody will try tO'
tempt him. His lordship, my kind patron, bade me to come and watch
over him, and I am here accordingly, as your ladyship knoweth. I
know the follies of young men. Perhaps I have practised them myself.
I own it with a blush," adds Mr. Sampson with much unction— not^
however, bringing the promised blush forward to corroborate the asserted
repentance.
" Between ourselves, I fear Mr. Warrington is in some trouble now,
madam," continues the Chaplain, steadily looking at Lady Maria.
" What, again ? " shrieks the lady.
" Hush ! Your ladyship's dear invalid ! " whispers the Chaplain,
again pointing towards Madame Bernstein. " Do you think your
cousin has any partiality for any — any member of Mr. Lambert's
family? for example, Miss Lambert ? "
" There is nothing between him and Miss Lambert," says Lady Maria,
" Your ladyship is certain ? "
" Women are said to have good eyes in such matters, my good
Sampson," says my lady with an easy air. " I thought the little girl
seemed to be following him,"
THE ^^RGINIiLNS. 247
"Then I am at fault once more," the frank Chaplain said. "Mr.
"Warrington said of the young lady, that she ought to go back to her
doll, and called her a pert stuck-up little hussy."
" Ah I " sighed Lady Maria, as if relieved by the news,
" Then, madam, there must be somebody else," said the Chaplain.
" Has he confided nothing to your ladyship ? "
*' To me, Mr. Sampson? What? Where? How ?" exclaims Maria.
"Some six days ago, after we had been dining at the White Horse,
and drinking too freely, Mr. Warrington lost a pocket-book containing
letters."
*' Letters ? " gasps Lady Maria.
"And probably more money than he likes to own," continues Mr.
Sampson, with a grave nod of the head. " He is very much disturbed
about the book. We have both made cautious inquiries about it. We
have Gracious powers, is your ladyship ill ? "
Here my Lady Maria gave three remarkably shrill screams, and
tumbled off her chair.
"I will see the Prince. I have a right to see him. What's this? —
Where am I ? — What's the matter ? " cries Madame Bernstein, waking
up from her sleep. She had been dreaming of old days, no doubt.
The old lady shook in all her limbs — her face was very much flushed.
She stared about wildly a moment, and then tottered forward on her
tortoiseshell cane. " What — what's the matter ? " she asked again.
" Have you killed her, sir ? "
" Some sudden qualm must have come over her ladyship. Shall I
cut her laces, madam ? or send for a doctor ? " cries the Chaplain, with
every look of innocence and alarm.
" What has passed between you, sir?" asked the old lady, fiercely.
" I give you my honour, madam, I have done I don't know what.
I but mentioned that Mr. Warrington had lost a pocket-book containing
letters, and my lady swooned, as you see."
Madame Bernstein dashed water on her niece's face. A feeble moan
told presently that the lady was coming to herself.
The Baroness looked sternly after Mr. Sampson, as she sent him
away on his errand for the doctor. Her aunt's grim countenance was
of little comfort to poor Maria when she saw it on waking up from
her swoon.
"What has happened?" asked the younger lady, bewildered and
gasping.
"Hm! You know best what has happened, madam, I suppose.
What hath happened before in our family ? " cried the old Baroness,
glaring at her niece with savage eyes.
"Ah! yes! the letters have been lost — ach lieber Himmel ! " And
Maria, as she would sometimes do, when much moved, began to speak
in the language of her mother.
"Yes! the seal has been broken, and the letters have been lost,
*Tis the old story of the Esmonds," cried the elder, bitterly.
248 THE VIRGINIANS.
''Seal broken, letters lost? "What do you mean, aunt?" asked
Maria, faintly.
"I mean that my mother was the only honest woman that ever
entered the family!" cried the Baroness, stamping her foot. *' And
she was a parson's daughter of no family in particular, or she would
have gone wrong, too. Good Heavens ! is it decreed that we are all to
he . . .?"
** To be what, madam ? " cried Maria.
"To be what my Lady Queensberry said we were last night. To be
what we «re .' You know the word for it!" cried the indignant old
woman. **I say, what has come to the whole race? Your father's
mother was an honest woman, Maria. Why did I leave her ? Why
couldn't you remain so ? "
"Madam!" exclaims Maria, "I declare, before Heaven, I am
as "
"Bah! Don't madam me! Don't call Heaven to witness — there's
nobody by ! And if you swore to your innocence till the rest of your
teeth dropped out of your mouth, my Lady Maria Esmond, I would not
believe you ! "
"Ah! It was you told him!" gasped Maria. She recognised an
arrow out of her aunt's quiver.
" I saw some folly going on between you and the boy, and I told him
that you were as old as his mother. Yes, I did ! Do you suppose I
am going to let Henry Esmond's boy fling himself and his wealth
away upon such a battered old rock as you ? The boy shan't be robbed
and cheated in our family. Not a shilling of mine shall any of you
have if he comes to any harm amongst you."
"Ah! you told him!" cried Maria, with a sudden burst of rebel-
lion. " Well, then ! I'd have you to know that I don't care a penny,
madam, for your paltry money! I have Mr. Harry Warrington's word
— yes, and his letters — and I know he will die rather than break it."
"He will die if he keeps it!" (Maria shrugged her shoulders.)
" But you don't care for that — you've no more heart "
" Than my father's sister, madam ! " cries Maria again. The younger
woman, ordinarily submissive, had turned upon her persecutor.
" Ah ! Why did not I marry an honest man?" said the old lady,
shaking her head sadly. "Henry Esmond was noble and good, and
perhaps might have made me so. But no, no — we have all got the
taint in us — all ! You don't mean to sacrifice this boy, Maria ? "
"Madame ma tante, do you take me for a fool at my age?" asks
Maria.
" Set him free! I'll give you five thousand pounds — in my — in my
will, Maria. 1 will, on my honour ! "
" When you were young, and you liked Colonel Esmond, you threw
him aside for an earl, and the earl for a duke ? "
" Yes."
" Eh ! Bon sang ne pcut mciitir I 1 have no money, I have no
THE yniGIXIANS. 249
friends. My father was a spendthrift, my brother is a beggar. I have
Mr. Warrington's word, and I know, madam, he will keep it. And
that's what I tell your ladyship ! " cries Lady Maria with a wave of
her hand. ** Suppose my letters are published to all the world to-
morrow ? Apres ? I know they contain things I would as leave not
tell. Things not about me alone. Comment ! Do you suppose there
are no stories but mine in the family ? It is not my letters that I am
afraid of, so long as I have his, madam. Yes, his and his word, and I
trust them both."
" I will send to my merchant, and give you the money now, Maria,"
pleaded the old lady.
"No, 1 shall have my pretty Harry, and ten times five thousand
pounds ! " cries Maria.
" Not till his mother's death, madam, who is just your age ! "
** We can afford to wait, aunt. At my age, as you say, I am not so
eager as young chits for a husband."
*' But to wait my sister's death, at least, is a drawback ?"
'* Offer me ten thousand pounds, Madam Tusher, and then we will
see ! " cries Maria.
** I have not so much money in the world, Maria," said the old lady.
" Then, madam, let me make what I can for myself! " says Maria.
*' Ah, if he heard you ? "
" Apres ? I have his word. I know he will keep it. I can afford to
wait, madam," and she flung out of the room, just as the Chaplain
returned. It was Madame Bernstein who wanted cordials now. She
was immensely moved and shocked by the news which had been thus
suddenly brought to her.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
WHICH SEEMS TO MEAIf MISCHIEF.
Though she had clearly had the worst of the battle described in the
last chapter, the Baroness Bernstein, when she next met her niece,
showed no rancour or anger. " Of course, my Lady Maria," she said,
** you can't suppose that I, as Harry Warrington's near relative, can be
pleased at the idea of his marrying a woman who is as old as his mother,
and has not a penny to her fortune ; but if he chooses to do so silly a
thing, the affair is none of mine; and I doubt whether I should have
been much inclined to be taken au serieux with aegard to that offer of
five thousand pounds which I made in tlie heat of our talk. So it was
already at Castlewood that this pretty affair was arranged ? Had I
known how far it had gone, my dear, I should have spared some needless
opposition. When a pitcher is broken, what railing can mend it ? "
250 THE YIRGINIANS.
" Madam ! " here interposed Maria.
** Pardon^ me — I mean nothing against your ladyship's honour or
character, which, no doubt, are quite safe. Harry says so, and you say
so — what more can one ask ?"
" You have talked to Mr. Warrington, madam ?^'
" And he has owned that he made you a promise at Castlewood : that
you have it in his writing."
** Certainly I have, madam ! " says Lady Maria.
<* Ah! " (the elder lady did not wince at this.) ** And I 6wn, too,
that at first I put a wrong construction upon the tenor of your letters
to him. They implicate other members of the family "
" Who have spoken most wickedly of me, and endeavoured to preju-
dice me in every way in my dear Mr. Warrington's eyes. Yes, madam,
I own I have written against them, to justify myself."
" But, of course, are pained to think that any wretcb should get
possession of stories to the disadvantage of our family, and make them
public scandal. Hence your disquiet just now."
" Exactly so," said Lady Maria. *' From Mr. Warrington I could
have nothing concealed henceforth, and spoke freely to him. But that
is a very different. thing from wishing all the world to know the disputes
of a noble family."
" Upon my word, Maria, I admire you, and have done you injustice
these — these twenty years, let us say."
" I am very glad, madam, that you end by doing me justice at all,"
said the niece.
" When I saw you last night, opening the ball with my nephew, can
you guess what I thought of, my dear ? "
**I really have no idea wbat the Baroness de Bernstein thought of,"
said Lady Maria, haughtily.
*' I remembered that you had performed to that very tune with the
dancing-master at Kensington, my dear ?"
*' Madam, it was an infamous calumny."
** By which the poor dancing-master got a cudgelling for nothing ! "
** It is cruel and unkind, madam, to recall that calumny — and I shall
beg to decline living any longer with any one who utters it," continued
Maria, with great spirit.
** You wish to go home ? I can fancy you won't like Tunbridge. It
will be very hot for you if those letters are found."
" There was not a word against you in them, madam : about that I
can make your mind easy."
*' So Harry said, and did your ladyship justice. Well, my dear, we
' are tired of one another, and shall be better apart for a wliile."
"That is precisely my own opinion," said I^ady Maria, dropping a
curtsey.
*« Mr. Sampson can escort you to Castlewood. You and your maid can
take a post-chaise."
**We can take a post-chaise, and Mr. Sampson can escort me,"
THE YIEGINIAKS. 251
echoed the younger lady. " You see, madam, I act like a dutiful
niece."
" Do you know, my dear, I have a notion that Sampson has got the
letters ?" said the Baroness, frankly.
** I confess that such a notion has passed through my own mind."
*' And you want to go home in the chaise, and coax the letters from
him ? Dalilah ! "Well, they can be no good to me, and I trust you
may get them. When will you go ? The sooner the better, you say ?
"We are women of the world, Maria. We only call names when we are
in a passion. We don't want each other's company ; and we part on
good terms. Shall we go to my Lady Yarmouth's ? 'Tis her night.
There is nothing like a change of scene after one of those little nervous
attacks you have had, and cards drive away unpleasant thoughts better
than any doctor."
Lady Maria agreed to go to Lady Yarmouth's cards, and was dressed
and ready lirst, awaiting her aunt in the drawing-room. Madame
Bernstein, as she came down, remarked Maria's door was left open.
** She has the letters upon her," thought the old lady. And the pair
went off to their entertainment in their respective chairs, and exhibited
towards each other that charming cordiality and respect which women
can show after, and even during, the bitterest quarrels.
That night, on their return from the Countess's drum, Mrs. Brett,
Madame Bernstein's maid, presented herself to my Lady Maria's call,
when that lady rang her hand-bell upon retiring to her room. Betty,
Mrs. Brett was ashamed to say, was not in a fit state to come before
my lady. Betty had been a-junketting and merry-making with Mr.
Warrington's black gentleman, with my Lord Bamborough's valet, and
several more ladies and gentlemen of that station, and the liquor —
Mrs. Brett was shocked to own it — had proved too much for Mrs. Betty.
Should Mrs. Brett undress my lady ? My lady said she would undress
without a maid, and gave Mrs. Brett leave to withdraw. " She has the
letters in her stays," thought Madame Bernstein. They had bidden
each other an amicable good-night on the stairs.
Mrs. Betty had a scolding the next morning, when she came to wait on
her mistress, from the closet adjoining Lady Maria's apartment in which
Betty lay. She owned, with contrition, her partiality for rum-punch,
■which Mr. Gumbo had the knack of brewing most delicate. She took
her scolding with meekness, and, having performed her usual dutiea
about her lady's person, retired.
Now Betty was one of the Castlewood girls who had been so fascinated
"by Gumbo, and was a very good-looking, blue-eyed lass, upon whom
Mr. Case, Madame Bernstein's confidential man, had also cast the eyes
of affection. Hence, between Messrs. Gumbo and Case, there had been,
jealousies, and even quarrels ; which had caused Gumbo, who was of a
peaceful disposition, to be rather shy of the Baroness's gentlemen, the
chief of whom vowed he would break the bones, or have the life of
Gumbo, if he persisted in his attentions to Mrs. Betty.
252 THE VIRGINIANS.
But, on the night of the rum-punch, though Mr. Case found Gumbo
and Mrs. Betty whispering in the doorway, in the cool breeze, and
Gumbo would have turned pale with fear had he been able so to do, no
one could be more gracious than Mr. Case. It was he who proposed
the bowl of punch, which was brewed and drunk in Mrs. Betty's room,
and which Gumbo concocted with exquisite skill. He complimented
Gumbo on his music. Though a sober man ordinarily, he insisted upon
more and more drinking, until poor Mrs. Betty was reduced to the state
which occasioned her lady's just censure.
As for Mr. Case himself, who lay out of tbe house, he was so ill with
the punch, that he kept his bed the whole of the next day, and did not
get strength to make his appearance, and wait on his ladies, until, supper-
time ; when his mistress good-naturedly rebuked him, saying that it was
not often he sinned in that way.
** Why, Case, I could have made oath it was you I saw on horseback
this morning galloping on the London road," said Mr. "Warrington, who
was supping with his relatives.
''Me; law bless you, sir! I was a-bed, and I thought my head
would come off with the aching. I ate a bit at six o'clock, and drunk
a deal of small beer, and I'm almost my own man again now. But that
Gumbo, saving your honour's presence, I won't taste none of his punch
again." And the honest major-domo went on with his duties among the
bottles and glasses.
As they sate after their meal, Madame Bernstein was friendly enough.
She prescribed strong fortifying drinks for Maria, against the recurrence of
her fainting fits. The lady had such attacks not unfrequently. She urged
her to consult her London physician, and to send up an account of her
case by Harry. By Harry ? asked the lady. Yes. Harry was going
for two days on an errand for his aunt to London. " I do not care to tell
you, my dear, that it is on business which will do him good. I wish
Mr. Draper to put him into my will, and as I am going travelling upon a
round of visits when you and I part, I think, for security, I shall ask
Mr. Warrington to take my trinket-box in his post-chaise to London
with him, for there have been robberies of late, and I have no fancy for
being stopped by highwaymen."
Maria looked blank at the notion of the young gentleman's departure,
but hoped that she might have his escort back to Castlewood, whither her
elder brother had now returned. '' Nay," says his aunt, '' the lad hath
been tied to our apron-strings long enough. A day in London will do
him no harm. He can perform ray errand for me and be back with you
by Saturday."
" I would offer to accompany Mr. Warrington, but I preach on Friday
before her ladyship," says Mr. Sampson. He was anxious that my Lady
Yarmouth should judge of his powers, as a preacher; and Madame
Bernstein had exerted her influence with the king's favourite to induce
her to hear the Chaplain. .
Harry relished the notion of a rattling journey to London and a day
TilE YliXGINIAIsS.
or two of sport there. He promised that his pistols were good, and that
he would hand the diamonds over in safety to the banker's strong-room.
Would he occupy his aunt's London house ? No, that would be a dreary
lodging with only a housemaid and a groom in charge of it. He would
go to the Star and Garter in Pall Mall, or to an inn in Covent Garden.
"Ah 1 1 have often talked over that journey," said Harry, his countenance
saddening.
" And with whom, sir? " asked Lady Maria.
** With one who promised to make it with me," said the •young man,
thinking, as he always did, with an extreme tenderness of the lost
brother.
" He has more heart, my good Maria, than some of us ! " says Harry's
aunt, witnessing his emotion. Uncontrollable gusts of grief would, not
unfrequently, still pass over our young man. The parting from his
brother ; the scenes and circumstances of George's fall last year ; the
recollection of his words, or of some excursion at home which they had
planned together; would recur to him and overcome him. ** I doubt,
madam," whispered the Chaplain, demurely, to Madame Bernstein,
after one of these bursts of sorrow, ''whether some folks in England
would suffer quite so much at the death of their elder brother."
But, of course, this sorrow was not to be perpetual ; and we can fancy
Mr. Warrington setting out on his London joui-ney eagerly enough, and
very gay and happy, if it must be owned, to be rid of his elderly
attachment. Yes. There was no help for it. At Castlewood, on one
unlucky evening, he had made an offer of his heart and himself to his
mature cousin, and she had accepted the foolish lad's offer. But the
marriage now was out of the question. He must consult his mother.
She was the mistress for life of the Yirginian property. Of course, she
would refuse her consent to such a union. The thought of it was
deferred to a late period. Meanwhile, it hung like a weight round the
young man's neck, and caused him no small remorse and disquiet.
No wonder that his spirits rose more gaily as he came near London,
and that he looked with delight from his post-chaise windows upon the
city as he advanced towards it. No highwayman stopped our traveller
on Blackheath. Yonder are the gleaming domes of Greenwich, canopied
with woods. There is the famous Thames with its countless shipping ;
there actually is the Tower of London. Look, Gumbo! *•' There is the
Tower ! " " Yes, master," says Gumbo, who has never heard of the
Tower; but Harry has, and remembers how he has read about it in
Howell's Medulla, and how he and his brother used to play at the Tower,
and he thinks with delight now, how he is actually going to see the
armour and the jewels and the lions. They pass through Southwark
and over that famous London Bridge which was all covered with houses
like a street two years ago. Now there is only a single gate left, and
that is coming down. Then the chaise rolls through the city ; and,
"Look, Gumbo, that is Saint Paul's ! " "Yes, master; Saint Paul's,"
•fays Gumbo, obsequiously, but little st ruckb y the beauties of the
i/ OF TH£
2-54 THE VIRGINIANS.
architecture, and so by the well-known course we reach the Temple,
and Gumbo and his master look up with awe at the rebel heads on
Temple Bar.
The chaise drives to Mr. Draper's chambers in Middle Temple Lane,
where Harry handed the precious box over to Mr. Draper, and a letter
from his aunt, which the gentleman read with some interest seemingly,
and carefully put away. He then consigned the trinket-box to his
stroEg-closet, went into the adjoining room, taking his clerk with him,
and then was at Mr. "Warrington's service to take him to an hotel. A
hotel in Covent Garden was fixed upon as the best place for his residence.
*' I shall have to keep you for two or three days, Mr. "Warrington," the
lawyer said. ** I don't think the papers which the Baroness wants can
be ready until then. Meanwhile I am at your service to see the town.
I live out of it myself, and have a little box at Camberwell, where I
shall be proud to have the honour of entertaining Mr. Warrington ; but
a young man, 1 suppose, will like his inn and his liberty best, sir."
Harry said yes, he thought the inn would be best, and the post-chaise
and a clerk of Mr. Draper's inside was despatched to the Bedford,
whither the two gentlemen agreed to walk on foot,
Mr. Draper and Mr. Warrington sat and talked for a while. The
Drapers, father and son, had been lawyers time out of mind to the
Esmond family, and the attorney related to the young gentleman
numerous stories regarding his ancestors of Castlewood. Of the present
Earl Mr. Draper was no longer the agent : his father and his lordship
had had differences, and his lordship's business had been taken else-
where : but the Baroness was still their honoured client, and very happy
indeed was Mr. Draper to think that her ladyship was so well-disposed
towards her nephew.
As they were taking their hats to go out, a young clerk of the house
stopped his principal in the passage, and said: "If you please, sir,
tliem papers of the Baroness was given to her ladyship's man, Mr.
Case, two days ago."
"Just please to mind your own business, Mr. Brown," said the
lawyer rather sharply. "This way, Mr. Warrington. Our Temple
stairs are rather dark. Allow me to show you the way."
Harry saw Mr. Draper darting a Parthian look of anger at Mr.
Brown. " So it was Case I saw on the London Road two days ago,'*
he thought. * ' What business brought the old fox to London ? "
Wherewith, not choosing to be inquisitive about other folks' affairs, he
dismissed the subject from his mind.
Whither should they go first ? First, Harry was for going to see the
place where his grandfather and Lord Castlewood had fought a duel
fifty-six years ago, in Leicester Field. Mr. Draper knew the place
well, and all about the story. They might take Covent Garden on their
way to Leicester Field, and see that Mr. Warrington was comfortably
lodged. And order dinner, says Mr. Warrington. No, Mr. Draper
could not consent to that. Mr. Warrington must be so obliging as to
THE MRGIXIANS. 255
honour him. on that day. In fact, he had made so bold as to order a
collation from the Cock. Mr. Warrington could not decline an invita-
tion so pressing, and walked away gaily with his friend, passing under
that arch where the heads were, and taking off his hat to them, much
to the lawyer's astonishment.
" They were gentlemen who died for their king, sir. My dear
brother George and I always said we would salute 'em when we saw
'em," Mr. Warrington said.
" You'll have a mob at your heels if you do, sir," said the alarmed
lawyer.
" Confound the mob, sir," said Mr. Harry, loftily ; but the passers-
by thinking about their own affairs did not take any notice of Mr. War-
rington's conduct, and he walked up the thronging Strand, gazing
with delight upon all he saw, remembering, I daresay, for all his life
after, the sights and impressions there presented to him, but main-
taining a discreet reserve ; for he did not care to Ist the lawyer know
how much he was moved, or the public perceive that he was a stranger.
He did not hear much of his companion's talk, though the latter chat-
tered ceaselessly on the way. Nor was Mr. Draper displeased by the
young Virginian's silent and haughty demeanour. A hundred years
ago a gentleman was a gentleman, and his attorney his very humble
servant.
The chamberlain at the Bedford showed Mr. Warrington to his
rooms, bowing before him with delightful obsecjuiousness, for Gumbo
had already trumpeted his master's greatness, and Mr. Draper's clerk
announced that the new-comer was a '* high fellar." Then, the rooms
surveyed, the two gentlemen went to Leicester Field, Mr. Gumbo
strutting behind his master ; and, having looked at the scene of his
grandsire's wound, and poor Lord Castlewood's tragedy, they returned
to the Temple to Mr, Draper's chambers.
Who was that shabby-looking big man Mr. Warrington bowed to as
they went out after dinner for a walk in the gardens ? That was Mr.
Johnson, an author, whom he had met at Tunbridge Wells. ** Take
the advice of a man of the world, sir," says Mr. Draper, eyeing the
shabby man of letters very superciliously. *' The less you have to do
with that kind of person the better. The business we have into our
office about them literary men is not very pleasant, I can tell you."
*' Indeed ! " says Mr. Warrington. He did not like his new friend the
more as the latter grew more familiar. The theatres were shut.
Should they go to Sadler's Wells ? or Marybone Gardens ? or Rane-
lagh ? or how ? " K'ot Kanelagh," says Mr. Draper; " because there's
none of the nobility in town ; " but, seeing in the newspaper that at
the entertainment at Sadler's Wells, Islington, there would be the
most singular kind of diversion on eight hand-bells by Mr. Franklyn,
as well as the surprising performances of Signora Catherina, Harry
wisely determined that he would go to Marybone Gardens, where they
had a concert of music, a choice of tea, coffee, and all sorts of wines,
2m THE YIEGINIANS.
and the benefit of Mr. Draper's ceaseless conversation. The lawyer's ohse-
quiousness only ended at Harry's bedroom door, "where, with haughty
grandeur, the young gentleman bade his talkative host good night.
The next morning, Mr. Warrington, arrayed in his brocade bed-
gown, took his breakfast, read the newspaper, and enjoyed his ease in
his inn. He read in the paper news from his own country. And
v^^hen he saw the words, Williamsburg, Yirginia, June 7th, his eyes
grew dim somehow. He had just had letters by that packet of June
7th, but his mother did not tell how, *' A great number of the principal
gentry of the colony have associated themselves under the command of
the Honourable Peyton Randolph, Esquire, to march to the relief of
their distressed fellow subjects, and revenge the cruelties of the French
and their barbarous allies. They are in a uniform : viz. a plain blue
frock, nanquin or brown waistcoats and breeches, and plain hats.
They are armed each with a light firelock, a brace of pistols, and a
cutting sword."
"Ah, why ain't we there, Gumbo?" cried out Harry.
" Why ain't we dar ? " shouted Gumbo.
*'Why am I here, dangling at women's trains?" continued the
Virginian.
"Think dangling at women's trains very pleasant, Master Harry!'*
says the materialistic Gumbo, who was also very little affected by
some further home news which his master read ; viz., that The Lovely
Sally, Virginia ship, had been taken in sight of port by a French
privateer.
And now reading that the finest mare in England, and a pair of
very genteel bay geldings, were to be sold at the Bull Inn, the lower
end of Hatton Garden, Harry determined to go and look at the
animals, and inquired his way to the place. He then and there bought
the genteel bay geldings, and paid for them with easy generosity. He
never said what he did on that day, being shy of appearing like a
stranger ; but it is believed that he took a coach and went to West-
minster Abbey, from which he bade the coachman drive him to the
Tower, then to Mrs. Salmon's Waxwork, then to Hyde Park and
Kensington Palace ; then he had given orders to go to the E,oyal
Exchange, but catching a glimpse of Co vent Garden, on his way to the
Exchange, he bade Jehu take him to his inn, and cut short his
enumeration of places to which he had been, by flinging the fellow
a guinea.
Mr. Draper had called in his absence, and said he would come again ;
but Mr. Warrington having dined sumptuously by himself, went off
nimbly to Marybone Gardens again, in the same noble company.
As he issued forth the next day, the bells of St. Paul's, Covent
Garden, were ringing for morning prayers, and reminded him that
friend Sampson was going to preach his sermon. Harry smiled. He
had begun to have a shrewd and jubt opinion of the value of Mr.
Sampson's sermons.
THE VIKGINIANS, 257
CHAPTER XXXVII.
m WHICH VAEIOUS MATCHES ARE FOUaHT,
Reading in the " London Advertiser," which was served to his
worship with his breakfast, an invitation to all lovers of manly British
sport to come and witness a trial of skill between the great champions
Sutton and Figg, Mr. Warrington determined upon attending these per-
formances, and accordingly proceeded to the Wooden House, in Mary-
bone Fields, driving thither the pair of horses which he had purchased
on the previous day. The young charioteer did not know the road very
well, and veered and tacked very much more than was needful upon his
journey from Covent Garden, losing himself in the green lanes behind
Mr. Whitfield's round tabernacle of Tottenham Road, and the fields in
tiie midst of which Middlesex Hospital stood. He reached his destina-
tion at length, however, and found no small company assembled to wit-
ness the valorous achievements of the two champions.
A crowd of London blackguards was gathered round the doors of this
temple of British valour ; together with the horses and equipages of a
few persons of fashion, who came, like Mr. Warrington, to patronise the
sport. A variety of beggars and cripples hustled round the young gen-
tleman, and whined to him for charity. Shoeblack boys tumbled over
each other for the privilege of blacking his honour's boots ; nosegay
women and flying fruiterers plied Mr. Gumbo with their wares ; piemen,
pads, tramps, strollers of every variety hung round the battle ground.
A flag was flying upon the building ; and, on to the stage in front, accom-
panied by a drummer and a horn-blower, a manager repeatedly issued
to announce to the crowd that the noble English sports were just about
to begin.
Mr. Warrington paid his money, and was accommodated with a seat
in a gallery commanding a perfect view of the platform whereon the
sports were performed ; Mr. Gumbo took his seat in the amphitheatre
below ; or, when tired, issued forth into the outer world to drink a pot
of beer, or play a game at cards with his brother lacqueys, and the
gentlemen's coachmen on the boxes of the carriages waiting without.
Lacqueys, liveries, footmen — the old society was encumbered with a
prodigious quantity of these. Gentle men or women could scarce move
without one, sometimes two or three, vassals in attendance. Every
theatre had its footman's gallery : an army of the liveried race hustled
round every chapel-door : they swarmed in ante-rooms : they sprawled
in halls and on landings : they guzzled, devoured, debauched, cheated,
piayed cards, bullied visitors for vails : — that noble old race of footmen
is well nigh gone. A few thousand of them may still be left among us.
So-S THE VIRGINIAls^S.
Grand, tall, beautiful, melancholy, we still behold them on levee days,
with their nosegays and their buckles, their plush and their powder.
So have I seen in America specimens, nay camps and villages of Red
Indians. But the race is doomed. The fatal decree has gone forth, and
Uncas with his tomahawk and eagle's plume, and Jeames with his
eocked hat and long cane, are passing out of the world where they once
walked in glory.
Before the principal combatants made their appearance, minor war-
riors and exercises were exhibited. A boxing match came off, but
neither of the men were very game or severely punished, so that Mr.
Warrington and the rest of the spectators had but little pleasure out of
that encounter. Then ensued some cudgel-playing ; but the heads
broken were of so little note, and the wounds given so trifling and
unsatisfactory, that no wonder the company began to hiss, grumble, and
show other signs of discontent. " The masters, the masters I " shouted
the people, whereupon those famous champions at length thought fit to
appear.
The first who walked up the steps to the stage was the intrepid
Sutton, sword in hand, who saluted the company with his warlike weapon,
making an especial bow and salute to a private box or gallery in which
sate a stout gentleman, who was seemingly a person of importance.
Sutton was speedily followed by the famous Figg, to whom the stout
gentleman waved a hand of approbation. Both men were in their shirts,
their heads were shaven clean, but bore the cracks and scars of many
former glorious battles. On his burly sword arm, each intrepid cham-
pion wore an *' armiger," or ribbon of his colour. And now the gladiators
shook hands, and, as a contemporary poet says: ''The word it was
bilboe."*
At the commencement of the combat the great Figg dealt a blow so
tremendous at his opponent, that had it encountered the other's head,
that comely noddle would have been shorn off as clean as the carving-
knife chops the carrot. But Sutton received his adversary's blade on
his own sword, whilst Figg's blow was delivered so mightily that the
weapon brake in his hands, less constant than the heart of him who
wielded it. Other swords were now delivered to the warriors. The
first blood drawn spouted from the panting side of Figg amidst a yell
of delight from Sutton's supporters ; but the veteran appealing to his
audience, and especially, as it seemed, to the stout individual in the
private gallery, showed that his sword broken in the previous encounter
had caused the wound.
"Whilst the parley occasioned by this incident was going on, Mr.
"Warrington saw a gentleman in a riding-frock and plain scratch wig
enter the box devoted to the stout personage, and recognised with
l)leasure his Tunbridge Wells friend, my Lord of March and Euglan.
* The antiquarian reader knows the pleasant poem in the sixth volume of
Dodsley's Collection, in which the above combat is desciibed.
THE YirtGINI.\:N'S. 259
Lord March, who vras by no me4ins prodigal of politeness, seemed to
show singular deference to the stout gentleman, and Harry remarked
how his lordship received, with a profound bow, some bank bills which
the other took out from a pocket-book and handed to him. Wldlst thus
engaged, Lord March spied out our Yirginian, and, his interview with
the stout personage finished, my lord came over to Harry's gallery and
warmly greeted his young friend. They sat and beheld the combat
waging with various success, but with immense skill and valour on both
sides. After the warriors had sufficiently fought with swords, they fell
tc with the quarter-staff, and the result of this long and delightful
battle was, that victory remained with her ancient champion Figg.
Whilst the warriors were at battle, a thunderstorm had broken over
the building, and Mr. Warrington gladly enough accepted a seat in my
Lord March's chariot, leaving his own phaeton to be driven home by his
groom. Harry was in great delectation with the noble sight he had
v/itnessed : he pronounced this indeed to be something like sport, and of
tiie best he had seen since his arrival in England: and, as usual,
associating any pleasure which he enjoyed with the desire that the dear
companion of his boyhood should share the amusement in common with
him, he began by sighing out, " I wish "... then he stopped. " iS'o I
don't," says he.
*' What do you wish and what don't you wish ?" asked Lord March.
*' i was thinking, my lord, of my elder brother, and wished he had
been with me. We had promised to have our sport together, at home,
you see ; and many's the time we talked of it. But he wouldn't have
liked this rough sort of sport, and didn't care for fighting, though he
was the bravest lad alive."
" ! he was the bravest lad alive, was he ? " asks my lord, lolling on
his cusliion, and eyeing his Virginian friend with some curiosity.
** You. should have seen him in a quarrel with a very gallant officer, our
friend — an absurd affair, but it was hard to keep George off" him. I
never saw a fellow so cool, nor more savage and determined, God help
me. Ah ! I wish for the honour of the country, you know, that he
could have come here instead of me, and shown you a real Virginian
gentleman."
" Nay, sir, you'll do very well. What is this I hear of Lady
Yarmouth taking you into favour ? " said the amused nobleman.
" I will do as well as another. I can ride, and, I think, I can shoot
better than George ; but then my brother had the head, sir, the head ! '*
says Harry, tapping his own honest skull. " Why, I give you my word,
my lord, that he had read almost every book that was ever written ;
could play both on the fiddle and harpsichord, could compose poetry and
sermons most elegant. What can I do ? I am only good to ride and
play at cards, and drink Burgundy." And the penitent hung down his
Lead. " But them I can do as well as most fellows, you see. In fact,
my lord, I'll back myself," he resumed, to the other's great amusement.
Lord March relished the young man's ndiveU, as the jaded voluptuary
s 2
260 THE YIEGINIANS.
still to the end always can relish, the juicy wholesome mutton chop.
" By gad, Mr. Warrington," says he, " you ought to be taken to Exeter
Change, and put in a show."
"And for why?"
" A gentleman from Virginia who has lost his elder brother and
absolutely regrets him. The breed ain't known in this country. Upon
my honour and conscience, I believe that you would like to have him
back again."
'' Believe ! " cries the Virginian, growing red in the face.
" That is, you believe, you believe you would like him back again.
But depend on it you wouldn't. 'Tis not in human nature, sir ; not as
I read it, at least. Here are some fine houses we are coming to.
That at the corner is Sir Eichard Littleton's, that great one was my Lord
Bingley's. 'Tis a pity they do nothing better with this great empty
space of Cavendish Square than fence it with these unsightly boards.
By George ! I don't know where the town's running. There's Montagu
House made into a confounded Don Saltero's museum, with books and
stuffed birds and rhinoceroses. They have actually run a cursed cut —
New Boad they call it — at the back of Bedford House Gardens, and
spoilt the Duke's comfort, though, I guess, they will console him in the
pocket. I don't know where the town will stop. Shall we go down
Tyburn Road and the Park, or through Swallow Street, and into the
habitable quarter of the town ? "We can dine at Pall Mall, or, if you
like, with you ; and we can spend the evening as you like — with the
Queen of Spades, or ... "
"With the Q,ueen of Spades, if your lordship pleases," says Mr.
Warrington, blushing. So the equipage drove to his hotel in Covent
Garden, where the landlord came forward with his usual obsequiousness,
and recognising my Lord of March and Ruglan, bowed his wig oii to my
lord's shoes in his humble welcomes to his lordship. A rich young
English peer in the reign of George the Second ; a wealthy patrician in
the reign of Augustus ; — which would you rather have been ? There is
a question for any young gentlemen's debating clubs of the present day.
The best English dinner which could be produced, of course was at
the service of the young Virginian and his noble friend. After dinner
came wine in plenty, and of quality good enough even for the epicurean
earl. Over the wine there was talk of going to see the fireworks at
Vauxhall, or else of cards. Harry, who had never seen a firework
beyond an exhibition of a dozen squibs at Williamsburgh on the Fifth
of November (which he thought a sublime display), would have liked the
Vauxhall, but yielded to his guest's preference for picquet; and thoy
were very soon absorbed in that game.
Harry began by winning as usual ; but, in the course of a half-hour,
the luck turned and favoured my Lord March, who was at first very
surly, when Mr. Draper, Mr. Warrington's man of business, carae
bowing into the room, where he accepted Harry's invitation to sit and
drink. Mr. Warrington always asked everybody to sit and drink, and
THE VIEGINIAXS. 261
partake of his best. Had he a crust, he would divide it ; had he a
haunch, he would share it ; had he a jug of water, he would drink about
with a kindly spirit ; had he a bottle of Burgundy, it was gaily drunk
with a thirsty friend. And don't fancy the virtue is common. You
read of it in books, my dear sir, and fancy that you have it yourself
because you give six dinners of twenty people and pay your acquaintance
all round ; but the welcome, the friendly spirit, the kindly heart ?
Believe me, these are rare qualities in our selfish world. We may bring
them with us from the country when we are young, but they mostly
wither after transplantation, and droop and perish in the stifling
London air.
Draper did not care for wine very much, but it delighted the lawyer
to be in the company of a great man. He protested that he liked
nothing better than to see picquet played by two consummate players
and men of fashion ; and, taking a seat, undismayed by the sidelong
scowls of his lordship, surveyed the game between the gentlemen.
Harry was not near a match for the experienced player of the London
clabs. To-night, too, Lord March held better cards to aid his skill.
What their stakes were was no business of Mr. Draper's. The
gentlemen said they would play for shillings, and afterwards counted up
their gains and losses, with scarce any talking, and that in an under
tone. A bow on both sides, a perfectly grave and polite manner on the
part of each, and the game went on.
But it was destined to a second interruption, which brought an
execration from Lord March's lips. First was heard a scuffling without
— then a whispering — then an outcry as of a woman in tears, and then,
finally, a female rushed into the room, and produced that explosion of
naughty language from Lord March.
" I wish your women would take some other time for coming, con-
found 'em," says my lord, laying his cards down in a pet.
" What, Mrs. Betty ! " cried Harry.
Indeed it was no other than Mrs. Betty, Lady Maria's maid ; and
Gumbo stood behind her, his fine countenance beslobbered with tears.
" What has happened ? " asks Mr. Warrington, in no little perturba-
tion of spirit. *' The Baroness is well ? "
"Help! help! sir, your honour!" ejaculates Mrs. Betty, and pro-
ceeds to fall on her knees.
"Help whom?"
A howl ensues from Gumbo.
* ' Gumbo ! you scoundrel ! has anything happened between Mrs.
Betty and you ? " asks the black's master.
Mr. Gumbo steps back with great dignity, laying his hand on his
heart, and saying, "No, sir; nothing hab happened 'twix this lady
and me."
" It's my mistress, sir," cries Betty. " Help ! help ! here's the letter
she have wrote, sir ! They have gone and took her, sir ! "
" Is it only that old Molly Esmond ? She's known to be over head
2C2 THE YIEGINIANS.
and heels in debt ! Dry your eyes in the next room, Mrs. Betty, and let
me and Mr. Warrington go on with our game,*' says my lord, taking up
his cards.
"Help! help her!" cries Betty again. "0, Mr. Harry! you won't
he a going on with your cards, when my lady calls out to you to come
and help her ! Your honour used to come quick enough when my lady
used to send me to fetch you at Castlewood ! "
"Confound you! can't you hold your tongue ?" says my lord, with
more choice words and oaths.
But Betty would not cease weeping, and it was decreed that Lord
March was to cease winning for that night. Mr. Warrington rose from
his seat, and made for the hell, saying :
" My dear lord, the game must be over for to-night. My relative
writes to me in great distress, and I am bound to go to her."
" Curse her ! Why couldn't she wait till to-morrow ? " cries my lord,
testily.
Mr. Warrington ordered a postchaise instantly. His own horses
would take him to Bromley.
" Bet you, you don't do it within the hour ! bet you, you don't do it
within five quarters of an hour ! bet you four to one — or I'll take your
bet, which you please— that you're not robbed on Blackheath! Bet
you, you are not at Tunbridge Wells before midnight ! " cries Lord
March .
" Done ! " says Mr. Warrington. And my lord carefully notes down
the terms of the four wagers in his pocket-book.
Lady Maria's letter ran as follows : —
I am fell into a trapp, w'^^ I perceive the machinations of
villians. I am a prisner, Betty will tell you all. Ah, my Henrico !
come to the resQ- of your
" Molly."
In half-an-hour afte^the receipt of this missive, Mr. Warrington was
in his postchaise and galloping over Westminster Bridge on the road to
succour his kinswoman.
CHAPTEE XXXYIII.
SAMPSOX AND THE THILISTINES.
My happy chance in early life led me to become intimate with a
respectable person who was born in a certain island, which is pronounced
to be the first gem of the ocean by, no doubt, impartial judges of mari-
THE YIRGINIAXS. 261
partake of his best. Had he a crust, he would divide it ; had he a
haunch, he would share it ; had he a jug of water, he would drink about
with a kindly spirit ; had he a bottle of Burgundy, it was gaily drunk
with a thirsty friend. And don't fancy the virtue is common. You
read of it in books, my dear sir, and fancy that you have it yourself
because you give six dinners of twenty people and pay your acquaintance
all round; but the welcome, the friendly spirit, the kindly heart?
Believe me, these are rare qualities in our selfish world. We may bring
them with us from the country when we are young, but they mostly
wither after transplantation, and droop and perish in the stifling
London, air.
Draper did not care for wine very much, but it delighted the lawyer
to be in the company of a great man. He protested that he liked
nothing better than to see picquet played by two consummate players
and men of fashion ; and, taking a seat, undismayed by the sidelong
scowls of his lordship, surveyed the game between the gentlemen.
Harry was not near a match for the experienced player of the London
clubs. To-night, too, Lorvi March held better cards to aid his skill.
What their stakes were was no business of Mr. Draper's. The
gentlemen said they would play for shillings, and afterwards counted up
their gains and losses, with scarce any talking, and that in an under
tone. A bow on both sides, a perfectly grave and polite manner on the
part of each, and the game went on.
But it was destined to a second interruption, which brought an
execration from Lord March's lips. First was heard a scujB9.ing without
• — then a whispering — then an outcry as of a woman in tears, and then,
finally, a female rushed into the room, and produced that explosion of
naughty language from Lord March.
' ' I wish your women would take some other time for coming, con-
found 'em," says my lord, laying his cards down in a pet.
" What, Mid. Betty ! " cried Harry.
Indeed it was no other than Mrs. Betty, Lady Maria's maid ; and
Gumbo stood behind her, his fine countenance beslobbered with tears.
*' What has happened ? " asks Mr. Warrington, in no little perturba-
tion of spirit. " The Baroness is well ? "
"Help! help! sir, your honour!" ejaculates Mrs. Betty, and pro-
ceeds to fall on her knees.
''Help whom?"
A howl ensues from Gumbo.
"Gumbo! you scoundrel! has anything happened between Mrs.
Betty and you? " asks the black's master.
Mr. Gumbo steps back with great dignity, laying his hand on his
heart, and saying, " No, sir ; nothing hab happened 'twix this lady
and me."
" It's my mistress, sir," cries Betty. " Help ! help ! here's the letter
she have wrote, sir ! They have gone and took her, sir ! "
" Is it only that old Molly Esmond ? She's known to be over head
264 THE VIRGINIANS.
employed to you ; but, then, you must have & deal of practice, and be
accustomed to hear and use it. You embrace after a quarrel and
mutual bad language. Heaven bles-s us I Bad words are nothing when
one is accustomed to them, and scarce need ruffle the temper on either
side.
So the aunt and niece played cards very amicably together, and drank
to each other's health, and each took a wing of the chicken, and pulled
a bone of the merry-thought, and (in conversation), scratched their
neighbours', not each other's eyes out. Thus we have read how the
Peninsular warriors, when, the bugles sang truce, fraternised and ex-
changed tobacco-pouches and wine, ready to seize their firelocks and
knock each other's heads off when the truce was over ; and thus our old
soldiers, skilful in war, but knowing the charms of a quiet life, laid
their weapons down for the nonce, and hob-and-nobbed gaily together.
Of course, whilst drinking with Jack Frenchman, you have your piece
handy to blow his brains out if he makes a hostile move : but, mean-
while, it is d, voire scmte, mon camarade ! Here's to you, Mounseer I
and everything is as pleasant as possible. Regarding Aunt Bernstein's
threatened gout ? The twinges had gone off. Maria was so glad !
Maria's fainting fits ? She had no return of them. A slight recurrence
last night. The Baroness was so sorry ! Her niece must see the best
doctor, take everything to fortify her, continue to take the steel, even
after she left Tunbridge. How kind of Aunt Bernstein to offer to send
some of the bottled waters after her! Suppose Madame Bernstein says
in confidence to her own woman, ''Fainting fits! — pooh! — epilepsy!
inherited from that horrible scrofulous German mother ! " What means
have we of knowing the private conversation of the old lady and her
attendant? Suppose Lady Maria orders Mrs. Betty, her ladyship's
maid, to taste every glass of medicinal water, first declaring that her
aunt is capable of poisoning her ? Very likely such conversations take
place. These are but precautions — these are the firelocks which our old
soldiers have at their sides, loaded and cocked, but at present lying
quiet on the grass.
Having Harry's bond in her pocket, the veteran Maria did not clioose
to press for payment. She knew the world too well for that. He was
bound to her, but she gave him plenty of day-rule, and leave of absence
on parole. It was not her object needlessly to chafe and anger her young
slave. She knew the difference of ages, and that Harry must have his
pleasures and diversions. *' Take your ease and amusement, cousin,"
says Lady Maria. " Frisk about, pretty little mousekin," says grey
Grimalkin, purring in the corner, and keeping watch with her green
eyes. About all that Harry was to see and do on his first visit to London,
his female relatives had of course talked and joked. Both of the ladies
knew perfectly what were a young gentleman's ordinary amusements in
those days, and spoke of them with the frankness which characterised
those easy times.
Our wily Calypso consoled herself, then, perfectly, in the absence of
THE VIRGINIANS. 265
her young wanderer, and took any diversion which came to hand. Mr.
Jack Morris, the gentleman whom we have mentioned as rejoicing in.
the company of Lord March and Mr. "Warrington, was one of these
diversions. To live with titled personages was the delight of Jack
Morris's life; and to lose money at cards to an earl's daughter was
almost a pleasure to him. 'Now, the Lady Maria Esmond was an earl's
daughter who was very glad to win money. She ohtained permission to
take Mr. Morris to the Countess of Yarmouth's assembly, and played
cards with him — and so everybody was pleased.
Thus the first eight- and- forty hours after Mr. Warrington's departure
passed pretty cheerily at Tunbridge Wells, and Friday arrived, when
the sermon was to be delivered which we have seen Mr. Sampson
preparing. The company at the Wells were ready enough to listen to
it. Sampson, had a reputation for being a most amusing and eloquent
preacher, and if there were no breakfast, conjuror, dancing bears,
concert going on, the good Wells folk would put up with a sermon.
He knew Lady Yarmouth was coming, and what a power she had in
the giving of livings and the dispensing of bishoprics, the Defender of
the Faith of that day having a remarkable confidence in her ladyship's
opinion upon these matters ; — and so we may be sure that Mr, Sampson
prepared his very best discourse for her hearing. When the Great Man
is at home at the Castle, and walks over to the little country church in
the park, bringing the Duke, the Marquis, and a couple of cabinet
ministers with him, has it ever been your lot to sit among the congrega-
tion, and watch Mr. Trotter the curate and his sermon ? He looks
anxiously at the Great Pew ; he falters as he gives out his text, and
thinks, *' Ah, perhaps his lordship may give me a living ! " Mrs. Trotter
and the girls look anxiously at the Great Pew too, and watch the effects
of papa's discourse — the well-known favourite discourse — upon the big-
wigs assembled. Papa's first nervousness is over • his noble voice clears,
warms to his sermon : ne kindles : he takes his pocket-handkerchief out:
he is coming to that exquisite passage which has made them all cry at
the parsonage : he has begun it ! Ah ! AVhat is that humming noise,
which fills the edifice, and causes hob-nailed Melibceus to grin at smock-
frocked Tityrus ? It is the Right Honourable Lord Naseby, snoring in
the pew by the fire ! And poor Trotter's visionary mitre disappears with
the music.
Sampson was the domestic chaplain of Madame Bernstein's nephew.
The two ladies of the Esmond family patronised the preacher. On the
day of the sermon, the Baroness had a little breakfast in his honour, at
which Sampson made his appearance, rosy and handsome, with a fresh-
floured wig, and a smart, rustling, new cassock, which he had on credit
from some church-admiring mercer at the Wells. By the side of his
patronesses, their ladyships' lacqueys walking behind them, with their
great gilt prayer-books, Mr. Sampson marched from breakfast to church.
Every one remarked how well the Baroness Bernstein looked ; she
laughed, and was particularly friendly with her niece ; she had a bow
266 THE VIEGINIANS.
and a stately smile for all, as she moved on, with her tortoiseshell cane.
At the door there was a dazzling conflux of rank and fashion — all the
fine company of the Wells trooping in ; and her ladyship of Yarmouth,
conspicuous with vermilion cheeks, and a robe of flame-coloured tafieta.
There were shabby people present, besides the fine company,'- though
these latter were by far the most numerous. What an odd-looking pair,
for instance, were those in ragged coats, one of them with his carroty
hair appearing under his scratch wig, and who entered the church just
as the organ stopped ! Nay, he could not have been a Protestant, for he
mechanically crossed himself as he entered the place, saying to his com-
rade, " Bedad, Tim, I forgawt ! " by which I conclude that the individual
came from an island which has been mentioned at the commencement
of this chapter. Wherever they go, a rich fragrance of whiskey spreads
itself. A man may be a heretic, but possess genius : these Catholic
gentlemen have come to pay homage to Mr. Sampson.
jS'ay, there are not only members of the old religion present, but
disciples of a creed still older. Who are those two individuals with
hooked noses and sallow countenances who worked into the church, in
spite of some little opposition on the part of the beadle ? Seeing the
greasy appearance of these flebrew strangers, Mr. Beadle was for deny-
ing them admission. But one whispered into his ear, '* We wants to be
conwerted, gov'nor ! " another slips money into his hand, — Mr. Beadle
lifts up the mace with which he was barring the doorway, and the
Hebrew gentlemen enter. There goes the organ ! the doors have closed.
Shall we go in, and listen to Mr. Sampson's sermon, or lie on the grass
without ?
Preceded by that beadle in gold lace, Sampson walked up to the pulpit,
as rosy and jolly a man as you could wish to see. Presently, when he
surged up out of his plump pulpit cushion, why did his Reverence turn
as pale as death ? He looked to the western church-door — there, on
each side of it, were those horrible Hebrew Caryatides. He then looked
to the vestry-door, which was hard by the rector's pew, in which Samp-
son had been sitting during the service, alongside of their ladyships his
patronesses. Suddenly, a couple of perfumed Hibernian gentlemen
slipped out of an adjacent seat, and placed themselves on a bench close
by that vestry-door and rector's pew, and so sate till the conclusion of
the sermon, with eyes meekly cast down to the ground. How can we
describe that s6rmon, if the preacher himself never knew how it came to
an end ?
Nevertheless, it was considered an excellent sermon. When it was
over, the fine ladies buzzed into one another's ears over their pews, and
uttered their praise and comments. Madame Walmoden, who was in
the next pew to our friends, said it was bewdiful, and made her dremble
all over. Madame Bernstein said it was excellent. Lady Maria was
pleased to think that the family chaplain should so distinguish himself.
She looked up at him, and strove to catch his Reverence's eye, as he still
eate in his pulpit ; she greeted him with a little wave of the hand and
THE VIEGIXIAX3. 267
flutter of her handkereliief. He scarcely seemed to note the compliment ;
his face was pale, his eyes were looking yonder, towards the font, where
those Hebrews still remained. The stream of people passed by them —
in a rush, when they were lost to sight, — in a throng — in a march of
twos and threes — in a dribble of one at a time. Everybody was gone-,
The two Hebrews were still there by the door.
The Baroness de Bernstein and her niece still lingered in the
rector's pew, where the old lady was deep in conversation with that
gentleman.
" Who are those horrible men at the door? and what a smell of spirits
there is," cries Lady Maria, to Mrs. Brett, her aunt's woman, who had
attended the two ladies.
" Farewell, Doctor ; you have a darling little boy : is he to be a
clergyman, too?" asks Madame de Bernstein. "Are you ready, my
dear?" And the pew is thrown open, and Madame Bernstein, whose
father was only a viscount, insists that her niece, Lady Maria, who was
an earl's daughter, should go first out of the pew.
As she steps forward, those individuals whom her ladyship designated
as two horrible men, advance. One of them pulls a long strip of paper
out of his pocket, and her ladyship starts and turns pale. She makes
for the vestry, in a vague hope that she can clear the door and close
it behind her. The two whiskeyfied gentlemen are up with her,
however ; one of them actually lays his hand on her shoulder and
says : — ■
'' At the shuit of Misthress Pincott of Kinsington, mercer, I have
the honour of arresting your leedyship. Me neem is Costigan, madam,
a poor gentleman of Oireland, binding to circumstances, and forced to
follow a disagrayable profession, Will your leedyship walk, or shall
me man go fetch a cheer ? "
For reply Lady Maria Esmond gives three shrieks, and falls swooning
to the ground. *' Keep the door, Mick ! " shouts Mr. Costigan. '' Best
let in no one else, madam," he says, very politely, to Madame de Bern-
stein. '* Her ladyship has fallen in a feenting fit, and will recover
here, at her aise."
''Unlace her, Brett!" cries the old lady whose eyes twinkle oddly,
and, as soon as that operation is performed, Madame Bernstein seizes a
little bag suspended by a hair chain, which Lady Maria wears round
her neck, and snips the necklace in twain. "Dash some cold water
over her face, it always recovers her! " says the Baroness. "You stay
with her, Brett. How much is your suit, gentlemen ? "
Mr. Costigan says, "The cleem we have against her leedyship is for
one hundred and thirty-two pounds, in, which she is indebted to
Misthress Eliza Pincott."
Meanwhile, where is the Eeverend Mr. Sampson ? Like the fabled
opossum we have read of, who, when he spied the unerring gunner
from his gum-tree, said : " It's no use, major, I will come down," so
Sampson gave himself up to his pursuers. " At whose suit, Simons ? "
268 THE VIRGINIANS.
he sadly asked. Sampson knew Simons, they had met many a time
before.
" Buckleby Cordwainer," says Mr. Simons.
** Forty-eight pound and charges, I know," says Mr. Sampson, with
a sigh. ** I haven't got the money. "What officer is there here ? " Mr.
Simons's companion, Mr. Lyons, here stepped forward, and said hia
house was most convenient, and often used by gentlemen, and he
should be most happy and proud to accommodate his Reverence.
Two chairs happened to be in waiting outside the chapel. In those
two chairs my Lady Maria Esmond and Mr. Sampson placed themselves,
and went to Mr. Lyons's residence, escorted by the gentlemen to whom
we have just been introduced.
Yery soon after the capture the Baroness Bernstein sent Mr. Case,
her confidential servant, with a note to her niece, full of expressions of
the most ardent affection : but regretting that her heavy losses at cards
rendered the payment of such a sum as that in which Lady Maria
stood indebted quite impossible. She had written off to Mrs. Pincott
hy that very post, however, to entreat her to grant time, and as soon as
ever she had an answer, would not fail to acquaint her dear unhappy
niece.
Mrs. Betty came over to console her mistress : and the two poor
women cast about for money enough to provide a horse and chaise for
Mrs. Betty ; who had very nearly come to misfortune too. Both my
Lady Maria and her maid had been unlucky at cards, and could not
muster more than eighteen shillings between them : so it was agreed
that Betty should sell a gold chain belonging to her lady, and with the
money travel to London. Now Betty took the chain to the very toy-
shop man who had sold it to Mr. Warrington, who had given it to his
cousin : and the toy-shop man, supposing that she had stolen the chain,
was for bringing in a constable to Betty. Hence, she had to make
explanations, and to say how her mistress was in durance ; and, ere
the night closed, all Tunbridge Wells knew that my Lady Maria
Esmond was in the hands of bailiffs. Meanwhile, however, the money
was found, and Mrs. Betty whisked up to London in search of the
champion in whom the poor prisoner confided.
*' Don't say anything about that paper being gone ! 0, the wretch,
the wretch ! She shall pay it me ! " I presume that Lady Maria
meant her aunt by the word " wretch." Mr. Sampson read a sermon
to her ladyship, and they passed the evening aver revenge and back-
gammon ; with well-grounded hopes that' Harry Warrington would
rush to their rescue as soon as ever he heard of their mishap.
Though, ere the evening was over, every soul at the Wells knew
what had happened to Lady Maria, and a great deal more ; though
they knew she was taken in execution, the house where she lay, the
amount — nay, ten times the amount — for which she was captured, and
that she was obliged to pawn her trinkets to get a little money to keep
her in jail ; though everybody said that old fiend of a Bernstein was
THE VIRGINIANS. 269
at the bottom of the business, of course they were all civil and bland
in society ; and, at my Lady Trunopington's cards that night, where
Madame Bernstein appeared, and as long as she was within hearing,
not a word was said regarding the morning's transactions. Lady
Yarmouth asked the Baroness news of her breddy nephew, and heard
Mr. Warrington was in London. My Lady Maria was not coming to
Lady Trumpington's that evening ? My Lady Maria was indisposed,
had fainted at church, that morning, and was obliged to keep her room.
The cards were dealt, the fiddles sang, the wine went round, the gentle-
folks talked, laughed, yawned, chattered, the footmen waylaid the
supper, the chairman drank and swore, the stars climbed the sky, just
as though no Lady Maria was imprisoned, and no poor Sampson
arrested.
Perhaps Madame de Bernstein stayed at the assembly until the very
last, not willing to allow the company the chance of speaking of her as
soon as her back should be turned. Ah, what a comfort it is,^ I say
again, that we have backs, and that our ears don't grow on them !
He that has ears to hear, let him stujff them with cotton. Madame
Bernstein might have heard folks say, it was heartless of her to come
abroad, and play at cards, and make merry when her niece was in
trouble. As if she could help Maria by staying at home, indeed ! At
her age, it is dangerous to disturb an old lady's tranquillity. "Do^'t
tell me," says Lady Yarmouth, **the Bernstein would play at carts
over her niece's coffin. Talk about her heart ! wlio ever said she had
one ? The old spy lost it to the Chevalier a tousand years ago, and
has lived ever since perfectly well without one. For how much is the
Maria put in prison ? If it were only a small sum, we would pay it, it
would vex her aunt so. Find out, Fuchs, in the morning, for how
much Lady Maria Esmond is put in prison." And the faithful Fuchs
bowed, and promised to do her Excellency's will.
Meanwhile, about midnight, Madame de Bernstein went home, and
presen tly fell into a sound sleep, from which she did not wake up until
a late hour of the morning, when she summoned her usual attendant,
who arrived with her ladyship's morning dish of tea. If I told you she
took a dram with it, you would be shocked. Some of our great grand-
mothers used to have cordials in their " closets." Have you not read
of the fine lady in "Walpole, who said, " If I drink more, I shall be
* muckibus ! ' ? " As surely as Mr. Gough is alive now, our ancestresses
were accustomed to partake pretty freely of strong waters.
So, having tipped oft' the cordial, Madame Bernstein rouses and asks
Mrs. Brett the news.
*' He can give it you," says the waiting- woman, sulkily.
"He? Who?"
Mrs. Brett names Harry, and says Mr. Warrington arrived about
midnight yesterday — and Betty, my Lady Maria's maid, was with him.
*' And my Lady Maria sends your ladyship her love and duty, and
hopes you slept well," says Brett.
270 THE VIRGINIANS.
" Excellently, poor thing ! Is Betty gone to lier ?'*
*' jS'o ; she is here," says Mrs. Brett.
** Let me see her directly," cries the old lady.
" I'll tell her," replies the obsequious Brett, and goes away upon her
mistress's errand, leaving the old lady placidly reposing on her pillows.
Presently, two pairs of high-heeled shoes are heard pattering over the
deal floor of the bed-chamber. Carpets were luxuries scarcely known
in bed-rooms of those days.
"So, Mrs. Betty, you were in London, yesterday?" calls Bernstein
from her curtains.
** It is not Betty— it is I ! Good morning, dear aunt! I hope you
slept well," cries a voice which made old Bernstein start on her pillow.
It was the voice of Lady Maria, who drew the curtains aside, and
dropped her aunt a low curtsey. Lady Maria looked very pretty, rosy,
and happy. And with the little surprise incident at her appearance
through Madame Bernstein's curtains, I think we may bring this
Chapter to a close.
CHAPTER XXXIX.
HAEUX TO THE EESCUE.
Mx dear Lord March, (wrote Mr. "Warrington from Tunbridge Wells,
on Saturday morning, the 25th August, 1756:) This is to inform you
(with satisfaction) that I have won all our three hetts. I was at Bromley
two minutes within the hour ; my new horses kep a-going at a capital
rate. I drove them myself, having the postilion by me to show me the
way, and my black man inside with Mrs. Betty. Hope they found the
driYQ very pleasant. "We were not stopped on Blackheath, though two
fellows on horseback rode up to us, but not liking the looks of our coun-
tenantses, rode off again ; and we got into Tunbridge Wells (where 1
transacted my business) at forty-five minutes after eleven. This makes
me quitts with your lordship after yesterday's picquet, which 1 shall be
very happy to give you your revenge, and am,
Your most obliged, faithful servant,
H. Esmond Waeeingtoit.
And now, perhaps, the reader will understand by what means Lady
Maria Esmond was enabled to surprise her dear aunt in her bed on
Saturday morning, and walk out of the house of captivity. Having
despatched Mrs. Betty to London, she scarcely expected that her emis-
sary would return on the day of her departure ; and she and the
chaplain were playing their cards at midnight, after a small refection
which the bailiff's wife had provided for them, when the rapid whirling
THE YIRGINIANS. 271
of wheels was heard approaching their house, and caused the ladv to
lay her trumps down, and her heart to beat with more than ordinary
emotion. Whirr came the wheels— the carriage stopped at the very
door : there was a parley at the gate : then appeared Mrs. Betty, with
a face radiant with joy, though her eyes were full of tears ; and next,
who is that tall young gentleman who enters ? Can any of my readers
guess ? Will they be very angry if I say that the chaplain slapped
down his cards with a huzzay, whilst Lady Maria, turning as white as
a sheet, rose up from her chair, tottered forward a step or two, and with
an hysterical shriek, flung herself in her cousin's arms ? How many
kisses did he give her ? If they were mille, deinde centum, dein mille
altera, dein secunda centum, and so on, I am not going to cry out.
He had come to rescue her. She knew he would ; he was her champion,
her preserver from bondage and ignominy. She wept a genuine flood
of tears upon his shoulder, and as she reclines there, giving way to a
hearty emotion, I protest I think she looks handsomer than she has
looked during the whole course of this history. She did not faint this
time : she went home, leaning lovingly on her cousin's arm, and may
have had one or two hysterical outbreaks in the night ; but Madame
Bernstein slept soundly, and did not hear her.
**You are both free to go home," were the first words Harry said.
" Get my lady's hat and cardinal, Betty, and. Chaplain, we'll smoke a
pipe together at our lodgings, it will refresh me after my ride." The
Chaplain, who, too, had a great deal of available sensibility, was very
much overcome ; he burst into tears as he seized Harry's hand, and
kissed it, and prayed God to bless his dear generous young patron,
Mr. "Warrington felt a glow of pleasure thrill through his frame. It
is good to be able to help the sufleiing and the poor ; it is good to be
able to turn sorrow into joy. Not a little proud and elated was our
young champion, as, with his hat cocked, he marched by the side of his
rescued princess. His feelings came out to meet him, as it were, and
beautiful happinesses with kind eyes and smiles danced before him, and
clad him in a robe of honour, and scattered flowers on his path, and
blew trumpets and shawms of sweet gratiilation, calling " Here comes
the conqueror ! Make way for the champion ! " And so they led him
tip to the King's house, and seated him in the hall of complacency, upon
the cushions of comfort. And yet it was not much he had done. Only
a kindness. He had but to put his hand in his pocket, and with an
easy talisman, drive oft' the dragon which kept the gate, and cause the
tyrant to lay down his axe, who had got Lady Maria in execution.
Kever mind if his vanity is puffed up ; he is very good-natured ; he has
rescued two unfortunate people, and pumped tears of goodwill and hap-
piness out of their eyes ;— and if he brags a little to-night, and swag-
gers somewhat to the Chaplain, and talks about London and Lord March,
and White's, and Alraack's, with the air of a macaroni, I don't think we
need like him much the less.
Sampson continued to be prodigiously affected. This man had a
272 THE VIRGINIANS.
nature most easily worked upon, and extraordinarily quick to receive
pain and pleasure, to tears, gratitude, laughter, hatred, liking. In his
preaching profession he had educated and trained his sensibilities so
that they were of great use to him ; he was for the moment what he
acted. He wept quite genuine tears, finding that he could produce
them freely. He loved you whilst he was with you : he had a real pang
of grief as he mingled his sorrow with the widow or orphan ; and,
meeting Jack as he came out of the door, went to the tavern opposite,
and laughed and roared over the bottle. He gave money very readily,
but never repaid when he borrowed. He was on this night in a rapture
of gratitude and flattery towards Harry Warrington. In all London,
perhaps, the unlucky Fortunate Youth could not have found a more
dangerous companion.
To-night Sampson was in his grateful mood, and full of enthusiasm for
the benefactor who had released him from durance. With each bumper
his admiration grew stronger. He exalted Harry as the best and noblest
of men, and the complacent young simpleton, as we have said, was dis-
posed to take these praises as very well deserved. '' The younger branch
of our family," said Mr. Harry with a superb air, *' have treated you
scurvily ; but by Jove, Sampson, my boy, I'll stand by you ! " At a
certain period of Burgundian excitement, Mr. Warrington was always
very eloquent respecting the splendour of his family. * ' I am very glad
I was enabled to help you in your strait. Count on me whenever you
want ipe, Sampson. Did you not say you had a sister at boarding-school ?
You will want money for her, sir. Here is a little bill which may help
to pay her schooling," and the liberal young fellow passed a bank-note
across to the Chaplain.
Again the man was affected to tears. Harry's generosity smote
him.
*' Mr. Warrington," he said, putting the bank-note a short distance
from him, "I — I don't deserve your kindness, — by George, I don't!"
and he swore an oath to corroborate his passionate assertion.
** Psha! " says Harry, *' I have plenty more of 'em. There was no
money in that confounded pocket-book which I lost last week."
"No, sir. There was no money!" says Mr. Sampson, dropping his
head.
"Hallo! How do you know, Mr. Chaplain?" asks the young
gentleman.
" I know because I am a villain, sir. I am not worthy of your kind-
ness. I told you so. I found the book, sir, that night, when you ha^
too much wine at Barbeau's." I
"And read the letters?" asked Mr. Warrington, starting up ant
turning very red. '
"They told me nothing I did not know, sir," said the Chaplai
" You have had spies about you whom you little suspect— fro
whom you are much too young and simple to be able to keep yo
secret."
I
THE YIRGIXIANS. 273
''Are those stories about Lady Fanny and my Cousin Will, and his
doings, true then ?" enquired Harry.
"Yes, they are true," sighed the Chaplain. *' The house of Castle-
wood has not been fortunate, sir, siuce your honour's branch, the elder
branch, left it."
" Sir, you don't dare for to breathe a word against my Lady Maria ?"
Harry cried out.
*'0, not for worlds! " says Mr. Sampson, with a queer look at his
young friend. " I may think she is too old for your honour, and that
'tis a pity you should not have a wife better suited to your age, though
I admit she looks very young for hers, and hath every virtue and
accomplishm ent. ' '
" She is too old, Sampson, I know she is," says Mr. AYarrington, with
much majesty ; "but she has my word, and you see, sir, how fond she is
of me. Go bring me the letters, sir, which you found, and let me try
and forgive you for having seized upon them."
" My benefactor, let me try and forgive myself! " cries Mr. Sampson,
and departed towards his chamber, leaving his young patron alone over
his wine.
Sampson returned presently, looking very pale. " What has hap-
pened, sir 1 " says Harry, with an imperious air.
The Chaplain held out a pocket-book. " With your name in it, sir,"
he said.
" My brother's name in it," says Harry ; ** it was George who gave it
to me."
"I kept it in a locked chest, sir, in which I left it this morning
before I was taken by those people. Here is the book, sir, but the
letters are gone. My trunk and valise have also been tampered with.
And I am a miserable, guUty man, unable to make you the restitution
which I owe you." Sampson looked the picture of woe as he uttered these
sentiments. He clasped his hands together, and almost knelt before
Harry in an attitude the most pathetic.
Who had been in the rooms in Mr. Sampson's and Mr. Warrington's
absence ? The landlady was ready to go on her knees, and declare that
.nobody had come in : nor, indeed, was Mr. Warrington's chamber in
the least disturbed, nor anything abstracted from Mr. Sampson's scanty
wardrobe and possessions, except those papers of which he deplored the
absence.
Whose interest was it to seize them? Lady Maria's? The poor
woman had been a prisoner all day, and during the time when the
capture was eiFected.
She certainly was guitless of the rape of the letters. The sudden
seizure of the two — Case, the house-steward's secret journey to London,
— Case, who knew the shoemaker at whose house Sampson lodged in
London, and all the secret affairs of the Esmond family, — these points
considered together and separately, might make Mr. Sampson think that
the Baroness Bernstein was at the bottom of this mischief. But wliy
T
274 THE VIRGmiANS.
arrest Lady Maria? The Chaplain knew nothing as yet about that
letter which her ladyship had lost ; for poor Maria had not thought it
necessary to confide her secret to him.
As for the pocket-hook and its contents, Mr. Harry was so swollen up
with self-satisfaction that evening, at winning his three bets, at rescuing
his two friends, at the capital cold supper of partridges and ancient
Burgundy which obsequious Monsieur Barbeau had sent over to the
young gentleman's lodgings, that he accepted Sampson's vows of con-
trition, and solemn promises of future fidelity, and reached his gracious
hand to the chaplain, and condoned his offence. When the latter swore
his great Gods, that henceforth he would be Harry's truest, humblest
friend and follower, and at any moment would be ready to die for Mr.
Warrington, Harry said, majestically, ** I think, Sampson, you would;
I hope you would. My family — the Esmond family — has always been
accustomed to have faithful friends round about 'em— and to reward 'em
too. The wine's with you, Chaplain. What toast do you call, sir ? "
'* I call a blessing on the house of Esmond- Warrington ! " cries the
Chaplain, with real tears in his eyes.
" We are the elder branch, sir. My grandfather was the Marquis of
Esmond," says Mr. Harry, in a voice noble but somewhat indistinct.
''Here's to you, chaplain — and I forgive you, sir— and God bless you,
sir — and if you had been took for three times as much, I'd have paid it.
Why, what's that I see through the shutters ? I am blest if the sun
hasn't risen again ! We have no need of candles to go to bed, ha, ha 1 "
And once more extending his blessing to his chaplain, the young fellow
went off to sleep.
About noon Madame de Bernstein sent over a servant to say that she
would be glad if her nephew would come over and drink a dish of choco-
late with her, whereupon our young friend rose and walked to his aunt's
lodgings. She remarked, not without pleasure, some^ alteration in his
toilette : in his brief sojourn in London he had visited a tailor or two,
and had been introduced by my Lord March to some of his lordship's
purveyors and tradesmen.
Aunt Bernstein called him " my dearest child," and thanked him for
his noble, his generous behaviour to dear Maria. What a shock that
seizure in church had been to her ! A still greater shock that she had
lost three hundred only on the Wednesday night to Lady Yarmouth,
and was quite a sec. " Why," said the baroness, "I had to send Case
to London to my agent to get me money to pay — I could not leave
Tunbridge in her debt."
** So Case did go to London ?" says Mr. Harry.
'* Of course he did: the Baroness de Bernstein can't afford to say she
wants money. Canst thou lend me some, child ? "
" I can give your ladyship twenty-two pounds," said Harry, blushing
very red : "I have but forty-four left till I get my Virginian remittances.
I have bought horses and clothes, and been very extravagant, aunt."
" And rescued your poor relations in distress, you prodigal good boy.
THE YIEGIXIAXS. 275
Iso, child, I do not want thy money. I can give thee some. Here is a
note upon my a^ent for fifty pounds, vaiirien ! Go and spend it, and b?
merry ! I daresay thy mother will repay me, though she does not lova
me." And she looked quite afiectionate, and held out a pretty hand,
which the youth kissed.
** Your mother did not love me, but your mother's father did oncew
Mind, sir, you always come to me when you have need of me."
I When bent on exhibiting them, nothing could exceed Beatrix Bern-
stein's grace or good-humour. "I can't help loving you, child," she
.continued, " and yet I am so angry with you that I have scarce the
patience to speak to you. So you have actually engaged yourself to
poor Maria who is as old as your mother ? "What will Madam Esmond
say ? She may live these hundred years and you will not have where-
withal to support yourselves."
"I have ten thousand pounds from my father, of my own, now my
poor brother is gone," said Harry, ''that will go some way."
" Why, the interest will not keep you in card-money."
** We must give up cards," says Harry.
"It is more than Maria is capable of. She will pawn the coat off
your back to play. The rage for it runs in all my brother's family — in
me, too, I own it. I warned you. I prayed you not to play with them,
and now a lad of twenty to engage himself to a woman of forty-two !
— to write letters on his knees and signed with his heart's blood (which
he speUs like hartshorn) and say that he will marry no other womai,^
than his adorable cousin. Lady !Maria Esmond. ! it's cruel — cruel ! '*
*' Great heavens ! Madam, who showed you my letter ?" asked Harry^
burning with a blush again.
" An accident. She fainted when she was taken by those bailiffs*
Brett cut her laces for her ; and when she was carried off, poor thing,
we found a little sachet on the floor, which I opened, not knowing, la
the least, what it contained. And in it was Mr. Harry Warrington's
precious letter. And here, sir, is the case."
A pang shot through Harry's heart. Great heavens! why didn't she
destroy it ? he thought.
" I — I will give it back to Maria," he said, stretching out his hand for
the little locket.
" My dear, I have burned the foolish letter," said the old lady. ** If
you choose to betray me I must take the consequence. If you choose to
write another, I cannot help thee. But, in that case, Harry Esmond, I
had rather never see thee again. Will you keep my secret ? Will you
believe an old woman who loves you and knows the world better than
you do ? I tell you, if you keep that foolish promise, misery and ruin
are surely in store for you. What is a lad like you in the hands of a
wily woman of the world, who makes a toy of you ? She has entrapped
you into a promise, and your old aunt has cut the strings and set you
free. Go back again ! Betray me if you will, Harry."
" I am not angry with you, aunt — I wish I were," said Mr. War-
T 2
276 THE VIRGINIAXS.
rington, with very great emotion. "I— I shall not repeat what you
told me."
*' Maria never will, child — mark my words!" cried the old lady,
eagerly. ' ' She will never own that she has lost that paper. She will
tell you that she has it."
" But I am sure she — she is very fond of me ; you should have seen
her last night," faltered Harry.
"Must I tell more stories against my own flesh and blood?" sobs
out the Baroness. " Child, you do not know her past life !"
** And I must not, and I will not!" cries Harry, starting up.
** "Written or said — it does not matter which ! But my word is given ;
they may play with such things in England, but we gentlemen of
Virginia don't break 'em. If she holds me to my word, she shall have
me. If we are miserable, as, I daresay, we shall be, I'll take a firelock,
and go join the King of Prussia, or let a ball put an end to me."
**I — I have no more to say. Will you be. pleased to ring that bell?
I — I wish you a good morning, Mr. Warrington," and, dropping a very
stately curtsey, the old lady rose on her tortoiseshell stick, and turned
towards the door. But, as she made her first step, she put her hand to
her heart, sank on the sofa again, and shed the first tears that had
dropped for long years from Beatrix Esmond's eyes.
Harry was greatly moved, too. He knelt down by her. He seized
her cold hand, and kissed it. He told her, in his artless way, how very
keenly he had felt her love for him, and how, with all his heart, he
returned it. *' Ah, aunt I " said he, '' you don't know what a villain
I feel myself. When you told me, just now, how that paper was
burned — ! I was ashamed to think how glad I was." He bowed his
comely head over her hand. She felt hot drops from his eyes raining on
it. She had loved this boy. For half a century past — never, perhaps,
in the course of her whole worldly life — had she felt a sensation so tender
and so pure. The hard heart was wounded now, softened, overcome.
She put her two hands on his shoulders, and lightly kissed his forehead.
** You will not tell her what I have done, child 1 " she said.
He declared never ! never ! And demure Mrs. Brett, entering at her
mistress's summons, found the nephew and aunt in this sentimental
attitude.
CHAPTER XL.
IN WHICH HAERY PAYS OFF AI^ OLD DEBT, AND INCITES SOME NEW ONES.
OuE Tunbridge friends were now weary of the Wells, and eager to
take their departure. When the autumn should arrive, Bath was
Madame de Bernstein's mark. There were more cards, corapan}-, life,
THE VIRGINIANS.
r
there. She would reach it after paying a few visits to her country
friends. Harry promised, with rather a bad grace, to ride with Lady
Maria and the Chaplain to Castlewood. Again they passed by Oakhurst
village, and the hospitable house where Harry had been so kindly enter-
tained. Maria made so many keen remarks about the young ladies of
Oakhurst, and their setting their caps at Harry, and the mother's
evident desire to catch him for one of them, that, somewhat in a pet,
Mr. Warrington said he would pass his friend's door, as her ladyship
disliked and abused them ; and was very haughty and sulky that even-
ing at the inn where they stopped, some fe v miles further on the road.
At supper, my Lady Maria's smiles bioujht no corresponding good
humour to Harry's face ; her tears (which her ladyship had at command)
did not seem to create the least sympathy from Mr. Warrington ; to her
querulous remarks he growled a surly reply ; and my lady was obliged
to go to bed at length without getting a single tete-a-tete with her
cousin, — that obstinate Chaplain, as if by order, persisting in staying in
the room. Had Hairy given Sampson orders to remain ? She departed
with a sigh. He bowed her to the door with an obstinate politeness,
and consigned her to the care of the landlady and her maid.
What horse was that which galloped out of the inn yard ten minutes
after Lady Maria had gone to her chamber ? An hour after her depar-
ture from their supper-room, Mrs. Betty came in for her lady's bottle of
smelling-salts, and found Parson Sampson smoking a pipe alone. Mr.
Warrington was gone to bed — was gone to fetch a walk in the moonlight
— how should he know where Mr. Harry was ? Sampson answered, in
reply to the maid's interrogatories. Mr. Warrington was ready to set
forward the next morning, and took his place by the side of Lady Maria's
carriage. But his brow was black — the dark spirit was still on him.
He hardly spoke to her during the journey. '' Great Heavens ! she must
have told him that she stole it ! " thought Lady Maria within her own
mind.
The fact is, that, as they were walking up that steep hill which lies
about three miles from Oakhurst, on the Westerham road. Lady Maria
Esmond, leaning on her fond youth's arm, and indeed very much in love
with him, had warbled into his ear the most sentimental vows, protests,
and expressions of afiection. As she grew fonder, he grew colder. As
she looked up in his face, the sun shone down upon hers, which, fresh
and well preserved as it was, yet showed some of the lines and wrinkles
of two score years ; and poor Harry, with that arm leaning on his, felt
it intolerably weighty, and by no means relished his walk up the hill.
To think that all his life that drag was to be upon him ! It was a dreary
look forward ; and he cursed the moonlight walk, and the hot evening,
and the hot wine which had made him give that silly pledge by which
he was fatally bound.
Maria's praises and raptures annoyed Harry beyond measure. The
poor thing poured out scraps of the few plays which she knew, that had
reference to her case, and strove with her utmost power to charm her
273 THE YIEGINIANS.
Toun* companion. She called him, over and over again, her champion,
her Enrico, her preserver, and vowed that his Molinda would be ever,
ever faithful to him. She clung to him. " Ah, child ! Have I not thy
precious image, thy precious hair, thy precious writing here ?" she said,
looking in his face. ** Shall it not go with me to the grave ? It would,
sir, were I to meet with unkindness from my Enrico ! " she sighed out.
Here was a strange story ! Madam Bernstein had given him the little
silken case— she had burned the hair and the note which the case con-
tained, and Maria had it still on her heart ! It was then, at the start
which Harry gave, as she was leaning on his arm, — at the sudden move-
ment as if he would drop hers — that Lady Maria felt her first pang of
remorse that she had told a fib, or rather, that she was found out in
telling a fib, which is a far more cogent reason for repentance. Heaven
help us ! if some people were to do penance for telling lies, would they
ever be out of sackcloth and ashes ?
Arrived at Castlewood, Mr. Harry's good humour was not increased.
My lord was from home ; the ladies also were away ; the only member
of the family whom Harry found, was Mr. Will, who returned from
partridge-shooting just as the chaise and cavalcade reached the gate, and
who turned very pale when he saw his cousin, and received a sulky scowl
of recognition from the young Virginian.
Nevertheless, he thought to put a good face on the matter, and they
met at supper, where, before my Lady Maria, their conversation was at
first civil, but not lively. Mr. Will had been to some races ? to several.
He had beon pretty successful in his bets ? Mr. Warrington hopes.
Pretty well. " And you have brought back my horse sound ?" asked
Mr. Warrington.
" Your horse ? what horse ?" asked Mr. V/ill.
"What horse? my horse!" says Mr. Harry, curtly,
" Protest I don't understand you," says Will.
" The brown horse for which I played you, and which I won of yon
the night before you rode away upon it," says Mr. Warrington, sternly.
" You remember the horse, Mr. Esmond."
" Mr. Warrington, I perfectly well remember playing you for a horse,
which my servant handed over to you on the day of your departure."
"The Chaplain was present at our play. Mr. Sampson, will you be
umpire between us?" Mr. Warrington said, with much gentleness.
"I am bound to decide that Mr. Warrington played for the brown
horse," says Mr. Sampson.
"Well, he got the other one," said sulky Itlr. Will, with a grin.
"And sold it for thirty shillings !" said Mr. Warrington, always
preserving his calm tone.
Will was waggish. " Thirty shillings, and a devilish good price too,
for the broken-kneed old rip. Ha, ha ! "
" Not a word more. 'Tis only a question about a bet, my dear Lady
Maria. Shall I serve you some more chicken?" Nothing could be more
studiously courteous and gay than Mr. Warrington was, so long as the
THE YIRGimAXS. 279
lady remained in the room. "When she rose to go, Harry followed her to
the door, and closed it upon her with the most courtly how of farewell.
He stood at the closed door for a moment, and then he bade the servants
retire. When those menials were gone, Mr. "Warrington locked the
heavy door before them, and pocketed the key.
As it clicked in the lock, Mr. Will, who had been sitting over his
punch, looking now and then askance at his cousin, asked, with oho of
the oaths which commonly garnished his conversation, what the •
Mr. Warrington meant by that ?
" I guess there's going to be a quarrel," said Mr. Warrington, blandly,
" and there is no use in having these fellows look on at rows between
their betters."
'* Who is going to quarrel here, I should like to know ? " asked Will,
looking very pale, and grasping a knife.
"Mr. Sampson, you were present ■when I played Mr. Will fifty
guineas against his brown horse."
" Against his horse I " bawls out Mr. Will.
**I am not such a fool as you take me for," says Mr. Warrington,
" although I do come from Virginia ! " and he repeated his question :
*'Mr. Sampson, you were here when I played the Honourable William
Esmond, Esquire, fifty guineas against his brown horse ?"
" I must own it, sir," says the Chaplain, with a deprecatory look
towards his lord's brother.
*' 7 don't own no such a thing," says Mr. Will, with rather a forced
laugh.
"ITo, sir: because it costs you no more pains to lie than to cheat,"
said Mr. Warrington, walking up to his cousin. " Hands oft, Mr.
Chaplain, and see fair play ! Because you are no better than a —
ha!"
Xo better than a what we can't say, and shall never know, for as
Harry uttered the exclamation, his dear cousin flung a wine bottle at
Mr. Warrington's head, who bobbed just in time, so that the missile
flew across the room, and broke against the wainscot opposite, breaking
the face of a pictured ancestor of the Esmond family, and then itself
against the wall, whence it spirted a pint of good port wine over the
Chaplain's face, and floured wig. "Great heavens, gentlemen, I pray
you to be quiet," cried the parson, dripping with gore.
But gentlemen are not inclined at some moments to remember the
commands of the church. The bottle having failed, Mr. Esmond seized
the large silver-handled knife and drove at his cousin. But Harry
caught up the other's right hand with his left as he had seen the boxers
do at Marybone ; and delivered a rapid blow upon Mr. " Esmond's nose,
which sent him reeling up against the oak panels, and I daresay
caused him to see ten thousand illuminations. He dropped his knife
in his retreat against the wall, which his rapid antagonist kicked under
the table.
Inow Will, too, had been at Marybone and Hoekley-in-the-HoIe, and
280 THE YIEGINIANS.
after a gasp for breath and a glare over his bleeding nose at his enemy,
he dashed forward his head as though it had been a battering ram
intending to project it into Mr. Henry "Warrington's stomach.
This manoeuvre Harry had seen, too, on his visit to Marybone, and
amongst the negroes upon the maternal estate, who would meet in
combat like two concutient cannon-balls, each harder than the other.
But Harry had seen and marked the civilised practice of the white man.
He skipped aside, and, saluting his advancing enemy with a tremendous
blow on the right ear, felled him, so that he struck his head against the
heavy oak table and sank lifeless to the ground.
'* Chaplain, you will bear witness that it has been a fair fight!"
said Mr. Warrington, still quivering with the excitement of the com-
bat, but striving with all his might to restrain himself and look cool.
And he drew the key from his pocket and opened the door in the
lobby, behind which three or four servants were gathered. A crash
of broken glass, a cry, a shout, an oath or two, had told them that
some violent scene was occurring within, and they entered, and be-
hold two victims bedabbled with red — the Chaplain bleeding port wine,
and the Honourable William Esmond, Esquire, stretched in his own
gore.
" Mr. Sampson will bear witness that I struck fair, and that Mr.
Esmond hit the first blow," said Mr. Warrington. " Undo his neck-
cloth, somebody, he may be dead ; and get a fleam. Sambo, and bleed
him. Stop ! He is coming to himself ! Lift him up, you, and tell a
maid to wash the floor."
Indeed, in a minute Mr. Will did come to himself. First his eyes
rolled about, or rather, I am ashamed to say, his eye, one having been
closed by Mr. AVarrington's first blow. First, then, his eye rolled about ;
then he gasped and uttered an inarticulate moan or two, then he began
to swear and curse very freely and articulately.
** He is getting well," said Mr. Warrington.
" praise be Mussy ! " sighs the sentimental Betty.
"Ask him, Gumbo, whether he would like any more?" said Mr.
Warrington, with a stern humour.
*' Massa Harry say, wool you like any maw ? " asked obedient Gumbo,
bowing over the prostrate gentleman.
*' No, curse you, you black devil ?" says Mr. Will, hitting up at the
black object before him. "So he nearly cut my tongue in tu in my
mouf!" Gumbo explained to the pitying Betty. "No, that is, yes!
You infernal Mohock ! Why does not somebody kick him out of the
place?"
" Because nobody dares, Mr. Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, with
great state, arranging his ruffles — his ruffled ruffles.
" And nobody won't neither," growled the men. They had all grown
to love Harry, whereas Mr. Will had nobody's good word. " We know
all's fair, sir. It ain't the first time Master William have been served
sol"
THE VIRGINIAXS. 281
*' And I hope it won't be the last," cries shrill Betty, " to go for to
strike a poor black gentleman so ! "
Mr. Will had gathered himself up by this time, had wiped his bleeding
face with a napkin, and was skulking off to bed.
*' Surely it's manners to say good-night to the company. Good-night,
Mr, Esmond," says Mr. "Warrington, whose jokes, though few, were not
very brilliant, but the honest lad relished the brilliant sally, and laughed
at it inwardly.
** He's ad his zopper, and he goos to baid !" says Betty, in her native
dialect, at which everybody laughed outright, except Mr. William, who
went away leaving a black fume of curses, as it were, rolling out of that
funnel, his mouth.
It must be owned that Mr. Warrington continued to be witty the
next morning. He sent a note to Mr. Will begging to know whether he
was for a ride to town or anyioheres else. If he was for London, that he
would friten the highwaymen on Hounslow Heath, and look a very
genteel Jigar at the CJiocolate House. Which letter, I fear, Mr. Will
received with his usual violence, requesting the writer to go to some
place — not Hounslow.
And, besides the parley between Will and Harry, there comes a
maiden simpering to Mr. Warrington's door, and Gumbo advances,
holding something white and triangular in his ebon fingers.
Harry knew what it was well enough. " Of course it's a letter,"
groans he. Molinda greets her Enrico, &c. &c. «S;c. No sleep has she
known that night, and so forth, and so forth, and so forth. Has Enrico
slept well in the halls of his fathers ? und so weiter, und so weiter. He
must never never quaril and be so cruel again. Kai ta loipa. And I
protest I shan't quote any more of this letter. Ah, tablets, golden once,
— are ye now faded leaves ? Where is the juggler who transmuted you,
and why is the glamour over ?
After the little scandal with Cousin Will, Harry's dignity would not
allow him to stay longer at Castlewood : he wrote a majestic letter to
the lord of the mansion, explaining the circumstances which had oc-
curred, and, as he called in Parson Sampson to supervise the document,
no doubt it contained none of those eccentricities in spelling which
figured in his ordinary correspondence at this period. He represented to
poor Maria, that after blackening the eye and damaging the nose of a
son of the house, he should remain in it with a very bad grace ; and she
was forced to acquiesce in the opinion that, for the present, his absence
would best become him. Of course, she wept plentiful tears at parting
with him. He would go to London, and see younger beauties : he would
find none, none who would love him like his fond Maria. I fear Mr.
Warrington did not exhibit any profound emotion on leaving her : nay,
he cheered up immediately after he crossed Castlewood Bridge, and
made his horses whisk over the road at ten miles an hour : he sang to
them to go along : he nodded to the pretty girls by the roadside : he
chucked my landlady under the chin : he certainly was not inconsolable.
2S2 THE YIEGINIAXS.
Truth is, he longed to be back in London again, to make a figure at St.
James's, at Newmarket, wherever the men of fashion congregated. All
that pretty Tunbridge society of women and card-playing seemed child's
play to him now he had tasted the delight of London life.
By the time he reached London again, almost all the four-and-forty
pounds which we have seen that he possessed at Tunbridge had slipped
out of his pocket, and farther supplies were necessary. Ilegarding
these he made himself presently easy. There were the two sums of
£5,000 in his own and his brother's name, of which he was the master.
He would take up a little money, and with a run or two of good luck at
play he could easily replace it. Meantime he must liv6 in a manner
becoming his station, and it must be explained to Madam Esmond that
a gentleman of his rank cannot keep fitting company, and appear as
becomes him in society, upon a miserable pittance of two hundred
a-year.
Mr. Warrington sojourned at the Bedford Cofiee House as before,
but only for a short while. He sought out proper lodgings at the
court end of the Town, and fixed on some apartments in Bond Street,
where he and Gumbo installed themselves, his horses standing at a
neighbouring livery stable. And now tailors, mercers, and shoemakers
were put in requisition. Not without a pang of remorse, he laid aside
his mourning and figured in a laced hat and waistcoat. Gumbo was
always dexterous in the art of dressing hair, and with a little powder
fiung into his fair locks Mr. "Warrington's head was as modish as that
of any gentleman in the Mall. He figured in the Ring in his
phaeton. Reports of his great wealth had long since preceded him to
London, and not a little curiosity was excited about the fortunate
Yirginian.
Until our young friend could be balloted for at the proper season, my
Lord March has written down his name for the club at White's Chocolate
House, as a distinguished gentleman from America. There were as yet
but few persons of fashion in London, but with a pocket full of money
at one and twenty, a young fellow can make himself happy even out of
the season ; and Mr. Harry was determined to enjoy.
He ordered Mr. Draper, then, to sell five hundred pounds of his stock.
What would his poor mother have said had she known that the young
spendthrift was already beginning to dissipate his patrimony? Ho
dined at the tavern, he supped at the Club, where Jack Morris intro-
duced him, with immense euiogiums, to such gentlemen as were in town.
Life and youth, and pleasure were before him, the wine was set a
running, and the eager lad was greedy to drink. Do yoii see, far away
in the west, yonder, the pious widow at her prayers for her son ? Be-
hind the trees at Oakhurst a tender little heart, too, is beating for himj
perhaps. When the Prodigal Son was away carousing, were not love
and forgiveness still on the watch for hiin ?
Amongst the inedited letters of the late Lord Orford, there is ona
THE VIEGINIANS. 283
which the present learned editor, Mr. Peter Cunningham, has omitted
from his collection, doubting possibly the authenticity of the document.
Nay, I myself have only seen a copy of it in the Warrington papers in
Madam Esmond's prim handwriting, and noted " Mr. II. WalpoWs
account of my son Henry at London^ and of Baroness Tushery — wrote to
Genl. ConwayJ^
** Aklixgton Street. Friday night,
" I have come away, child, for a day or two from my devotions to
our Lady of Strawberry. Have I not been on my knees to her these
three weeks, and aren't the poor old joints full of rheumatism ? A fit
took me that I would pay London a visit, that I would go to Vauxhall
and Ranelagh. Quoi ! May I not have my rattle as well as other elderly
babies ? Suppose, after being so long virtuous, I take a fancy to cakes
and ale, shall your reverence say nay to me ? George Selwyn and
Tony Storer and your humble servant took boat at Westminster t'other
night. Was it Tuesday ? — no, Tuesday I was with their Graces of
Norfolk, who are just from Tunbridge — it was Wednesday. How should
I know ? Wasn't I dead drunk with a whole pint of lemonade I took at
White's?
" The Norfolk folk had been entertaining me on Tuesday with the
account of a young savage Iroquois, Choctaw, or Virginian, who has
lately been making a little noise in our quarter of the globe. He is an
ofi'shoot of that disreputable family of Esmond-Castlewood, of whom all
the men are gamblers and spendthrifts, and all the women — well, I
shan't say the word, lest Lady Ailesbury should be looking over your
shoulder. Both the late lords, my father told me, were in his pay, and
the last one, a beau of Queen Anne's reign, from a viscount advanced to
be an earl through the merits and intercession of his notorious old sister
Bernstein, late Tusher, nee Esmond — a great beauty, too, of her day,
a favourite of the old Pretender. She sold his secrets to my papa, who
paid her for them ; and being nowise particular in her love for the
Stuarts, came over to the august Hanoverian house at present reigning
over us. * Will Horace Walpole's tongue never stop scandal ? ' says
your wife over your shoulder. I kiss your ladyship's hand. I am
dumb. The Bernstein is a model of virtue. She had no good reasons
for marrying her father's chaplain. Many of the nobility omit the
marriage altogether. She was7i't ashamed of being Mrs. Tusher, and
didn't take a German Baroncino for a second husband, whom nobody
out of Hanover ever saw. The Yarmouth bears no malice. Esther and
Vashti are very good friends, and have been cheating each other at
Tunbridge at cards all the summer.
" ' And what has all this to do with the Iroquois ? * says your lady-
ship. The Iroquois has been at Tunbridge, too — not cheating, perhapSj,
but winning vastly. They say he has bled Lord March of thousands —
Lord March, by whom so much blood hath been shed, that he has
quarrelled with everybody, fought with everybody, rode over every-
284 THE VIRGINIANS.
body, been fallen in love with by everybody's wife except Mr. Conway's,
and not excepting her present Majesty, the Countess of England, Scot-
land, France, and Ireland, Q,ueen of Walmoden and Yarmouth, whom
Heaven preserve to us.
**You know an offensive little creature, de par le monde one Jack
Morris, who skips in and out of all the houses of London. "When we
were at Yauxhall, Mr. Jack gave us a nod under the shoulder of a
pretty young fellow enough, on whose arm he was leaning, and who
appeared hugely delighted with the enchantments of the garden.
Lord, how he stared at the fireworks! Gods, how he huzzayed at
the singing of a horrible painted wench who shrieked the ears off
my head ! A twopenny string of glass beads and a strip of tawdry
cloth are treasures in Iroquois land, and our. savage valued them
accordingly.
"A buzz went about the place that this was the fortunate youth.
He won three hundred at White's last night very genteelly from Kock-
ingham and my precious nephew, and here he was bellowing and
huzzaying over the music so as to do you good to hear. I do not love
a puppet-show, but I love to treat children to one. Miss Conway ! I
present your ladyship my compliments, and hope we shall go and see
the dolls together.
" When the singing woman came down from her throne, Jack Morris
must introduce my Yirginian to her. I saw him blush up to the eyes,
and make her, upon my word, a very fine bow, such as I had no idea
was practised in wigwams. * There is a certain jemiy squaiv about her,
and that's why the savage likes her,' George said — a joke certainly not
as brilliant as a firework. After which it seemed to me that the savage
and the savagess retired together.
** Having had a great deal too much to eat and drink three hours
before, my partners must have chicken and rack-punch at Yauxhall,
where George fell asleep straightway, and for my sins I must tell Tony
Storer what I knew about this Yirginian's amiable family, especially
some of the Bernstein's antecedents, and the history of another elderly
beauty of the family, a certain Lady Maria, who was au mieux with
the late Prince of Wales. What did I say? I protest not half of what
I knew, and of course not a tenth part of what I was going to tell, for
who should start out upon us but my savage, this time quite red in the
face ; and in his war-paint. The wretch had been drinking fire-water
in the next box !
'* He cocked his hat, clapped his hand to his sword, asked which of
the gentlemen was it that was maligning his family ? so that^>'was
obliged to entreat him not to make such a noise, lest he should wake
my friend Mr. George Selwyn. And I added, * I assure you, sir, I
had no idea that you were near me, and I most sincerely apologise for
giving you pain.'
" The Huron took his hand off his tomahawk at this pacific rejoinder,
made a bow not ungraciously, said he could not, of course, ask more
THE VIRGIXIANS. 285
than an apology from a gentleman of my age [Merci, 3Ionsieur !), and,
hearing the name of Mr. Selwyn, made another how to George, and
said he had a letter to him from Lord March, which he had had the
ill-fortune to mislay. George has put him up for the club, it appears,
in conjunction with March, and no douht these three lambs will fleece
each other. Meanwhile, my pacified savage sate down with us, and
buried the hatchet in another bowl of punch, for which these gentlemen
must call. Heaven help us ! 'Tis eleven o'clock, and here comes
Bedson with my gruel ! H. "W.
" To the Honbie. h. S. Conway."
CHAPTEE XLT.
bake's peogbess.
People were still very busy in Harry Warrington's time (not that
our young gentleman took much heed of the controversy) in determin-
ing the relative literary merits of the ancients and the moderns ; and
the learned, and the world with them, indeed, pretty generally pro-
nounced in favour of the former. The moderns of that day are the
ancients of ours, and we speculate upon them in the present year of
grace, as our grand-children, a hundred years hence, will give their
judgment about us. As for your book-learning, respectable ances-
tors (though, to be sure, you have the mighty Gibbon with you), I
think you will own that you are beaten, and could point to a couple of
professors at Cambridge and Glasgow who know more Greek than was
to be had in your time in all the universities of Europe, including that
of Athens, if such an one existed. As for science, you were scarce
more advanced than those Heathen to whom in literature you owned
yourselves inferior. And in public and private morality ? Which is
the better, this actual year 1858, or its predecessor a century back?
Gentlemen of Mr. Disraeli's House of Commons ! has every one of you
his price, as in Walpole's or Newcastle's time, — or (and that is the
delicate question) have you almost all of you had it ? Ladies, I do not
say that you are a society of Vestals — but the chronicle of a hundred
years since contains such an amount of scandal, that you may be
thankful you did not live in such dangerous times. No : on my
conscience I believe that men and women are both better ; not only
that the Susannahs are more numerous, but that the Elders are not
nearly so wicked. Did you ever hear of such books as "Clarissa,"
"Tom Jones," " Roderick Random ; '* paintings by contemporary
artists, of the men and women, the life and society, of their day?
Suppose we were to describe the doings of such a person as Mr. Lovelace,
286 THE VIRGINIANS.
or my Lady Bellaston, or that wonderful " Lady of Quality" wlio lent
her memoirs to the author of *' Peregrine Piekie." How the pure and
outraged Nineteenth Century would blush, scream, run out of the room,
call away the young ladies, and order Mr. Mudie never to send one of
that odious author's hooks again ! You are fifty-eight years old,
madam, and it may be that you are too squeamish, that you cry out
before you are hurt, and when nobody had any intention of offending
your ladyship. Also, it may be that the novelist's art is injured by the
restraints put upon him, as many an honest, harmless statue at St.
Peter's and the Yatican is spoilt by the tin draperies in which eccle-
siastical old women have swaddled the fair limbs of the marble. But
in your prudery there is reason. So there is in the state censorship of
the Press. The page may contain matter dangerous to boiios mores.
Out with your scissors, censor, and clip off the prurient paragraph !
We have nothing for it but to submit. Society, the despot, has given
his imperial decree. We may think the statue had been seen to
greater advantage without the tin drapery ; we may plead that the
moral were better might we recite the whole fable. Away with him —
not a word ! I never saw the piano-fortes in the United States with
the frilled muslin trousers on their legs ; but, depend on it, the muslin
covered some of the notes as well as the mahogany, muffled the music,
and stopped the player.
To what does this prelude introduce us ? I am thinking of Harry
Warrington, Esquire, in his lodgings in Bond Street, London, and of
the life which he and many of the young bucks of fashion led in those
times, and how I can no more take my fair young reader into them,
than Lady Squeams can take her daughter to Cremorne Gardens on
an ordinary evening. My dear Miss Diana (Psha ! I know you are
eight and thirty, although you are so wonderfully shy, and want to
make us believe you have just left off school-room dinners and a
pinafore), when your grandfather was a young man about town, and a
member of one of the clubs at White's, and dined at Pontac's off the
feasts provided by Braund and Lebeck, and rode to Newmarket with
March and Rockingham, and toasted the best in England with Gilly
Williams and George Selwyn (and didnH understand George's jokes, of
"which, indeed, the flavour has very much evaporated since the bottling)
■ — the old gentleman led a life of which your noble aunt (author of
^* Legends of the Squeamses ; or, Fair Fruits off a Family Tree,") has
not given you the slightest idea.
It was before your grandmother adopted those serious views for which
sKe was distinguished during her last long residence at Bath, and after
Colonel Tibbalt married Miss Lye, the rich soap-boiler's heiress, that her
ladyship's wild oats were sown. When she was young, she was as
giddy as the rest of the genteel world. At her house in Hill Street,
she had ten card-tables on Wednesdays and Sunday evenings, except
for a short time when Eanelagh was open on Sundays. Every night of
her life she gambled for eight, nine, ten hours. Everybody else in
THE VIEGINIAXS. 2S7
Boeiety did the like. She lost ; she won ; she cheated ; she pawnod her
jewels ; who knows what else she was not ready to pawn, so as to find
funds to supply her fury for play ? Yf hat was that after-supper duel at
the Shakespeare's Head in Covent Garden, between your grandfather
and Colonel Tibbalt : where they drew swords and engaged only in the
presence of Sir John Screwby, who was drunk under the table ? They
were interrupted by Mr. John Fielding's people, and your grandfather
was carried home to Hill Street wounded in a chair. I tell you those
gentlemen in powder and rufEes, who turned out the toes of their buckled
pumps so delicately, were terrible fellows. Swords were perpetually
being drawn ; bottles after bottles were drunk ; oaths roared unceasingly
in conversation ; tavern-drawers and watchmen were pinked and maimed ;
chairmen belaboured ; citizens insulted by reeling pleasure hunters.
You have been to Cremorne with proper ** vouchers" of course ? Do you
remember our great theatres thirty years ago ? You were too good to
go to a play. "Well, you have no idea what the play-houses were, or
what the green boxes were, when Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard were play-
ing before them ! And I, for my children's sake, thank that good Aclor
in his retirement who was the first to banish that shame from the theatre.
No, madam, you are mistaken ; I do not plume myself on my superior
virtue. I do not say you are naturally better than your ancestress in
her wild, rouged, gambling, flaring, tearing days; or even than poor
Polly Fogle, who is just taken up for shoplifting, and would have been
hung for it a hundred years ago. Only, I am heartily thankful that my
temptations are less, having quite enough to do with those of the present
century.
So, if Harry "Warrington rides down to Newmarket to the October
meeting, and loses or wins his money there ; if he makes one of a party
at the Shakespeare or the Bedford Head ; if he dines at "White's ordi-
nary, and sits down to Macco and Lansq[uenet afterwards ; if he boxes
the watch, and makes his appearance at the Eoundhouse ; if he turns
out for a short space a wild, dissipated, harum-scarum young Harry
"Warrington ; I, knowing the weakness of human nature, am not going
to be surprised ; and, quite aware of my own short-comings, don't intend
to be very savage at my neighbour's. Mr. Sampson was : in his chapel
in Long Acre he whipped Vice tremendously ; gave Sin no quarter ; out-
cursed Blasphemy with superior anathemas ; knocked Drunkenness down,
and trampled on the prostrate brute wallowing in the gutter ; dragged
out conjugal Infidelity, and pounded her with endless stones of rhetoric — ,
and, after service, came to dinner at the Star and Garter, made a bowl ■
of puEch for Harry and his friends at the Bedford Head, or took*a hand
at whist at Mr. "Warrington's lodgings, or my Lord March's, or wherever
there was a supper and good company for him. ^
I often think, however, in respect of Mr. "Warrington's doings at this
period of his coming to London, that I may have taken my usual de-
grading and uncharitable views of him — for, you see, I have not uttered
a single word of virtuous indignation against his conduct, and, if it was
288 THE VIRGINIANS.
not reprehensible, have certainly judged him most cruelly. the
Truthful, the Beautiful, Modesty, Benevolence, Pudor,
Mores, Blushing Shame, Namby Pamby — each with your respective
capital letters to your honoured names! Niminy, Piminy! how
shall I dare for to go for to say that a young man ever was a young
man ?
No doubt, dear young lady, I am calumniating Mr. "Warrington,
according to my heartless custom. As a proof, here is a letter out of
the Warrington collection, from Harry to his mother, in. which there is
not a single word that would lead you to suppose he was leading a wild
life. And such a letter from an only son, to a fond and exemplary
parent, we know must be true !
Bond Street, London, October 25, 1756.
HoNOED Madam,
I TAKE up my pen to acknowledge your honored favor of
10 July, per Lively Virginia packet, which has duly come to hand, for-
warded by our Bristol agent, and rejoice to hear that the prospect of the
crops is so good. 'Tis TuUy who says that agriculture is the noblest
pursuit ; how delightful when that pursuit is also prophetable !
Since my last, dated from Tunbridge Wells, one or two insadetice
have occurred of which it is nessasery* I should advise my honored
Mother. Our party there broke up end of August : the partridge shoot-
ing commencing. Baroness Bernstein, whose kindness to me has been
most invariable, has been to Bath, her usual winter resort, and has
made me a welcome present of a fifty pound bill. I rode back with
Eev. Mr. Sampson, whose instruction I find most valluble, and my cousin
Lady Maria, to Castlewood.f I paid a flying visit on the way to my
dear kind frends Col. and Mrs. Lambert, Oakhurst House, who send my
honored mother their most afi'ectionate remembrances. The youngest
Miss Lambert, I grieve to say, was dellicate ; and her parents in some
anxiety.
At Castlewood I lament to state my stay was short, owing to a quarrel
with my cousin William. He is a young man of violent passions,
and alas ! addicted to liquor, when he has no controul over them. In
a trifling dispute about a horse, high words arose between us, and he
aymed a blow at me or its equivulent — which my Grandfathers my
honored mothers child could not brook. I rejoyned, and feld him to the
ground, whents he was carried almost sencelis to bed. I sent to enquire
after his health in the morning : but having no further news of him,
came away to London where I have been ever since with brief intavles of
absence.
* This word h'hs been rnwoh operated upon with the penknife, but is left sic, no
doubt to the writer's satisfaction.
t Could Pursou Sampson have been dictating the abore remarks to Mr.
Warrington ?
THE VIRGINIANS. 289
Knowing you would wish me to see my dear Grandfathers University
of Cambridge, I rode thither lately in company with some friends, pass-
ing through some part of Harts, and lying at the famous bed of Ware.
The October meeting was just begun at Cambridge when I went. I saw
the students in their gownds and capps, and rode over to the famous
Newmarket Heath, where there happened to be some races — my friend
Lord Marchs horse Marrowbones by Cleaver coming off winner of a large
steaJc. It was an amusing day — the jockeys, horses, &c., very different
to our poor races at home — the betting awful — the richest nobleman here
mix with the jox, and bett all round. Cambridge pleased me : especially
King's College Chapel, of a rich but elegant Gothick.
I have been out into the world, and am made member of the Club at
White's, where I meet gentlemen of the first fashion. My lords Rock-
ingham, Carlisle, Orford, Bolingbroke, Coventry are of my friends,
introduced to me by my Lord March, of whom I have often wrote before.
Lady Coventry is a fine woman, but thinn. Every lady paints here, old
and young; so, if you and Mountain and Fanny wish to be infasliiony
I must send you out some rooge-pots: everybody plays — eight, ten, card-
tables at every house on every receiving night. I am sorry to say all do
not play fair, and some do not pay fair. I have been obliged to sit down,
and do as Home does, and have actually seen ladies whom I could name
take my counters from before my face !
One day, his regiment the 20th, being paraded in St. James's Park, a
friend of mine, Mr. Wolfe, did me the honour to present me to His Royal
Highness the Captain-General, who was most gracious ; a fat jolly Prince,
if I may speak so without disrespect, reminding me in his manner of
that unhappy General Braddock, whom we knew to our sorrow last year.
When he heard my name, and how dearest George had served and fallen
in Braddock's unfortunate campaign, he talked a great deal with me ;
asked why a young fellow like me did not serve too ; why I did not go
to the King of Prussia, who was a great General, and see a campaign or
two ; and whether that would not be better than dawdling about at routs
and card- parties in liondon ? I said, I would like to go with all my
heart, but was an only son now, on leave from my mother, and belonged
to our estate in Virginia. His Royal Highness said, Mr. Braddock had
wrote home accounts of Mrs. Esmond's loyalty, and that he would gladly
serve me. Mr. Wolfe and I have waited on him since, at his Royal
Highness's house in Pall Mall. The latter, who is still quite a young
man, made the Scots campaign with his Highness, whom Mr. Dempster
loves so much at home. To be sure, he was too severe : if anything can
be too severe against rebels in arms.
Mr. Draper has had half the Stock, my late Papa's property, transferred
to my name. Until there can be no doubt of that painful loss in our
family which I would give my right hand to replace, the remaining
stock must remain in the trustees' name in behalf of him who inherited
it. Ah, dear mother! There is no day, scarce any hour, when I don't
think of him. I wish he were by me often. I feel like as if I was better
u
»0 THE VIRGINIANS.
when I am thinking of him, and would like, for the honour of my family,
that he was representing of it here instead of
Honored Madam,
Your dutiful and affectionate Son,
Henet EsitOND Waeeington.
P.S. — I am like your sex, who always, they say, put their chief news
in a poscri}}. I had something to tell you about a person to whom my
heart is engaged. I shall write more about it, which there is no
hurry. Sahce she is a nobleman's daughter, & her family as good as
our own.
Clargis Street, London, October 23, 1756.
I think, my good sister, we have been all our lives a little more than
kin and less than kind, to use the words of a poet whom your dear
father loved dearly. When you were born in our Western Principal-
litie, my mother was not as old as Isaac's ; but even then I was much
more than old enough to be yours. And though she gave you all she
could leave or give, including the little portion of love that ought to
have been my share, yet, if we can have good will for one another, we
may learn to do without affection : and some little kindness you owe
me, for your son's sake as well as your father's, whom I loved and
admired more than any man I think ever I knew in this world : he was
greater than almost all, though he made no noyse in it. I have seen
very many who have, and, believe me, have found but few with such
good heads and good harts as Mr. Esmond.
Had we been better acquainted, I might have given you some advice
regarding your young gentleman's introduction to Europe, which you
would have taken or not, as people do in this world. At least you
would have sed afterwards, ''What she counselled me was right, and
had Harry done as Madame Beatrix wisht, it had been better for him."
My good sister, it was not for you to know, or for me to whom you
never wrote tc tell you, but your boy in coming to England and Castle-
wood found but ill friends there : except one, an old aunt, of whom all
kind of evil hath been spoken and sed these fifty years past — and not
without cawse too, perhaps.
Now, I must tell Harry's mother what will doubtless scarce astonish
her, that almost everybody who knows him loves him. He is prudent
of his tongue, generous of his money, as bold as a lyon, with an impe-
rious domineering way that sets well upon him ; you know whether he
is handsome or not : my dear, I like him none the less for not being over
witty or wise, and never cared for jour sett-the-Thames-a&Te gentlemen,
who are so much more clever than their neighbours. Your father's
great friend, Mr. Addison, seemed to me but a supercilious prig, and
his follower, Sir Dick Steele, was not pleasant in his cupps, nor out of
'em. And {revenons a lug) your Master Harry will certainly not burn
the river up with his wits. Of book learning he is as ignorant as any
THE YIEGINIANS. 291
lord in England, and for this I hold him none the worse. If Heaven
have not given him a turn that way, 'tis of no use trying to bend
him-
Considering the place he is to hold in his own colony when he returns,
and the stock he comes from, let me tell you, that he hath not means
enough allowed him to support his station, and is likely to make the
more depence from the narrowness of his income — from sheer despair
breaking out of all bounds, and becoming extravagant, which is not his
turn. But he likes to live as well as the rest of his company, and, between
ourselves, has fell into some of the tinist and most rakish in England.
He thinks 'tis for the honour of the family not to go back, and many
a time calls for ortolans and champaign when he would as leaf dine with,
a stake and a mugg of beer. And in this kind of spirit I have no doubt
from what he hath told me in his talk (which is very naif, as the French
say), that his mamma hath encouraged him in his high opinion of him-
self. AVe women like our belongings to have it, however little we love
to pay the cost. AVill you have your ladd make a figar in London?
Trebble his allowance at the very least, and his Aunt Bernstein (with
his honored mamma's permission) will add a little more on to whatever
summ you give him. Otherwise he will be spending the little capital I
learn he has in this country, which, when a ladd once begins to manger ^
there is very soon an end to the loaf. Please God, I shall be able to
leave Henry Esmond's grandson something at my death ; but my savings
are small, and the pension with which my gracious Sovereign hath
endowed me dies with me. As for feu M. de Bernstein, he left only
debt at his decease ; the officers of his Majesty's Electoral Court of
Hannover are but scantily paid.
A lady who is at present very high in his Majesty's confidence hath
taken a great phancy to your ladd, and wiU take an early occasion to
bring him to the Sovereign's favorable notice. His Royal Highness the
Duke he hath seen. If live in America he must, why should not Mr.
Esmond "Warrington return as Governor of Virginia, and with a title to
his name ? That is what I hope for him.
Meanwhile, I must be candid with you, and tell you I fear he hath
entangled himself here in a very silly engagement. Even to marry an
old woman for money is scarce pardonable — the game ne valant gueres
la chandelle — Mr. Bernstein, when alive, more than once assured me of
this fact, and I believe him, poor gentleman ! But to engage yourself to
an old woman without money, and to marry her merely because you
have promised her, this seems to me a follie which only very young lads
fall into, and I fear Mr. Warrington is one. How, or for what considera-
tion, I know not, but my niece Maria Esmond hath escamote a promise
from Harry. He knows nothing of her anUcedeiis, which I do. She
hath laid herself out for twenty husbands these twenty years past. I
care not how she hath got the promise from him. 'Tis a sinn and a
sliame that a woman more than forty years old should surprize the
honour of a child like that, and hold him to his word. She is not the
V 2
292 THE VIRGINIANS.
woman she pretends to be. A horse-jockey (he saith) cannot take him
in — but a woman !
I write this news to you advisedly, displeasant as it must be. Perhaps
Hwill bring you to England : but I would be very cautious, above all,
very gentle, for the bitt will instantly make his high spirit restive. I
fear the property is entailed, so that threats of cutting him off from it will
not move Maria. Otherwise I know her to be so mercenary that (though
she really hath a great phancy for this handsome ladd) without money
she would not hear of him. AH I could, and more than I ought, I have
done to prevent the match. What and more I will not say in writing ;
but that I am, for Henry Esmond's sake, his grandson's sincerest
friend, and, Madam,
Your faithful sister and servant,
Beatkix Baeoness de Beensteix.
To Mrs. Esmond "Warrington, of Castlewood, in Virginia.
On the back of this letter is written, in Madam Esmond's hand, '' My
sister Bernstein's letter, received with Henry's December 24 : on receipt
of which it was determined my son should instantly go home.'*
CHAPTER XLII.
rOETUNATUS NIMIUM.
TnoTTGH Harry Wamngton persisted in his determination to keep that
dismal promise which his cousin had extracted from him, we trust no
benevolent reader will think so ill of him as to suppose that the engage-
ment was to the young fellow's taste, and that he would not be heartily
glad to be rid of it. Very likely the beating administered to poor Will
was to this end; and Harry may have thought, "A boxing-match
between us is sure to bring on a quarrel with the family ; in the quarrel
with the family, Maria may take her brother's side. I, of course, will
make no retraction or apology. Will, in that case, may call me to
account, when I know which is the better man. In the midst of the
feud, the agreement may come to an end, and I may be a free man once
more."
So honest Harry laid his train, and fired it ; but, the explosion over,
no harm was found to be done, except that William Esmond's nose was
swollen, and his eye black for a week. He did not send a challenge to
his cousin, Harry Warrington ; and, in consequence, neither killed
Harry nor was killed by him. Will was knocked down, and he got up
again. How many men of sense would do the same, could they get their
little account settled in a private place, with nobody to tell how the score
THE VIEGINIANS
was paid ! Maria by no means took her family's side in the quarrel,
but declared for her cousin, as did my lord, when advised of the dis-
turbance. Will had struck the first blow, Lord Castlewood said, by the
Chaplain's showing. It was not the first or the tenth time he had been
found quarrelling in his cups. Mr. "Warrington only showed a proper
spirit in resenting the injury, and it was for Will, not for Harry, to ask
pardon.
Harry said, he would accept no apology as long as his horse was not
returned or his bet paid. This chronicler has not been able to find out,
from any of the papers which have come under his view, how that affair
of the bet was finally arranged ; but 'tis certain the cousins presently
met in the houses of various friends, and without mauling each other.
Maria's elder brother had been at first quite willing that his sister,
who had remained unmarried for so many years, and on the train of
whose robe, in her long course over the path of life, so many briars, so
much mud, so many rents and stains had naturally gathered, should
marry with any bridegroom who presented himself, and if with a gen-
tleman from Virginia so much the better. She would retire to his
wigwam in the forest, and there be disposed of. In the natural course
of things, Harry would survive his elderly bride, and might console
himself or not, as he preferred, after her departure.
But, after an interview with Aunt Bernstein, which his lordship had
on his coming to London, he changed his opinion : and even went so far
as to try and dissuade Maria from the match : and to profess a pity for
the young fellow who was to be made to undergo a life of misery on
account of a silly promise given at one-and-twenty.
Misery, indeed ! Maria was at a loss to know why he was to be
miserable. Pity, forsooth ! My lord at Castlewood had thought it was
no pity at all. Maria knew what pity meant. Her brother had been
with Aunt Bernstein : Aunt Bernstein had offered money to break this
match off. She understood what my lord meant, but Mr. Warrington
was a man of honour, and she could trust him. Away, upon this, walks
my lord to White's, or to whatever haunts he frequented. It is probable
that his sister had guessed too accurately what the nature of his
conversation with Madame Bernstein had been.
" And so," thinks he, " the end of my virtue is likely to be that the
Mohock will fall a prey to others, and that there is no earthly use in my
sparing him. ' Quern Deus vult,' what was the schoolmaster's adage ?
If I don't have him, somebody else will, that is clear. My brother has
had a slice; my dear sister wants to swallow the whole of him bodily.
Here have I been at home respecting his youth and innocence forsooth,
declining to play beyond the value of a sixpence, and acting guardian
and Mentor to him. Why, I am but a fool to fatten a goose for other
people to feed off! Not many a good action have I done in this life, and
here is this one, that serves to benefit whom ?— other folks. Talk of
remorse ! By all the fires and furies, the remorse I have is for things I
haven't done and might have done ! Why did I spare Lucretia? She
294 THE VIIIGINIAXS.
hated me ever after, and her husband went the way for which he was
predestined. Why have I let this lad off!— that March and the restj
who don't want him, may pluck him ! And I have a bad repute ; and I
am the man people point at, and call the wicked lord, and against whom
women warn their sons ! Pardi, I am not a penny worse, only a great
deal more unlucky than my neighbours, and 'tis only my cursed weak-
ness that has been my greatest enemy ! " Here manifestly, in setting
down a speech which a gentleman only tliought^ a chronicler overdraws
his account with the patient reader, who has a right not to accept this
draft on his credulity. But have not Livy, and Thucydides, and a score
more of historians, made speeches for their heroes, which we know the
latter never thought of delivering? How inuch more may we then,
knowing my Lord Castlewood's character so intimately as we do, declare
what was passing in his mind, and transcribe his thoughts on this paper "r"
"What ? a whole pack of the wolves are on the hunt after this lamb, and
will make a meal of him presently, and one hungry old hunter is to
stand by, and not have a single cutlet ? Who has not admired that
noble speech of my Lord Clive, when reproached on his return from
India with making rather too free with jaghires, lakhs, gold raohurs,
diamonds, pearls, and what not: "Upon my life," said the hero of
Plassy, *' when I think of my opportunities, I am surprised I took so
little!"
To tell disagreeable stories of a gentleman, until one is in a manner
forced to impart them, is always painful to a feeling mind. Hence,
though I have known, before the very first page of this history was
written, what sort of a person my Lord Castlewood was, and in what
esteem he was held by his contemporaries ; I have kept back much that
was unpleasant about him, only allowing the candid reader to perceive
that he was a nobleman who ought not to be at all of our liking. It is
true that my Lord March, and other gentlemen of whom he complained,
would have thought no more of betting with Mr. Warrington for his last
shilling, and taking their winnings, then they would scruple to pick the
bones of a chicken ; that they would take any advantage of the game,
or their superior skill in it, of the race, and their private knowledge of
the horses engaged ; in so far, they followed the practice of all gentle-
men : but when they played, they played fair ; and when they lost,
they paid.
IS'ow Madam Bernstein was loth to tell her Virginian nephew all she
knew to his family's discredit ; she was even touched by my lord's for--
bearance in regard to Harry on his first arrival in Europe ; and pleased
with his lordship's compliance with her wishes in this particular. But
in the conversation which she had with her nephew Castlewood regarding
Maria's designs on Harry, he had spoken his mind out with his usual
cynicism, voted himself a fool for having spared a lad whom no sparing
would eventually keep from ruin ; pointed out Mr. Harry's undeniable
extravagances and spendthrift associates, his nights at faro and hazard^
and his rides to Newmarket, and asked why he alone should keep his
THE ^^RGIXIAXS. 295
hands from the young fellow ? In vain Madam Bernstein pleaded that
Harry was poor. Bah ! he was heir to a principality which ought to
have been his, Castle wood's, and might have set up their ruined family.
(Indeed Madam Bernstein thought Mr. Warrington^s Virginia property
much greater than it was.) Were there not money-lenders in the town
who would give him money on post-obits in plenty ? Castlewood knew
as much to his cost : he had applied to them in his father's lifetime, and
the cursed crew had eaten up two-thirds of his miserable income. He
spoke with such desperate candour and ill humour, that Madam Bern-
stein began to be alarmed for her favourite, and determined to caution
him at the iirst opportunity.
That evening she began to pen a billet to Mr. Warrington : but all
her life long she was slow with her pen, and disliked using it. "I
never knew any good come of writing more than bon Jour or business,"
she used to say. *' What is the use of writing ill, when there are so
many clever people who can do it well ? and even then it were best left
alone." So she sent one of her men to Mr. Harry's lodging, bidding
him come and drink a dish of tea with her next day, when she proposed
to warn him.
But the next morning she was indisposed, and could not receive Mr.
Harry when he came : and she kept her chamber for a couple of days,
and the next day there was a great engagement ; and the next day Mr.
Harry was off on some expedition of his own. In the whirl of London
life, what man sees his neighbour, what brother his sister, what school-
fellow his old friend ? Ever so many days passed before Mr. War-
rington and his aunt had that confidential conversation which the latter
desired.
She began by scolding him mildly about his extravagance and mad-
cap frolics (though, in truth, she was charmed with him for both) — he
replied that young men will be young men, and that it was in dutifully
waiting in attendance on his aunt, he had made the acquaintance with
whom he mostly lived at present. She then, with some prelude, began
to warn him regarding his cousin, Lord Castlewood ; on which he broke
into a bitter laugh, and said the good-natured world had told him plenty
about Lord Castlewood already. "To say of a man of his lordship's
rank, or of any gentleman, * don't play with him,' is more than I like
to do," continued the lady ; *' but . . ."
"0, you may say on, aunt!" said Harry, with something like an
imprecation on his lips.
" x\nd have you played with your cousin already ? " asked the young
man's worldly old monitress.
'' And lost and won, madam ! " answers Harry, gallantly. " It don't
become me to say which. If we have a bout with a neighbour in
Yirginia, a bottle, or a pack of cards, or a quarrel, we don't go home
and tell our mothers. I mean no offence, aunt! " And, blushing, the
handsome young fellow went up and Idssed the old lady. He looked
■yery bravo and brilliant, with his rich lace, his fair face and hair, his
296 THE VIRGINIANS.
iine new suit of velvet and gold. On taking leave of his aunt he gave
his usual sumptuous benefactions to her servants, who crowded round
him. It was a rainy winter day, and my gentleman, to save his fine
silk stockings, must come in a chair. " To White's ! " he called out to
the chairmen, and away they carried him to the place where he passed a
great deal of his time.
Our Virginian's friends might have wished that he had been a less
sedulous frequenter of that house of entertainment ! but so much may
be said in favour of Mr. "Warrington that, having engaged in play, he
fought his battle like a hero. He was not flustered by good luck, and
perfectly calm when the chances went against him. If Fortune is
proverbially fickle to men at play, how many men are fickle to Fortune,
run away frightened from her advances ; and desert her who, perhaps,
had never thought of leaving them but for their cowardice. " By
George, Mr. Warrington," said Mr. Selwyn, waking up in a rare fit of
enthusiasm ; *' you deserve to win ! You treat your luck as a gentle-
man should, and as long as she remains with you, behave to her with
the most perfect politeness. Si celeres quatit pennas — you know the
rest — no ? Well, you are not much the worse off — ^you will call her
ladyship's coach, and make her a bow at the step. Look at Lord
Castlewood yonder, passing the box. Did you ever hear a fellow curse
and swear so at losing five or six pieces ? She must be a jade indeed,
if she long give her favours to such a niggardly canaille as that ! "
*' We don't consider our family canaille, sir," says Mr. Warrington,
** and my Lord Castlewood is one of them."
"I forgot. I forgot, and ask your pardon! And I make you my
compliment upon my lord, and Mr. Will Esmond, his brother," saya
Harry's neighbour at the hazard-table. *' The box is with me. Five's
the main ! Deuce Ace ! my usual luck. Virtute mea me involvo ! '*
and he sinks back in his chair.
Whether it was upon this occasion of taking the box, that Mr. Harry
threw the fifteen mains mentioned in one of those other letters of Mr.
Walpole's, which have not come into his present learned editor's hands,
I know not ; but certain it is, that on his first appearance at White's,
Harry had five or six evenings of prodigious good luck, and seemed
more than ever the Fortunate Youth. The five hundred pounds with-
drawn from his patrimonial inheritance had multiplied into thousands.
He bought fine clothes, purchased fine horses, gave grand entertain-
ments, made handsome presents, lived as if he had been as rich as Sii
James Lowther, or his Grace of Bedford, and yet the five thousand
pounds never seemed to diminish. No wonder that he gave where
giving was so easy : no wonder that he was generous with Fortunatus's
purse in his pocket. I say no wonder that he gave, for such was hia
nature. Other Fortnnati tie up the endless purse, drink small beer, and
go to bed with a tallow candle.
Luring this vein of his luck, what must Mr. Harry do, but find out
from Lady Maria what her ladyship's debts were, and pay them off ta-
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 297
the last shilling. Her stepmother and half-sister, who did not love her,
he treated to all sorts of magnificent presents. ** Had you not better
get yourself arrested, Will ? " my lord sardonically said to his brother.
*' Although you bit him in that affair of the horse, the Mohock will
certainly take you out of pawn." It was then that Mr. William felt a
true remorse, though not of that humble kind which sent the repentant
Prodigal to his knees. *' Confound it," he groaned, *' to think that I
have let this fellow slip for such a little matter as forty pound ! Why,
he was good for a thousand at least."
As for Maria, that generous creature accepted the good Fortune sent
her with a grateful heart ; and was ready to accept as much more as
you pleased. Having paid off her debts to her various milliners,
tradesmen and purveyors, she forthwith proceeded to contract new ones.
Mrs. Betty, her ladyship's maid, went round informing the tradespeople
that her mistress was about to contract a matrimonial alliance with a
young gentleman of immense fortune ; so that they might give my lady
credit to any amount. Having heard the same story twice or thrice
before, the tradesfolk might not give it entire credit, but their bills were
paid : even to Mrs. Pincott, of Kensington, my lady showed no rancour,
and affably ordered fresh supplies from her : and when she drove about
from the mercer to the toy-shop, and from the toy-shop to the jeweller,
in a coach, with her maid and Mr. Warrington inside, they thought her
a fortunate woman indeed, to have secured the Fortunate Youth,
though they might wonder at the taste of this latter in having selected
so elderly a beauty. Mr. Sparks, of Tavistock Street, Covent Garden,
took the liberty of waiting upon Mr. Warrington at his lodgings in
Bond Street, with the pearl necklace and the gold etwee which he had
bought in Lady Maria's company the day before ; and asking whether
he, Sparks, should leave them at his honour's lodging, or send them to
her ladyship with his honour's compliments ? Harry added a ring out
of the stock which the jeweller happened to bring with him, to the
necklace and the etwee ; and sumptuously bidding that individual to send
him in the bill, took a majestic leave of Mr. Sparks, who retired, bowing
even to Gumbo, as he quitted his honour's presence.
Nor did his bounties end here. Ere many days the pleased young
fellow drove up in his phaeton to Mr. Sparks' shop, and took a couple of
trinkets for two young ladies, whose parents had been kind to him, and
for whom he entertained a sincere regard. " Ah ! " thought he, " how
I wish I had my poor George's wit, and genius for poetry ! I would send
these presents with pretty verses to Hetty and Theo. I am sure, if
good-will and real regard could makfe a poet of me, I should have no
difficulty in finding rhymes." And so he called in Parson Sampson,
and they concocted a billet together.
298 THE VIRGIXIAXS.
CHAPTEE XLIII.
IN WHICH HAEET FLIES HIGH.
So Mr. Harry Warrington, of Virginia, had his lodgings in Bond
Street, London, England, and lived upon the fat of the land, and drank
bumpers of the best wine thereof. His title of Fortunate Youth was
pretty generally recognised. Being young, wealthy, good-looking, and
fortunate, the fashionable world took him by the hand and made him
welcome. Harry was liked because he was likeable ; because he was
rich, handsome, jovial, well-born, well-bred, brave; because, with jolly
topers, he liked a jolly song and a bottle ; because, with gentlemen sports-
men, he loved any game that was a-foot or a-horseback ; because, with
ladies, he had a modest blushing timidity which rendered the lad in-
teresting ; because, to those humbler than himself in degree he was
always magnificently liberal, and anxious to spare annoyance. Our Vir-
ginian was very grand, and high and mighty, to be sure ; but, in those
times, when the distinction of ranks yet obtained, to be high and distant
with his inferiors, brought no unpopularity to a gentleman. Remember
that, in those days, the Secretary of State always knelt when he went to
the king with his despatches of a morning, and the Under-Secretary never
dared to sit down in his chief's presence. If I were Secretary of State
(and such there have been amongst men of letters since Addison's days)
I should not like to kneel when I went in to my audience with my
despatch-box. If I were Under-Secretary, I should not like to have to
stand, whilst the Right Honourable Benjamin or the Right Honourable
Sir Edward looked over the papers. But there is a modus in rebus :
there are certain lines which must be drawn : and I am only half
pleased, for my part, when Bob Bowstreet, whose connection with letters
is through Policemen X and Y, and Tom Garbage, who is an esteemed
contributor to the Kennel Miscellany, propose to join fellowship as
brother literary men, slap me on the back, and call me old boy, or by my
Christian name.
As much pleasure as the town, could give in the winter season of
1756"07, Mr. Warrington had for the asking. There were operas for
him, in which he took but moderate delight. (A prodigious deal of
eatire was brought to bear against these Italian Operas, and they were
assailed for being foolish, Popish, unmanly, unmeaning ; but people
went, nevertheless.) There were the theatres, with Mr. Garrick and
Mrs. Pritchard at one house, and Mrs. Clive at another. Tliere were
masquerades and ridottos, frequented by all the fine society : there were
their lordships and ladyships' own private drums and assemblies, which
began and ended with cards, and which Mr. Warrington did not like so
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 299
well as White's, because the play there was neither so high nor so fair
as at the club-table.
One day his kinsman, Lord Castlewood, took him to court, and pre-
sented Harry to His Majesty, who was now come to town from Kensing-
ton. But that gracious sovereign either did not like Harry's introducer,
or had other reasons for being sulky. His Majesty only said, " 0, heard
of you from Lady Yarmouth. The Earl of Castlewood" (turning
to his lordship, and speaking in German), " shall tell him that he plays
too much ? " And so saying, the Defender of the Faith turned his royal
back.
Lord Castlewood shrank back quite frightened at this cold reception
of his august master.
** "What does he say ?" asked Harry.
*< His Majesty thinks they play too high at White's, and is displeased,"
whispered the nobleman.
"If he does not want us, we had better not come again, that is all,'*
said Harry, simply. " I never, somehow, considered that German fellow
a real king of England."
"Hush! for heaven's sake, hold your confounded colonial tongue !"
cries out my lord. " Don't you see the walls here have ears ? "
" And what then ? " asks Mr. Warrington. " Why, look at the
people ! Hang me if it is not quite a curiosity ! They were all shaking
hands with me, and bowing to me, and flattering me, just now ; and at
present they avoid me as if I were the plague."
" Shake hands, nephew," said a broad-faced, broad-shouldered gentle-
man in a scarlet-laced waiscoat, and a great old-fashioned wig. " I
heard what you said. I have ears like the wall, look you. And, now, if
other people show you the cold shoulder, I'll give you my hand ;" and, so
saying, the gentleman put out a great brown hand, with which he
grasped Harry's. " Something of my brother about your eyes and face.
Though, I suppose, in your island you grow more wiry and thin like. I
am thine uncle, child. My name is Sir Miles Warrington. My lord
knows me well enough."
My lord looked very frightened and yellow. " Yes, my dear Harry.
This is your paternal uncle. Sir Miles Warrington."
" Might as well have come to see us in Norfolk, as dangle about
playing the fool at Tunbridge Wells, Mr. Warrington, or Mr. Esmond,
which do you call yourself?" said the Baronet. " The old lady calls
herself Madam Esmond, don't she ? "
"My mother is not ashamed of her father's name, nor am I, uncle,"
said Mr. Harry, rather proudly.
"Well said, lad! Come home and eat a bit of mutton with Lady
Warrington, at three, in Hill Street, — that is, if you can do without your
White's kickshaws. You need not look frightened, my Lord Castlewood I
I shall tell no tales out of school."
" I— I am sure Sir Miles Warrington will act as a gentleman ! " says
my lord, in much perturbation.
300 THE VIRGINIANS.
- — ^ : ^
''Belike he will," growled the Baronet, turning on his heel. "And
thou wilt come, young man, at three ; and mind, good roast mutton
Waits for nobody. Thou hast a great look of thy father. Lord bless us,
how we used to beat each other ! He was smaller than me, and in course
younger ; but many a time he had the best of it. Take it he was hen-
peeked, when he married, and Madam Esmond took the spirit out of him,
when she got him in her island. Virginia is an island. Ain't it an
island?"
Harry laughed, and said, "No ! " And the jolly Baronet, going off,
said, " Well, island or not, thou must come and tell all about it to my
lady. She^ll know whether 'tis an island or not."
" My dear Mr. "Warrington," said my lord, with an appealing look,
" I need not tell you that, in this great city, every man has enemies,
and that there is a great, great deal of detraction and scandal. I never
spoke to you about Sir Miles Warrington, precisely because I did know
him, and because we have had differences together. Should he permit
himself remarks to my disparagement, you will receive them cum grano,
and remember that it is from an enemy they come." And the pair
walked out of the King's apartments and into St. James's Street. Harry
found the news of his cold reception at Court had already preceded him
to White's. The King had turned his back upon him. The King was
jealous of Harry's favour with the favourite. Harry was au mieux with
Lady Yarmouth. A score of gentlemen wished him a compliment upon
his conquest. Before night it was a settled matter that this was amongst
the other victories of the Fortunate Youth.
Sir Miles told his wife and Harry as much, when the young man
appeared at the appointed hour at the Baronet's dinner-table, and he
rallied Harry in his simple rustic fashion. The lady, at first, a grand
and stately personage, told Harry, on their further acquaintance, that
the reputation which the world had made for him was so bad, that at first
she had given him but a frigid welcome. With the young ladies,
Sir Miles's daughters, it was, " How d'ye do, cousin?" and "No, thank
you, cousin," and a number of prim curtseys to the Virginian, as they
greeted him and took leave of him. The little boy, the heir of the
house, dined at table, under the care of his governor ; and, having his
glass of port by papa after dinner, gave a loose to his innocent tongue,
and asked many questions of his cousin. At last the innocent youth
said, after looking hard in Harry's face, " Are you wicked, cousin
Harry ? You don't look very wicked ? "
" My dear Master Miles ?" expostulates the tutor, turning very red.
" But you know you said he was wicked ! " cried the child.
" We are all miserable sinners, Miley," explains papa. " Haven't
you hoard the clergyman say so every Sunday ? "
" Yes, but not so very wicked as cousin Harry. Is it true that you
gamble, cousin, and drink all night with wicked men, and frequent the
company of wicked women ? You know you said so, Mr. Walker — and
mamma said so, too, that Lady Yarmouth was a wicked woman."
THE VIRGINIANS. 301
** And you are a little pitcher," cries papa; "and my wife, nephew-
Harry, is a stanch Jacobite — you won't like her the worse for that.
Take Miles to his sisters, Mr. "Walker, and Topsham shall give thee a
ride in the park, child, on thy little horse." The idea of the little horse
consoled Master Miles ; for when his father ordered him away to his
sisters, he had begun to cry bitterly, bawling out that he would far
rather stay with his wicked cousin.
" They have made you a sad reputation among 'em, nephew ! " says
the jolly Baronet. *' My wife, you must know, of late years, and since
the death of my poor eldest son, has taken to, — to, hum !~to Tottenham.
Court Koad and Mr. Whitfield's preaching : and we have had one "Ward
about the house, a friend of Mr. "Walker's yonder, who has recounted sad
stories about you and your brother at home."
" About me. Sir Miles, as much as he pleases," cries Harry, warm
with port: *'but I'll break any man's bones, who dares say a word
against my brother ! Why, sir, that fellow was not fit to buckle my
dear George's shoe ; and if I find him repeating at home what he
dared to say in our house in Virginia, I promise him a second
caning."
"You seem to stand up for your friends, nephew Harry," says the
Baronet. " Fill thy glass, lad. Thou art not as bad as thou hast
been painted. I always told my lady so. I drink Madam Esmond
Warrington's health, of Virginia, and will have a full bumper for that
toast."
Harry, as in duty bound, emptied his glass, filled again, and drank
Lady Warrington and Master Miles.
" Thou would' st be heir to four thousand acres in Norfolk, did he die,
though," said the Baronet.
" God forbid, sir, and be praised that I have acres enough in Virginia
of my own ! " says Mr. Warrington. He went up presently and took a
dish of cofiee with Lady Warrington : he talked to the young ladies of
the house. He was quite easy, pleasant, and natural. There was one
of them somewhat like Fanny Mountain, and this young lady became
his special favourite. When he went away, they all agreed their wicked
cousin was not near so wicked as they had imagined him to be : at any
rate, my lady had strong hopes of rescuing him from the pit. She sent
him a good book that evening, whilst Mr. Harry was at AVhite's ; with
a pretty note, praying that "Law's Call" might be of service to him: and,
this dispatched, she and her daughters went off to a rout at the house
of a minister's lady. But Harry, before he went to White's, had driven
to his friend Mr. Sparks, in Tavistock Street, and purchased more
trinkets for hisfemal.e cousins — " from their aunt in Virginia," he said.
You see, he was full of kindness : he kindled and warmed with pros-
perity. There are men on whom wealth hath no such fortunate influ-
ence. It hardens base hearts : it makes those who were mean and servile,
mean and proud. If it should please the gods to try me with ten
thousand a year, I will, of course, meekly submit myself to their decrees,
302 THE VIRGINIANS.
but I will pray them to give me strength enough to bear the trial. All
the girls in Hill Street were delighted at getting the presents from Aunt
Warrington in Yirginia, and addressed a collective note, which must
have astonished that good lady when she received it in Spring time,
when she and Mountain and Fanny were on a visit to grim, deserted
Castlewood, when the snows had cleared away, and a thousand peach-
trees flushed with blossoms. " Poor boy ! " the mother thought. " This
is some present he gave his cousins in my name, in the time of his
prosperity — nay, of his extravagance and folly. How quickly his wealth
has passed away ! But he ever had a kind heart for the poor. Moun-
tain ; and we must not forget him in his need. It behoves us to be more
than ever careful of our own expenses, my good people ! " And so I
daresay they warmed themselves by one log, and ate of one dish, and
worked by one candle. And the widow's servants, whom the good soul
began to pinch more and more I fear, lied, stole, and cheated more and
more : and what was saved in one way, was stole in another.
One afternoon, Mr. Harry sate in his Bond Street lodgings, arrayed
in his dressing-gown, sipping his chocolate, surrounded by luxury,
encased in satin, and yet enveloped in care. A few weeks previously,
v.'hen the luck was with him, and he was scattering his benefactions to
and fro, he had royally told Parson Sampson to get together a list of his
debts, which he, Mr. Warrington, would pay. Accordingly, Sampson
had gone to work, and had got together a list, not of all his debts, — no
man ever does set down all, — but such a catalogue as he thought suffi-
cient to bring in to Mr. Warrington, at whose breakfast-table the divine
had humbly waited until his Honour should choose to attend it.
Harry appeared at length, very pale and languid, in curl-papers, had
scarce any appetite for his breakfast ; and the Chaplain, fumbling with
his schedule in his pocket, humbly asked if his patron had had a bad
night ? Yes, his Honour had had a very bad night. He had been
brought home from White's by two chairmen at five o'clock in the morn-
ing ; had caught a confounded cold, for one of the windows of the chair
would not shut, and the rain and snow came in ; finally, was in such a
bad humour, that all poor Sampson's quirks and jokes could scarcely
extort a smile from him.
At last, to be sure, Mr. Warrington burst into a loud laugh. It was
when the poor Chaplain, after a sufficient discussion of muffins, eggs,
tea, the news, the theatres, and so forth, pulled a paper out of his pocket,
and in a piteous tone said, " Here is that schedule of debts which your
Honour asked for — two hundred and forty-three pounds — every shilliDg
I owe in the world, thank Heaven ! — that is — ahem ! — every shilling of
which the payment will in the least inconvenience me — and I need not
tell my dearest patron that I shall consider him my saviour and
benefactor ! "
It was then that Harry, taking the paper and eyeing the Chaplain
with rather a wicked look, burst into a laugh, which was, however, any-
thing but jovial. Wicked execrations, moreover, accompanied this out-
THE VIRGINIANS. 303
break of humour, and the luckless Chaplain felt that his petition had
come at the wrong moment.
** Confound it, why didn't you bring it on Monday ?" Harry asked.
" Confound me, why did I not bring it on Monday ?" echoed the Chap-
Iain's timid soul. "It is my luck — my usual luck. Have the cards
been against you, Mr. Warrington ? "
" Yes : a plague on them. Monday night, and last night, have both
gone against me. Don't be frightened. Chaplain, there's money enough
in the locker yet. But I must go into the City and get some."
"What, sell out, sir?" asks his Reverence, with a voice that was
re-assured, though it intended to be alarmed.
" Sell out, sir ? Yes ! I borrowed a hundred of Mackreth in counters
last night, and must pay him at dinner time. I will do your business
for you nevertheless, and never fear, my good Mr. Sampson. Come to
breakfast to-morrow, and we will see and deliver your Reverence from
the Philistines." But though he laughed in Sampson's presence, and
strove to put a good face upon the matter, Harry's head sank down on
his chest when the parson quitted him, and he sate over the fire, beating
the coals about with the poker, and giving utterance to many naughty
disjointed words, which showed, but did not relieve, the agitation of
his spirit.
In this mood, the young fellow was interrupted by the appearance of
a friend, who on any other day — even on that one when his conscience
was so uneasy — was welcome to Mr. Warrington. This was no other
than Mr. Lambert, in his military dress, but with a cloak over him, who
had come from the country, had been to the Captain-General's levee
that morning, and had come thence to visit his young friend in Bond
Street.
Harry may have thought Lambert's greeting rather cold ; but being
occupied with his own affairs, he put away that notion. How were the
ladies of Oakhurst, and Miss Hetty, who was ailing when he passed
through in the autumn ? Purely ? Mr. Warrington was very glad.
They were come to stay awhile in London with their friend Lord
Wrotham? Mr. Harry was delighted — though it must be confessed
his face did not exhibit any peculiar signs of pleasure when he heard
the news.
" And so you live at White's, and with the great folks ; and you fare
sumptuously every day, and you pay your court at St. James's, and make
one at my Lady Yarmouth's routs, and at all the card-parties in the
Court end of the town ?" asks the colonel.
" My dear colonel, I do what other folks do," says Harry, with rather
a high manner.
" Other folks are richer folios than some folks, my dear lad."
" Sir !" says Mr. Warrington, " I would thank you to believe that I
owe nothing for which I cannot pay ! "
" I should never have spoken about your affairs," said the other, not
noticing the young man's haughty tone, "but that you yourself confided
304 THE VIRGINIANS.
them to me. I hear all sorts of stories about the Fortunate Youth,
Only at fejis Eoyal Highness' s even to-day, they were saying how rich
you were already, and I did not undeceive them — "
" Colonel Lambert, I can't help the world gossiping about me !" cries
Mr. "Warrington, more and more impatient.
** — And what prodigious sums you had won. Eighteen hundred one
night — two thousand another — six or eight thousand in all ! ! there
were gentlemen from White's at the levee too, I can assure you, and the
army can fling a main as well as you civilians! "
'* I wish they would "meddle with their own aiFairs," says Harry,
scowling at his old friend.
** And I, too, you look as if you were going to say. "Well, my boy, it
is my afiair, and you must let Theo's father and Hetty's father, and
Harry Warrington's father's old friend say how it is my affair." Here
the colonel drew a packet out of his pocket. " Look you, Harry. These
trinkets which you sent with the kindest heart in the world to people
who love you, and would cut off their little hands to spare you needless
pain, could never be bought by a young fellow with two or three hundred
a-year. Why, a nobleman might buy these things, or a rich City
banker, and send them to his — to his daughters, let us say."
*' Sir, as you say, I meant only kindness," says Harry, blushing burn-
ing-red.
"But you must not give them to my girls, my boy. Hester and
Theodosia Lambert must not be dressed up with the winnings off the
gaming-table, saving your presence. It goes to my heart to bring back
the trinkets. Mrs. Lambert vill keep her present, which is of small
value, and sends you her love and a God bless you — and so say I, Harry
Warrington, with all my heart." Here the good colonel's voice was
much moved, and his face grew very red, and he passed liis hand over
his eyes ere he held it out.
But the spirit of rebellion was strong in Mr. Warrington. He rose
up from his seat, never offering to take the hand which his senior held
out to him. *' Give me leave to tell Colonel Lambert," he said, ** that
I have had somewhat too much advice from him. You are for ever
volunteering it, sir, and when I don't ask it. You make it your busi-
iipss to enquire about my gains at play, and about the company I keep.
What right have you to co-ntrol my amusements or my companions ? I
strive to show my sense of your former kindness by little presents to your
family, and you fling — you bring them back."
*' I can't do otherwise, Mr. Warrington," says the Colonel, with a very
sad face.
" Such a slight may mean nothing here, sir, but in our country it
means war, sir!" cries Mr. Warrington. "God forbid I should talk
of drawing a sword against the father of ladies who have been as mother
and sister to me : but you have wounded my heart. Colonel Lambert — ■
you have, I won't say insulted, but humiliated me, and this is a treat-
ment I will bear from no man alive ! M3' servants will attend you
THE VIRGINIANS. 305
to the door, sir!" Saying which, and rustling in his brocade
dressing-gown, Mr. Warrington, with much state, walked off to his
bed-room.
CHAPTEE XLIV.
CONTAINS WHAT MIGHT, PEEHAPS, HAVE BEEN EXPECTED.
Ox the rejection of his peace-offerings, our warlike young American
chief chose to be in great wrath not only against Colonel Lambert, but
the whole of that gentleman's family. " He has humiliated me before the
girls ! " thought the young man. " He and Mr. Wolfe, who were for ever
preaching morality to me, and giving themselves airs of superioiity and
protection, have again been holding me up to the family as a scapegrace
and prodigal. They are so virtuous that they won't shake me by the
hand, forsooth ; and when I want to show them a little common gratitude,
they Hing my presents in my face ! "
" Why, sir, the things must be worth a little fortune!" says Parson
Sampson, casting an eye of covetousness on the two morocco boxes,
in which, on their white satin cushions, reposed Mr. Sparks's golden
gewgaws.
''They cost some money, Sampson," says the young man. "Not
that I would grudge ten times the amount to people who have been kind
to me."
"Xo, faith, sir, not if J know your honour!" interjects Sampson,
who never lost a chance of praising his young patron to his face.
" The repeater, they told me, was a great bargain, and worth a hundred
pounds at Paris. Little Miss Hetty, I remember saying that she longed
to have a repeating watch."
" 0, what a love ! " cries the Chaplain, ** with a little circle of pearls
on the back, and a diamond knob for the handle ! Why, 'twould win
any woman's heart, sir ! "
" There passes an apple-woman with a basket, I have a mind to fling
the thing out to her ! " cries Mr. Warrington, fiercely.
When Harry went out upon business, which took him to the city and
the Temple, his parasite did not follow him very far into the Strand ;
but turned away, owning that he had a terror of Chancery Lane, its
inhabitants, and precincts. Mr. Warrington went then to his broker,
and they walked to the Bank together, where they did some little
business, at the end of which, and after the signing of a trifling
signature or two, Harry departed with a certain number of crisp bank-
notes in his pocket. The broker took Mr. Warrington to one of the
great dining-houses for which the city was famous then as now ; and
afterwards showed Mr. Warrington the Yirginia walk upon 'Change,
through which Harry passed rather shamefacedly. What would a certain
306 THE VIRGIKCANS.
lady in Virgiuia say, he thought, if she knew that he was carrying off
in that bottomless gambler's pocket a great portion of his father's patri-
mony ? Those are all Virginia merchants, thinks he,^ and they are all
talking to one another about me, and all saying, " That is young Esmond,
of Castle wood, on the Potomac, Madam Esmond's son ; and he has been
losing his money at play, and he has been selling out so much, and so
much, and so much."
His spirits did not rise until he had passed under the traitors' heads
of Temple Bar, and was fairly out of the city. From the Strand Mr.
Harry walked home, looking in at St. James's Street by the way ; but
there was nobody there as yet, the company not coming to the chocolate
house till a later hour.
Arrived at home, Mr. Harry pulls out his bundle of bank-notes ; puts
three of them into a sheet of paper, which he seals carefully, having
previously written within the sheet the words, ** Much good may they
do you, H. E. W.," and this packet he directs to the Eeverend Mr.
Sampson, — leaving it on the chimney glass, with directions to his
servants to give it to that divine when he should come in.
And now his Honour's phaeton is brought to the door, and he steps
in, thinking to drive round the park ; but the rain coming on, or the
east wind blowing, or some other reason arising, his Honour turns his
horses' heads down St. James's Street, and is back at White's at about
three o'clock. Scarce anybody has come in yet. It is the hour when
folks are at dinner. There, however, is my cousin Castlewood, lounging
over the Public Advertiser, having just come off from his duty at Court
hard by.
Lord Castlewood is yawning over the Public Advertiser. "What shall
they do? Shall they have a little picquet ? Harry has no objection to
a little picquet. '* Just for an hour," says Lord Castlewood. '' I dine
at Arlington Street at four." *' Just for an hour," says Mr. Warrington,
and they call for cards.
"Or shall we have 'em in up-stairs ? " says my lord. "Out of the
noise ? "
" Certainly, out of the noise," says Harry.
At five o'clock a half-dozen of gentlemen have come in after their
dinner, and are at cards, or coffee, or talk. The folks from the ordinary
have not left the table yet. There the gentlemen of White's will often
sit till past midnight.
One toothpick points over the coffee-house blinds into the street.
" Whose phaeton ? " asks Toothpick 1 of Toothpick 2.
" The Fortunate Youth's," says No. 2.
** Not so fortunate the last three nights. Luck confoundedly against
him. Lost, last night, thirteen hundred to the table. Mr. Warrington
been here to-day, John?"
"Mr. Warrington is in the house now, sir. In the little tea-room
with Lord Castlewood since three o'clock. They are playing at picquet,"
Bays John.
THE YTRGINIANS. 807
** What fun for Castle wood," says No. 1, with a shrug.
The second gentleman growls out an execration. *' Curse the fellow ! "
he says. " He has no right to he in this club at all. He doesn't pay if
he loses. Gentlemen ought not to play with him. Sir Miles "Warrington
told me at Court the other day, that Castlewood has owed him money on
a bet these three years."
*' Castlewood," says No. 1, "don't lose if he plays alone. A large
company^Mrr^es him, you see — that's why he doesn't come to the table.'*
And the facetious gentleman grins, and shows all his teeth, polished
perfectly clean.
*' Let's go up and stop 'em," growls No. 2.
*' Why ? " asks the other. " Much better look out a- window. Lamp-
lighter going up the ladder — famous sport. Look at that old putt in the
chair, did you ever see such an old quiz ? "
" Who is that just gone out of the house? As T live, it's Fortu-
natus ! He seems to have forgotten that his phaeton has been here,
waiting all the time. I bet you two to one he has been losing to
Castlewood."
" Jack, do you take me to be a fool ? " asks the one gentleman of the
other. '* Pretty pair of horses the youth has got. How he is flogging
'em ! " And they see Mr. Warrington galloping up the street, and
scared coachmen and chairmen clearing before him : presently my Lord
Castlewood is seen to enter a chair, and go his way.
Harry drives up to his own door. It was but a few yards, and those
poor horses have been beating the pavement all this while in the rain.
Mr. Gumbo is engaged at the door in conversation with a oountryfied
looking lass, who trips off with a curtsey. Mr. Gumbo is always engaged
with some pretty maid or other.
** Gumbo, has Mr. Sampson been here?" asks Gumbo's master from
his driving seat.
"No, sar. Mr. Sampson have not been here!" answers Mr. War-
rington's gentleman. Harry bids him to go up-stairs and bring down
a letter addressed to Mr. Sampson.
** Addressed to Mr. Sampson ? yes, sir," says Mr. Gumbo, who
can't read,
"A sealed letter, stupid! on the mantlepiece, in the glass!" says
Harry ; and Gumbo leisurely retires to fetch that document. As soon,
as Harry has it, he turns his horses' heads towards St. James's Street,
and the two gentlemen, still yawning out of the window at White's,
behold the Fortunate Youth, in an instant, back again.
As they passed out of the little tea-room where he and Lord Castle-
wood had had their picquet together, Mr. Warrington had seen that
several gentlemen had entered the play-room, and that there was a bank
there. Some were already steadily at work, and had their gaming
jackets on : they kept such coats at the club, which they put on when
they had a mind to sit down to a regular night's play.
Mr. Warrington goes to the clerk's desk, pays his account of the
X 2
308 THE VIRGINIANS.
previous night, and, sitting down at the table, calls for fresh counters.
This has been decidedly an unlucky week with the Fortunate Youth,
and to-night is no more fortunate than previous nights have been.
He calls lor more counters, and more presently. He is a little pale
and silent, though very easy and polite when talked to. But he
cannot win.
At last he gets up. *' Hang it! stay and mend your luck!" says
Lord March, who is sitting by his side with a heap of counters before
him, green and white. *' Take a hundred of mine, and go on ! "
*' I have had enough for to-night, my lord," says Harry, and rises
and goes away, and eats a broiled bone in the coffee-room, and walks
back to his lodgings sometime about midnight. A man after a great
catastrophe commonly sleeps very well. It is the waking in the morning
which is sometimes queer and unpleasant. Last night you proposed to
Miss Brown : you quarrelled over your cups with Captain Jones, and
valorously pulled his nose : you played at cards with Colonel Eobinson,
and gave him, how many I IJ's! These thoughts, with a fine
headache, assail you in the morning watches. What a dreary, dreary
gulf between to-day and yesterday ! It seems as if you are years older.
Can't you leap back over that chasm again, and is it not possible that
Yesterday is but a dream ? There you are, in bed. No daylight in at
the windows yet. Pull your night-cap over your eyes, the blankets
over your nose, and sleep away Yesterday. Psha, man, it was but a
dream ! no, no ! The sleep won't come. The watchman bawls some
hour — what hour ? Harry minds him that he has got the repeating
watch under his pillow which he had bought for Hester. Ting, ting,,
ting ! the repeating watch sings out six times in the darkness, with a
little supplementary performance indicating the half hour. Poor dear
little Hester ! — so bright, so gay, so innocent he would have liked her
to have that watch. What will Maria say ? (0, that old Maria ! what
a bore she is beginning to be ! he thinks.) What wall Madam Esmond
at home say when she hears that he has lost every shilling of his ready
money — of his patrimony ? All his winnings, and five thousand pounds
besides, in three nights. Castle wood could not have played him false ?
No. My lord knows picquet better than Harry does, but he would not
deal unfairly with his own flesh and blood. No, no. Harry is glad
his kinsman, who wanted the money, has got it. And for not one more
shilling than he possessed, would he play. It was when he counted up
his losses at the gaming-table, and found they would cover all the
remainder of his patrimony, that he passed the box and left the table.
But, cursed bad company ! extravagance /and folly ! humi-
liation and remorse ! " Will my mother at home forgive me," thinks
the young prodigal. " that I were there, and had never left it ! "
The dreary London dawn peeps at length through shutters and
curtains. The Housemaid enters to light his Honour's fire and admit
the dun morning into his windows. Her Mr. Gumbo presently follow;',
■who warms his master's dressing-gown and sets out his shaving-plate
THE VIRGINIANS. 309
and linen. Then arrives the hairdresser to curl and powder his Honour,
whilst he reads his morning's letters ; and at breakfast time comes that
inevitable Parson Sampson, with eager looks and servile smiles, to wait
on his patron. The Parson would have returned yesterday according to
mutual agreement, but some jolly fellows kept him to dinner at the
St. Alban's, and, faith, they made a night of it.
*• 0, Parson ! " groans Harry, *' 'twas the worst night you ever made
in your life ! Look here, sir ! "
*' Here is a broken envelope with the words, * Much good may it do
you,' written within," says the Chaplain, glancing at the paper.
"Look on the outside, sir!" cries Mr. Warrington. "The paper
was directed to you." The poor Chaplain's countenance exhibited
great alarm. " Has some one broke it open, sir ? " he asks.
" Some one, yes. I broke it open, Sampson. Had you come here as
you proposed yesterday afternoon, you would have found that enve-
lope full of bank-notes. As it is, they were all dropped at the infernal
Macco table last night."
" What, all ? " says Sampson.
" Yes, all, with all the money I brought away from the city, and all
the ready money I have left in the world. In the afternoon I played
picquet with my cous — with a gentleman at White's — and he eased me
of all the money I had about me. Remembering that there was still
some money left here, unless you had fetched it, I came home and
carried it back and left it at the Macco table with every shilling besides
that belongs to me— and — great heaven, Sampson, what's the matter,
man ? "
"It's ray luck, it's my usual luck," cries out the unfortunate
Chaplain, and fairly bursts into tears.
" What ! You are not whimpering like a baby at the loss of a loan
©f a couple of hundred pounds P" cries out Mr. Warrington, very fierce
and angry. " Leave the room, Gumbo! Confound you! why are you
always poking your woolly head in at that door ? "
"Some one below wants to see Master with a little bill," says Mr.
Gumbo.
" Tell him to go to Jericho ! " roars out Mr. Warrington. " let 229
see nobody ! I am not at home, sir, at this hour of the morning ! "
A murmur or two, a scuffle is heard on the landing-place, and silence
finally ensues. Mr. Warrington's scorn and anger are not diminished
by this altercation. He turns round savagely upon unhappy Sampson,
who sits with his head buried in his breast.
" Hadn't you better take a bumper of brandy to keep your spirits up,
Mr. Sampson?" he asks. " Hang it, man! don't be snivelling like a
woman ! "
"0, it's not me! " says Sampson, tossing his head. "I am used to
it, sir."
"Not you! Who then? Are you crying because somebody else is
hurt, pray?" asks Mr. Warrington.
310 THE VIEGINIANS.
"Yes, sir!" says the Chaplain with some spirit; "because some-
body else is hurt, and through my fault. I have lodged for many
years in London with a bootmaker, a very honest man ; and, a few
days since, having a perfect reliance upon — upon a friend who had
promised to accommodate me with a loan — I borrowed sixty pounds
from my landlord which he was about to pay to his own. I can't get
tKe money. My poor landlord's goods will be seized for rent ; his wife
and dear young children will be turned into the street ; and this honest
family will be ruined through my fault. But, as you say, Mr. War-
rington, I ought not to snivel like a woman. I will remember that you
helped me once, and will bid you farewell, sir."
And, taking his broad-leafed hat, Mr. Chaplain walked out of the
room.
An execration and a savage laugh, I am sorry to say, burst out of
Harry's lips at this sudden movement of the Chaplain's. He was in
such a passion with himself, with circumstances, with all people round
about him, that he scarce knew where to turn, or what he said.
Sampson heard the savage laughter, and then the voice of Harry
calling from the stairs, "Sampson, Sampson! hang you! come back!
It's a mistake ! I beg your pardon ! " But the Chaplain was cut to
the soul, and walked on. Harry heard the door of the street as the
Parson slammed it. It thumped on his own breast. He entered his
room, and sank back on his luxurious chair there. He was Prodigal,
amongst the swine — his foul remorses ; they had tripped him up,
and were wallowing over him. Gambling, extravagance, debauchery,
dissolute life, reckless companions, dangerous women — they were all
upon him in a herd, and were trampling upon the prostrate young
sinner.
Prodigal was not, however, yet utterly overcome, and had some fight
left in him. Dashing the filthy importunate brutes aside, and, as it
were, kicking his ugly remembrances away from him, Mr. Warrington
seized a great glass of that fire-water which he had recommended to
poor humiliated Parson Sampson, and, flinging off his fine damask
robe, rang for the trembling Gumbo, and ordered his coat. "Not
that ! " roars he, as Gumbo brings him a fine green coat, with plated
buttons and a gold cord. A plain suit — the plainer the better ! The
black clothes." And Gumbo brings the mourning-coat which his
master had discarded for some months past.
Mr. Harry then takes : — 1, his fine new gold watch ; 2, his repeater
(that which he had bought for Hetty), which he puts into his other
fob ; 3, his necklace, which he had purchased for Theo ; 4, his rings,
of which my gentleman must have half-a-dozen at least (with the
exception of his grandfather's old seal-ring, which he kisses and lays
down on the pincushion again); 5, his three gold snuff-boxes; and
6, his purse knitted by his mother, and containing three shillings and
sixpence and a pocket-piece brought from Virginia ; and, putting oa
his hat, issues from his door.
THE VIKGINIANS. 311
At the the landing he is met by Mr. Ruff, his landlord, who bows
and cringes and puts into his Honour's hand a strip of paper a yard
long. " Much obliged if Mr. Warrington will settle. Mrs. Euff has a
large account to make up to-day." Mrs. Ruff is a milliner. Mr. Ruff
is one of the head- waiters and aides-de-camp of Mr. Mackreth, the
proprietor of White's Club. The sight of the landlord does not add to
the lodger's good humour.
" Perhaps his Honour will have the kindness to settle the little
account?" asks Mr. Ruff.
*' Of course I will settle the account," says Harry, glumly looking
down over Mr. Ruff's head from the stair above him.
** Perhaps Mr. AYarrington will settle it now ? "
"1^0, sir, I will not settle it now ! " says Mr. Warrington, bullying
forward,
*' I'm very — very much in want of money, sir," pleads the voice
under him. " Mrs. Ruff is "
*'Hang you, sir, get out of the way!" cries Mr. Warrington,
ferociously, and driving Mr. Ruff backward to the wall, sending him
almost topsy-turvy down his own landing, he tramps down the stair,
and walks forth into Bond Street.
The Guards were at exercise at the King's Mews at Charing Cross, as
Harry passed, and he heard their drums and fifes, and looked in at the
gate, and saw them at drill. "I can shoulder a musket at any rate,"
thought he to himself gloomily, as he strode on. He crossed St.
Martin's Lane (where he transacted some business), and so made his
way into Long Acre, and to the bootmaker's house where friend
Sampson lodged. The woman of the house said Mr. Sampson was
not at home, but had promised to be at home at one ; and, as
she knew Mr, Warrington, showed him up to the Parson's apart-
ments, where he sate down, and, for want of occupation, tried to
read an unfinished sermon of the Chaplain's. The subject was the
Prodigal Son. Mr. Harry did not take very accurate cognisance of the
sermon.
Presently he heard the landlady's shrill voice on the stair, pursuing
somebody who ascended, and Sampson rushed into the room followed
by the sobbing woman.
At seeing Harry, Sampson started, and the landlady stopped.
Absorbed in her own domestic cares, she had doubtless forgot that a
visitor was awaiting her lodger. " There's only thirteen pound in the
house, and he will be here at one, I tell you ! " she was bawling out,
as she pursued her victim.
" Hush, hush ! my good creature ! " cries the gasping Chaplain,
pointing to Harry, who rose from the window-seat. " Don't you see
Mr. Warrington ? I've business with him — most important business.
It will be all right, I tell you ! " And he soothed and coaxed
Mrs. Landlady out of the room, with the crowd of anxious little ones
hanging at her coats.
ai2 THE VIEGINIANS.
" Sampson, I have come to ask your pardon, again," says Mr. War-
rington, rising up. "What I said to-day to you was very cruel and
unjust, and unlike a gentleman."
" Not a word more, sir," says the other, coldly and sadly, bowing
and scarcely pressing the hand which Harry oflfered him.
" I see you are still angry with me," Harry continues.
" Nay, sir, an apology is an apology. A man of my station can ask
for no more from one of yours. No doubt you did not mean to give
me pain. And what if you did ? And you are not the only one of the
family who has," he said, as he looked piteously round the room. " I
wish I had never known the name of Esmond or Castlewood," he con-
tinues, *' or that place yonder of which the picture hangs over my fire-
place, and where I have buried myself these long, long years. My
lord, your cousin, took a fancy to me, said he would make my fortune,
has kept me as his dependent till fortune has passed by me, and now
refuses me my due."
" How do you mean your due, Mr. Sampson ? " asks Harry.
** I mean three years' salary which he owes me as Chaplain of Castle-
wood. Seeing you could give me no money, I went to his lordship this
morning, and asked him. I fell on my knees, and asked him, sir.
But his lordship had none. He gave me civil words, at least (saving
your presence, Mr. Warrington), but no money — that is, five guineas,
which he declared was all he had, and which I took. But what are
five guineas amongst so many ? 0, those poor Utile children ! those
poor little children ! "
** Lord Castlewood said he had no money ? " cries out Harry. *' He
won eleven hundred pounds, yesterday, of me at picquet — which I paid
him out of this pocket-book."
" I daresay, sir ; I daresay, sir. One can't believe a word his lord-
ship says, sir," says Mr. Sampson ; *' but I am thinking of execution in
this house and ruin upon these poor folks to-morrow."
" That need not happen," says Mr. Warrington. ** Here are eighty
guineas, Sampson. As far as they go, God help you ! 'Tis all I
have to give you. I wish to my heart I could give more as I promised ;
but you did not come at the right time, and I am a poor devil now until
I get my remittances from Virginia."
The Chaplain gave a wild look of surprise, and turned quite white
He flung himself down on his knees and seized Harry's hand.
** Great Powers, sir!" says he, "are you a guardian angel that
Heaven hath sent me ? You quarrelled with my tears this morning,
Mr. Warrington. I can't help them now. They burst, sir, from a
grateful heart. A rock of stone would pour tliem forth, sir, before such
goodness as yours ! May Heaven eternally bless you, and give you pros-
perity! May my unworthy prayers be heard in your behalf, my friend,
my best benefactor ! May "
"Nay, nay! get up, friend — get up, Sampson!" says Harry, whom
the Chaplain's adulation and fine phrases rather annoyed. " I am glad
THE VIRGINIANS. 313
to have been able to do you a service— sincerely glad. There — there !
Don't be on your knees to me !"
"To Heaven who sent you to me, sir!" cries the Chaplain. **Mr8.
Weston! Mrs. Weston!"
"What is it, sir?" says the landlady, instantly, who, indeed, had
been at the door the whole time. " We are saved, Mrs. Weston ! We
are saved!" cries the Chaplain. "Kneel, kneel, woman, and thank
our benefactor! Raise your innocent voices, children, and bless him ! "
A universal whimper arose round Harry, which the Chaplain led oflf,,
whilst the young Virginian stood, simpering and well-pleased, in the
midst of this congregation. They would worship, do what he might.
One of the children, not understanding the kneeling order, and standing
up, the mother fetched her a slap on the ear, crying, " Drat it, Jane,
kneel down, and bless the gentleman, I tell 'ee!" We leave
them performing this sweet benedictory service. Mr. Harry walks oflf
from Long Acre, forgetting almost the griefs of the former four or
five days, and tingling with the consciousness of having done a good
action.
The young woman with whom Gumbo had been conversing on that
evening when Harry drove up from White's to his lodging, was Mrs.
Molly, from Oakhurst, the attendant of the ladies there. Wherever that
fascinating Gumbo went, he left friends and admirers in the servants'
hall. I think we said it was on a Wednesday evening, he and Mrs.
Molly had fetched a walk together, and they were performing the
amiable courtesies incident upon parting, when Gumbo's master came up,
and put an end to their twilight whisperings and what not.
For many hours on AVednesday, on Thursday, on Friday, a pale little
maiden sate at a window in Lord Wrotham's house, in Hill Street, her
mother and sister wistfully watching her. She would not go out. They
knew whom she was expecting. He passed the door once, and she might
have thought he was coming, but he did not. He went into a neigh-
bouring house. Papa had never told the girls of the presents which
Harry had sent, and only whispered a word or two to their mother
regarding his quarrel with the young Virginian.
On Saturday night there was an Opera of Mr. Handel's, and papa
brought home tickets for the gallery. Hetty went this evening. The
change would do her good, Theo thought, and — and, perhaps there
might be Somebody amongst the fine company ; but Somebody was not
there ; and Mr. Handel's fine music fell blank upon the poor child. It
might have been Signer Bononcini's, and she would have scarce known
the difference.
As the children are undressing, and taking off those smart new satin
sacks in which they appeared at the Opera, looking so fresh and so pretty
amongst all the tawdry rouged folk, Theo remarks how very sad and
woe-begone, Mrs. Molly their maid appears. Theo is always anxi-ius
when other people seem in trouble ; not so Hetty, now, vrho is sutftiing,
314 THE VIEGINIANS.
poor tiling, from one of the most selfisli maladies which ever visits
mortals. Have you ever been amongst insane people, and remarked
how they never, never think of any hut themselves ?
<' What is the matter, Molly ?*' asks kind Theo : and, indeed, Molly
has been longing to tell her young ladies. *' Miss Theo ! Miss
Hetty !" she says ; " How ever can I tell you? Mr. Gumbo have been
here, Mr. Warrington's coloured gentleman, miss ; and he says Mr.
Warrington have been took by two bailiffs this evening, as he comes out
of Sir Miles Warrington's house, three doors off."
** Silence!" cries Theo, quite sternly. Who is it that gives those
three shrieks ? It is Mrs. Molly, who chooses to scream, because Miss
Hetty has fallen fainting from her chair.
CHAPTER XLV.
IN WHICH HARKY FINDS TWO UNCLES.
We have all of us, no doubt, had a fine experience of the world, and
a vast variety of characters have passed under our eyes ; but there is one
sort of men — not an uncommon object of satire in novels and plays — of
whom I confess to have met with scarce any specimens at all in my
intercourse with this sinful mankind. I mean, mere religious hypocrites,
preaching for ever, and not believing a word of their own sermons ;
infidels in broad brims and sables, expounding, exhorting, comminating,
blessing, without any faith in their own paradise, or fear about their
pandemonium. Look at those candid troops of hobnails clumping to
church on a Sunday evening ; those rustling maid-servants in their
ribbons whom the young apprentices follow ; those little regiments of
schoolboys ; those trim young maidens and staid matrons, marching with
their glistening prayer-books, as the chapel bell chinks yonder (passing
Ebenezer, very likely, where the congregation of umbrellas, great
bonnets, and pattens, is by this time assembled under the flaring gas-
lamps). Look at those ! How many of them are hypocrites, think you ?
Very likely the maid-servant is thinking of her sweetheart : the grocer ia
casting about how he can buy that parcel of sugar, and whether the
County Bank will take any more of his paper : the head-schoolboy is
conning Latin verses for Monday's exercise : the young scapegrace re-
members that after this service and sermon, there will be papa's exposi-
tion at home, but that there will be pie for supper : the clerk who calls
out the psalm has his daughter in trouble, and drones through his
responses scarcely aware of their meaning : the very moment the parson
hides his face on his cushion, he may be thinking of that bill which is
coming due on Monday. These people are not heavenly-minded ; they
THE VIRGINIANS. 315
are of the world, worldly, and have not yet got their feet off of it ; but
they are not hypocrites, look you. Folks have their religion in some
handy mental lock-up, as it were, — a valuable medicine, to be taken in
ill-health ; and a man administers his nostrum to his neiglibour, and
recommends his private cure for the other's complaint. "My dear
madam, you have spasms ? You will find these drops infallible ! " -
*' You have been taking too much wine, my good sir ? By this pill you
may defy any evil consequences from too much wine, and take your
bottle of port daily." Of spiritual and bodily physic, who are more
fond and eager dispensers than women ? And we know that, especially
a hundred years ago, every lady in the country had her still-room, and
her medicine- chest, her pills, powders, potions, for all the village round.
My Lady "Warrington took charge of the consciences and the
digestions of her husband's tenants and family. She had the faith and
health of the servants' -hall in keeping. Heaven can tell whether she
knew how to doctor them rightly: but, was it pill or doctrine, she
administered one or the other with equal belief in her own authority^
and her disciples swallowed both obediently. She believed herself to
be one of the most virtuous, self-denying, wise, learned women in the
world ; and, dinning this opinion perpetually into the ears of all round
about her, succeeded in bringing not a few persons to join in her
persuasion.
At Sir Miles's dinner there was so fine a side-board of plate, and
such a number of men in livery, that it required some presence of mind
to perceive that the beer was of the smallest which the butler brought
round in the splendid tankard, and that there was but one joint of
mutton on the grand silver dish. When Sir Miles called the King's
health, and smacked his jolly lips over his wine, he eyed it and the
company as if the liquor was ambrosia. He asked Harry Warrington
whether they had port like that in Virginia ? He said that was nothing
to the wine Harry should taste in Norfolk. He praised the wine so,
that Harry almost believed that it was good, and winked into his own
glass, trying to see some of the merits which his uncle perceived in the
ruby nectar.
Just as we see in many a well-regulated family of this present
century, the Warringtons had their two paragons. Of the two grown
daughters, the one was the greatest beauty, the other the greatest
genius and angel of any young lady then alive, as Lady Warrington
told Harry. The eldest, the Beauty, was engaged to dear Tom Clay-
pool, the fond mother informed her Cousin Harry in confidence. But
the second daughter, the Genius and Angel was for ever set upon our
young friend to improve his wits and morals. She sang to him at the
harpsichord — rather out of tune for an angel, Harry thought ; she was
ready with advice, instruction, conversation — with almost too much
instruction and advice, thought Harry, who would have far preferred
the society of the little cousin who reminded him of Fanny Mountain
at home. But the last-mentioned young maiden, after dinner retired
316 THE VIRGINIANS.
to her nursery commonly. Beauty went off on her own avocations ;
Mamma had to attend to her poor or write her voluminous letters ;
Papa 'dozed in his arm-chair; and the Genius remained to keep her
young cousin company.
The calm of the house somehow pleased the young man, and he liked
to take refuge there away from the riot and dissipation in which he ordi-
narily lived. Certainly no welcome could be kinder than that which he
got. The doors were opened to him at all hours. If Flora was not at
home, Dora was ready to receive him. Ere many days' acquaintance,
he and his little Cousin Miles had been to have a galloping-match in
the Park, and Harry, who was kind and generous to every man alive
who came near him, had in view the purchase of a little horse for his
cousin, far better than that which the boy rode, when the circumstances
occurred which brought all our poor Harry's coaches and horses to a
sudden break-down.
Though Sir Miles Warrington had imagined Virginia to be an island,
the ladies were much better instructed in geography, and anxious to
hear from Harry all about his home and his native country. He, on
his part, was not averse to talk about it. He described to them the
length and breadth of his estate ; the rivers which it coasted ; the pro-
duce which it bore. He had had with a friend a little practice of
surveying in his boyhood. He made a map of his county, with some
fine towns here and there, which, in truth, were but log-huts (but, for
the honour of his country, he was desirous that they should wear as
handsome a look as possible). Here was Potomac ; here was James
Eiver ; here were the wharves whence his mother's ships and tobacco
were brought to the sea. In truth, the estate was as large as a county.
He did not brag about the place overmuch. To see the handsome young
fellow, in a fine suit of velvet and silver-lace, making his draught,
pointing out this hill and that forest or town, you might have imagined
him a travelling prince describing the realms of the queen his mother;
He almost fancied himself to be so at times. He had miles where gentle-
men in England had acres. Not only Dora listened, but the beauteous
Flora bowed her fair head and heard him with attention. Why, what
was young Tom Claypool, their brother baronet's son in Norfolk, with
his great boots, his great voice, and his heirdom to a poor five thousand
acres, compared to this young American prince and charming stranger ?
Angel as she was, Dora began to lose her angelic temper, and to twit
Flora for a flirt. Claypool, in his red waistcoat, would sit dumb before
the splendid Harry in his ruffles and laces, talking of March and Chester-
field, Selwyn and Bolingbroke, and the whole company of Macaronis.
Mamma began to love Harry more and more as a son. She was anxious
about the spiritual welfare of those poor Indians, of those poor negroes
in Yirginia. What could she do to help dear Madam Esmond (a pre-
cious woman, she knew !) in the good work ? She had a serious butler
and housekeeper : they were delighted with the spiritual behaviour and
«weet musical gifts of Gumbo.
THE VIRGINIANS. 317
" Ah ! Harry, Harry ! you have heen a sad wild hoy ! Why did
you not come sooner to us, sir, and not lose your time amongst the
spendthrifts and the vain world ? But 'tis not yet too late. We must
declaim thee, dear Harry ! Musn't we, Sir Miles ? Musn't we, Dora ?
Mustn't we. Flora?"
The three ladies all look up to the ceiling. They will reclaim the
dear prodigal. It is which shall reclaim him most. Dora sits by and
watches Flora. As for mamma, when the girls are away, she talks to
liim more and more seriously, more and more tenderly. She will be a
mother to him in the absence of his own admirable parent. She gives
him a hymn-book. She kisses him on the forehead. She is actuated
by the purest love, tenderness, religious regard, towards her dear,
wayward, wild, amiable nephew.
While these sentimentalities were going on, it is to be presumed that
Mr. Warrington kept his own counsel about his affairs out-of-doors,
which we have seen were in the very worst condition. He who had
been favoured by fortune for so many weeks was suddenly deserted by
her, and a few days had served to kick down all his heap of winnings.
Do we say that my Lord Castlewood, his own kinsman, had dealt
unfairly by the young Virginian, and in the course of a couple of after-
noons' closet practice had robbed him ? We would insinuate nothing
so disrespectful to his lordship's character ; but he had won from Harry
every shilling which properly belonged to him, and would have played
him for his reversions but that the young man flung up his hands when
he saw himself so far beaten, and declared that he must continue the
battle no more. Remembering that there still remained a spar out
of the wreck, as it were — that portion which he had set aside for poor
Sampson — Harry ventured it at the f aming-table ; but that last resource
went down along with the rest of Harry's possessions, and Fortune flut-
tered off" in the storm, leaving the luckless adventurer almost naked on
the shore.
When a man is young and generous and hearty the loss of money
scarce afflicts him. Harry would sell his horses and carriages, and
diminish his irain of life. If he wanted immediate supplies of money,
would not his Aunt Bernstein be his banker, or his kinsman who had
won so much from him, or his kind Uncle Warrington and Lady War-
rington who were always talking virtue and benevolence, and declaring
that they loved him as a son ? He would call upon these, or any one of
them whom he might choose to favour, at his leisure ; meanwhile,
Sampson's story of his landlord's distress touched the young gentleman,
and, in order to raise a hasty supply for the clergyman, he carried off all
his trinkets to a certain pawnbroker's shop in St. Martin's Lane.
Now this broker was a relative or partner of that very Mr. Sf)arks of
Tavistock Street from whom Harry had purchased — purchased did we
say ? — no ; taken the trinkets which he had intended to present to his
Oakhurst friends ; and it chanced that Mr. Sparks came to visit his
brother tradesman very soon after Mr, Warrington had disposed of his
318 THE VIRGINIANS.
goods. Recognising immediately the little enamelled diamond-handled
repeater which he had sold to the Fortunate Youth, the jeweller hroke
out into expressions regarding Harry which I will not mention here,
being already accused of speaking much too plainly. A gentleman
who is acquainted with a pawnbroker, we may be sure has a bailiff or
two amongst his acquaintances; and those bailiffs have followers who,
at the bidding of the impartial Law, will touch with equal hand the
fiercest captain's epaulet or the finest Macaroni's shoulder. The very
gentlemen who had seized upon Lady Maria at Tunbridge were set
upon her cousin in London. They easily learned from the garrulous
Gumbo that his honour was at Sir Miles "Warrington's house in Hill
Street, and whilst the black was courting Mrs. Lambert's maid at the
adjoining mansion, Mr. Costigan and his assistant lay in wait for poor
Harry, who was enjoying the delights of intercourse with a virtuous
family circle assembled round his aunt's table. Never had Uncle
Miles been more cordial, never had Aunt Warrington been more
gracious, gentle, and affectionate ; Flora looked unusually lovely, Dora
had been more than ordinarily amiable. At parting my lady gave
him both her hands, and called benedictions from the ceiling down
upon him. Papa had said in his most jovial manner, ** Hang it,
nephew ! when I was thy age I should have kissed two such fine girls
as Do and Flo ere this, and my own flesh and blood, too ! Don't
tell me ! I sJioiild, my Lady Warrington ! Odds-fish ! 'tis the boy
blushes, and not the girls, I think— I suppose they are used to it.
He I— he!"
"Papa! " cry the virgins.
*' Sir Miles ! " says the august mother at the same instant.
** There, there," says papa, " a kiss won't do no harm, and won't tell
no tales : will it nephew Harry ? " I suppose, during the utterance of
the above three brief phrases, the harmless little osculatory operation has
taken place, and blushing Cousin Harry has touched the damask cheek
of Cousin Flora and Cousin Dora.
As he goes down stairs with his uncle, mamma makes a speech to the
girls, looking, as usual, up to the ceiling, and saying, " What precious
qualities your poor dear cousin has ! What shrewdness mingled with
his simplicity, and what a fine genteel manner, though upon mere
worldly elegance I set little store. What a dreadful pity to think that
such a vessel should ever be lost ! We must rescue him, my loves. We
must take him away from those wicked companions, and those horrible
Castlewoods — not that I would speak ill of my neighbours. But I shall
hope, I shall pray, that he may be rescued from his evil courses!" and
again Lady Warrington eyes the cornice in a most determined manner,
as the girls wistfully looked towards the door behind which their in-
teresting cousin has just vanished.
His uncle will go down stairs with him. l^e calls ** God bless you,
my boy!" most affectionately: he presses Harry's hand, and repeats
his valuable benediction at the door. As it closes, the light from the
THE YIEGINIANS. 319
hall within having sufficiently illuminated Mr. Warrington's face and
figure, two gentlemen , who have been standing on the opposite side of the
way, advance rapidly, and one of them takes a strip of paper out of his
pocket, and putting his hand upon Mr. Warrington's shoulder, declares
him his prisoner. A hackney coach is in attendance, and poor Harry
goes to sleep in Chancery Lane.
0, to think that a Virginian prince's back should be slapped by a
ragged bailiff 's follower ! — that Madame Esmond's son should be in a
spunging house in Cursitor Street! I do not envy our young prodigal
his rest on that dismal night. Let us hit him now he is down, my
beloved young friends. Let us imagine the stings of remorse keeping
him wakeful on his dingy pillow : the horrid jollifications of other
hardened inmates of the place ringing in his ears from the room hard
by, where they sit boozing ; the rage and shame and discomfiture. No
pity on him I say, my honest young gentlemen, for you, of course,
have never indulged in extf avagance or folly, or paid the reckoning of
remorse.
CHAPTEE XLYI.
CHAIIfS ATfD SLA.YERT,
Eeitoese for past misdeeds and follies Harry sincerely felt, when he
found himself a prisoner in that dismal lock-up house, and wrath and
annoyance at the idea of being subjected to the indignity of arrest ;
but the present unpleasantry he felt sure could only be momentary.
He had twenty friends who would release him from his confinement : to
which of them should he apply, was the question. Mr. Draper, the
man of business, who had been so obsequious to him ; his kind uncle
the baronet, who had offered to make his house Harry's home, who
loved him as a son : his Cousin Castlewood, who had won such large
sums from him : his noble friends at the Chocolate House, his good
Aunt Bernstein — any one of these Harry felt sure would give him a
help in his trouble, though some of the relatives, perhaps, might admi-
nister to him a L'ttle scolding for his imprudence. The main point was,
that the matter should be transacted quietly, for Mr. Warrington was
anxious that as few as possible of the public should know how a gentle-
man of his prodigious importance had been subject to such a vulgar
process as an arrest.
"A pretty sensation my arrest must have created at the club!"
thought Harry. ''I suppose that Mr. Selwyn will be cutting all sorts
of jukes about my misfortune, plague take him ! Everybody round the
table will have heard of it. March will tremble about the bet I have
with Lira ; and, faith, 'twill be difficult to pay him when I lose. They
320 THE VIEGINIANS.
will ail be setting up a whoop of congratulation at the Savage, as they
call me, being taken prisoner. How shall I ever be able to appear iu
the world again? "Whom shall I ask to come to my help? No,"
thought he, with his mingled acuteness and simplicity, '♦ I will not send
in the first instance to any of my relations or my noble friends at
White's. I will have Sampson's counsel. He has often been in a
similar predicament, and will know how to advise me." Accordingly,
as soon as the light of dawn appeared, after an almost intolerable delay
— for it seemed to Harry as if the sun had forgotten to visit Cursitor
Street in his rounds that morning— and as soon as the inmates of the
house of bondage were stirring, Mr. Warrington dispatched a messenger
to his friend in Long Acre, acquainting the Chaplain witlji the calamity
just befallen him, and beseeching his reverence to give him the benefit
of his advice and consolation.
Mr. Warrington did not know, to be sure, that to send such a message
to the parson was as if he said, *♦ I am fallen amongst the lions. Come
down, my dear friend, into the pit with me." Harry very likely
thought Sampson's difficulties were over ; or, more likely still, was so
much engrossed with his own affairs and perplexities, as to bestow little
thought upon his neighbour's. Having sent off his missive the captive's
mind was somewhat more at ease, and he condescended to call for break-
fast, which was brought to him presently. The attendant who served
him with his morning repast, asked him whether he would order dinner,
or take his meal at Mrs. Bailiff's table with some other gentlemen ?
No. Mr. Warrington would not order dinner. He should quit the
place before dinner-time, he informed the chamberlain who waited on
him in that grim tavern. The man went away, thinking no doubt that
this was not the first young gentleman who had announced that he was
going away ere two hours were over. ** Well, if your honour does stay,
tliere is good beef and carrot at two o'clock," says the sceptic, and
closes the door on Mr. Harry and his solitary meditations.
Harry's messenger to Mr. Sampson brought back a message from that
gentleman to say that he would be with his patron as soon as might be :
but ten o'clock came, eleven o'clock, noon, and no Sampson. No Samp-
son arrived, but about twelve Gumbo with a portmanteau of his master's
clothes, who flung himself, roaring with grief, at Harry's feet: and
with a thousand vows of fidelity, expressed himself ready to die, to sell
himself into slavery over again, to do anything to rescue his beloved
Master Harry from this calamitous position. Harry was touched with
the lad's expressions of affection, and told him to get up from the ground
where he was grovelling on his knees, embracing his master's. " All
you have to do, sir, is to give me my clothes to dress, and to hold your
tongue about this business. Mind you, not a word, sir, about it to
anybody ! " says Mr. Warrington, severely.
'* no, sir, never to nobody!" says Gumbo, looking most solemnly,
and proceeded to dress his master carefully, who had need of a change
and a toilette after his yesterday's sudden capture, and night's dismal
THE YIEGINIANS. 321
rest. Accordingly Gumbo flung a dash of powder in Harry's hair, and
arrayed his master carefully and elegantly, so that he made Mr. War-
rington look as fine and splendid as if he had been stepping into his
chair to go to St. James's.
Indeed all that love and servility could do Mr. Gumbo faithfully did
for his master, for vrhom he had an extreme regard and attachment.
But there were certain things beyond Gumbo's power. He could not
undo things which were done already; and he could not help
lying and excusing himself when pressed upon points disagreeable to
himself.
As for swearing not to say a word about his master's arrest — such an
oath as that was impossible to keep : for, with a heart full of grief indeed,
but with a tongue that never could cease wagging, bragging, joking, and
lying, Mr. Gumbo had announced the woful circumstance to a prodigious
number of his acquaintances already, chiefly gentlemen of the shoulder-
knot and worsted lace. We have seen how he carried the news to
Colonel Lambert's and Lord Wrotham's servants : he had proclaimed
it at the footman's club to which he belonged, and which was frequented
by the gentlemen of some of the first nobility. He had subsequently
condescended to partake of a mug of ale in Sir Miles AYarriugton's
butler's room, and there had repeated and embellished the story. Then
he had gone off to Madame Bernstein's people, with some of whom he
was on terms of afi'ectionate intercourse, and had informed that domestic
circle of his grief : and, his master being captured, and there being no
earthly call for his personal services that evening. Gumbo had stepped
up to Lord Castlewood's, and informed the gentry there of the incident
which had just come to pass. So when, laying his hand on his heart,
and with gushing floods of tears, Gumbo says, in reply to his master's
injunction, '' 0, no, master ! nebber to nobody !" we are in a condition
to judge of the degree of credibility whioh ought to be given to the lad's
statement.
The black had long completed his master's toilet : the dreary breakfast
was over : slow as the hours went to the prisoner, still they were passing
one after another, but no Sampson came in accordance with the promise
sent in the morning. At length, some time after noon, there arrived,
not Sampson, but a billet from him, sealed with a moist wafer, and with
the ink almost yet wet. The unlucky divine's letter ran as follows :
0, sir, dear sir, I have done all that a man can at the command and
in the behalf of his patron ! You did not know, sir, to what you were
subjecting me, did you ? Else, if I was to go to prison, why did I not
share yours, and why am I in a lock-up house three doors off"?
Yes. Such is tlie fact. As I was hastening to you, knowing full
well the danger to which I was subject : — but what danger will I not
atiVont at the call of such a benefactor as Mr. Warrington hath been to
me ? — I was seized by two villains who had a writ against me, and who
have lodged me at iS'aboth's, hard by, and so close to your honour, that
Y
322 THE VIEGINIANS.
we could almost hear each other across the garden-walls of the respect've
houses where we are confined.
I had much and of importance to say, which I do not care to write
down on paper, regarding your affairs. May they mend ! May my
cursed fortunes, too, better themselves, is the prayer of
Tour honour's afflicted Chaplain in Ordinary,
J, 8.
And now, as Mr. Sampson refuses to speak, it will be our duty to
acquaint the reader with those matters whereof the poor Chaplain did
not care to discourse on paper.
Gumbo's loquacity had not reached so far as Long Acre, and Mr.
Sampson was ignorant of the extent of his patron's calamity, until he
received Harry's letter and messenger from Chancery Lane. The divine
was still ardent with gratitude for the service Mr. Warrington had just
conferred on him, and eager to find some means to succour his distressed
patron. He knew what a large sum Lord Castle wood had won from his
cousin, had dined in company with his lordship on the day before, and
now ran to Lord Castle wood's house, with a hope of arousing him to
some pity for Mr. "Warrington. Sampson made a very eloquent and
touching speech to Lord Castlewood about his kinsman's misfortune, and
spoke with a real kindness and sympathy, which however failed to
touch the nobleman to whom he addressed himself.
My lord peevishly and curtly put a stop to the Chaplain's passionate
pleading. "Did I not tell you, two days since, when you came for
money, that I was as poor as a beggar, Sampson ? " said his lordship,
" and has anybody left me a fortune since ? The little sum I won from
my cousin was swallowed up by others. I not only can't help Mr, War-
rington, but as I pledge you my word, not being in the least aware of
his calamity, I had positively written to him this morning to ask him to
help wie." And a letter to this eff'ect did actually reach Mr. Warrington
from his lodgings, whither it had been dispatched by the penny-post.
*' I must get him money, my lord. I know he had scarcely anything
left in his pocket after relieving me. Were I to pawn my cassock and
bands, he must have money," cried the Chaplain.
"Amen. Go and pawn your bands, your cassock, anything you
please. Your enthusiasm does you credit," said my lord, and resumed
the reading of his paper, whilst, in the deepest despondency, poor
Sampson left him.
My Lady Maria meanwhile had heard that the Chaplain was with her
brother, and conjectured what might be the subject on which they had
been talking. She seized upon the parson as he issued from out his
fruitless interview with my lord. She drew him into the dining-room :
the strongest marks of grief and sympathy were in her countenance.
" Tell me, what is this has happened to Mr. Warrington ? " she asked.
"Your ladyship, then, knows?" asked the Chaplain.
*' Have I not been in mortal anxiety ever since his servant brought
THE YIKGINIAIS^S. 32S
the dreadful news last night?" asked my lady. "Vfe had it as we
came from the Opera — from my Lady Yarmouth's box — my lord, my
Lady Castlewood, and I."
" His lordship, then, did know?" continued Sampson.
" Benson told the news when we came from the playhouse to our tea,"
repeats Lady Maria.
The Chaplain lost all patience and temper at such duplicity. '* This
is too bad," he said, with an oath ; and he told Lady Maria of the con-
versation which he had just had with Lord Castlewood, and of the
iatter's refusal to succour his cousin, after winning great sums of money
from him, and with much eloquence and feeling of Mr. Warrington's
most generous behaviour to himself.
Then my Lady Maria broke out with, a series of remarks regarding
her own family, which were by no means complimentary to her own kith
and kin. Although not accustomed to tell truth commonly, yet, when
certain families fall out, it is wonderful what a number of truths they
will tell about one another. With tears, imprecations, I do not like to
think how much stronger language. Lady Maria burst into a furious and
impassioned tirade, in w^hich she touched upon the history of almost all
her noble family. She complimented the men and the ladies alike ; she
shrieked out interrogatories to Heaven, inquiring why it had made
such (never mind what names she called her brothers, sisters,
uncles, aunts, parents) ; and emboldened with wrath, she dashed at
her brother's library-door, so shrill in her outcries, so furious in her
demeanour, that the alarmed Chaplain, fearing the scene which might
ensue, made for the street.
My lord, looking up from the book or other occupation which engaged
him, regarded the furious woman with some surprise, and selected a good
strong oath to fling at her, as it were, and check her onset.
But, when roused, we have seen how courageous Maria could be.
Afraid as she was ordinarily of her brother, she was not in a mood to be
frightened now by any language of abuse or sarcasm at his command.
"So, my lord ! " she called out ; *' you sit down with him in private
to cards, and pigeon him ! You get the poor boy's last shilling, and
you won't give him a guinea out of his own winnings now he is
penny less ! "
*' So that infernal Chaplain has been telling tales !" says my lord.
" Dismiss, him : do I Pay him his wages, and let him go, — he will
be glad enough!" cries Maria.
" I keep him to marry one of my sisters, in ease he is wanted," says
Castlewood, glaring at her.
*' What can the women be in a family where there are such men?"
Bays the lady.
*' Effectivement !" says my lord, with a shrug of his shoulder.
" What can we be, when our fathers and brothers are what they are ?
We are bad enough, but what are you ? I say, you neither have
courage — no, nor honour, nor common feeling. As your equals won't
Y 2
324 THE VIRGINIANS.
Dlav with you, my Lord Castle wood, you must take this poor lad out of
Yirginia, your own kinsman, and pigeon him ! 0, it's a shame — a
shame ! "
"We are all playing our own game, I suppose. Haven't you played
and won one, Maria ? Is it you that are squeamish all of a sudden
ahout the poor lad from Virginia? Has Mr. Harry cried off, or has
your ladyship got a better offer ?" cried my lord. " If you won't have
him,* one of the Warrington girls will, I promise you; and the old
Methodist woman in Hill Street will give him the choice of either. Are
you a fool, Maria Esmond ? A greater fool, I mean, than in common ?"
'* I should be a fool if I thought that either of my brothers could act
like an honest man, Eugene ! " said Maria. *' I am a fool to expect
that you will be other than you are ; that if you find any relative in
distress you will help him ; that if you can' meet with a victim you
won't fleece him."
" Fleece him ! Psha ! What folly are you talking ! Have you not seen,
from the course which the lad has been running for months past, how
he would end 1 If I had not won his money, some other would. I
never grudged thee thy little plans regarding him. Why shouldst
thou fly in a passion, because I have just put out my hand to take what
he was offering to all the world ? I reason with you, I don't know why,
Maria. You should be old enough to understand reason, at any rate.
You think this money belonged of right to Lady Maria Warrington and
her children ? I tell you that in three months more every shilling
would have found its way to White's macco-table, and that it is much
better spent in paying my debts. So much for your ladyship's auger,
and tears, and menaces, and naughty language. See! I am a good
brother, and repay them with reason and kind words."
" My good brother might have given a little more than kind words to
the lad from whom he has just taken hundreds," interposed the sister of
this affectionate brother.
" Great Heavens, Maria ! Don't you see that even out of this affair,
unpleasant as it seems, a clever woman may make her advantage," cries
my lord. Maria said she failed to comprehend.
" As thus. I name no names ; I meddle in no person's business,
having quite enough to do to manage my own cursed affairs. But
suppose 1 happen to know of a case in another family which may be
applicable to ours. It is this. A green young lad of tolerable expecta-
tions, comes up from the country to his friends in town — never mind
from what country : never mind to what town. An elderly female
relative, who has been dragging her spinsterhood about these — how
many years shall we say ? — extorts a promise of marriage from my
young gentleman, never mind on what conditions."
" My lord, do you want to insult your sister as well as to injure your
cousin ? " asks Maria.
'' My good child, did I say a single word about fleecing, or cheating,
•jr pigeoning, or did I fly into a passion when you insulted iue f i
THE VIRGINIANS. 325
know the allowance that must be made for your temper, and the natural
folly of your sex. I say I treated you with soft words — I go on with
my story. The elderly relative extracts a promise of marriage from the
young lad, which my gentleman is quite unwilling to keep. No, he
won't keep it. He is utterly tired of his elderly relative : he will plead
his mother's refusal : he will do anything to get out of his promise."
*' Yes ; if he was one of us Esmonds, my Lord Castle wood. But this
is a man of honour we are speaking of," cried Maria, who, I suppose,
admired truth in others, however little she saw it in her own family.
** I do not contradict either of my dear sister's remarks. One of us
would fling the promise to the winds, especially as it does not exist in
writing."
" My lord ! " gasps out Maria.
" Bah ! I know all. That little coup of Tunbridge was played by the
Aunt Bernstein with excellent skill. The old woman is the best man
of our family. "While you were arrested, your boxes were searched for
the Mohock's letters to you. When you were let loose, the letters had
disappeared, and you said nothing, like a wise woman as you are some-
times. You still hanker after your Cherokee. Soit. A woman of your
mature experience knows the value of a husband. What is this little
loss of two or three hundred pounds ? "
" Not more than three hundred, my lord ? " interposes Maria.
" Eh ! never mind a hundred or two, more or less. What is this loss
at cards ? A mere bagatelle ! You are playing for a principality.
You want your kingdom in Virginia ; and if you listen to my opinion,
the little misfortune which has happened to your swain is a piece of great
good fortune to you.
'' I don't understand you, my lord."
'* C^est possible ; but sit down, and I will explain what I mean in a
manner suited to your capacity." And so Maria Esmond, who had
advanced to her brother like a raging lion, now sate down at his feet like
a gentle lamb.
Madame de Bernstein was not a little moved at the news of her
nephew's arrest, which Mr. Gumbo brought to Clarges Street on the night
of the calamity. She would have cross-examined the black, and had
further particulars respecting Harry's mishap ; but Mr. Gumbo, anxious
to carry his intelligence to other quarters, had vanished when her lady-
ship sent for him. Her temper was not improved by the news, or by
the sleepless night which she spent. I do not envy the dame de com-
pagnie who played cards with her, or the servant who had to lie in her
chamber. An arrest was an everyday occurrence, as she knew very
well as a woman of the world. Into what difficulties had her scapegrace
of a nephew fallen ? How much money should she be called upon to
pay to release him ? And had he run through all his own ? Provided
he had not committed himself very deeply, she was quite disposed to
aid him. She liked even his extravagances and follies. He was the
326 THE VIEGINIANS.
only being in the world on whom, for long, long years, that weary woman
had been able to bestow a little natural affection. So, on their different
beds, she and Harry were lying wakeful together ; and quite early in
the morning the messengers which each sent forth on the same business
may have crossed each other.
Madame Bernstein's messenger was despatched to the chambers of her
man of business, Mr. Draper, with an order that Mr. D. should ascertain
for what sums Mr. Warrington had been arrested, and forthwith repair
to the Baroness. Draper's emissaries speedily found out that Mr. "War-
rington was locked up close beside them, and the amount of detainers
against him so far. "Were there other creditors, as no doubt there were,
they would certainly close upon him when they were made acquainted
with his imprisonment.
To Mr. Sparks, the jeweller, for those unlucky presents, so much ;
to the landlord in Bond Street, for board, fire, lodging, so much : these
were at present the only claims against Mr. "Warrington, Mr. Draper
found. He was ready at a signal from her ladyship to settle them at a
moment. The jeweller's account ought especially to be paid, for Mr.
Harry had acted most imprudently in taking goods from Mr. Sparks
on credit, and pledging them with a pawnbroker. He must have
been under some immediate pressure for money; intended to redeem the
goods immediately, meant nothing but what was honourable of course ;
but the affair would have an ugly look, if made public, and had better
be settled out of hand. *' There cannot be the least difiiculty regarding
a thousand pounds more or less, for a gentleman of Mr, Warrington's
rank and expectations," said Madame de Bernstein. Not the least :
her ladyship knew very well that there were funds belonging to
Mr. Warrington, on which money could be at once raised with her lady-
ship's guarantee.
Should he go that instant and settle the matter with Messrs. Amos ?
Mr. Harry might be back to dine with her at two, and to confound the
people at the clubs, who are no doubt rejoicing over his misfortunes,
said the compassionate Mr. Draper.
But the Baroness had other views. " I think, my good Mr. Draper,"
she said, ** that my young gentleman has sown wild oats enough ; and
when he comes out of prison, I should like him to come out clear, and
without any liabilities at all. You are not aware of all his."
" No gentleman ever does tell all his debts, madam," says Mr. Draper;
" no one I ever had to deal with."
" There is one which the silly boy has contracted, and from which ho
ought to be released, Mr. Draper. You remember a little circumstance
which occurred at Tunbridge Wells in the autumn ? About which I
sent up my man Case to you?"
" When your ladyship pleases to recall it, I remember it — not other-
wise," says Mr. Draper with a bow. " A lawyer should be like a
Popish confessor, — what is told him is a secret for ever, and for
everybody." So we must not whisper Madame Bernstein's secret to
THE VIRGINIANS.
Mr. Draper ; but the reader may perhaps guess it from the lawyer's
conduct subsequently.
The lawyer felt pretty certain that ere long he would receive a
summons from the poor young prisoner in Cursitor Street, and waited
for that invitation before he visited Mr. "Warrington. Six and thirty
hours passed ere the invitation came, during which period Harry
passed the dreariest two days which he ever remembered to have spent.
There was no want of company in the lock-up house, the bailiff's
rooms were nearly always full ; but Harry preferred the dingy solitude
of his own room to the society round his lady's table, and it was
only on the second day cf his arrest, and when his purse was emptied
by the heavy charges of the place, that he made up his mind to apply
to Mr. Draper. He despatched a letter then to the lawyer at the
Temple, informing him of his plight, and desiring him, in an emphatic
postscript, not to say one word about the matter to his aunt Madame de
Bernstein.
He had made up his mind not to apply to the old lady except at
the very last extremity. She had treated him with so much kindness,
that he revolted from the notion of trespassing on her bounty, and
for a while tried to please himself with the idea that he might get
out of durance without her even knowing that any misfortune at all
had befallen him. There seemed to him something humiliating in
petitioning a woman for money. ]^o ! He would apply first to his
male friends, all of whom might help him if they would. It had been
his intention to send Sampson to one or other of them as a nego-
tiator, had not the poor fellow been captured on his way to succour his
friend.
Sampson gone, Harry was obliged to have recourse to his own negro
servant, who was kept on the trot all da.y between Temple Bar and the
Court end of the town with letters from his unlucky master. Firstly,
then, Harry sent off a most private and confidential letter to his kinsman
the Plight Honourable the Earl of Castle wood, saying how he had been
cast into prison, and begging Castlewood to lend him the amount of the
debt. " Please to keep my application, and the cause of it, a profound
secret from the dear ladies," wrote poor Harry.
" Was ever anything so unfortunate? " wrote back Lord Castlewood,
in reply. "I suppose you have not got my note of yesterday? It
must be lying at your lodgings, where— I hope in heaven!— you will
soon be, too. My dear Mr. AVarrington, thinking you were as rich
as Croesus — otherwise I should never have sate down to cards with
you — I wrote to you yesterday, begging you to lend me some money
to appease some hungry duns whom I don't know how else to pacify.
My poor fellow ; every shilling of your money went to them, and but
for my peer's privilege I might be hob-and-nob with you now in your
dungeon. May you soon escape from it, is the prayer of your sincere
Castlewood."
This was the residt of application number one : and we may imagine
328 THE YIRGINIAXS.
that Mr. Harry read the reply to his petition with rather a blank face.
Never mind ! There was kind, jolly Uncle Warrington. Only last
night his aunt had kissed him and loved him like a son. His uncle had
called down blessings on. his head, and professed quite a paternal regard
for him. With a feeling of shyness and modesty in presence of those
virtuous parents and family, Harry had never said a word about his
wild doings, or his horse-racings, or his gamblings, or his extravagances.
It must all out now. He must confess himself a Prodigal and a Sinner,
and ask for their forgiveness and aid. So Prodigal sate down and
composed a penitent letter to Uncle Warrington, and exposed his sad
case, and besought him to come to the rescue. Was not that a bitter
nut to crack for our haughty young Virginian? Hours of mortifica-
tion and profound thought as to the pathos of the composition did Harry
pass over that letter ; sheet after sheet of Mr. Amos's sixpence a sheet
letter-paper did he tear up before the missive was complete, with which
poor blubbering Gumbo (much vilified by the bailiff's followers and
parasites, whom he was rolibing, as they conceived, of their perquisites)
went his way.
At evening the faithful negro brought back a thick letter in his aunt's-
handwriting. Harry opened the letter with a trembling hand. He
thought it was full of bank-notes. Ah, me ! it contained a sermon
(Daniel in the Lion's Den) by Mr. Whitfield and a letter from Lady
Warrington saying that, in Sir Miles's absence from London, she was
in the habit of opening his letters, and hence, perforce, was become
acquainted with a fact which she deplored from her inmost soul to learn,
namely, that her nephew Warrington had been extravagant and was in
debt. Of course, in the absence of Sir Miles, she could not hope to-
have at command such a sum as that for which Mr. Warrington wrote,
but she sent him her heartfelt itrayers, her deepest commiseration, and
a discourse by dear Mr. Whitfield, which would comfort hira in his
present (alas ! she feared not undeserved) calamity. She added pro-
fuse references to particular Scriptural chapters which would do him
good. If she might speak of things worldly she said at such a moment^
sh€ would hint to Mr. Warrington that his epistolary orthography was
anything but correct. She would not fail for her part to comply with
his express desire that his dear cousins should know nothing of this most
painful circumstance, and with every wish for his welfare here and else-
where, she subscribed herself his loving aunt,
Margaret Warrington-.
Poor Harry hid his face between his hands, and sate for a wliile with
elbows on the greasy table blankly staring into the candle before him.
The bailiff's servant, who was touched by his handsome face, suggested
a mug of beer for his honour, but Harry could not drink, nor eat the meat
that was placed before him. Gumbo however could, whose grief did not
deprive him of appetite, and who, blubbering the while, finished all the
beer, and all the bread and the meat. Meanwhile, Harry had finished
THE VIRGINIANS.
another letter, with whicli Gumbo was commissioned to start again, and
away tlie faithful creature ran upon his errand.
Gumbo ran as far as White's Club, to which house he was ordered in the
first instance to carry the letter, and where he found the person to whom
it was addressed. Even the prisoner, for whom time passed so slowly, was
surprised at the celerity with which his negro had performed his errand.
At least the letter which Harry expected had not taken long to write.
" My lord wrote it at the hall-porter's desk, while I stood there then
with Mr. Morris," said Gumbo, and the letter was to this effect : —
Dear Sir,
I am sorry I cannot comply with your wish, as I'm short of money
at present, having paid large sums to you as well as to other gentlemen.
Yours obediently, March and R.
Henry Warrington, Esq.
*'Did Lord March say anything ? " asked Mr. Warrington, looking-
very pale.
*' He say it was the cooUest thing he ever knew. So did Mr. Morris.
He showed him your letter. Master Harry. Yes, and Mr. Morris say^
*Dara his imperence !' " added Gumbo.
Harry burst into such a yell of laughter that his landlord thought
he had good news, and ran in in alarm lest he was about to lose his
tenant. But by this time poor Harry's laughter was over, and he was
flung down in his chair gazing dismally in the fire.
'' I — I should like to smoke a pipe of Virginia," he groaned.
Gumbo burst into tears : he flung himself at Harry's knees. He kissed
his knees and his hands. "0 master, my dear master, what will they
say at home ? " he sobbed out.
The jailor was touched at the sight of the black's grief and fidelity,
and at Harry's pale face as he sank back in his chair, quite overcome and
jaten by his calamity.
" Your honour ain't eat anything these two days," the man said, in a
)ice of rough pity. " Pluck up a little, sir. You aren't the first gen-
tleman who has been in and out of grief before this. Let me go down
id get you a glass of punch and a little supper."
'* My good friend," said Harry, a sickly smile playing over his white'
face, " you pay ready money for everything in this house, don't you?
I luust tell you that I haven't a shilling left to buy a dish of meat. AH
the money I have I want for letter-paper."
"0, master, my master!" roared out Gumbo. ** Look here, my
dear Master Harry ! Here's plenty of money — here's twenty-three five-
guineas. Here's gold moidore from Virginia — here — no, not that —
that's keepsakes the girls gave me. Take everything — everything. I
go sell my self to-morrow morning ;buthere's plenty for to-night, master!"
"God bless you, Gumbo!" Harry said, laying his hand on the lad's
woolly head. " You are free if I am not, and Heaven forbid I should
330 THE YIEGINIANS.
not take the offered help of such a friend as you. Bring me some
supper : hut the pipe too, mind— the pipe too ! " And Harry ate his
supper with a relish : and even the turnkeys and bailiff's followers, whea
Gumbo went out of the house that night, shook hands with him, and ever
after treated him well.
CHAPTEE XLVII.
TISITOES IN TROUBLE.
Mr. Gumbo's generous and feeling conduct soothed and softened the
angry heart of his master, and Harry's second night in the sponging-
house was passed more pleasantly than the first. Somebody at least
there was, to help and compassionate with him. Still, though softened
in that one particular spot, Harry's heart was hard and proud towards
almost all the rest of the world. They were selfish and ungenerous, he
thought. His pious aunt Warrington, his lordly friend March, his
cynical cousin Castlewood, — all had been tried, and were found wanting.
J^ot to avoid twenty years of prison would he stoop to ask a favour of
one of them again. Fool that he had been, to believe in their promises,
and confide in their friendship ! There was no friendship in this cursed,
cold, selfish country. He would leave it. He would trust no English-
man, great or small. He would go to Germany, and make a campaign
with the king ; or he would go home to Virginia, bury himself in the
woods there, and hunt all day ; become his mother's factor and land-
steward ; marry Polly Broadbent, or Fanny Mountain ; turn regular
tobacco-grower and farmer ; do anything, rather than remain amongst
these English fine gentlemen. So he arose with an outwardly cheerful
countenance, bat an angry spirit ; and at an early hour in the morning
the faithful Gumbo was in attendance in his master's chamber, having
come from Bond Street, and brought Mr. Harry's letters thence. *'I
wanted to bring some more clothes," honest Gumbo said ; ** but Mr.
Euff, the landlord, he wouldn't let me bring no more."
Harry did not care to look at the letters : he opened one, two, three ;
they were all bills. He opened a fourth ; it was from the landlord, to
say that he would allow no more of Mr. "Warrington's things to go out
of the house, — that unless his bill was paid he should sell Mr. W.'s
goods and pay himself; and that his black man must go and sleep
elsewhere. He would hardly let Gumbo take his own clothes and
portmanteau away. The black said he had found refuge elsewhere —
with some friends at Lord Wrotham's house. " With Colonel Lambert's
people," says Mr. Gumbo, looking very hard at his master. ** And Miss
Hetty she fall down in a faint, when she hear you taken up ; and Mr. Lam-
bert, he very good man, and he say to me this morning, he say, ' Gumbo,
you tell your master if he want me he send to me, and I come to him.' "
THE YIEGIXIAXS.
Harry was touched when he heard that Hetty had been afflicted by his
misfortune. He did not believe Gumbo's story about her fainting ; he
was accustomed to translate his black's language and to allow for exag-
geration. But when Gumbo spoke of the Colonel the young Virginian's
spirit was darkened again. " I send to Lambert," he thought, grinding
his teeth, *'the man who insulted me, and flung my presents back in
my face ! If I were starving I would not ask him for a crust ! " And
presently, being dressed, Mr. Warrington called for his breakfast, and
dispatched Gumbo with a brief note to Mr. Draper in the Temple requir-
ing that gentleman's attendance.
'' The note was as haughty as if he was writing to one of his negroes,
and not to a free-born English gentleman," Draper said ; whom indeed
Harry had always treated with insufferable condescension. ''It's all
very well for a fine gentleman to give himself airs ; but for a fellow in
a sponging-house ! Hang him ! " says Draper, " I've a great mind not
to go ! " Nevertheless, Mr. Draper did go, and found Mr. Warrington
in his misfortune even more arrogant than he had ever been in the days
of his utmost prosperity. Mr. W. sat on his bed, like a lord, in a splendid
gown with his hair dressed. He motioned his black man to fetch him a
chair.
" Excuse me, madam, but such haughtiness and airs I ain't accustomed
to ! " said the outraged attorney.
''Take a chair and go on with your story, my good Mr. Draper?"
said Madame de Bernstein, smiling, to whom he went to report proceed-
ings. She was amused at the lawyer's anger. She liked her nephew
for being insolent in adversity.
The course which Draper was to pursue in his interview with Harry
had been arranged between the Baroness and her man of business on the
previous day. Draper was an able man, and likely in most cases to do a
client good service ; he failed in the present instance because he was
piqued and angry, or, more likely still, because he could not understand
the gentleman with whom he had to deal. I presume that he who casts
his eye on the present page is the most gentle of readers. Gentleman,
as you unquestionably are then, my dear sir, have you not remarked in
your dealings with people who are no gentlemen, that you offend them
lot knowing the how or the why ? So the man who is no gentleman
fends you in a thousand ways of which the poor creature has no idea
Smself. He does or says something which provokes your scorn. He
jrceives that scorn (being always on the watch, and uneasy about him-
elf, his manners and behaviour) and he rages. You speak to him
iturally, and he fancies still that you are sneering at him. You have
idifference towards him, but he hates you and hates you the worse
jcause you don't care. "Gumbo, a chair to Mr. Draper!" says Mr.
'"arrington, folding his brocaded dressing-gown round his legs as he sits
the dingy bed. " Sit down, if you please, and let us talk my business
jiver. Much obliged to you for coming so soon in reply to my message.
"Tad you heard of this piece of ill-luck before ?"
33'2 niE VIRGINIANS.
Mr. Draper had heard of the circumstance. " Bad news travel quick,
Mr. Warrington," he said ; " and I was eager to offer my humble ser-
vices as soon as ever you should require them. Your friends, your
family, will be much pained that a gentleman of your rank should be
in such a position."
♦' I have been very imprudent, Mr. Draper. I have lived beyond my
means." (Mr. Draper bowed.) " I played in company with gentle-
men who were much richer than myself, and a cursed run of ill-luck
has carried away all my ready money, leaving me with liabilities to the
amount of five hundred pounds and more."
" Five hundred now in the office," says Mr. Draper.
•'Well, this is such a trifle that I thought by sending to one or two
friends, yesterday, I could have paid my debt and gone home without
farther to do. I have been mistaken ; and will thank you to have the
kindness to put me in the way of raising the money, as soon as may be."
Mr. Draper said " Hm ! " and pulled a very grave and long face.
"Why, sir, it can be done!" says Mr. Warrington, staring at the
lawyer.
It not only could be done, but Mr. Draper had proposed to Madame
Bernstein on the day before instantly to pay the money, and release Mr,
Warrington. That lady had declared she intended to make the young
gentleman her heir. In common with the rest of the world, Draper
believed Harry's hereditary property in Virginia to be as great in money-
value as in extent. He had notes in his pocket, and Madame Bern-
stein's order to pay them under certain conditions : nevertheless, when
Harry said, " It can be done ! " Draper pulled his long face, and said,
*♦ It can be done in time, sir ; but it will require a considerable time.
To touch the property in England which is yours on Mr. George
Warrington's death, we must have the event proved, the trustees re-
leased : and who is to do either ? Lady Esmond Warrington in Virginia,
of course will not allow her son to remain in prison, but we must wait
six months before we hear from her. Has your Bristol agent any autho-
rity to honour your drafts ? "
** He is only authorised to pay me two hundred pounds a-year," says
Mr. Warrington. " I suppose I have no resource, then, but to apply to
my aunt, Madame de Bernstein. She will be my security."
" Her ladyship will do anything for you, sir ; she has said so to me,
often and often," said the lawyer ; '' and, if she gives the word, at that
moment you can walk out of this place."
"Go to her, then, from me, Mr. Draper. I did not want to have
troubled my relations : but rather than continue in this horrible need-
less imprisonment, I must speak to her. Say where I am, and what has
befallen me. Disguise nothing ! And tell her, that I confide in her
affection and kindness for me to release me from this — this disgrace,"
and Mr. Warrington's voice shook a little, and he passed his hand across
his eyes.
"Sir," Bays Mr. Draper, eyeing the young man, " I was with her
THE VIRGINIANS.
ladyship yesterday, when we talked over the whole of this here most
unpleasant— I won't say as you do, disgraceful business."
«* What do you mean, sir? Does Madame de Bernstein know of my
misfortune ? " asked Harry.
** Every circumstance, sir; tlie pawning the watches, and all."
Harry turned burning red. "It is an unfortunate business, the
pawning them watches and things which you had never paid for," con-
tinued the lawyer. The young man started up from the bed, looking so
fierce that Draper felt a little alarmed.
** It may lead to litigation and unpleasant remarks being made in
court, sir. Them barristers respect nothing ; and when they get a feller
in the box "
** Great Heaven, sir, you don't suppose a gentleman of my rank can't
take a watch upon credit without intending to cheat the tradesman ?"
cried Harry, in the greatest agitation.
** Of course you meant everything that's honourable ; only, you see,
the law mayn't happen to think so," says Mr. Draper winking his
eye. '* (Hang the supercilious beast : I touch him there!) Your aunt
says it's the most imprudent thing ever she heard of — to call it by no
worse name."
'* You call it by no worse name yourself, Mr. Draper?" says Harry,
speaking each word very slow, and evidently trying to keep a command
of himself.
Draper did not like his looks. ** Heaven forbid that I should say
anything as between gentleman and gentleman, — but between me and
my client, it's my duty to say, ' Sir, you are in a very unpleasant
scrape,' just as a doctor would have to tell his patient, ' Sir, you are
very ill.' "
** And you can't help me to pay this debt off, — and you have come
only to tell me that I may be accused of roguery ?" says Harry.
" Of obtaining goods under false pretences ? Most undoubtedly, yes.
I can't help it, sir. Don't look as if you would knock me down. (Curse
him, I am making him wince, though.) A young gentleman, who has
only two hundred a year from his ma', orders diamonds and watches,
and takes 'em to a pawnbroker. You ask me what people will think of
such behaviour, and I tell you honestly. Don't be angry with me^
Mr. Warrington."
" Go on, sir!" says Harry, with a groan.
The lawyer thought the day was his own. " But you ask if I can't
elp to pay this debt off ? And I say Yes — and that here is the money
in my pocket to do it now, if you like— not mine, sir, my honoured
client's, your aunt. Lady Bernstein. But she has a right to impose her
conditions, and I've brought 'em with me."
'* Tell them, sir," says Mr. Harry.
** They are not hard. They are only for yo:ir own good : and if you
say Yes, we can call a hackney-coach, and go to Clarges Street together,
which I have promised to go there, whether yo-i will or no. Mr. IVar-
834 THE YIEGINIANS.
rington, I name no names, but there was a question of marriage between
you and a certain party."
*'Ali!" said Harry; and his countenance looked more cheerful than
it had yet done,
**To that marriage my noble client, the Baroness, is most averse —
having other views for you, and thinking it will be your ruin to marry
a party, — of noble birth and title it is true ; but, excuse me, not of first-
rate character, and so much older than yourself. You had given an
imprudent promise to that party."
" Yes ; and she has it still," says Mr. "Warrington.
" It has been recovered. She dropped it by an accident at Tun-
bridge," says Mr. Draper, *' so my client informed me ; indeed her
ladyship showed it me, for the matter of that. It was wrote in bl "
''Never mind, sir!" cries Henry, turning almost as red as the ink
which he had used to write his absurd promise, of which the madness
and folly had smote him with shame a thousand times over.
*'Atthe same time letters, wrote to you, and compromising a noble
family, were recovered," continues the lawyer. ** You had lost 'em.
It was no fault of yours. You were away when they were found again.
You may say that that noble family, that you yourself, have a friend
such as few young men have. "Well, sir, there's no earthly promise to
bind you — only so many idle words said over a bottle, which very likely
any gentleman may forget. Say you won't go on with this marriage —
give me and my noble friend your word of honour. Cry off, I say,
Mr. W. ! Don't be such a d • fool, saving your presence, as to marry
an old woman who has jilted scores of men in her time. Say the word,
and I step down stairs, pay every shilling against you in the office, and
put you down in my coach, either at your aunt's or at White's Club,
if you like, with a couple of hundred in your pocket. Say yes ; and
give us your hand I There's no use in sitting grinning behind these
bars all day ! "
So far Mr. Draper had had the best of the talk. Harry only longed
himself to be rid of the engagement from which his aunt wanted to free
him. His foolish flame for Maria Esmond had died out long since. If
she would release him, how thankful would he be ! " Come ! give us
your hand, and say done ! " says the lawyer, with a knowing wink.
*' Don't stand shilly-shallying, sir. Law bless you, Mr. W., if I had
married everybody I promised, I should be like the grand Turk, or
Captain Macheath in the play !"
The lawyer's familiarity disgusted Harry, who shrank from Draper,
scarcely knowing that he did so. He folded his dressing-gown round
him, and stepped back from the other's proffered hand. *' Give me a
little time to think of the matter, if you please, Mr. Draper," he said,
** and have the goodness to come to me again in an hour."
"Very good, sir, very good, sir!" says the lawyer, biting his lips,
and, as he seized up his hat, turning very red. " Most parties would
not want an hour to consider about such an offer as I make you : but I
THE TTBGDTIANS. 335
suppose my time must be yours, and I'll come again, and see whether
you are to go or to stay. Good morning, sir, good morning : " and he
went his way, growling curses down the stairs. ** Won't take my
hand, won't he ? "Will tell me in an hour's time ! Hang his impudence I
I'll show him what an hour is ! "
Mr. Draper went to his chambers in dudgeon then; bullied his clerks
all round, and sent off a messenger to the Baroness, to say that he had
waited on the young gentleman, who had demanded a little time for con-
sideration, which was for form's sake, as he had no doubt ; the lawyer
then saw clients, transacted business, went out to his dinner in the
most leisurely manner ; and then finally turned his steps towards the
neighbouring Cursitor Street. ' ' He'll be at home when I call, the
haughty beast ! " says Draper, with a sneer. " The Fortunate Youth in
his room ?" the lawyer asked of the sheriff's officer's aid-de-camp who
came to open the double doors.
*'Mr. Warrington is in his apartment," said the gentleman, "but
" and here the gentleman winked at Mr. Draper, and laid his hand
on his nose.
"But what? Mr. Paddy from Cork!" says the lawyer.
"My name is Costigan ; me familee is noble, and me neetive place
is the Irish methrawpolis, Mr. Six-and-eightpence ! " said the Janitor,
scowling at Draper. A rich odour of spirituous liquors filled the little
space between the double doors where he held the attorney in conver-
sation.
" Confound you, sir, let me pass!" bawled out Mr. Draper.
j "I can hear you perfectly well, Six-and-eightpence, except your h's,
[ which you dthrop out of your conversation. I'll thank ye not to call
j neems, me good friend, or me fingers and your nose will have to make
I an intimate hic-quaintance. Walk in, sir ! Be polite for the future
to your shupariors in birth and manners, though they me be your
infariors in temporary station. Confound the kay ! Walk in, sir, I
say ! Madame, I have the honour of saluting ye most respectfully?"
A lady with her face covered with a capuchin, and further hidden
by her handkerchief, uttered a little exclamation as of alarm as she
^^^xame down the stairs at this instant and hurried past the lawyer. He
Hvas pressing forward to look at her — for Mr. Draper was very cavalier
I^^Ki his manners to women — but the bailiff's follower thrust his leg
I^Hbetween Draper and the retreating lady, crying, " Eeep your own dis-
'^^ance, if you plaise ! This way, madam ! I at once recognised your
ladysh " Here he closed the door on Draper's nose, and left that
attorney to find his own way to his client up-stairs.
At six o'clock that evening the old Baroness de Bernstein was pacing
up and down her drawing crutch, and for ever running to the window
when the noise of a coach was heard passing in Clarges Street. She had
delayed her dinner from hour to hour ; she who scolded so fiercely, on
ordinary occasions, if her cook was five minutes after his time. She
ij ihad ordered two covers to be laid, plate to be set out, and some extra
THE VIRGINIANS.
dishes to be prepared as if for a little fete. Four— five o'clock passed,
and at six she looked from the window, and a coach actually stopped at
her door.
''Mr. Draper" was announced, and entered bowing profoundly.
The old lady trembled on her stick. " Where is the boy ?" she said
quickly. " I told you to bring him, sir ! How dare you come without
him ?"
"It is not my fault, madam, that Mr. "Warrington refuses to come."
And Draper gave his version of the interview which had just taken
place between himself and the young Virginian,
CHAPTER XLVIII.
AN APPAEITION.
GoiXG off in his wrath from his morning's conversation with Harry,
Mr. Draper thought he heard the young prisoner speak behind him ;
and, indeed, Harry had risen, and uttered a half exclamation to call the
lawyer back. But he was proud, and the other offended : Harry checked
his words, and Draper did not choose to stop. It wounded Harry's pride
to be obliged to humble himself before the lawyer, and to have to yield
from mere lack and desire of money. *' An hour hence will do as well,'*
thought Harry, and lapsed sulkily on to the bed again. No, he did not
care for Maria Esmond. No: he was ashamed of the way in which
he had been entrapped into that engagement. A wily and experienced
woman, she had cheated his boyish ardour. She had taken unfair
advantage of him, as her brother had at play. They were his own flesh
and blood, and they ought to have spared him. Instead, one and the
other had made a prey of him, and had used him for their selfish ends.
He thought how they had betrayed the rights of hospitality : how they
had made a victim of the young kinsman who came confiding within
their gates. His heart was sore wounded : his head sank back on his
pillow : bitter tears wetted it. *' Had they come to Virginia," he
thought, ** I had given them a different welcome ! "
He was roused from this mood of despondency by Gumbo's grinning
face at his door, who said a lady was come to see Master Harry, and
behind the lad came the lady in the capuchin, of whom we have just
made mention. Harry sat up, pale and haggard, on his bed. The lady,
with a sob, and almost ere the servant-man withdrew, ran towards the
young prisoner, put her arms round his neck with real emotion and a
maternal tenderness, sobbed over his pale cheek and kissed it in the
midst of plenliful tears, and cried out —
** 0, my Harry ! Did I ever, ever think to see thee here ? '*
He started back, scared as it seemed at her presence, but she sank
THE YIEGINIANS. 337
down at the bedside, and seized his feverish hand, and embraced his
knees. She had a real regard and tenderness for him. The wretched
place in which she found him, his wretched look, filled her heart with a
sincere love and pity.
"I — I thought none of you would come !" said poor Harry, with a
groan.
More tears, more kisses of the hot young hand, more clasps and
pressure with hers, were the lady's reply for a moment or two.
" 0, my dear ! my dear ! I cannot bear to think of thee in misery,"
she sobbed out.
Hardened though it might be, that heart was not all marble — that
dreary life not all desert. Harry's mother could not have been fonder,
nor her tones more tender than those of his kinswoman now kneeling
at his feet.
" Some of the debts, I fear, were owing to my extravagance! " she
said (and this was true). "You bought trinkets and jewels in order to
give me pleasure. 0, how I hate them now I I little thought I ever
could ! I have brought them all with me, and more trinkets — here ! and
here ! and all the money I have in the world ! "
And she poured brooches, rings, a watch, and a score or so of guineas
into Harry's lap. The sight of which strangely agitated and immensely
touched the young man.
" Dearest, kindest cousin ! " he sobbed out.
His lips found no more words to utter, but yet no doubt they served
to express his gratitude, his affection, his emotion.
He became quite gay presently, and smiled as he put away some of the
trinkets, his presents to Maria, and told her into what danger he had
fallen by selling other goods which he had purchased on credit ; and
how a lawyer had insulted him just now upon this very point. He would
not have his dear Maria's money — he had enough, quite enough for the
present : but he valued her twenty guineas as much as if they had been
twfenty thousand. He would never forget her love and kindness : no,
by all that was sacred he would not ! His mother should know of all
her goodness. It had cheered him when he was just on the point of
breaking down under his disgrace and misery. Might Heaven bless her
for it ! There is no need to pursue beyond this, the cousins' conversa-
tion. The dark day seemed brighter to Harry after Maria's visit : the
imprisonment not so hard to bear. The world was not all selfish and
cold. Here was a fond creature who really and truly loved him.
Even Castlewood was not so bad as he had thought. He had expressed
the deepest grief at not being able to assist his kinsman. He was
hopelessly in debt. Every shilling he had won from Harry he had lost
on the next day to others. Anything that lay in his power he would
do. He would come soon and see Mr. Warrington : he was in waiting
to-day, and as much a prisoner as Harry himself. So the pair talked
on cheerfully and affectionately until the darkness began to close in,
when Maria, with a sigli, bade Harry farewell.
338 THE VIRGINIANS.
The door scarcely closed upon her, when it opened to admit Draper.
"Your humble servant, sir," says the attorney. His voice jarred
upon Harry's ear, and his presence offended the yoiing man.
" I had expected you some hours ago, sir," he curtly said.
•** A lawyer's time is not always his own, sir," said Mr. Draper, who
had just been in consultation with a bottle of port at the Grecian.
"Never mind, I'm at your orders now. Presume it's all right, Mr.
Warrington. Packed your trunk ? Why, now, there you are in your
bed-gown still. Let me go down and settle whilst you call in your
black man and titivate a bit. I've a coach at the door, and we'll be off,
and dine with the old lady."
" Are you going to dine with the Baroness de Bernstein, pray ? "
" Not me — no such honour. Had my dinner already. It's you are
a-going to dine with your aunt, I suppose ? "
** Mr. Draper, you suppose a great deal more than you know," says
Mr. Warrington, looking very fierce and tall, as he folds his brocade
dressing-gown round him.
" Great goodness, sir, what do you mean ? " asks Draper.
"I mean, sir, that I have considered, and, that having given my
word to a faithful and honourable lady, it does not become me to
withdraw it."
" Confound it, sir ! " shrieks the lawyer, " I tell you she has lost the
paper. There's nothing to bind you — nothing. Why she's old enough
to be "
" Enough, sir," says Mr. Warrington, with a stamp of his foot.
" You seem to think you are talking to some other pettifogger. I take
it, Mr. Draper, you are not accustomed to have dealings with men of
honour."
"Pettifogger, indeed,'^ cries Draper in a fury. "Men of honour,
indeed ! I'd have you to know, Mr. Warrington, that I'm as good a
man of honour as you. I don't know so many gamblers and horse-
jockeys, perhaps. I haven't gambled away my patrimony, and lived as
if I was a nobleman on two hundred a year. I haven't bought watches
on credit, and pawned — touch me if you dare, sir," and the lawyer
sprang to the door.
"That is the way out, sir. You can't go through the window,
because it is barred," said Mr. Warrington.
"And the answer I take to my client is No, then! " screamed out
Draper.
Harry stepped forward, with his two hands clenched. " If you utter
another word," he said, "I'll " The door was shut rapidly — the
sentence was never finished, and Draper went away furious to Madame
de Bernstein, from whom, though he gave her the best version of his
story, he got still fiercer language than he had received from Mr. War-
rington himself.
" What ? Shall she trust me, and I desert her ? " says Harry,
stalking up and down his room in his flowing, rustling brocade. " Dear
THE VIRGINIANS.
faithful, generous woman ! If I lie in prison for years, I'll be true
to her."
Her lawyer dismissed after a stormy interview, the desolate old
woman was fain to sit down to the meal which she had hoped to share
with her nephew. The chair was before her which he was to have
filled, the glasses shining by the silver. One dish after another was
laid before her by the silent major-domo, and tasted and pushed away.
The man pressed his mistress at last. "It is eight o'clock," he said.
*' You have had nothing all day. It is good for you to eat." She
could not eat. She would have her coffee. Let Case go get her her
coffee. The lacqueys bore the dishes off the table, leaving their mistress
sitting at it before the vacant chair.
Presently the old servant re-entered the room without his lady's coffee,
and with a strange scared face, and said, ** Mr. "Waerixgton ! "
The old. woman uttered an exclamation, got up from her arm chair,
but sank back in it, trembling very much. " So you are come, sir, are
you?" she said, with a fond shaking voice. "Bring back the
Ah ! " here she screamed, " Gracious God, who is it?" Her eyes stared
wildly : her white face looked ghastly through her rouge. She clung
to the arras of her chair for support, as the visitor approached her.
A gentleman whose face and figure exactly resembled Harry Warring-
ton, and whose voice, when he spoke, had tones strangely similar, had
followed the servant into the room. He bowed low towards the
Baroness.
"You expected my brother, madam?" he said. "I am but now
arrived in London. I went to his house. I met his servant at your
door, who was bearing this letter for you. I thought I would bring it to
your ladyship before going to him," — and the stranger laid downa lettet
before Madame Bernstein.
" Are you" — gasped out the Baroness — " are you my nephew, that we
supposed was "
"Was killed — and is alive ! lam George Warrington, madam, and
I ask his kinsfolk, what have you done with my brother ? "
"Look, George! "said the bewildered old lady. " I expected him
here to-night — that chair was set for him — I have been waiting for him,
sir, till now — till I am quite faint— I don't like — I don't like being alone.
Do stay and sup with me 1 "
"Pardon me, madam. Please God, my supper will be with Harry
to-night ! "
" Bring him back. Bring him back here on any conditions ! It is
but five hundred pounds ! Here is the money, sir, if you need it ! "
" I have no want, madam. I have money with me that can't be better
employed than in my brother's service."
"And you will bring him to me, sir! Say you will bring him to
me!"
Mr. AVarrington made a very stately bow for answer, and quitted the
z 2
340 THE VIEGINIANS.
room, passing by the amazed domestics, and calling with, an air of
authority to Gumbo to follow.
Had Mr. Harry received no letters from home ? Master Harry had
not opened all his letters the last day or two. Had he received no
letter announcing his brother's escape from the French settlements
and return to Yirginia ? 0, no ! No such letter had come, else Master
Harry certainly tell Gumbo. Q,uick, horses ; Quick by Strand to
Temple Bar I Here is the house of Captivity and the Deliverer come to
the rescue I
CHAPTEE XLIX.
FEIENDS IN NEED.
Quick, hackney-eoacli steeds, and bear George Warrington through
Strand and Fleet Street to his imprisoned brother's rescue ! Any one
who remembers Hogarth's picture of a London hackney-coach and a
London street road at that period, may fancy how weary the quick time
was, and how long seemed the journey ; — scarce any lights, save those
carried by link-boys ; badly hung coaches ; bad pavements ; great holes
in the road, and vast quagmires of winter mud. That drive from Pic-
cadilly to Fleet Street seemed almost as long to our young man, as
the journey from Marlborough to London which he had performed in
the morning.
He had written to Harry, announcing his arrival at Bristol. He had
previously written to his brother, giving the great news of his existence
and his return from captivity. There was war between England and
France at that time ; the French privateers were for ever on the look-out
for British merchant- ships, and seized them often within sight of port.
The letter bearing the intelligence of George's restoration must have
been on board one of the many American ships of which the French took
possession. The letter telling of George's arrival in England was never
opened by poor Harry ; it was lying at the latter's apartments, which it
reached on the third morning after Harry's captivity, whei the angry
Mr. Euff had refused to give up any single item more cf his lodger's
property.
To these apartments George first went on his arrival in London, and
asked for his brother. Scared at the likeness between them, the maid
servant who opened the door screamed, and ran back to her mistress.
The mistress not liking to tell the truth, or to own that poor Harry was
actually a prisoner at her husband's suit, said Mr. Warrington had left
his lodgings ; she did not know where Mr. Warrington was. George
knew that Clarges Street was close to Bond Street. Often and often had
he looked over the London map. Aunt Bernstein would tell him where
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 341
Harry was. He might be with her at that very moment. George had
read iu Harry's letters to Virginia about Aunt Bernstein's kindness to
Harry. Even Madam Esmond was softened by it (and especially touched
by a letter which the Baroness wrote — the letter which caused George
to pack off post haste for Europe, indeed). She heartily hoped and
trusted that Madam Beatrix had found occasion to repent of her former
bad ways. It was time, indeed, at her age ; and Heaven knows that
•he had plenty to repent of ! I have known a harmless, good old soul
of eighty, still bepommeled and stoned by irreproachable ladies of the
straitest sect of the Pharisees, for a little slip which occurred
long before the present century was born, or she herself was twenty
years old. Eachel Esmond never mentioned her eldest daughter :
Madam Esmond Warrington never mentioned her sister. No. In spite
of the order for remission of the sentence — in spite of the hand- writing
on the floor of the Temple — these is a crime which some folks never will
pardon, and regarding which female virtue, especially, is inexorable.
I suppose the Virginians' agent at Bristol had told George fearful
stories of his brother's doings. Gumbo, whom he met at his aunt's
door, as soon as the lad recovered from his terror at the sudden re-
appearance of the master whom he supposed dead, had leisure to stammer
out a word or two respecting his young master's whereabouts, and
present pitiable condition ; and hence Mr. George's sternness of demeanour
when he presented himself to the old lady. It seemed to him a matter
of course that his brother in difficulty should be rescued by his relations.
O George, how little you know about London and London ways.
Whene'er you take your walks abroad how many poor you meet : — if a
philanthropist were for rescuing all of them, not all the wealth of all the
provinces of America would suffice him !
But the feeling and agitation displayed by the old lady touched her
nephew's heart when, jolting through the dark streets towards the house
of his brother's captivity, George came to think of his aunt's behaviour.
<* She does feel my poor Harry's misfortune," he thought to himself,
" I have been too hasty in judging her." Again and again, in the course
of his life, Mr. George had to rebuke himself with the same crime of
being too hasty. How many of us have not ? And, alas, the mischief
done, there's no repentance will mend it. Quick, coachman ! AVe are
almost as slow as you are in getting from Clarges Street to the Temple.
?oor Gumbo knows the way to the bailiff's house well enough. Again
le bell is set ringing. The first door is opened to George and his
legro ; then that first door is locked warily upon them, and they find
themselves in a little passage with a little Jewish janitor ; then a second
loor is unlocked, and they enter into the house. The Jewish janitor
itares, as by his flaring tallow-torch he sees a second Mr. Warrington.
)efore him. Come to see that gentleman ? Yes. But wait a moment.
?his is Mr. Warrington's brother from America. Gumbo must go and
prepare his master first. Step into this room. There's a gentleman
already there about Mr. W.'s business (the porter says), and another
342 THE VIRGINIANS.
Tip-stairs with liim now. There's no end of people have been about
him.
The room into which George was introduced was a small apartment
which went by the name of Mr. Amos's office, and where, by a gut-
tering candle, and talking to the bailiflp, sat a stout gentleman in a
cloak and a laced hat. The young porter carried his candle, too, pre-
ceding Mr. George, so there was a sufficiency of light in the apartment.
" We are not angry any more, Harry ! " says the stout gentleman, in
a cheery voice, getting up and advancin* with an outstretched hand to
the new comer. " Thank God, my boy ! Mr. Amos here says, there will
be no difficulty about James and me being your bail, and we will do
your business by breakfast time in the morning."
"Why . . . Angels and ministers of grace! who are you?" And
he started back as the other had hold of his hand.
But the stranger grasped it only the more strongly. " God bless
you, sir!" he said, "I know who you are. You must be Colonel
Lambert, of whose kindness to him my poor Harry wrote. And T am
the brother whom you have heard of, sir ; and who was left for dead
in Mr. Braddock's action ; and came to life again after eighteen months
amongst the French ; and live to thank God and thank you for your
kindness to my Harry," continued the lad with a faltering voice.
** James ! James ! Here is news ! " cries Mr. Lambert to a gentleman
in red, who now entered the room. "Here are the dead come alive!
Here is Harry Scapegrace's brother come back, and with his scalp on his
head too ! " (George had taken his hat off, and was standing by the
light.) "This is my brother bail, Mr. Warrington! This is Lieute-
nant-Colonel James Wolfe, at your service. You must know there has
been a little difference between Harry and me, Mr. George. He is
pacified, is he, James ? "
" He is full of gratitude," says Mr. Wolfe, after making his bow to
Mr. Warrington.
" Harry wrote home about Mr. Wolfe, too, sir," said the young man,
" and I hope my brother's friends will be so kind as to be mine."
" I wish he had none other but us, Mr. Warrington. Poor Harry's
fine folks have been too fine for him, and have ended by landing him
here."
" Nay, your honours, I have done my best to make the young gen-
tleman comfortable ; and, knowing your honour before, when you came
to bail Captain Watkins, and that your security is perfectly good, — if
your honour wishes, the young gentleman can go out this very night,
and I will make it all right with the lawyer in the morning," says
Harry's landlord, who knew the rank and respectability of the two
gentlemen who had come to offer bail for his young prisoner.
"The debt is five hundred and odd pounds, I think?" said Mr.
Warrington. " With a hundred thanks to these gentlemen, I can pay
the amount at this moment into the officers' hands, taking the usual
acknowledgment and caution. But I can never forget, gentlemen, that
THE VIRGINIAXS. 343
you helped my brother at his need, and, for doing so, I say thank you,
and God bless you, in my mother's name and mine."
Gumbo had, meanwhile, gone up-stairs to his master's apartment,
where Harry would probably have scolded the negro for returning that
night, but that the young gentleman was very much soothed and touched
by the conversation he had had with the friend who had just left him. He
was sitting over his pipe of Virginia in a sad mood (for, somehow, even
Maria's goodness and affecti(m, as she had just exhibited them, had not
altogether consoled him ; and he had thought with a little dismay of
certain consequences to which that very kindness and fidelity bound
him) when Mr. Wolfe's homely features and eager outstretched hand
came to cheer the prisoner, and he heard how Mr. Lambert was below,
and the errand upon which the two officers had come. In spite of
himself, Lambert would be.kind to him. In spite of Harry's ill- temper,
and needless suspicion and anger, the good gentleman was determined
to help him if he might — to help him even against Mr. "Wolfe's own
advice, as the latter frankly told Harry, " For you were wrong, Mr.
Warrington," said the Colonel, "and you wouldn't be set right; and
you, a young man, used hard words and unkind behaviour to your
senior, and what is more, one of the best gentlemen who walks God's
earth. You see, sir, what his answer hath been to your wayward
temper. You will bear with a friend who speaks frankly with you ?
Martin Lambert hath acted in this as he always doth, as the best
Christian, the best friend, the most kind and generous of men. I^ay, if
you want another proof of his goodness, here it is : He has converted me,
who, as I don't care to disguise, was angry with you for your treatment
of him, and has absolutely brought me down here to be your bail. Let
us both cry Peccavimus ! Harry, and shake our friend by the hand !
He is sitting in the room below. He would not come here till he knew
how you would receive him. "
" I think he is a good man ! " groaned out Harry. *' I was very angry
and wild at the time when he and I met last, Colonel Wolfe. Nay,
perhaps he was right in sending back those trinkets, hurt as I was at his
doing so. Go down to him, will you be so kind, sir ? and tell him I am
sorry, and ask his pardon, and — and, God bless him for his generous
behaviour." And here the young gentleman turned his head away, and
rubbed his hand across his eyes.
** Tell him all this thyself, Harry ! " cries the Colonel, taking the
young fellow's hand. " No deputy will ever say it half so well. Come
with me now."
*' You go first, and I'll— I'll follow, — on my word I will. See ! I am
in my morning gown ! I will but put on a coat and come to him. Give
him my message first. Just— just prepare him for me ! " says poor
Harry, who knew he must do it, but yet did not much like that process
of eating of humble-pie.
Wolfe went out smiling — understanding the lad's scruples well enough,
344 THE VIRGINUTsS.
perhaps. As lie opened the door, Mr. Gumbo entered it ; almost for-
getting to bow to the gentleman, profusely courteous as he was on
ordinary occasions, — his eyes glaring round, his great mouth grinning—
himself in a state of such high excitement and delight that his master
remarked his condition.
'' What, Gum? What has happened to thee? Hast thou got a new
sweetheart?"
No, Gum had not got no new sweetheart, Master.
** Give me my coat. What has brought thee back ? "
Gum grinned prodigiously. *' I have seen a ghost, Mas'r ! " he
said.
" A ghost ! and whose, and where ? '*
" Whar ? Saw him at Madame Bernstein's house. Come with him
here in the coach ! He down-stairs now with Colonel Lambert ! "
Whilst Gumbo is speaking, as he is putting on.,his master's coat, his
eyes are rolling, his head is wagging, his hands are trembling, his lips
are grinning.
*' Ghost — what ghost?" says Harry in a strange agitation. ** Is any-
body — is — my mother come ? "
" No, sir; no. Master Harry !" Gumbo's head rolls nearly off in its
violent convolutions, and his master, looking oddly at him, flings the door
open and goes rapidly down the stair.
He is at the foot of it, just as a voice within the little office, of wliich
the door is open, is saying, " and for doing so, I sag tlumk you, and
God bless you in tny mother^ s name and mine.
" Whose voice is that ? " calls out Harry Warrington, with a strange
cry in his own voice.
**It's the gJiosfs, Mas'r!" says Gumbo, from behind; and Harry
runs forward to the room,— where, if j'ou please, we will pause a little
minute before we enter. The two gentlemen who were there, turned
their heads away. The lost was found again. The dead was alive.
.The prodigal was on his brother's heart, — his own full of love, gratitude,
repentance.
"Come away, James! I think we are not wanted any more here,"
says the Colonel. '* Good night, boys. Some ladies in Hill Street won't
be able to sleep for this strange news. Or will you go home and sup with
em, and tell them the story ?"
No, with many thanks, the boys would not go and sup to-night.
They had stories of their own to tell. *' Quick, Gumbo, with the trunks!
Good bye, Mr, Amos ! " Harry felt almost unhappy when he went
away.
THE VIRGINIANS. 345
CHAPTEE L.
CONTAINS A GEEAT DEAL OF THE FINEST MOEALITr.
When first we had the honour to be presented to Sir Miles Warring-
ton at the King's drawing-room, in St. James's Palace, I confess that I,
for one — looking at his jolly round face, his broad round waistcoat, his
hearty country manner, — expected that I had lighted upon a most
eligible and agreeable acquaintance at last, and was about to become
intimate with that noblest specimen of the human race, the bepraised
of soDgs and men, the good old English country gentleman. In fact, to
be a good old country gentleman is to hold a position nearest the gods,
and at the summit of earthly felicity. To have a large unencumbered
rent-roll, and the rents regularly paid by adoring farmers, who bless
their stars at having such a landlord as his honour ; to have no tenant
holding back with his money, excepting just one, perhaps, who does so
in order to give occasion to Good Old Country Gentleman to show his
sublime charity and universal benevolence of soul ; to hunt three days
a-week, love the sport of all things, and have perfect good health and
good appetite in consequence ; to have not only good appetite, but a good
dinner ; to sit down at church in the midst of a chorus of blessings from
the villagers, the first man in the Parish, the benefactor of the Parish,
with a consciousness of consummate desert, saying, " Have mercy upon
us, miserable sinners," to be sure, but only for form's sake, because the
words are witten in the book, and to give other folks an example : — a
G. 0. C. G. a miserable sinner ! So healthy, so wealthy, so jolly, so
much respected by the vicar, so much honoured by the tenants, so much
beloved and admired by his family, amongst whom his story of grouse in
the gun-room causes laughter from generation to generation ; — this
perfect being a miserable sinner! Allons done ! Give any man good
health and temper, five thousand a year, the adoration of his parish, and
the love and worship of his family, and I'll defy you to make him so
heartily dissatisfied with his spiritual condition as to set himself down a
miserable anything. If you were a royal highness, and went to church
in the most perfect health and comfort, the parson waiting to begin the
service until your R. H. came in, wo aid you believe yourself to be a
miserable, &c. ? You might when racked with gout, in solitude, the fear
of death before your eyes, the doctor having cut ofiT your bottle of claret,
and ordered arrowroot and a little sherry, — you might then be humi-
liated, and acknowledge your own shortcomings, and the vanity of things
in general ; but, in high health, sunshine, spirits, that word miserable is
only a form. You can't think in your heart that you are to be pitied
much for the present. If you are to be miserable, what is Colin Plough-
man, with the ague, seven children, two pounds a year rent to pay for
346 THE YIRGINIANS.
his cottage, and eight shillings a- week ? No : a healthy, rich, jolly,
country gentleman, if miserable, has a yery supportable misery ; if a
sinner, has very few people to tell him so.
It may be he becomes somewhat selfish ; but at least he is satisfied
with himself. Except my lord at the castle, there is nobody for miles
and miles round so good or so great. His admirable wife ministers to
him, and to the whole parish, indeed : his children bow before him : the
vicar of the parish reverences him : he is respected at quarter sessions :
he causes poachers to tremble : off" go all hats before him at market : and
round about his great coach, in which his spotless daughters and sublime
lady sit, all the country-town tradesmen cringe, bareheaded, and the
farmer's women drop innumerable curtsies. From their cushions in the
great coach the ladies look down beneficently, and smile on the poorer
folk. They buy a yard of ribbon with affability ; they condescend te
purchase an ounce of salts, or a packet of flower-seeds : they deign to
cheapen a goose : their drive is like a royal progress ; a happy people is
supposed to press round them and bless them. Tradesmen bow,
farmers' wives bob, town-boys, waving their ragged hats, cheer the red-
faced coachman as he drives the fat bays, and cry, " Sir Miles for ever!
Throw us a halfpenny, my lady ! "
But suppose the market-woman should hide her fat goose when Sir
Miles's coach comes, out of terror lest my lady, spying the bird, should
insist on purchasing it a bargain ? Suppose no coppers ever were known
to come out of the royal coach window ? Suppose Sir Miles regaled his
tenants with notoriouslj'^ small beer, and his poor with especially thin
broth ? This may be our fine old English gentleman's way. There
have been not a few fine English gentlemen and ladies of this sort ;
who patronised the poor without ever relieving them, who called out
"Amen!" at church as loud as the clerk; who went through all the
forms of piety, and discharged all the etiquette of old English gentle-
manhood ; who bought virtue a bargain, as it were, and had no doubt
they were honouring her by the purchase. Poor Harry in his distress
asked help from his relations: his aunt sent him a tract and her
blessing ; his uncle had business out of town, and could not, of course,
answer the poor boy's petition. How much of this behaviour goes on
daily in respectable life, think you ? You can fancy Lord and Lady
Macbeth concocting a murder, and coming together with some little
awkwardness, perhaps, when the transaction was done and over ; but
my Lord and Lady Skinflint, when they consult in their bedroom about
giving their luckless nephew a helping hand, and determine to refuse,
and go down to family prayers, and meet their children and domestics,
and discourse virtuously before them, and then remain together, and
talk nose to nose, — what can they think of one another ? and of the
poor kinsman fallen among the thieves, and groaning for help unheeded ?
How can thej^ go on with those virtuous airs ? How can they dare leak
each other in the face ?
Dare ? Do you suppose they think they have done wrong ? Do you
'I'HE VIRGIXIANS. ^ 347
suppose Skinflint is tortured -with remorse at the idea of the distress
which called to him in vain, and of the hunger which he sent empty
away ? JS'ot he. He is indignant with Prodigal for being a fool : he is
not ashamed of himself for being a curmudgeon. "What ? a young man.
with such opportunities throw them away ? A fortune spent amongst
gamblers and spendthrifts ? Horrible, horrible ! Take warning, my
child, by this unfortunate young man's behaviour, and see the conse-
quences of extravagance. According to the great and always Established
Church of the Pharisees, here is an admirable opportunity for a moral
discourse, and an assertion of virtue. " And to think of his deceiving
us so ! " cries out Lady Warrington.
" Yery sad, very sad, my dear !" says Sir John, wagging his head.
*' To think of so much extravagance in one so young!" cries Lady
Warrington. *' Cards, bets, feasts at taverns of the most wicked pro-
fusion, carriage and riding horses, the company of the wealthy and
profligate of his own sex, and, I fear, of the most iniquitous persons of
ours."
"Hush, my Lady "Warrington!" cries her husband, glancing towards
the spotless Dora and Flora, who held down their blushing heads, at the
mention of the last naughty persons.
" No wonder my poor children hide their faces !" mamma continues.
** My dears, I wish even the existence of such creatures could be kepi
from you ! "
'' They can't go to an opera, or the park, without seeing 'em, to be
sure," says Sir Miles.
" To think we should have introduced such a young serpent into the
bosom of our family ! and have left him in the company of that guileless
darling ! " and she points to Master Miles.
*' Who's a serpent, mamma?" inquires that youth. '' First you said
Cousin Harry was bad : then he was good : now he is bad again. Which
is he. Sir Miles?"
" He has faults, like all of us, Miley, my dear. Your cousin has been
wild, and you must take warning by him."
"Was not my elder brother, who died — my naughty brother — wa»
not he wild too ? He was not kind to me when I was quite a little boy.
He never gave me money, nor toys, nor rode with me, nor — why do
you cry, mamma ? Sure I remember how Hugh and you were always
fight "
" Silence, sir ! " cry out papa and the girls in a breath, " Don't you
know you are never to mention that name ?"
" I know 1 love Harry, and I didn't love Hugh," says the sturdy
little rebel. " And if cousin Harry is in prison, I'll give him my half-
guinea that my godpapa gave me, and anything I have — yes, anything^
except — except my little horse — and my silver waistcoat — and — and
Snowball and Sweetlips at home — and — and, yes, my custard after
dinner." This was in reply to hint of sister Dora. " But I'd give hiitt
some of it," continues Miles, after a pause.
348 ^ THE ^^RGINIANS.
** Shut thy mouth with it, child, and thea go about thy business,"
says papa, amused. Sir Miles Warrington had a considerable fund of
easy humour.
*' Who would have thought he should ever be so wild?" mamma
goes on.
" Nay. Youth is the season for wild oats, my dear."
*' That we should be so misled in him !" sighed the girls.
*' That he should kiss us both ! " cried papa.
** Sir Miles Warrington, I have no patience with that sort of vulga-
rity ! " says the majestic matron.
"Which of you was the favourite yesterday, girls?" continues the
father.
** Favourite, indeed ! I told him over and over again of my engage-
ment to dear Tom — I did, Dora, — why do you sneer, if you please?"
eays the handsome sister.
'* Nay, to do her justice, so did Dora too," said papa.
" Because Flora seemed to wish to forget her engagement with dear
Tom sometimes," remarks her sister.
** I never never never wished to break with Tom ! It's wicked of
you to say so, Dora ! It is you who were for ever sneering at hira : it
is you who are always envious because I happen — at least, because
gentlemen imagine that I am not ill-looking, and prefer me to some
folks, in spite of all their learning and wit ! " cries Flora, tossing her
head over her shoulder, and looking at the glass.
*' Why are you always looking there, sister?" says the artless Miles
junior. ** Sure, you must know your face well enough ! "
" Some people look at it just as often, child, who haven't near such
good reason," says papa, gallantly.
" If you mean me, Sir Miles, I thank you," cries Dora. " ]My face
is as Heaven made it, and my father and mother gave it me. 'Tis not
my fault if I resemble my papa's family. If my head is homely, at
least I have got some brains in it. I envious of Flora, indeed, because
she has found favour in the sight of poor Tom Claypool ! I should as
«oon be proud of captivating a ploughboy ?"
"Pray, miss, was your Mr. Harry, of Yirginia, much wiser than Tom
Claypool ? You would have had him for the asking ! " exclaims Flora.
"And so would you, miss, and have dropped Tom Claypool into the
sea ! " cries Dora.
" I wouldn't."
"You would."
" I wouldn't ;" — and da capo goes the conversation — the shuttlecock
of wrath being briskly battled from one sister to another.
"0 my children! Is this the way you dwell together in unity?"
exclaims their excellent female parent, laying down her embroidery.
■<* What an example you set to this Innocent."
* ' Like to see 'em fight, my lady ! " cries the Innocent, rubbing hw
hands, >v
THE YIRGmiANS. • 349
" At her, Flora ! Worry her, Dora ! To it again, you little rogues! '*
says facetious papa. *' 'lis good sport, ain't it, Miley ?"
"0, Sir Miles! 0, my children! These disputes are unseemly.
They tear a fond mother's heart," says mamma, with majestic action,
though bearing the laceration of her bosom with much seeming equa-
nimity. *' What cause for thankfulness ought we to have, that watchful
parents have prevented any idle engagements between you and your
misguided cousin. If we have been mistaken in him, is it not a mercy
that we have found out our error in time ? If either of you had any
preference for him, your excellent good sense, my loves, will teach you
to overcome, to eradicate, the vain feeling. That we cherished and were
kind to him can never be a source of regret. 'Tis a proof of our good
nature. What tee have to regret, I fear, is, that your cousin should
have proved unworthy of our kindness, and, coming away from the
society of gamblers, play-actors, and the like, should have brought
contamination — pollution, I had almost said — into this pure family ! "
"0, bother mamma's sermons!" says Flora, as my lady pursues a
harangue of which we only give the commencement here, but during
which papa, whistling, gently q^uits the room on tiptoe, while the artless
Miles junior winds his top and pegs it under the robes of his sisters.
It has done humming, and staggered and tumbled over, and expired ia
its usual tipsy manner, long ere Lady Warrington has finished her
sermon.
*' Were you listening to me, my child ?" she asks, laying her hand on
her darling's head.
"Yes, mother," says he, with the whipcord in his mouth, and pro-
ceeding to wind up his sportive engine. " You was a saying that
Harry was very poor now, and that we oughtn't to help him. That's
what you was saying ; wasn't it, madam ?"
*' My poor child, thou wilt understand me better when thou art
older?" says mamma, turning towards that ceiling to which her eyes
always have recourse.
" Get out, you little wretch!" cries one of the sisters. The artless
one has pegged his top at Dora's toes, and laughs with the glee of merry
boyhood at his sister's discomfiture.
But what is this? Who comes here ? Why does Sir Miles return to
the drawing-room, and why does Tom Claypool, who strides after the
Baronet, wear a countenance so disturbed ?
"Here's a pretty business, my Lady Warrington!" cries Sir MUes.
" Here's a wonderful wonder of wonders, girls ! "
<' For goodness sake, gentlemen, what is your intelligence?" asks the
virtuous matron.
" The whole town's talking about it, my lady!" says Tom Claypool,
puflS.ng for breath.
" Tom has seen him," continued Sir Miles.
" Seen both of them, my Lady Warrington. They were at Ranelagh
last night, with a regular mob after 'em. And so like, that but for
J50 THE VIEGINIANS.
their different ribbons you would hardly have told one from the other.
One was in blue, the other in brown; but I'm certain he has worn both
the suits here."
''What suits?"
** What one, — what other ?" call the girls.
*' Why, your fortunate youth, to be sure."
"Our precious Yirginian, and heir to the principality!" says Sir
Miles.
" Is my nephew, then, released from his incarceration ?" asks her
ladyship. '' And is he again plunged in the vortex of dissip . , . ."
*' Confound him !" roars out the Baronet, with an expression which I
fear was even stronger. ** What should you think, my Lady Warrington,
if this precious nephew of mine should turn out to be an impostor ; by
Oeorge ! no better than an adventurer ?"
" An inward monitor whispered me as much ! " cried the lady ; " but
I dashed from me the unworthy suspicion. Speak, Sir Miles, we burn
with impatience to listen to your intelligence."
"I'll speak, my love, when you've done," says Sir Miles. "Well,'
what do you think of my gentleman, who comes into my house, dines at
my table, is treated as one of this family, kisses my "
" What ?" asks Tom Claypool, firing as red as his waistcoat.
" — Hem ! Kisses my wife's hand, and is treated in the fondest
manner, by George ! What do you think of this fellow, who talks of
his property and his principality, by Jupiter! — turning out to be a
beggarly second son ! A beggar, my Lady Warrington, by "
" Sir Miles Warrington, no violence of language before these dear
ones ! I sink to the earth, confounded by this unutterable hypocrisy.
And did I entrust thee to a pretender, my blessed boy ? Did I leave
thee with an impostor, my innocent one ? " the matron cries, fondling
her son.
" Who's an impostor, my lady ? " asks the child.
" That confounded young scamp of a Harry Warrington ! " bawls out
papa; on which the little Miles, after wearing a puzzled look for a
moment, and yielding to I know not what hidden emotion, bursts out
crying.
His admirable mother proposes to clutch him to her heart, but he
rejects the pure caress, bawling only the louder, and kicking franti-
cally about the maternal gremium, as the butler announces ' ' Mr. George
Warrington, Mr. Henry Warrington!" Miles is dropped from his
mother's lap. Sir Miles's face emulates Mr. Claypool's waistcoat. The
three ladies rise up, and make three most frigid curtseys, as our two
young men enter the room.
Little Miles runs towards them. He holds out a little hand. " O
Harry! No! which is Harry? YoiCre my Harry," and he chooses
rightly this time. " 0, you dear Harry! I'm so glad you are come I
and they've been abusing you so!"
"I am come to pay my duty to my uncle," says the dark-haired Mr.
THE VmGIXIxVXS. 351
Warrington ; ** and to thank him for his hospitalities to my brother
Henry."
"What, nephew George ? My brother's face and eyes! Boys both,
I am delighted to see you ! " cries their uncle, grasping affectionately a
hand of each, as his honest face radiates with pleasure.
" This indeed hath been a most mysterious and a most providential
resuscitation," says Lady Warrington. "Only I wonder that my
nephew Henry concealed the circumstance until now," she adds, with
a sidelong glance at both young gentlemen.
" He knew it no more than your ladyship," says Mr. Warrington.
The young ladies looked at each other with downcast eyes.
"Indeed, sir! a most singular circumstance," says mamma, with
another curtsey. " We had heard of it, sir ; and Mr. Claypool, our
county neighbour, had just brought us the intelligence, and it even
now formed the subject of my conversation with my daughters."
" Yes," cries out a little voice, " and do you know, Harry, father and
mother said you was a — a imp "
"Silence, my child! Screwby, convey Master Warrington to his
own apartment ! These, Mr. Warrington — or, I suppose I should say
nephew George — are your cousins." Two curtseys — two cheeses are
made — two hands are held out. Mr. Esmond Warrington makes a
profound low bow, which embraces (and it is the only embrace which the
gentleman offers) all three ladies. He lays his hat to his heart. He
says, "It is my duty, madam, to pay my respects to my uncle and
cousins, and to thank your ladyship for such hospitality as you have
been enabled to show to my brother."
" It was not much, nephew, but it was our best. Ods bobs !" cries
the hearty Sir Miles, " it was our best !"
" And I appreciate it, sir," says Mr. Warrington, looking gravely
round at the family.
" Give us thy hand. Not a word more," says Sir Miles. " What?
do you think I'm a cannibal, and won't extend the hand of hospitality
to my dear brother's son ? What say you, lads ? Will you eat our
mutton at three ? This is my neighbour, Tom Claypool, son to Sir
Thomas Claypool, Baronet, and my very good friend. Hey, Toml
Thou wilt be of the party, Tom ? Thou knowest our brew, hey, my
boy?"
"Yes, I know it. Sir Miles," replies Tom, with no peculiar expression
of rapture on his face.
"And thou shalt taste it, ray boy, thou shalt taste it! What is there
for dinner, my Lady Warrington ? Our food is plain, but plenty, lads
— plain, but plenty ! "
" We cannot partake of it to-day, sir. We dine with a friend who
occupies my Lord Wrotham's house, your neighbour. Colonel Lambert
■ — Major-General Lambert he has just been made."
" With two daughters, I think — countryfied-looking girls — are they
not ? " asks Flora.
352 THE VIRGINIANS.
" I think I have remarked two little rather dowdy things," says Dora.
" They are as good girls as any in England !" breaks out Harry, to
whom no one had thought of saying a single word. His reign was
over, you see. He was nobody. What wonder, then, that he should
not be visible ?
**0, indeed, cousin ! " says Dora, with a glance at the young man,
who sate with burning cheeks, chafing at the humiliation put upon him,
but not knowing how or whether he should notice it. "0 indeed,
cousin ! You are very charitable — or very lucky, I'm sure ! You
see angels where we only see ordinary little persons. I'm sure I could
not imagine who were those odd-looking people in Lord Wrotham's
coach, with his handsome liveries. But if they were three angels, I have
nothing to say."
"My brother is an enthusiast," interposes George. *' He is often
mistaken about women."
•' 0, really ! " says Dora, looking a little uneasy.
" I fear my nephew Henry has indeed met with some unfavourable
specimens of our sex," the matron remarks, with a groan.
*' We are so easily taken in, madam — we are both very young yet —
we shall grow older and learn better."
"Most sincerely, nephew George, I trust you may. You have my
best wishes, my prayers, for your brother's welfare and your own. No
efforts of ours have been wanting. At a painfiil moment, to which I
will not further allude "
" And when my uncle Sir Miles was out of town," says George, look-
ing towards the baronet, who smiles at him with affectionate approval.
" — I sent your brother a work which I thought might comfort him,
and I know might improve him. Nay, do not thank me ; I claim no
credit ; I did but my duty — a humble woman's duty — for what are this
world's goods, nephew, compared to the welfare of a soul ? If I did
good, I am thankful ; if I was useful, I rejoice. If, through my means,
you have been brought, Harry, to consider "
"0! the sermon, is it?" breaks in downright Harry. " I hadn't
time to read a single syllable of it, aunt — thank you. You see I don't
care much about that kind of thing — but thank you all the sapie."
" The intention is everything," says Mr. Warrington, " and we are
both grateful. Our dear friend. General Lambert, intended to give bail
for Harry ; but, happily, I had funds of Harry's with me to meet any
demands upon us. But the kindness is the same, and I am grateful to
the friend who hastened to my brother's rescue when he had most need
of aid, and when his own relations happened — so unfortunately — to be
out of town."
" Anything I could do, my dear boy, I'm sure— my brother's son —
my own nephew — ods bobs! you know — that is, anything — anything^
you know ! " cries Sir Miles, bringing his own hand into George's with
a generous smack. You canH stay and dine with us ? Put off the
Colonel — the General — do, now ! Or name a day. My Lady Warring-
THE VIRGINIANS. 353
ton, make my nephew name a day when he will sit under his grand-
father's picture, and drink some of his wine ! "
** His intellectual faculties seem more developed than those of his
unlucky younger brother," remarked my lady, when the young gentle-
men had taken their leave. " The younger must be reckless and extra-
vagant about money indeed, for did you remark. Sir Miles, the loss of
his reversion in Yirginia — the amount of which has, no doubt, been
grossly exaggerated, but, nevertheless, must be something considerable
— did you, I say, remark that the ruin of Harry's prospects scarcely
seemed to affect him ? "
*'I shouldn't be at all surprised that the elder turns out to be as poor
as the young one," says Dora, tossing her head.
" He ! he ! Did you see that Cousin George had one of Cousin Harry's
suits of clothes on — the brown and gold — that one he wore when he went
with you to the oratorio. Flora ? "
*' Did he take Flora to an oratorio ?" asks Mr. Claypool, fiercely.
" I was ill and couldn't go, and my cousin went with her, says Dora.
**Far be it from me to object to any innocent amusement, much less to
the music of Mr. Handel, dear Mr. Claypool," says mamma. ** Music
refines the soul, elevates the understanding, is heard in our churches,
and 'tis well known was practised by King David. Your operas I shun
as deleterious ; your ballets I would forbid to my children as most
immoral ; but music, my dears ! May we enjoy it, like everything else
in reason — may we "
** There's the music of the dinner-bell," says papa, rubbing his hands.
** Come, girls. Screwby, go and fetch Master Miley. Tom, take down
my lady."
** Nay, dear Thomas, I walk but slowly. Go you with* dearest Flora
down-stairs," says Virtue.
But Dora took care to make the evening pleasant by talking of Handel
and oratorios constantly during dinner.
CHAPTEE LI.
CONTICUEEE OaiNES.
AcEOSS the way, if the gracious reader will please to step over with
us, he will find our young gentlemen at Lord Wrotham's house, which
his lordship has lent to his friend the General, and that little family
party assembled, with which we made acquaintance at Oakhurst and
Tunbridge Wells. James Wolfe has promised to come to dinner ; but
James is dancing attendance upon Miss Lowther, and would rather have
a glance from her eyes than the finest kickshaws dressed by Lord
Wrotham's cook, or the dessert which is promised for the entertain-
354 THE VmniNIANS.
ment at which you are just going to sit down. You will make the
sixth. You may take Mr. Wolfe's place. You may be sure he wont
come. As for me, I will stand at the sideboard and report the con-
versation.
Note first, how happy the women look ! "When Harry Warrington
was taken by those bailiifs, I had intended to tell you how the good
Mrs. Lambert, hearing of the boy's mishap, had flown to her husband^
and had begged, implored, insisted, that her Martin should help him.
** Never mind his rebeldom of the other day; never mind about his
being angry that his presents were returned — of course anybody would
be angry, much more such a high-spirited lad as Harry ! Never mind
about our being so poor, and wanting all our spare money for the boys at
college ; there must be some way of getting him out of the scrape. Did
you not get Charles Watkins out of the scrape two years ago ; and did
he not pay you back every halfpenny ? Yes ; and you made a whole^
family happy, blessed be God ! and Mrs. Watkins prays for you and
blesses you to this very day, and I think everything has prospered with
us since. And I have no doubt it has made you a major-general — no
earthly doubt," says the fond wife.
Now, as Martin Lambert requires very little persuasion to do a kind
action, he in this instance lets himself be persuaded easily enough, and
having made up his mind to seek for friend James Wolfe, and give bail
for Harry, he takes his leave and his hat, and squeezes Theo's hand, wha
seems to divine his errand (or perhaps that silly mamma has blabbed it),
and kisses little Hetty's flushed cheek, and away he goes out of the
apartment where the girls and their mother are sitting, though he is
followed out of the room by the latter.
When she is alone with him, that enthusiastic matron cannot control
her feelings any longer. She flings her arms round her husband's neck,
kisses him a hundred and twenty-five times in an instant — calls God to
bless him — cries plentifully on his shoulder; and in this sentimental
attitude is discovered by old Mrs. Q,uiggett, my lord's housekeeper, who
is bustling about the house, and, I suppose, is quite astounded at the
conjugal phenomenon.
** We have had a tiff, and we are making it up ! Don't tell tales out
of school, Mrs. Q,uiggett ! " says the gentleman, walking off.
** Well, I never ! " says Mrs. Q,uiggett, with a shrill, strident laugh,
like a venerable old cockatoo — which, white, hook-nosed, long-lived bird
Mrs. Quiggett strongly resembles. " Well, I never!" says Quiggett,
laughing and shaking her old sides tUl all her keys, and, as one may
fancy, her old ribs clatter and jingle.
** duiggett! " sobs out Mrs. Lambert, " what a man that is ! "
** You've been a quarrelling, have you, mum, and making it up?
That's right."
*' Quarrel with Jiim ? He never told a greater story. My General is
an angel, Quiggett. I should like to worship him. I should like to fall
down at his boots and kiss 'em, I should ! There never was a man so
THE YIRGIXIANS. 355
good as my General. What have I done to have such a man ? How
d2re I have such a good husband ? "
*' My dear, I think there's a pair of you," says the old cockatoo ; ** and
what would you like for your supper ? "
When Lambert comes back very late to that meal, and tells what has
happened, how Harry is free, and how his brother has come to life, and
rescued him, you may fancy what a commotion the whole of those people
are in ! If Mrs. Lambert's General was an angel before, what is he now !
If she wanted to embrace his boots in the morning, pray what further
office of wallowing degradation would she prefer in the evening ? Little
Hetty comes and nestles up to her father quite silent, and drinks a little
drop out of his glass. Theo's and mamma's faces beam with happiness,
like two moons of brightness After supper, those four at a certain
signal fall down on their knees — glad homage paying in awful mirth —
rejoicing, and with such pure joy as angels do, we read, for the sinner
that repents. There comes a great knocking at the door whilst they are
so gathered together. Who can be there ? My lord is in the country
miles off. It is past midnight now ; so late have they been, so long have
they been talking ! I think Mrs. Lambert guesses who is there,
"This is George," says a young gentleman, leading in another.
**We have been to aunt Bernstein. We couldn't go to bed, aunt
Lambert, without coming to thank you too. You deaT, dear, good "
There is no more speech audible. Aunt Lambert is' kissing Harry,
Theo has snatched up Hetty, who is as pale as death, and is hugging her
into life again. George Warrington stands with his hat off, and then
(when Harry's transaction is concluded) goes up and kisses Mrs. Lam-
bert's hand : the General passes his across his eyes. I protest they are
all in a very tender and happy state. Generous hearts sometimes feel
it, when Wrong is forgiven, when Peace is restored, when Love returns
that had been thought lost.
" We came from aunt Bernstein's; we saw lights here, you see, we
couldn't go to sleep without saying good-night to you all," says Harry.
" Could we, George ? "
" 'Tis certainly a famous nightcap you have brought us, boys," says
the General. " When are you to come and dine with us ? To-
morrow ? " No, they must go to Madame Bernstein's to-morrow. The
next day, then ? Yes, they would come the next day — and that is the
very day we are writing about : and this is the very dinner at which, ii,
the room of Lieutenant-Colonel James Wolfe, absent on private affairs^
my gracious reader has just been invited to sit down.
To sit down, and why, if you please ? Not to a mere Barmecide
dinner — no, no— but to hear Me. George EsitOND Waeeixgton's
Statehext, which of course he is going to make. Here they all sit —
not in my Lord's grand dining-room, you know, but in the snug study
or parlour in front. The cloth has been withdrawn, the General has
given the Xing's health, the servants have left the room, the guests tut
A A 2
356 THE VIRGINIANS.
contioent, and so, after a little hemming and blushing, Mr. George
proceeds : —
" I remember, at the table of our General, how the little Philadelphia
agent, whose wit and shrewdness we had remarked at home, made the
very objections to the conduct of the campaign of which its disastrous
issue showed the justice. * Of course,' says he, 'your Excellency's
troops once before Fort Duquesne, such a weak little place will never be
able to resist such a general, such an army, such artillery, as will there
be found attacking it. But do you calculate, sir, on the difl&oulty of
reaching the place ? Your Excellency's march will be through woods
almost untrodden, over roads which you will have to make yourself,
and your line will be some four miles long. This slender line having to
make its way through the forest, will be subject to endless attacks in
front, in rear, in flank, by enemies whom you will never see, and whose
constant practice in war is the dexterous laying of ambuscades.' — * Psha,
sir! ' says the General, * the savages may frighten your raw American
militia ' (Thank your Excellency for the compliment, Mr. Washington
seems to say, who is sitting at the table), * but the Indians will never
make any impression on his Majesty's regular troops.' — * I heartily hope
not, sir,' says Mr. Franklin, with a sigh ; and of course the gentlemen
of the General's family sneered at the postmaster, as at a pert civilian
who had no call to be giving his opinion on matters entirely beyond his
comprehension.
** We despised the Indians on our own side, and our commander
made light of them and their service. Our officers disgusted the
chiefs who were with us by outrageous behaviour to their women.
There was not above seven or eight who remained with our force.
Had we had a couple of hundred in our front on that fatal 9th of
July, the event of the day must have been very different. They would
have flung off the attack of the French Indians ; they would, have
prevented the surprise and panic which ensued. 'Tis known now that
the French had even got ready to give up their fort, never dreaming of
the possibility of a defence, and that the French Indians themselves
remonstrated against the audacity of attacking such an overwhelming
force as ours.
"I was with our General with the main body of the troops when the
firing began in front of us, and one aide-de-camp after another was sent
forwards. At first the enemy's attack was answered briskly by our own
advanced people, and our men huzzaed and cheered with good heart.
But very soon our fire grew slacker, whilst from behind every tree and
bush round about us came single shots, which laid man after man low.
We were marching in orderly line, the skirmishers in front, the colours
and two of our small guns in the centre, the baggage well guarded
bringing up the rear, and were moving over a ground which was open
and clear for a mile or two, and for some half mile in breadth a thick
tangled covert of brushwood and trees on either side of us. After the
firing had continued for some brief time in front, it opened from botii
THE VIRGINIANS. 357
sides of tlie environing wood on our advancing column. Tiie men.
dropped rapidly, the officers in greater number thaii the men. At first,
as I said, these cheered and answered the enemy's fire, our guns even
opening on the wood, and seeming to silence the French in ambuscade
there. But the hidden rifle firing began again. Our men halted,
huddled up together, in spite of the shouts and orders of the General and
officers to advance, and fired wildly into the brushwood — of course
making no impression. Those in advance came running back on the
main body frightened and many of them wounded. They reported there
were five thousand Frenchmen and a legion of yelling Indian devils in
front, who were scalping our people as they fell. We could hear their
cries from the wood around as our men dropped under their rifles.
There was no inducing the people to go forward now. One aide-de-
camp after another was sent forward, and never returned. At last
it came to be my turn, and I was sent with a message to Captain
Fraser of Halkett's in front, which he was never to receive nor I to
deliver.
" I had not gone thirty yards in advance when a rifle-ball struck my
leg, and I fell straightway to the ground, I recollect a rush forward
of Indians and Frenchmen after that, the former crying their fiendish
war-cries, the latter as fierce ad their savage allies. 1 was amazed and
mortified to see how few of the white-coats there were. Not above a
score passed me ; indeed there were not fifty in the accursed action in
which two of the bravest regiments of the British army were put to rout.
•' One of them, who was half Indian half Frenchman, with mocassins
and a white uniform coat and cockade, seeing me prostrate on the
ground, turned back and ran towards me, his musket clubbed over his
head to dash my brains out and plunder me as I lay. I had my little
fusil which my Harry gave me when I went on the campaign ; it had
fallen by me and within my reach luckily ; I seized it and down fell
the Frenchman dead at six yards before me. I was saved for that time,
but bleeding from my wound and very faint. I swooned almost in trying
to load my piece, and it dropped from my hand, and the hand itself sank
lifeless to the ground.
" I was scarcely in my senses, the yells and shots ringing dimly in
my ears, when I saw an Indian before me, busied over the body of the
Frenchman I had just shot, but glancing towards me as I lay on the
ground bleeding. He first rifled the Frenchman, tearing open his coat,
and feeling in his pockets : he then scalped him, and with his bleeding
knife in his mouth advanced towards me. I saw him coming as through
a film, as in a dream — I was powerless to move, or to resist him.
*' He put his knee upon my chest: with one bloody hand he se-ized
my long hair and lifted my head from the ground, and as he lifted it,
he enabled me to see a French officer rapidly advancing behind him.
*' Good God! It was young Florae, who was my second in the duel
at Quebec. * X moi, Florae / ' I cried out. * C^est Georges ! aide
moi J '
353 THE VIRGmiANS.
" He started ; ran up to me at the cry, laid his hand on the Indian's
shoulder, and called him to hold. But the savage did not understand
French, or choose to understand it. He clutched my hair firmer, and
waving his dripping knife round it, motioned to the French lad to
leave him to his prey. I could only cry out again and piteously, ^
moi ! '
** * Ah, canaille, tu veux du sang f Prends ! ' said Florae, with a
curse ; and the next moment, and with an ugh, the Indian fell over my
chest dead, with Florae's sword through his body.
" My friend looked round him. ' Eh ! ' says he, * la belle affaire !
Where art thou wounded, in the leg ? ' He bound my leg tight round
with his sash. * The others will kill thee if they find thee here. Ah,
tiens ! Put me on this coat, and this hat with the white cockade.
Call out in French if any of our people pass. They will take thee for
one of us. Thou art Brunet of the Quebec Volunteers. God guard
thee, Brunet! I must go forward. 'Tis a general debacle, and the
whole of your red coats are on the run, my poor boy.' Ah, what a rout
it was ! What a day of disgrace for England !
<' Florae's rough application stopped the bleeding of my leg, and the
kind creature helped me to rest against a tree, and to load my fusil,
which he placed witliin reach of me, to protect me in case any other
marauder should have a mind to attack me. And he gave me the gourd
of that unlucky French soldier, who had lost his own life in the deadly
game which he had just played against me, and the drink the gourd
contained served greatly to refresh and invigorate me. Taking a mark
of the tree against which I lay, and noting the various bearings of the
country, so as to be able again to find me, the young lad hastened on to
the front. ' Thou seest how much I love thee, George,' he said, * that
I stay behind in a moment like this.' I forget whether I told thee,
Harry, that Florae was under some obligation to me. I had won money
of him at cards, at Quebec — only playing at his repeated entreaty— and
there was a difficulty about paying, and I remitted his debt to me, and
lighted my pipe with his note of hand. You see, sir, that you are not
the only gambler in the family,
*' At evening, when the dismal pursuit was over, the f;^iithful fellow
came back to me, with a couple of Indians, who had each reeking scalps
at their belts, and whom he informed that I was a Frenchman, his
brother, who had been wounded early in the day, and must be carried
back to the fort. They laid me in one of their blankets, and carried me,
groaning, with the trusty Florae by my side. Had he left me, they
would assuredly have laid me down, plundered me, and added my hair
to that of the wretches whose bleeding spoils hung at their girdles. He
promised them brandy at the fort, if they brought me safely there. I
have but a dim recollection of the journey ; the anguish of my wound
was extreme : I fainted more than once. We came to the end of our
march at last. I was taken into the fort, and carried to the officer's
iog-house, and laid upon Florae's own bed.
THE VIRGINIANS. 359
*' Happy for me was my insensibility. I had been brouglit into the
fort as a wounded French soldier of the garrison. I heard afterwards,
that, during my delirium, the few prisoners who had been made on the
day of our disaster, had been brought under the walls of Duquesne by
their savage captors, and there horribly burned^ tortured^ and butchered
by the Indians, under the ej'es of the garrison."
As George speaks, one may fancy a thrill of horror running through
his sympathising audience. Theo takes Hetty's hand, and looks at
Oeorge in a very alarmed manner. Harry strikes his fist upon the table,
and cries, ** The bloody, murderous, red-skinned villains! There will
never be peace for us until they are all hunted down."
" They were ofiering a hundred and thirty dollars a-piece for Indian
scalps in Pennsylvania when I left home," says George, dcDiurely, '' and
fifty for women."
"Fifty for women, my love! Do you hear that, Mrs. Lambert?"
cries the Colonel, lifting up his wife's hair.
♦* The murderous villains ! " says Harry, again. *' Hunt 'em down,
sir ! Hunt 'em down ! "
*' I know not how long I lay in my fever," George resumed. ""When
I awoke to my senses, my dear Florae was gone. He and his company
had been dispatched on an enterprise against an English fort on the
Pennsylvanian territory, which the French claimed, too. In Duquesne,
when I came to be able to ask and understand what was said to me, there
were not above thirty Europeans left. The place might have been taken
over and over again, had any of our people had the courage to return
after their disaster.
" My old enemy the ague-fever set in again upon me as I lay here
by the river-side. 'Tis a wonder how I ever survived. But for the
goodness of a half-breed woman in the fort, who took pity on me, and
tended me, I never should have recovered, and my poor Harry would be
what he fancied himself yesterday, our grandfather's heir, our mother's
only son.
" I remembered how, when Florae laid me in his bed, he put under
my pillow my monej', my watch, and a trinket or two which I had.
"When I woke to myself these were all gone ; and a surly old serjeant,
the only officer left in the quarter, told me, with a curse, that I was
lucky enough to be left with my life at all ; that it was only my white
cockade and coat had saved me from the fate which the other canaille
of Itosbifs had deservedly met with.
" At the time of my recovery the fort was almost emptied of the gar-
rison. The Indians had retired enriched with British plunder, and the
chief part of the French regulars were gone upon expeditions northward.
My good Florae had left me upon his service, consigning me to the care
of an invalided serjeant. Monsieur de Contrecceur had accompanied one
of these expeditions, leaving an old lieutenant, Museau by name, in
command at Duquesne.
" This man had long been out of France, and serving in the coloni(;s.
360 THE YIRGINIAXS.
His character, doubtless, had been indifferent at home ; and he knew
that, according to the system pursued in France, where almost all pro-
motion is given to the noblesse, he never would advance in rank. And
he had made free with my guineas, I suppose, as he had with my
watch, for I saw it one day on his chest when I was sitting with him in
his quarter.
*' Monsieur Museau and I managed to be pretty good friends. If I
could be exchanged, or sent home, I told him that my mother would
pay liberally for my ransom ; and I suppose this idea excited the cupidity
of the Commandant, for a trapper coming in the winter, whilst I still lay
very ill with fever, Museau consented that I should write home to my
mother, but that the letter should be in French, that he should see it,
and that I should say I was in the hands of the Indians, and should not
be ransomed under ten thousand livres.
*' In vain I said I was a prisoner to the troops of His Most Christian
Majesty, that I expected the treatment of a gentleman and an officer,
Museau swore that letter should go, and no other ; that if I hesitated,
he would fling me out of the fort, or hand me over to the tender mercies
of his ruffian Indian allies. He would not let the trapper communicate
with me except in his presence. Life and liberty are sweet. I resisted
for a while, but I was pulled down with weakness, and shuddering with
fever ; I wrote such a letter as the rascal consented to let pass, and the
trapper went away with my missive, which he promised, in three weeks,
to deliver to my mother in Virginia.
"Three weeks, six, twelve, passed. The messenger never returned.
The winter came and went, and all our little plantations round the fort,
where the French soldiers had cleared corn-ground and planted gardens
and peach and apple-trees down to the Monongahela, were in full
blossom. Heaven knows how I crept through the weary time ! When
I was pretty well, I made drawings of the soldiers of the garrison, and
of the half-breed and her child (Museau's child), and of Museau himself,
whom, I am ashamed to say, I flattered outrageously ; and there was
an old guitar left in the fort, and I sang to it, and played on it some
French airs which I knew, and ingratiated myself as best I could with
ray gaolers ; and so the weary months passed, but tlie messenger never
returned.
" At last news arrived that he had been shot by some British Indians
in Maryland ; so there was an end of my hope of ransom for some months
more. This made Museau very savage and surly towards me ; the more
so as his serjeant inflamed his rage by telling him that the Indian woman
was partial to me — as I believe, poor thing, she was. I was always
gentle with her, and grateful to her. My small accomplishments seemed
wonders in her eyes ; I was ill and unhappy, too, and these are always
claims to a woman's affection.
" A captive pulled down by malady, a ferocious gaoler, and a young
woman touched by the prisoner's misfortunes — sure you expect that with
these three prime characters in a piece, some pathetic tragedy is going
THE VIEGINIANS. 361
to be enacted ? You, Miss Hetty, are about to guess that the woman
saved me ? "
" Why, of course, she did ! " cries mamma.
** "What else is she good for ? " says Hetty.
" You, Miss Theo, have painted her already as a dark beauty — ^is it
not so ? A swift huntress — ? "
" Diana with a baby," says the Colonel.
" "Who scours the plain with her nymphs, who brings down the game
with her unerring bow, who is Queen of the forest — and I see by your
looks that you think I am madly in love with her ? "
" Well, I suppose she is an interesting creature, Mr. George?" says
Theo, with a blush.
"What think you of a dark beauty, the colour of new mahogany?
with long straig'ht black hair, which was usually dressed with a hair-oil
or pommade by no means pleasant to approach, with little eyes, with
high cheek-bones, with a flat nose, sometimes ornamented with a ring,
■with rows of glass beads round her tawny throat, her cheeks and fore-
head gracefully tattooed, a great love of finery, and inordinate passion
for— ! must I own it ? "
'* For coquetry. I know you are going to say that ! " says Miss Hetty.
" For whiskey, my dear Miss Hester — in which appetite my gaoler
partook ; so that I have often sate by, on the nights when I was in
favour with Monsieur Museau, and seen him and his poor companion
hob-and-nobbing together until they could scarce hold the noggin out of
which they drank. In these evening entertainments, they would sing,
they would dance, they would fondle, they would quarrel, and knock
the cans and furniture about ; and, when I was in favour, I was admitted
to share their society, for Museau, jealous of his dignity, or not willing
that his men should witness his behaviour, would allow none of them to
be familiar with him.
" Whilst the result of the trapper's mission to my home was yet
uncertain, and Museau and I myself expected thepaymentof my ransom,
I was treated kindly enough, allowed to crawl about the fort, and even
to go into the adjoining fields and gardens, always keeping my parole,
and duly returning before gun-fire. And I exercised a piece of hypo-
crisy, for which, I hope, you will hold me excused. When my leg was
sound (the ball came out in the winter, after some pain and inflamma-
tion, and the wound healed up presently), 1 yet chose to walk as if I
was disabled and a cripple ; I hobbled on two sticks, and cried Ah ! and
! at every minute, hoping that a day might come when I might treat
my limbs to a run.
*' Museau was very savage when he began to give up all hopes of the
first messenger. He fancied that the man might have got the ransom-
money and fled with it himself. Of course he was prepared to disown
any part in the transaction, should my letter he discovered. His treat-
ment of me varied according to his hopes or fears, or even his mood for
the time being. He would have me consigned to my quarters for several
332 THE VIBGLS-IANS.
days at a time ; tlieii invite me to his tipsy supper-table, quarrel with
me there and abuse my nation ; or again break out into maudlin senti-
mentalities about his native country of Normandy, where he longed to
spend his old age, to buy a field or two, and to die happy.
'"Eh! Monsieur Museau ! ' says I, * ten thousand livres of your
money would buy a pretty field or two in your native country ? You
can have it for the ransom of me, if you will but let me go. In a few
months you must be superseded in your command here, and then adieu
the crowns and the fields in Normandy ! You had better trust a gentle-
man and a man of honour. Let me go home, and I give you my word
the ten thousand livres shall be paid to any agent you may appoint in
Trance or in Quebec'
"*Ah, young traitor!* roars he, *do you wish to tamper with my
honour ? Do you believe an officer of France will take a bribe ? I
have a mind to consign thee to my black-hole, and to have thee shot in
the morning.'
*' * My poor body will never fetch ten thousand livres,' says I : * and a
pretty field in Normandy with a cottage '
" ' And an orchard. Ah, sacrehleu !' says Museau, whimpering, * and
a dish of tripe d la inode du pays .'....'
*' This talk happened between us again and again, and Museau would
order me to my quarters, and then ask me to supper the next night, and
return to the subject of Normandy, and cyder, and trippes a la mode de
Caen. My friend is dead no.v "
*' He was hung, I trust 't " breaks in Colonel Lambert.
*' — And I need keep no secret about him. Ladies, I wish I had to
ofifer you the account of a dreadful and tragical escape ; how I slew all
the sentinels of the fort ; filed through the prison windows, destroyed
a score or so of watchful dragons, overcame a million of dangers, and
finally effected my freedom. But, in regard of that matter, I have no
heroic deeds to tell of, and own that, by bribery and no other means, I
am where I am."
*' 'Q\it you would have fought, Georgy, if need were," says Harry;
*' and you couldn't conquer a whole garrison, you know !" And here-
with Mr. Harry blushed very much.
** See the women, how disappointed they are ! " says Lambert. *' Mrs.
Lambert, you blood-thirsty woman, own that you are baulked of a battle ;
and look at Hetty, quite angry because Mr. George did not shoot the
Commandant.'*
" You wished he was hung yourself, papa !" cries Miss Hetty, " and
I am sure I wish anything my papa wishes."
*'Nay, ladies," says George, turning a little red, "to wink at a
prisoner's escape was not a very monstrous crime ; and to take money ?
Sure other folks besides Frenchmen have condescended to a bribe before
now. Although Monsieur Museau set me free, I am inclined, for my
part, to forgive him. "Will it please yon to hear how that business was
done ? You see, Miss Hetty, I cannot help being alive to tell it."
THE VIKGINIANS. 363
*' 0, George I— tliat is, I mean, Mr. Warrington I — that is, I mean, I
beg your pardon ! " cries Hester.
'^]so pardon, my dear ! I never was angry yet or surprised that any
one should like my Harry better than me. He deserves all the liking
that any man or woman can give him. See it is his turn to blush now,"
Bays George.
*' Go on, Georgy, and tell them about the escape out of Duquesne !"
cries Harry, and he said to Mrs. Lambert afterwards in confidence, *' You
know he is always going on saying that he ought never to have come to
life again, and declaring that I am better than he is. The idea of my
being better than George, Mrs. Lambert ! a poor, extravagant fellow
like me ! It's absurd ! "
CHAPTEE LII.
XNTEXTIQTJE ORA TEXEBANT.
** We continued for months our weary life at the fort, and the Com-
mandant and I had our quarrels and reconciliations, our greasy games at
cards, our dismal duets with his asthmatic flute and my cracked guitar.
The poor Fawn took her beatings and her cans of liquor as her lord and
master chose to administer them ; and she nursed her papoose, or her
master in the gout, or her prisoner in the ague ; and so matters went
on until the beginning of the fall of last year, when we were visited by a
hunter who had important news to deliver to the Commandant, and such
as set the little garrison in no little excitement. The Marquis de Mont-
calm had sent a considerable detachment to garrison the forts already
in the French hands, and to take up farther positions in the enemy's —
that is, in the British— possessions. The troops had left (Quebec and
Montreal, and were coming up the St. Lawrence and the lakes in
batteaux, with artillery and large provisions of warlike and other stores.
Museau would be superseded in his command by an officer of superior
rank, who might exchange me, or who might give me up to the Indians
in reprisal for cruelties practised by our own people on many and
many an officer and soldier of the enemy. The men of the fort
were eager for the reinforcements ; they would advance into Pennsyl-
vania and New York ; they would seize upon Albany and Philadelpliia ;
they would drive the Rosbifs into the sea, and all America should be
theirs from the Mississippi to Newfoundland.
"This was all very tiiumphant: but, yet, somehow the prospect of
the French conquest did not add to Mr. Museau's satisfaction.
" ' Eh, Commandant ! ' says I, * ^thfort hien, but meanwhile your farm
in Normandy, the pot of cyder, and the tri2)j)es a la mode de Caen^ where
are tl-^v ?'
364 TPIE VIRGINIANS.
"'Yes; 'tis all very well, my gargon,^ says he. 'But where will
you be when poor old Museau is superseded ? Other oiScers are not good
companions like me. Yery few men in the world have my humanity.
"When there is a great garrison here, will my successors give thee the
indulgences which honest Museau has granted thee ? Thou wilt be kept
in a sty like a pig ready for killing. As sure as one of our officers falls
into the hands of your- brigands of frontier-men, and evil comes to him,
so surely wilt thou have to pay with thy skin for his. Thou wilt be
given up to our red allies— to the brethren of La Biche yonder. Didst
thou see, last year, what they did to thy countrymen whom we took in
the action with Braddock ? Eoasting was the very smallest punishment,
mafoi — was it not, La Biche ?'
"And he entered into a variety of jocular descriptions of tortures
inflicted, eyes burned out of their sockets, teeth and nails wrenched out,
limbs and bodies gashed You turn pale, de^r Miss Theo ! Well, I
will have pity, and will spare you the tortures which honest Museau
recounted in his pleasant way as likely to befal me.
" La Biche was by no means so affected as you seem to be, ladies, by
the recital of these horrors. She had witnessed them in her time. She
came from the Senecas, whose villages lie near the great cataract between
Ontario and Erie ; her people made war for the English, and against
them : they had fought with other tribes ; and, in the battles between
us and them, it is difficult to say whether white skin or red skin is most
savage.
" ' They may chop me into cutlets and broil me, 'tis true. Com-
mandant,' say I coolly. * But again, I say, you will never have the farm
in Normandy.'
" ' Go get the whiskey-bottle. La Biche,' says Museau.
" * And it is not too late, even now. I will give the guide who takes
me home a large reward. And again I say I promise, as a man of
honour, ten thousand livres to — whom shall I say ? to any one who shall
bring me any token — who shall bring me, say, my watch and seal with
my grandfather's arms — which I have seen in a chest somewhere in
this fort.
" ^ Ah, scelSratV roars out the Commandant, with a hoarse yell of
laughter. * Thou hast eyes, thou ! All is good prize in war.'
" ' Think of a house in your village, of a fine field hard by with a
half dozen of cows — of a fine orchard all covered with fruit.'
" * And Javotte at the door with her wheel, and a rascal of a child or
two, with cheeks as red as the apples ! my country ! my mother I *
whimpers out the Commandant. ' Quick, La Biche, the whiskey ! '
" All that night the Commandant was deep in thought, and La Biche
too, silent and melancholy. She sate away from us, nursing her child,
and whenever my eyes turned towards her I saw hers were fixed on me.
The poor little infant began to cry, and was ordered away by Museau,
with his usual foul language, to the building which the luckless Biche
occupied with her child. When she was gone we both of us spoke our
THE VIHGIXIAXS. 365
minds freely ; and I put such reasons before Monsieur as his cupidity
could not resist.
« * How do you know,' he asked, * that this hunter will serve you ?'
" ' That is my secret,' says I. But here, if you like, as we are not
on honour, I may tell it. When they come into the settlements for
their bargains, the hunters often stop a day or two for rest and drink
and company, and our new friend loved all these, He played at cards
with the men: he set his furs against their liquor: he enjoyed himself
at the fort, singing, dancing, and gambling with them. I think I said
they liked to listen to my songs, and for want of better things to do, I
was often siiiging and guitar scraping : and we would have many a
concert, the men joining in chorus, or dancing to my homely music, until
it was interrupted by the drums and the retraite.
"Our guest the hunter was present at one or two of these concerts,
and I thought I would try if possibly he understood English. After we
had had our little stock of French songs, I said, * My lads, I will give
you an English song,' and to the tune of * Over the hills and far away,'
which my good old grandfather used to hum as a favourite air in
Marlborough's camp, I made some doggerel words : — * This long, long
year, a prisoner drear ; Ah, me ! I'm tired of lingering here : I'll give a
hundred guineas gay. To be over the hills and far away.'
** ' What is it ? ' says the hunter, * I don't understand.'
" "Tis a girl to her lover,' I answered ; but I saw by the twinkle in
the man's eye that he understood me.
" The next day, when there were no men within hearing, the trapper
fihowed that I was right in my conjecture, for as he passed me he
hummed in a low tone, but in perfectly good English, * Over the hills and
far away,' the burthen of my yesterday's doggrel.
*' ' If you are ready,' says he, * I am ready. I know who your people
are, and the way to them. Talk to the Fawn, and she will tell you what
to do. What ! You will not play with me ? ' Here he pulled out some
cards, and spoke in French, as two soldiers came up. * Milor est trop
grand seigneur ? Bonjour, my lord! '
" And the man made me a mock bow, and walked away shrugging up
his shoulders, to offer to play and drink elsewhere.
" I knew now that the Biche was to be the agent in the affair, and
that my offer to Museau was accepted. The poor Fawn performed her
part very faithfully and dexterously. I had not need of a word more
with Museau ; the matter was understood between us. The Fawn had
long been allowed free communication with me. She had tended me
during my wound and in my illnesses, helped to do the work of my little
chamber, my cooking, and so forth. She was free to go out of the fort,
as I have said, and to the river and the fields whence the corn and
garden-stuff of the little garrison were brought in.
" Having gambled away most of the money which he received for his
peltries, the trapper now got together his store of flints, powder, and
blankets, and took his leave. And, three days after his departure, the
THE YIUGINIANS.
Fawn gave me the signal that the time was come for me to make my
little trial for freedom.
"When first wounded, I had been taken by my kind Florae and
placed on his bed in the officers' room. When the fort was emptied of
all officers except the old lieutenant left in command, I had been
allowed to remain in my quarters, sometimes being left pretty free,
sometimes being locked up and fed on prisoners' rations, sometimes
invited to share his mess by my tipsy gaoler. This officers' house, or
room, was of logs like the half-dozen others within the fort, which
mounted only four guns of small calibre, of which one was on the
bastion behind my cabin. Looking westward over this gun, you could
see a small island at the confluence of the two rivers Ohio and Monon-
gahela whereon Duquesne is situated. On the shore opposite this island
were some trees.
" * You see those trees ? ' my poor Biche said to me the day before,
in her French jargon. ' He wait for you behind those trees.'
" In the daytime the door of my quarters was open, and the Biche
free to come and go. On the day before, she came in from the fields
with a pick in her hand and a basketful of vegetables and potherbs for
soup. She sate down on a bench at my door, the pick resting against
it, and the basket at her side. I stood talking to her for a while : but
I believe I was so idiotic that I never should have thought of putting
the pick to any use had she not actually pushed it into my open door,
so that it fell into my room. * Hide it,' she said ; ' want it soon,' And
that afternoon it was, she pointed out the trees to me.
" On the ,next day, she comes, pretending to be very angry, and calls
out, ' My lord ! my lord ! why you not come to Commandant's dinner ?
He very bad I Entendez-vous ? ' And she peeps into the room as she
speaks, and flings a coil of rope at me.
'* * I am coming, La Biche,' says I, and hobbled after her on my crutch.
As I went into the Commandant's quarters she says, < Pour ce soir.*
And then I knew the time was come.
** As for Museau, he knew nothing about the matter. Not he ! He
growled at me, and said the soup was cold. He looked me steadily ia
the face, and talked of this and that ; not only whilst his servant was
present, but afterwards when we smoked our pipes and played our game
at picquet ; whilst, according to her wont, the poor Biche sate cowering
in a corner.
" My friend's whiskey-bottle was empty ; and he said, with rather a
knowing look, he must have another glass — we must both have a glass
that night. And, rising from the table, he stumped to the inner-room,
where he kept his fire-water under lock and key, and away from the
poor Biche, who could not resist that temptation.
"As he turned his back the Biche raised herself; and he was no
sooner gone but she was at my feet, kissing my hand, pressing it to
her heart, and bursting into tears over my knees. I confess I was so
troubled by this testimony of the poor creature's silent attachment and
THE YIEGINIAJNS. 3G7
fondness, the extent of which I scarce had suspected before, that when
Museau returned, I had not recovered my equanimity, though the poor
Fawn was bsck in her corner again and shrouded in her blanket.
*' He did not appear to remark anything strange in the behaviour of
either. We sate down to our game, though my thoughts were so pre-
occupied that I scarcely knew what cards were before me.
*' * I gain everything from you to-night, milor,' says he, grimly,
* "We play upon parole.'
** * And you may count upon mine,' I replied.
** * Eh ! 'tis all that you have ! ' says he.
" < Monsieur,' says I, * my word is good for ten thousand livres ; ' and
we continued our game.
** At last he said he had a headache, and would go to bed, and I under-
stood the orders too, that I was to retire. ' I wish you a good night,
mon petit milor,' says he, — ' stay, you will fall without your crutch,' —
and his eyes twinkled at me, and his face wore a sarcastic grin. In the
agitation of the moment I had quite forgotten that I was lame, and was
walking away at a pace as good as a grenadier's.
'' * What a vilain night !' says he, looking out. In fact there was a
tempest abroad, and a great roaring, and wind. * Bring a lanthorn, La
Tulipe, and lock my lord comfortably into his quarters ! ' He stood a
moment looking at me from his own door, and I saw a glimpse of the
poor Biche behind him.
" The night was so rainy that the sentries preferred their boxes,
and did not disturb me in my work. The log-house was built with
upright posts, deeply fixed in the ground, and horizontal logs laid upon
it. I had to dig under these, and work a hole sufficient to admit ray
body to pass. I began in the dark, soon after tattoo. It was some while
after midnight before my work was done, when I lifted my hand up
under the log and felt the rain from without falling upon it. I had to
work very cautiously for two hours after that, and then crept through to
the parapet and silently flung my rope over the gun ; not without a
little tremor of heart, lest the sentry should see me and send a charge ol
lead into my body.
"The wall was but twelve feet, and my fall into the ditch easy
enough. I waited awhile there, looking steadily under the gun, and
trying to see the river and the island. I heard the sentry pacing up
above and humming a tune. The darkness became more clear to mo
ere long, and the moon rose, and I saw the river shining before me, and
the dark rooks and trees of the islanji rising in the waters.
" I made for this mark as swiftly as I could, and for the clump of
trees to which I had been directed. 0, what a relief I had when I
heard a low voice humming there, * Over the hills and far away ! ' "
When Mr. George came to this part of his narrative, Miss Theo, who
was seated by a harpsichord, turned round and dashed oiF the tune on
the instrument, whilst all the little company broke out into the mens
chorus.
TilE VIRGINIANS.
"Our way," the speaker went on, " lay througk a level tract of forest
with which my guide was familiar, upon the right bank of the Monon-
gahela. By daylight we came to a clearer country, and my trapper
asked me — Silverheels was the name by which he went. — had I ever
seen the spot before ? .It was the fatal field where Braddock had fallen,
and whence I had been wonderfully rescued in the summer of the
previous year. Now, the leaves were beginning to be tinted with the
magnificent hues of our autumn."
"Ah, brother!" cries Harry, seizing his brother's hand, "I was
gambling and making a fool of myself at the "Wells and in London,
when my George was flying for his life in the wilderness ! 0, what a
miserable spendthrift I have been ! "
'* But I think thou art not unworthy to be called thy mother's son,"
said Mrs. Lambert very softly, and with moistened eyes. Indeed, if
Harry had erred, to mark his repentance, his love, his unselfish joy and
generosity, was to feel that there was hope for the humbled and kind
young sinner.
" We presently crossed the river," George resumed, " taking our
course along the base of the western slopes of the Alleghanies ; and
through a grand forest region of oaks and maple, and enormous
poplars that grow a hundred feet high without a branch. It was the
Indians whom we had to avoid, besides the outlying parties of French.
Always of doubtful loyalty, the savages have been specially against us
since our ill-treatment of them, and the French triumph over us two
years ago.
*'Iwas but weak still, and our journey through the wilderness
lasted a fortnight or more. As we advanced, the woods became redder
and redder. The frost nipped sharply of nights. We lighted fires at
our feet, and slept in our blankets as best we might. At this time of
year, the hunters who live in the mountains get their sugar from the
maples. We came upon more than one such family, camping near
cheir trees by the mountain streams ; and they welcomed us at their
fires, and gave us of their venison. So we passed over the two ranges
of the Laurel Hills and the Alleghanies. The last day's march of my
trusty guide and myself took us down that wild, magnificent pass of
Will's Creek, a valley lying between clifis near a thousand feet high—
bald, white, and broken into towers like huge fortifications, with eagles
wheeling round the summits of the rocks, and watching their nests
among the crags.
*' And hence we descended to Cumberland, whence we had marched
in the year before, and where there was now a considerable garrison of
our people. 0, you may think it was a welcome day when I saw
KngUsh colours again on the banks of our native Potomac 1 "
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 369
CHAPTEE LIII.
WHEEE WE EEMAIN AT THE COURT END OF THE TOWN.
George Warrington had related the same story, which we have
just heard, to Madame de Bernstein on the previous evening — a portion,
that is, of the history ; for the old lady nodded off to sleep many times
during the narration, only waking up when George paused, saying it
was most interesting ; and ordering him to continue. The young
gentleman hemmed and ha'd, and stuttered, and blushed, and went on,
much against his will, and did not speak half so well as he did to his
friendly little auditory in Hill Street, where Hetty's eyes of wonder
and Theo's sympathising glances, and mamma's kind face, and papa's
funny looks, were applause sufficient to cheer any modest youth who
required encouragement for his eloquence. As for mamma's behaviour
the General said, 'twas as good as Mr. Addison's trunkmaker, and she
would make the fortune of any tragedy by simply being engaged to cry
in the front-boxes. That is why we chose my Lord "Wrotham's house
as the theatre where George's first piece should be performed, wish-
ing that he should speak to advantage, and not as when he was heard
by that sleeply, cynical old lady, to whom he had to narrate his
adventures.
"Yery good and most interesting, I am sure, my dear sir," says
Madame Bernstein, putting up three pretty little fingers covered with
a lace mitten, to hide a convulsive movement of her mouth. **And
your mother must have been delighted to see you."
George shrugged his shoulders ever so little, and made a low
bow, as his aunt looked up at him for a moment with her keen, old
eyes.
*' Have been delighted to see you," she continued drily, *' and killed
the fatted calf, and — and that kind of thing. Though why I say calf, ]
don't know, nephew George, for you never were the prodigal. I may
say calf to thee, my poor Harry ! Thou hast been amongst the swine sure
enough. And evil companions have robbed the money out of thy pockei
and the coat off thy back."
"He came to his family in England, madam," says George, with
some heat, ** and his friends were your ladyship's."
" He could not have come to worse advisers, Nephew "Warrington,
and so I should have told my sister earlier, had she condescended to
write to me by him, as she has done by you," said the old lady tossing
up her head. ** Hey! hey! " she said, at night, to her waiting-maid,
as she arranged herself for the rout to which she was going, "this young
gentleman's mother is half sorry that he has come to life again, I could
see that in his face. She is half sorry, and I am perfectly furious I
370 THE YIRGINIANS.
"Why didn't lie lie still wlien he dropped there under the tree, and why
did that young Florae carry him to the fort ? I knew those Floraca
when I was at Paris, in the time of Monsieur le Regent.- They were
of the Floracs of Ivry. No great house before Henri IV. His ancestor
was the king's favourite. His ancestor — he ! he ! — his ancestress !
Brett ! entendez-vous ? Give me my card-purse. I don't like the
grand airs of this Monsieur George ; and yet he resembles, very much,
his grandfather — the same look and sometimes the same tones. You
have heard of Colonel Esmond when I was young ? This boy has his
eyes. I suppose I liked the Colonel's, because he loved me."
Being engaged, then, to a card-party, — an amusement w^hich. she
never missed, week-day or Sabbath, as long as she had strength to hold
trumps or sit in a chair, — very soon, after George had ended his narra-
tion, the old lady dismissed her two nephews, giving to the elder ^a
couple of fingers and a very stately curtsey ; but to Harry two hands
and a kindly pat on the cheek.
" My poor child, now thou art disinherited, thou wilt see how dif-
ferently the world will use thee ! " she said. " There is only, in all
London, a wicked, heartless old woman who will treat thee as before.
Here is a pocket-book for you, child ! Do not lose it at Ranelagh
to-night. That suit of yours does not become your brother half so well
as it sat upon you ! You will present your brothei to everybody, and
walk up and down the room for two hours at least, child. Were I you,
I would then go to the Chocolate House, and play as if nothing had
happened. Whilst you are there, your brother may come back to me
and eat a bit of chicken with me. My lady Flint gives wretched
suppers, and I want to talk his mother's letter over with him. Au
re voir, gentlemen ! " and she went away to her toilette. Her chairmen
and flambeaux were already waiting at the door.
The gentlemen went to Banelagh, where but a few of Mr. Harry's
acquaintances chanced to be present. They paced the round, and met
Mr. Tom Claypool with some of his country friends ; they heard the
music ; they drank tea in a box ; Harry was master of ceremonies, and
introduced his brother to the curiosities of the place ; and George was
even more excited than his brother had been on his first introduction to
this palace of delight. George loved music much more than Harry ever
did; he heard a full orchestra for the first time, and a piece of Mr,
Handel satisfactorily performed; and a not un pleasing instance of
Harry's humility and regard for his elder brother was, that he could
even hold George's love of music in respect at a time when fiddling
was voted effeminate and unmanly in England, and Britons were, every
day, called upon by the patriotic prints to sneer at the frivolous
accomplishments of your Squallinis, Monsieurs, and the like. Nobody
in Britain is proud of his ignorance now. There is no conceit left
among us. There is no such thing as dulness. Arrogance is entirely
unknown . . . Well, at any rate. Art has obtained her letters of
naturalisation, and lives here on terms of almost equality. If Mrs.
THE VIRGINIANS. 371
Tlirale chose to marry a music-master now, I don't think her friends
would shudder at the mention of her name. If she had a good for-
tune and kept a good cook, people would even go and dine with
her in spite of the mesalliance^ and actually treat Mr. Piozzi with
civility.
After Eanelagh, and pursuant to Madame Bernstein's advice, George
returned to her ladyship's house, whilst Harry showed himself at the
club, where gentlemen were accustomed to assemble at night to sup,
and then to gamble. No one of course alluded to Mr. Warrington's
little temporary absence, and Mr. Euff, his ex-landlord, waited upon
him with the utmost gravity and civility, and as if there had never
been any difference between them. Mr. Warrington had caused his
trunks and habiliments to be conveyed away from Bond Street in the
morning, and he and his brother were now established in apartments
elsewhere.
But when the supper was done, and the gentlemen as usual wesre
about to seek the macco-table up-stairs, Harry said he was not going
to play any more. He had burned his fingers already, and could
afford no more extravagance.
** Why," says Mr. Morris, in a rather flippant manner. " You must
have won more than you have lost, Mr. Warrington, after all saicT
and done."
"And of course I don't know my own business as well as you tio,
Mr. Morris," says Harry, sternly, who had not forgotten the other's
behaviour on hearing of his arrest; *'but I have another reason. A
few months or days ago, I was heir to a great estate, and could afford
to lose a little money. Now, thank God, I am heir to nothing," and
he looked round, blushing not a little, to the knot of gentlemen, his
gaming associates, who were lounging at the tables or gathered round
the fire.
"How do you mean, Mr. Warrington?" cries my Lord March.
"Have you lost Virginia, too? Who has won it? I always had a
fancy to play you myself for that stake."
" And grow an improved breed of slaves in the colony," says another.
"The right owner has won it. You heard me tell of my twin elder
brother ? "
" Who was killed in that affair of Braddock's twoyearsago? Yes.
Gracious goodness, my dear sir, I hope in heaven he has not come to life
again?"
" He arrived in London two days since. He has been a prisoner in a
French fort for eighteen months ; he only escaped a few months ago ;
and left our house in Virginia very soon after his release."
" You haven't had time to order mourning, I suppose, Mr. Warring-
ton ? " asks Mr. Selwyn very good-naturedly, and simple Harry hardly
knew the meaning of his joke until his brother interpreted it to him.
" Hang me, if I don't believe the fellow is absolutely glad of the
re-appearance of hia confounded brother ! " cries my Lord March, aa
B » P
372 THE YIEGINIAXS.
they continued to talk of the matter when the young Virgiuian had
taken his leave.
"These savages practise the simple virtues of aflfection — they are
barely civilised in America yet," yawns Selwyn.
''They love their kindred, and they scalp their enemies," simpera
Mr. Walpole. " It's not Christian, but natural. Shouldn't you like to
be present at a scalping- match, George, and see a fellow skinned alive ?'*
'*A man's elder brother is his natural enemy," says Mr. Selwyn^
placidly rauging his money and counters before him.
*' Torture is like broiled bones and pepper. You wouldn't relish simple*
hanging afterwards, George ! " continues Horry.
"I'm hanged if there's any man in England who would like to see
tis elder brother alive," says my lord.
" No, nor his father either, my lord ! " ciies Jack Morris.
" First time I ever knew you had one. Jack. Give me counters for five
hundred."
" I say, 'tis all mighty fine about dead brothers coming to life again,"
continues Jack. "Who is to know that it wasn't a scheme arranged
between these two fellows ? Here comes a young fellow who calls him-
self the Fortunate Youth, who says he is a Virginian Prince and the
deuce knows what, and who gets into our society — "
A great laugh ensues at Jack's phrase of " our society."
" Who is to know that it wasn't a cross ? '' Jack continues. ** The
young one is to come first. He is to marry an heiress, and, when he
has got her, up is to rise the elder brother ! When did this elder
brother show ? Why, when the younger's scheme was blown, and all
was up with him ! Who shall tell me that the fellow hasn't been living
in Seven Dials, or in a cellar dining off tripe and cow-heel until my
younger gentleman was disposed of ? Dammy, as gentlemen, I think we
ought to take notice of it : and that this Mr. Warrington has been taking
a most outrageous liberty with the whole club."
" Who put him up ? It was March, I think, put him up?" asks a
bystander.
"Yes. Bu^ my lord thought he was putting up a very different
person. Didn't you, March ? "
"Hold your confounded tongue, and mind your game!" says the
nobleman addressed : but Jack Morris's opinion found not a few sup-
porters in the world. Many persons agreed that it was most indecorous
of Mr. Harry Warrington to have ever believed in his brother's death ;
that there was something suspicious about the young man's first appear-
ance and subsequent actions, and, in fine, that regarding these foreigners,
adventurers, and the like, we ought to be especially cautious.
Though he was out of prison and difficulty ; though he had his aunt's
liberal donation of money in his pocket ; though his dearest brother was
restored to him, whose return to life Harry never once thought of
deploring, as his friends at White's supposed he would do ; though Maria
had shown herself in such a favourable light by her behaviour during
THE VIRGINIANS.
his misfortune : yet Harry, when alone, felt himself not particularly
cheerful, and smoked his pipe of Virginia with a troubled mind. It
-was not that he was deposed from his principality : the loss of it never
once vexed him ; he knew that his brother would share with him as he
would have done with his brother; but after all those struggles and
doubts in his own mind, to find himself poor and yet irrevocably bound
to his elderly cousin ! Yes, she was elderly, there was no doubt about
it. When she came to that horrible den in Cursitor Street and the tears
^'washed her rouge ofi", why, she looked as old as his mother! her face
was all wrinkled and yellow, and as he thought of her he felt just such
^ qualm as he had when she was taken ill that day in the coach on their
road to Tunbridge. What would his mother say when he brought her
home, and, Lord, what battles there would be between them ! He would
go and live on one of the plantations — the farther from home the better
— and have a few negroes, and farm as best he might, and hunt a good
deal ; but at Castlewood or in her own home, such as he could make it
for her, what a life for poor Maria, who had been used to go to Court and
to cards and balls and assemblies every night ! If he could be but the
overseer of the estates — he would be an honest factor, and try and
make up for his useless life and extravagance in these past days ! Five
thousand pounds, all his patrimony and the accumulations of his long
minority squandered in six months ! He a beggar, except for dear
Oeorge's kindness, with nothing in life left to him but an old wife, —
a pretty beggar, dressed out in velvet and silver lace forsooth — the poor
lad was arrayed in his best clothes — a pretty figure he had made in
Europe, and a nice end he was come to ! With all his fine friends at
White's and Newmarket, with all his extravagance, had he been happy
a single day since he had been in Europe ? Yes, three djjys, four days,
yesterday evening, when he had been with dear dear Mrs* Lambert, and
those affectionate kind girls, and that brave good Colonel. And the
Colonel was right when he rebuked him for his spendthrift follies, and
he had been a brute to be angry as he had been, and God bless them all
for their generous exertions in his behalf! Such were the thoughts
which Harry put into his pipe, and he smoked them whilst he waited hia
brother's return from Madam Bernstein*
CHAPTEE LIV.
DTJEING WHICH HAERY SITS SMOKING HIS PIPE AT HOME.
The maternal grandfather of our Virginians, the Colonel Esmond of
whom frequent mention has been made, and who had quited England to
Teside in the New World, had devoted some portion of his long American
leisure to the composition of the memoirs of his early life. In these
374 THE YIRGINIANS.
volumes, Madame de Bernstein (Mrs. Beatrice Esmond was her name as
a spinster) played a very considerable part ; and as George had read his
grandfather's manuscript macy times over, he had learned to know his
kinswoman long before he saw her, — to know, at least, the lady, young,
beautiful, and wilful, of half a century since, with whom he now became
acquainted in the decline of her days. When cheeks are faded, and
eyes are dim, is it sad or pleasant, I wonder, for the woman who is a
beauty no more, to recall the period of her bloom ? When the heart is
withered, do the old love to remember how it once was fresh and beat with
warm emotions ? When the spirits are languid and weary, do we like
to think how bright they were in other days, the hope how buoyant,
the sympathies how ready, the enjoyment of life how keen and eager ?
So they fall, — the buds of prime, the roses of beauty, the florid harvests
of summer, — fall and wither, and the naked branches shiver in the
winter.
And that was a beauty once ! thinks George Warrington, as his aunt,
in her rouge and diamonds, comes in from her rout, and that ruin was
a splendid palace. Crowds of lovers have sighed before those decrepit
feet, and been bewildered by the brightness of those eyes. He remem-
bered a firework at home, at Williamsburg, on the King's birthday, and
afterwards looking at the skeleton wheel and the sockets of the exploded
Roman candles. The dazzle and brilliancy of Aunt Beatrice's early
career passed before him, as he thought over his grandsire's journals.
Honest Harry had seen them, too, but Harry was no book-man, and
had not read the manuscript very carefully: nay, if he had, he would
probably not have reasoned about it as his brother did, being by na
means so much inclined to moralising as his melancholy senior.
Mr. Warrington thought that there was no cause why he should tell
his aunt how intimate he was with her early history, and accordingly
held his peace upon that point. When their meal was over, she pointed
with her cane to her escritoire, and bade her attendant bring the letter
which lay under the inkstand there ; and George, recognising the super-
scription, of course knew the letter to be that of which he had been the
bearer from home.
" It would appear by this letter," said the old lady, looking hard at
her nephev/, "that ever since your return, there have been some
differences between you and my sister."
''Indeed? I did not know that Madam Esmond had alluded to
them," George said.
The Baroness puts a great pair of glasses upon eyes which shot fire
and kindled who knows how many passions in old days, and, after
glancing over the letter, hands it to George, who reads as follows : —
" EiCHMOND, YiRGiNiA, December 26th, 1756.
** HoNOUKED Madam ! and Sister !
" I have received, and thankfully acknowledge, your lady-
ship's favour, per Rose packet, of October 23 ult. ; and straightway
THE YIRGINIANS. 37i
ans^\er you at a season which should be one of goodwill and peace to all
n:en : but in which Heaven hath nevertheless decreed we should still
bear our portion of earthly sorrow and trouble. My reply will be
brought to you by my eldest son, Mr. Esmond Warrington, who
returned to us so miraculously out of the "Valley of the Shadow of Death
(as our previous letters have informed my poor Henry), and who is
desirous, not without my consent to his wish, to visit Europe, though
he has been amongst us so short a while. I grieve to think that my
dearest Harry should have appeared at home— I mean in England —
under false colours, as it were ; and should have been presented to His
Mnjesty, to our family, and his own, as his father's heir, whilst my dear
8on George was still alive, though dead to us. Ah, Madam ! During
the eighteen months of his captivity, what anguish have his mother's,
his brother's, hearts undergone ! My Harry's is the tenderest of any
man's now alive. In the joy of seeing Mr. Esmond "Warrington returned
to life, he will forget the worldly misfortune which befalls him. He
will return to (comparative) poverty without a pang. The most gene-
rous, the most obedient of human beings, of sons, he will gladly give up
to his elder brother that inheritance which had been his own but for the
accident of birth, and for the providential return of my son George.
*' Your beneficent intentions towards dearest Harry will be more than
ever welcome, now he is reduced to a younger brother's slender portion !
Many years since, an advantageous opportunity occurred of providing
for him in this province, and he would by this time have been master of
a nolle estate and negroes, and have been enabled to make a figure with
most here, could his mother^ s wishes have been complied with, and his
lather's small portion, now lying at small interest in the British funds,
have been invested in this most excellent purchase. But the forms of
the law, and, I grieve to own, mrj elder son^s scruples, prevailed, and
this admirable opportunity was lost to me ! Harry will find the savings
of his income have been carefully accumulated — long, long may he live
to enjoy them ! May Heaven bless you, dear sister, for what your lady-
ship may add to his little store ! As I gather from your letter, that the
sum which has been allowed to him has not been sufficient for his
expenses in the fine comjmtii/ which he has kept (and the grandson of
the Marquis of Esmond — one who had so nearly been his lordship's
heir — may sure claim equality with any other nobleman in Great
Britain), and having a sum by me which I had always intended for the
poor child's establishment, I entrust it to my eldest son, who, to do him
justice, hath a most sincere regard for his brother, to lay it out for
Harry's best advantage."
'* It took him out of prison, yesterday, madam. I think that was
the best use to which we could put it," interposed George, at this stage
of his mother's letter.
*' Nay, sir, I don't know any such thing ! Why not have kept it to
buy a pair of colours for him, or to help towards another estate and some
376 THE VIKGIXIAXS.
negroes, if he has a fancy for home ? " cried the old lady. *' Besides, I
had a fancy to pay that debt myself."
"I hope you will let his brother do that. I ask leave to be my
brother's banker in this matter, and consider I have borrowed so much
from my mother, to be paid back to my dear Harry."
" Do you say so, sir ? Give me a glass of wine ! You are an extra-
vagant fellow ! Kead on, and you will see your mother thinks so. I
drink to your health, nejAew George ! 'Tis good Burgundy. Your
grandfather never loved Burgundy. He loved claret, the little he
drank."
And George proceeded with the letter.
**This remittance will, I trust, amply cover any expenses which,
owing to the mistake respecting his position, dearest Harry may have
incurred. I wish I could trust his elder brother's prudence as con-
fidently as my Harry's ! But I fear that, even in his captivity, Mr.
Esmond W. has learned little of that humility which becomes all
Christians, and which I have ever endeavoured to teach to my children.
Should you by chance show him these lines, when, by the blessing of
Heaven on those who go down to the sea in ships, the Great Ocean
divides us ! he will know that a fond mother's blessing and prayers
follow both her children, and that there is no act I have ever done, no
desire I have ever expressed (however little he may have been inclined
to obey it !) but hath been dictated by the fondest wishes for my dearest
boys' welfare."
" There is a scratch with a penknife, and a great blot upon the
letter there, as if water had fallen on it. Your mother writes well,
George. I suppose you and she had a difference ?" said George's aunt,
not unkindly.
*' Yes, ma'am, many," answered the young man, sadly. ** The last
was about a question of money — of ransom which I promised to the old
lieutenant of the fort who aided me to make my escape. I told you he
had a mistress, a poor Indian woman, who helped me, and was kind to
me. Six weeks after my arrival at home, the poor thing made her
appearance at Pdchmond, having found her way through the woods by
pretty much the same track which I had followed, and bringing me the
token which Museau had promised to send me when he connived to my
flight. A commanding officer and a considerable reinforcement had
arrived at Duquesne, Charges, I don't know of what peculation (for
his messenger could not express herself very clearly), had been brought
against this Museau. He had been put under arrest, and had tried to
escape ; but, less fortunate than myself, he had been shot on the rampart,
and he sent the Indian woman to me, with my grandfather's watch, and
a line scrawled in his prison on his death-bed, begging me to send ce que
je scavais to a notary at Havre de Grace in France to be transmitted to
his relatives at Caen in J^ormandy. My friend Silverheels, the hunter,
THE VIRGINIANS. 377
had helped my poor Indian on her way. I (.uu't know how she would
have escaped scalping else. But at home they received the poor thing
sternly. They hardly gave her a welcome. I won't say what suspicions
they had regarding her and me. The poor wretch fell to drinking when-
ever she could find means. I ordered that she should have food and
shelter, and she became the jest of our negroes, and formed the subject
of the scandal and tittle-tattle of the old fools in our little town. Our
Governor was, luckily, a man of sense, and I made interest with him,
and procured a pass to send her back to her people. Her very grief at
parting with me only served to confirm the suspicions against her. A
fellow preached against me from the pulpit, I believe ; I had to treat
another with a cane. And I had a violent dispute with Madam
Esmond — a diflference which is not healed yet — because I insisted upon
paying to the heirs Museau pointed out the money I had promised for
my deliverance. You see that scandal flourishes at the borders of the
wilderness, and in the New World as well as the Old."
" I have suffered from it myself, my dear ! " said Madam Bernstein
demurely. *' Fill thy glass, child! A little tass of cherry-brandy I
'Twill do thee all the good in the world."
" As for my poor Harry's marriage," Madam Esmond's letter went
on, ** though I know too well, from sad exjjeriencey the dangers to which
youth is subject, and would keep my boy, at any price, from them,
though I should wish him to marry a person of rank, as becomes his
birth, yet my Lady Maria Esmond is out of the question. Her age is
almost the same as mine ; and I know my brother Castlewood left his
daughters with the very smallest portions. My Harry is so obedient
that I know a desire from me will be sufiicient to cause him to give up
this imprudent match. Some foolish people once supposed that I myself
once thought of a second union, and with a person of rank very different
from ours. No ! I knew what was due to my children. As succeeding
to this estate after me, Mr. Esmond W. is amply provided for. Let my
task now be to save for his less fortunate younger brother : and, as I do
not love to live quite alone, let him return without delay to his fond
and loving mother.
"The report which your ladyship hath given of my Harry fills my
heart with warmest gratitude. He is all indeed a mother may wish.
A year in Europe will have given him a polish and refinement which
he could not acquire in our homely Virginia. Mr. Stack, one of our
invaluable ministers in Richmond, hath a letter from Mr. Ward — my
darling's tutor of early days — who knows my Lady Warrington and her
excellent family, and saith that my Harry has lived much with his
cousins of late. I am grateful to think that my boy has the privilege
of being with his good aunt. May he follow her councils, and listen to
those around him who will guide him on the way of his best welfare !
Adieu, dear madam and sister ! For your kindness to my boy accept
the grateful thanks of a mother's heart. Though we have been divided
hitherto, may these kindly ties draw us nearer and nearer, .1 am
378 THE YIKGIKIANS.
thankful that you should speak of ray dearest father so. He was
indeed, one of the hest of men ! He, too, thanks you, I know, for the
love you have borne to one of his children ; and his daughter subscribes
herself,
** With sincere thanks,
** Your ladyship's
** Most dutiful and grateful sister and servant,
" Rachel Esmond Wn.
"P.S.— I have communicated with my Lady Maria; but there will
be no need to tell her and dear Harry that his mother or your ladyship
hope to be able to increase his small fortune. The match is altogether
unsuitable."
** As far as regards myself, madam," George said, laying down the
paper, '* my mother's letter conveys no news to me. I always knew
that Harry was the favourite son with Madam Esmond, as he deserves
indeed to be. He has a hundred good qualities which I have not the
good fortune to possess. He has better looks "
" JSTay, that is not your fault," said the old lady, slily looking at him ;
*' and, but that he is fair and you are brown, one might almost pass for
the other."
Mr. George bowed, and a faint blush tinged his pale cheek.
" His disposition is bright, and mine is dark," he continued; " Harry
is cheerful, and I am otherwise, perhaps. He knows how to make
himself beloved by every one, and it has been my lot to find but few
friends."
** My sister and you have pretty little quarrels. There were such in
old days in our family," the Baroness said; *'and if Madam Esmond
takes after our mother "
" My mother has always described hers as an angel upon earth,"
interposed George.
*' Eh ! That is a common character for people when they are dead ! "
cried the Baroness ; " and Rachel Castlewood was an angel, if you like—
at least your grandfather thought so. But let me tell you, sir, that
angels are sometimes not very commodes a vivre. It may be they are
too good to live with us sinners, and the air down below here don't
agree with them. My poor mother was so perfect that she never could
forgive me for being otherwise. Ah, mon Dieu ! how she used to oppress
me with those angelical airs! "
George cast down his eyes, and thought of his own melancholy youth.
He did not care to submit more of his family secrets to the cynical inqui-
sition of this old worldling, .'vho seemed, however, to understand him in
spite of his reticence.
** I quite comprehend you, sir, though you hold your tongue," the
Baroness continued. "A sermon in the morning : a sermon at night:
and two or three of a Sunday. That is what people call being good.
Every pleasure cried fie upon ; all us worldly people excommunicated ;
THE YIRGINIANS. 379
a ball an abomination of desolation ; a play a forbidden pastime ; and a
game of cards perdition ! What a life I Mon Dieu, what a life ! "
*' We played at cards every night, if we were so inclined," said
George, smiling ; ** and my grandfather loved Shakspere so much, that
my motuer had not a word to say against her father's favourite
author."
" I remember. He could say whole pages by heart; though, for my
part, I like Mr. Congreve a great deal better. And then, there was
that dreadful, dreary Milton, whom he and Mr. Addison pretended to
admire ! " cried the old lady, tapping her fan.
** If your ladyship does not like Shakspere, you will not quarrel with
my mother for being indifferent to him, too," said George. ** And
indeed I think, and I am sure, that you don't do her justice. Where-
ever there are any poor she relieves them ; wherever there are any sick
she "
"She doses them with her horrible purges and boluses!" cried the
Baroness. *' Of course, just as my mother did ! "
'' She does her best to cure them ! She acts for the best, and performs
her duty as far as she knows it."
*'I don't blame you, sir, for doing yours, and keeping your own
counsel about Madam Esmond," said the old lady. '' But at least there
is one point upon which we all three agree — that this absurd marriage
must be prevented. Do you know how old the woman is ? I can
tell you, though she has torn the first leaf out of the family Bible at
Castlewood."
*' My mother has not forgotten her cousin's age, and is shocked at the
disparity between her and my poor brother. Indeed, a city-bred lady
of her time of life, accustomed to London gaiety and luxury, would find
but a dismal home in our Virginian plantation. Besides, the house,
such as it is, is not Harry's. He is welcome there. Heaven knows ;
more welcome, perhaps, than I, to whom the property comes in natural
reversion ; but, as I told him, I doubt how his wife would — would
like our colony^" George said, with a blush, and a hesitation in his
sentence.
The old lady laughed shrilly. "He, he! Nephew "Warrington! "
she said, "you need not scruple to speak your mind out. I shall tell
no tales to your mother : though 'tis no news to me that she has a high
temper, and loves her own way. Harry has held his tongue, too ; but
it needed no conjuror to Fee who was the mistress r.t home, and what
sort of a life my sister led you. I love my niece, my LaJy Molly, so
well, that I could wish her two or three years of Virginia, with your
mother reigning over her. You may well look alarmed, sir ! Harry
has said quite enough to show me who governs the family."
" Madam," said George smiling, " I may say as much as this, that
I don't envy any woman coming into our house against my mother's
will : and my poor brother knows this perfectly well."
" What ? You two have talked the matter over ? No doubt you
380 THE VIRGINIANS.
have. And the foolish child considers himself bound in honour — of
course he does, the gahy ! "
'' He says Lady Maria has behaved most nobly to him. "When he
was sent to prison, she brought him her trinkets and jewels, and every
guinea she had in the world. This behaviour has touched him so, that
he feels more deeply than ever bound to her ladyship. But I own my
brother seems bound by honour rather than love — such at least is his
present feeling."
'* My good creature," cried Madam Bernstein, "don't you see that
Maria brings a few twopenny trinkets and a half-dozen guineas to
Mr. Esmond, the heir of the great estate in Virginia, — not to the second
son, who is a beggar, and has just squandered away every shilling
of his fortune ? I swear to you, on my credit as a gentlewoman,
that, knowing Harry's obstinacy, and the misery he had in store for
himself, I tried to bribe Maria to give up her engagement with him,
and only failed because I could not bribe high enough ! When he was
in prison, I sent my lawyer to him, with orders to pay his debts imme-
diately, if he would but part from her, but Maria had been beforehand
with us, and Mr. Harry chose not to go back from his stupid word.
Let me tell you what has passed in the last month ! " And here the
old lady narrated at length the history which we know already, but in
that cynical language which was common in her times, when the finest
folks and the most delicate ladies called things and people by names
which we never utter in good company now-a-days. And so much the
better on the whole. We mayn't be more virtuous, but it is something
to be more decent : perhaps we are not more pure, but of a surety we
are more cleanly.
Madam Bernstein talked so much, so long, and so cleverly, that she
was quite pleased with herself and her listener; and when she put
herself into the hands of Mrs. Brett to retire for the night, informed
the waiting-maid that she had changed her opinion about her eldest
nephew, and that Mr. George was handsome, that he was certainly
much wittier than poor Harry (whom Heaven, it must be confessed,
had not furnished with a very great supply of brains), and that he had
quite the hel air — a something melancholy — a noble and distinguished
ie ne sgais quoy — which reminded her of the Colonel. Had she ever
told Brett about the Colonel ? Scores of times, no doubt. And now
she told Brett about the Colonel once more. Meanwhile, perhaps her
new favourite was not quite so well plensed with her as she was with
him. What a strange picture of life and manners had the old lady
unveiled to her nephew ! How she railed at all the world round about
her ! How unconsciously did she paint her own family — her own self ;
how selfish, one and all ; pursuing what mean ends ; grasping and
scrambling frantically for what petty prizes ; ambitious for what shabby
recompenses ; trampling — from life's beginning to its close — through
what scenes of stale dissipations and faded pleasures! Are these the
inheritors of noble blood?" thought George, as he went home quite
THE VIRGINIANS. 38i
late from his aunt's house, passing by doors whence the last guests of
fashion were issuing, and where the chairmen were yawning oyer their
expiring torches. '' Are these the proud possessors of ancestral honours
and ancient names, and were their forefathers, when in life, no better ?
"VVe have our pedigree at home with noble coats- of-arms emblazoned all
over the branches, and titles dating back before the Conquest and the
Crusaders. When a knight of old found a friend in want, did he turn
his back upon him, or an unprotected damsel, did he delude her and leave
her ? "When a nobleman of the early time received a young kinsman,
did he get the better of him at dice, and did the ancient chivalry cheat
in horsejQlesh ? Can it be that this wily woman of the world as my
aunt has represented, has inveigled my poor Harry into an engagement,
that her tears are false, and that as soon as she finds him poor she will
desert him ? Had we not best pack the trunks and take a cabin in the
next ship bound for home ? " George reached his own door revolving
these thoughts, and Gumbo came up yawning with a candle, and Harry
was asleep before the extinguished fire, with the ashes of his emptied
pipe on the table beside him.
He starts up, his eyes for a moment dulled by sleep, lighten with
pleasure as he sees his dear George. He puts his arms round his
brother with a boyish laugh.
"There he is in flesh and blood, thank God!" he says, **I was
dreaming of thee but now, George, and that Ward was hearing us our
lesson ! Dost thou remember the ruler, Georgy ? Why, bless my soul
'tis three o'clock ! Where have you been a gadding, Mr. George ?
Hast thou supped ? I supped at White's, but I'm hungry again, I did
not play, sir, — no, no ; no more of that for younger brothers ! And my
Lord March paid me fifty he lost to me. I bet against his horse and on
the Duke of Hamilton's ! They both rode the match at Newmarket
this morning, and he lost because he was under weight. And he paid
me, and he was as sulky as a bear. Let us have one pipe, Georgy ! — ^just
one."
And after the smoke the young men went to bed, where I, for one,
wish them a pleasant rest, for sure it is a good and pleasant thing to see
brethren who love one another.
CHAPTEE LV.
betwe|:n beothees.
Of course our young men had had their private talk about home, and
all the people and doings there, and each had imparted to the other full
particulars of his history since their last meeting. How were Harry'.''
S32 THE YIRGIXli\:NS.
dogs, and little Dempster, and good old Kathan, and the rest of tlie
lioiisehold ? Was Mountain well, and Fanny grown to be a pretty girl P
So Parson Broadbent's daughter was engaged to marry Tom Bai ker of
Savannah, and they were to go and live in Georgia ! Harry owns that at
one period he was very sweet upon Parson Broadbent's daughter, and
lost a great deal of pocket money at cards, and drank a great quantity
of strong- waters with the father, in order to have a pretext for being
near the girl. But, Heaven help us ! Madam Esmond would never have
consented to his throwing himself away upon Polly Broadbent. So
Colonel G. "Washington's wife was a pretty woman, very good-natured
and pleasant, and with a good fortune ? He had brought her into llich-
mond, and paid a visit of state to Madam Esmond. George described,
with much humour, the, awful ceremonials at the interview betv^^een
these two personages, and the killing politeness of his mother to
Mr. Washington's young wife. "Never mind, George, my dear !" says
Mrs. Mountain. " The Colonel has taken another wife, but I feel
certain that at one time two young gentlemen I know of ran a very near
chance of having a tall step-father six feet two in his boots." To be
sure, Mountain was for ever match-making in her mind. Two people
could not play a game at cards together, or sit down to a dish of tea,
but she fancied their conjunction was for life. It was she — the foolish,
tattler — who had set the report abroad regarding the poor Indian
woman. As for Madam Esmond, she had repelled the insinuation
with scorn when Parson Stack brought it to her, and said, '' I should
as soon fancy Mr. Esmond stealing the spoons, or marrying a negro
woman out of the kitchen." But though she disdained to find the
poor Biche guilty, and even thanked her for attending her son in his
illness, she treated her with such a chilling haughtiness of demeanour,
that the Indian slunk away into the servants' quarters, and there tried
to drown her disappointments with drink. It was not a cheerful picture
that which George gave of his two months at home. *' The birthright
is mine, Harry," he said, " but thou art the favourite, and God help me I
I think my mother almost grudges it to me. Why should I have taken
the pas, and preceded your worship into the world ? Had you been the
elder, you would have had the best cellar, and ridden the best nag,
and been the most popular man in the country, whereas I have not a
word to say for myself, and frighten people by my glum face : I should
have been second son, and set up as lawyer, or come to England and
got my degrees, and turned parson, and said grace at your honour's
table. The time is out of joint, sir. cursed spite, that ever I was
born to set it right ! "
*'Why, Georgy, you are talking verses, I protest you are!" says
Harry.
" I think, my dear, some one else talked those verses before me,"
says George, with a smile.
*' It's out of one of your books. You know every book that ever was
wrote, that I do believe I " cries Harry ; and then told his brother how
THE VIRGIXIAXS. 2S3
he liad seen the two authors at Tunbridge, and how he had taken off his
hat to them. " Not that I cared much about their books, not being clever
enough. But I remembered how my dear old George used to speak
of 'em," says Harry, with a choke in his voice, "and that's why I
liked to see them. I say, dear, it's like a dream seeing you over again.
Think of that bloody Indian with his knife at my George's head ! I
should like to give that Monsieur de Florae something for saving you—
but i haven't got much now, only my little gold knee-buckles, and they
ain't worth two guineas."
"You have got the half of what I have, child, and we'll divide as
soon as I have paid the Frenchman," George said.
On which Harry broke out not merely into blessings but actual impre-
cations, indicating his intense love and satisfaction ; and he swore that
there never was such a brother in the world as his brother George.
Indeed, for some days after his brother's arrival his eyes followed
George about : he would lay down his knife and fork, or his newspaper,
when they were sitting together, and begin to laugh to himself. When
he walked with George on the Mall or in Hyde Park, he would gaze
round at the company, as much as to say, " Look here, gentlemen !
This is he. This is my brother, that was dead and is alive again !
Can any man is Christendom produce such a brother as this ? "
Of course he was of opinion that George should pay to Museau's heirs
the sum which he had promised for his ransom. This question had been
the cause of no small unhappiness to poor George at home. Museau
dead, Madam Esmond argued with much eagerness and not a little
rancour, the bargain fell to the ground, and her son was free. The
man was a rogue in the first instance. She would not pay the wages of
iniquity. Mr. Esmond had a small independence from his father, and
might squander his patrimony if he chose. He was of age, and the
money was in his power ; but she would be no party to such extrava-
gance, as giving twelve thousand livies to a parcel of peasants in Nor-
mandy with whom we were at war, and who would very likely give it
all to the priests and the pope. She would not subscribe to any such
wickedness. If George wanted to squander away his father's money (she
must say that formerly he had not been so eager, and when -ffarri/'s henejit
was in question had refused to touch a penny of it !) — if he wished to
spend it now, why not give it to his own fiesh and blood, to poor Harry,
who was suddenly deprived of his inheritance, and not to a set of priest-
ridden peasants in France ? This dispute had raged between mother
and son during the whole of the latter's last days in Virginia. It
had never been settled. On the morning of George's departure,
Madam Esmond had come to his bedside, after a sleepless night, and
asked him whether he still persisted in his intention to fling away his
father's property ? He replied in a depth of grief and perplexity, that
his word was passed, and he must do as his honour bade him. She
answered that she would continue to pray that Heaven might soften
his proud heart, and enable her to bear her heavy trials : and the last
Xi THE VIRGINIAXS
view Georj^e had of his mother's face was as she stood yet a moraent by
Ills bedside, pale and with tearless eyes, before she turned away and
slowly left his chamber.
** Where didst thou learn the art of winning over everybody to thy
side, Harry?" continued George ; " and how is it that you and all the
world begin by being friends ? Teach me a few lessons in popularity, —
nay, I don't know that I will have them ; and when I find and hear
certain people hate me, I think I am rather pleased than angry. At
first, at Eichmond, Mr. Esmond Warrington, the only prisoner who had
escaped from Braddock's field — the victim of so much illness and hard-
ship — was a favourite with the town-folks, and received privately and
publicly with no little kindness. The parson glorified my escape in a
sermon ; the neighbours came to visit the fugitive ; the family coach
was ordered out, and Madam Esmond and I paid our visits in return.
I think some pretty little caps were set at me. But these our mother
routed oft', and frightened with the prodigious haughtiness of her
demeanour ; and my popularity was already at the decrease, before the
event occurred which put the last finishing stroke to it. I was not jolly
enough for the officers, and didn't care for their drinking bouts, dice-
boxes, and swearing. I was too sarcastic for the ladies, and their tea and
tattle stupified me almost as much as the men's blustering and horse-
talk. I cannot tell thee, Harry, how lonely I felt in that place, amidst
the scandal and squabbles : I regretted my prison almost, and found
myself more than once wishing for the freedom of thought, and the
silent ease of Duquesne. I am very shy, I suppose : I can speak un-
reservedly to very few people. Before most, I sit utterly silent. When
we two were at home, it was thou who used to talk at table and get a
smile now and then from our mother. When she and T were together
we had no subject in common, and we scarce spoke at all until we began
to dispute about lavy and divinity.
" So the gentlemen had determined I was supercilious, and a dull
companion (and, indeed, I think their opinion was right), and the ladies
thought I was cold and sarcastic, — could never make out whether I was
in earnest or no, and, I think, generally voted I was a disagreeable
fellow, before my character was gone quite away ; and that went with
the appearance of the poor Biche. 0, a nice character they made for me,
my dear!" cried George, in a transport of wrath, "and a pretty life
they led me, after Museau's unlucky messenger had appeared amongst
lis ! "^riie boys hooted the poor woman if she appeared in the street ; the
ladies dropped me half-curtseys, and walked over to the other side. That
precious clergyman went from one tea-table to another preaching on the
horrors of seduction, and the lax principles which young men learned in
Popish countries and brought back thence. The poor Fawn's appearance
at home, a few weeks after my return home, was declared to be a scheme
between her and me; and the best informed agreed that she had waited
en the other side of the river until I gave her the signal to come and
join me in Richmond. The officers bantered me at the coff'ee-house, and
THE VIRGINIANS. 385
cracked their clumsy jokes about the woman I had selected. the
world is a nice charitable world ! I was so enraged that I thought of
going to Castlewood and living alone there, — for our mother finds the
place dull, and the greatest consolation in precious Mr. Slack's ministry,
— when the news arrived of your female perplexity, and I think we were
all glad that I should have a pretext for coming to Europe."
*' I should like to see any of the infernal scoundrels who said a word
against you, and break their rascally bones," roars out Harry, striding
up and down the room.
** I had to do something like it for Bob Clubber."
" What ! that little sneaking, backbiting, toad-eating wretch, who is
always hanging about my lord at Grreenway Court, and spunging on
every gentleman in the country ? If you whipped him, I hope you
whipped him well, George ? "
" We were bound over to keep the peace ; and I offered to go into
Maryland with him and settle our difference there, and of course the
good folk said, that having made free with the seventh commandment I
was inclined to break the sixth. So, by this and by that — and being
as innocent of the crime imputed to me as you are — I left home,
my dear Harry, with as awful a reputation as ever a young gentleman
earned."
Ah, what an opportunity is there here to moralise ! If the esteemed
reader and his humble servant could but know — could but write down
in a book — could but publish, with illustrations, a collection of the lies
which have been told regarding each of us since we came to man's
estate,— what a harrowing and thrilling work of fiction that romance
would be ! Not only is the world informed of every thing about you,
but of a great deal more. Not long since the kind postman brought a
paper containing a valuable piece of criticism, which stated, " This
author states he was born in such and such a year. It is a lie. He was
born in the year so and so." The critic knew better : of course he did.
Another (and both came from the country which gave Mulligah"
birth) warned some friend, saying, '' Don't speak of New South Wales to
him. He has a brother there, and the family never mention his naine."
But this subject is too vast and noble for a mere paragraph. I shall pre-
pare a memoir, or let us rather have par tme societe de geyis de lettresy a
series of Biographies, — of lives of gentlemen, as told by their dear friends
whom they don't know.
George having related his exploits as champion and martyr, of course
Harry had to unbosom himself to his brother, and lay before his elder
an account of his private affairs. He gave up all the family of Castle-
wood — my lord, not for getting the better of him at play ; for Harry was
a sporting man, and expected to pay when he lost, and receive when he
won ; but for refusing to aid the chaplain in his necessity, and dismissing
him with such false and heartless pretexts. About Mr. Will he had
made up his mind, after the horsedealing matter, and freely marked his
sense of the latter's conduct upon Mr. Will's eyes and nose. Respecting
386 THE VIKGINIANS.
the Countess and Lady Fanny, Harry spoke in a manner more guarded,
but not very favourable. Re had heard all sorts of stories about them.
The Countess was a card-playing old cat ; Lady Fanny was a desperate
flirt. Who told him ? Well, he had heard the stories from a person
who knew them both very well indeed. In fact, in their days of con-
fidence, Maria had freely imparted to her cousin a number of anecdotes
respecting her step-mother and her half-sister, which were by no means
in favour of those ladies.
But in respect to Lady Maria herself, the young man was stanch and
hearty. '*It may be imprudent: I don't say no, George. I may be a
fool : I think I am. I know there will be a dreadful piece of work at
home, and that Madam and she will fight. Well ! We must live apart.
Our estate is big enough to live on without quarreling, and I can go
elsewhere than to Richmond or Castlewood. When you come to the pro-
perty, you'll give me a bit — at any rate. Madam will let me off at an
easy rent — or I'll make a famous farmer or factor. I can't and won't
part from Maria. She has acted so nobly by me, that I should be a rascal
to turn my back on her. Think of her bringing me every jewel she had
in the world, dear brave creature ! and flinging them into my lap with
her last guineas, — and — and — God bless her ! " Here Harry dashed his
sleeve across his eyes, with a stamp of his foot ; and said, ** No, brother,
I won't part with her, not to be made Governor of Virginia to-mor-
row ; and my dearest old George would never advise me to do so, I
know that."
" I am sent here to advise you," George replied. **I am sent to break
the marriage off, if I can: and a more unhappy one I can't imagine.
But I can't counsel you to break your word, my boy."
"I knew you couldn't! What's said is said, George. I have made
my bed, and must lie on it," says Mr. Harry, gloomily.
Such had been the settlement between our two young worthies, when
they first talked over Mr. Harry's love affair. But after George's con-
versation with his aunt, and the farther knowledge of his family, which
he acquired through the information of that keen old woman of the
world, Mr. Warrington, who was naturally of a sceptical turn, began to
doubt about Lady Maria, as well as regarding her brothers and sister,
and looked at Harry's engagement with increased distrust and alarm.
Was it for his wealth that Maria wanted Harry ? Was it his hand-
some young person that she longed after ? Were those stories true
which Aunt Bernstein had told of her ? Certainly he could not advise
Harry to break his word; but he might cast about in his mind for
fiome scheme for putting Maria's affection to the trial ; and his ensuing
conduct, which appeared not very amiable, I suppose resulted from thia
dfliberatioiu
THE VIRGINIANS. 387
CHAPTER LYI.
AEIADXE.
My Lord Castlewood had a house ia Kensington Sqnare spacious
enough to accommodate the several members of his noble famil}', and
convenient for their service at the palace hard-by, when His Majesty-
dwelt there. Her ladyship had her evenings, and gave her card-parties
here for such as would come ; but Kensington was a long way from
London a hundred years since, and Greorge Selwyn said he for one was
afraid to go, for fear of being robbed of a night, — whether by footpads
with crape over their faces, or by ladies in rouge at the quadrille-table,
we have no means of saying. About noon on the day after Harry had
made his re-appearance at White's, it chanced that all his virtuous kins-
folks partook of breakfast together, even Mr, "Will being present, who
was to go into waiting in the afternoon.
The ladies came first to their chocolate : them Mr. "Will joined in his
court suit ; finally, my lord appeared, languid, in his bedgown and
nightcap, having not yet assumed his wig for the day. Here was news
wliich Will had brought home from the Star and Garter last night, when.
he supped in company with some men who had heard it at White's, and
Been it at Kanelagh !
" Heard what ? seen what ? " asked the head of the house, taking up
his Daily Advertiser,
"Ask Maria!" says Lady Fanny. My lord turns to his elder sister,
who wears a face of portentous sadness, and looks as pale as a table-
cloth.
" 'Tis one of Will's usual elegant and polite inventions," says Maria.
" No," swore Will, with several of his oaths ; *' it was no invention
of his. Tom Claypool of Norfolk saw 'em both at Eanelagh ; and Jack
Morris came out of White's, where he heard the story from Harry War-
rington's own lips. Curse him, I'm glad of it ! " roars Will, slapping
the table. " What do you think of your Fortunate Youth ? your
Virginian, whom your lordship made so much of, turning out to be a
eeeond son ? "
*' The elder brother not dead ? " says my lord.
"No more dead than you are. Never was. It*s my belief that it
was a cross between the two."
" Mr. Warrington is incapable of such duplicity ! " cries Maria.
*' I never encouraged the fellow, I am sure you will do me justice
there," says my lady. " Nor did Fanny : not we, indeed ! "
*' Not we, indeed ! ** echoes my Lady Fanny.
** The fellow is only a beggar, and, I dare say, has not paid for the
clothes on his back," continues Will. ** I'm glad of it, for, hang him,
I hate him ! "
2
3S8 THE VIRGINIANS.
"You don't regard him with favourable eyes; especially since he
blacked yours, Will ! " grins my lord. '* So the poor fellow has found
his brother, and lost his estate ! " And here he turned towards his
sister Maria, who, although she looked the picture of woe, must have
suggested something ludicrous to the humorist near whom she sate ; for
his lordship, having gazed at her for a minute, burst into a shrill laugh,
which caused the poor lady's face to flush, and presently her eyes to
pour over with tears. ** It's a shame ! it's a shame ! " she sobbed out,
and hid her face in her handkerchief. Maria's step-brother and sister
looked at each other. "We never quite understand your lordship's
humour," the former lady remarked, gravely.
" I don't see there is the least reason why you should," said my lord,
coolly. "Maria, my dear, pray excuse me if I have said — that is, done
anything, to hurt your feelings."
" Done any thing ! You pillaged the poor lad in his prosperity, and
laugh at him in his ruin ! " says Maria, rising from table, and glaring
round at all her family.
"Excuse me, my dear sister, I was not laughing at Am," said my
lord, gently.
" Oh, never mind at what or whom else, my lord ! You have taken
from him all he had to lose. All the world points at you as the man
who feeds on his own flesh and blood. And now you have his all you
make merry over his misfortune ! " and away she rustled from the room,
flinging looks of defiance at all the party there assembled.
" Tell us what has happened, or what you have heard, Will, and my
sister's grief will not interrupt us." And Will told, at greater length,
and with immense exultation at Harry's discomfiture, the story now
buzzed through all London, of George Warrington's sudden apparition.
Lord Castlewood was sorry for Harry : Harry was a good brave lad, and
his kinsman liked him, as much as certain worldly folks like each other.
To be sure, he played Harry at cards, and took the advantage of the
market upon him; but why not? The peach .which other men would
certainly pluck, he might as well devour. " Eh ! if that were all my
conscience had to reproach me with, I need not be very uneasy ! " my
lord thought. " Where does Mr. Warrington live ? "
Will expressed himself ready to enter upon a state of reprobation if
he knew or cared.
" He shall be invited here, and treated with every respect," says my
lord.
" Including picquet, I suppose ! " growls Will.
"Or will you take him to the stables, and sell him one of your
bargains of horse-flesh. Will ? " asks Lord Castlewood. " You would
have won of Harry Warrington fast enough, if you could ; but you cheat
so clumsily at your game that you got paid with a cudgel. I desire, once
more, that every attention may be paid to our Cousin Warrington.
"And that you are not to be disturbed, when you sit down to play,
of course, my lord ! " cries Lady Castlewood.
THE VIRGINIANS. 389
" Madam, I desire fair play, for Mr. "Warrington, and for myself, and
for every member of this amiable family," retorted Lord Castlewood,
fiercely.
" Heaven help the poor gentleman if your lordship is going to be
Ivind to him," said the Stepmother, with a curtsey ; and there is no
knowing how far this family dispute might have been carried, had not,
at this moment, a phaeton driven up to the house, in which were seated
the two young Virginians.
It was the carriage which our young Prodigal had purchased in the
days of his prosperity. He drove it still : George sate in it by his side ;
their negroes were behind them. Harry had been for meekly giving
the whip and reins to his brother, and ceding the whole property to him.
*' What business has a poor devil like me with horses and carriages,
Georgy?" Harry had humbly said. "Beyond the coat on my back,
and the purse my aunt gave me, I have nothing in the world. You
take the driving-seat, brother ; it will ease my mind if you will take
the driving-seat." George laughingly said he did not know the way,
and Harry did ; and that, as for the carriage, he would claim only a
half of it, as he had already done with his brother's wardrobe. ** But
a bargain is a bargain; if I share thy coats thou must divide my
breeches' pocket, Harry ; that is but fair dealing ! " Again and again
Harry swore there never was such a brother on earth. How he rattled
his horses over the road ! How pleased and proud he was to drive such
a brother ! They came to Kensington in famous high spirits ; and
Gumbo's thunder upon Lord Castlewood's door was worthy of the biggest
footman in all St. James's.
Only my Lady Castlewood and her daughter Lady Fanny were in the
room into which our young gentlemen were ushered. \Yill had no
particular fancy to face Harry, my lord was not dressed, Maria had her
reasons for being away, at least till her eyes were dried. When we
drive up to friends' houses now-a-days in our coaches and six, when
John carries up our noble names, when, finally, we enter the drawing-
room with our best hat and best Sunday smile foremost, does it ever
happen that we interrupt a family row ? that we come simpering and
smiling in, and stepping over the delusive ashes of a still burning
domestic heat? that in the interval between the hall-door and the
drawing-room, Mrs., Mr., and the Misses Jones have grouped themselves
in a family tableau ; this girl artlessly arranging flowers in a vase, let
US say ; that one reclining over an illuminated work of devotion ;
mamma on the sofa, with the butcher's and grocer's book pushed under
the cushion, some elegant work in her hand, and a pretty little foot
pushed out advantageously ; while honest Jones, far from saying,
" Curse that Brown, he is always calling here ! " holds out a kindly
hand, shows a pleased face, and exclaims, "What, Brown, my boy,
delighted to see you ! Hope you've come to lunch I " I say, does it
ever happen to us to be made the victims of domestic artifices, the
spectators of domestic comedies sot up for our special amusement ? 0,
390 THE VIRGINIANS.
let us be thankful, not only for faces, but for masks ! not only for honest
welcome, but for hypocrisy, which hides unwelcome things from us !
Whilst I am talking, for instanc^^, in this easy chatty way, what right
have you, my good sir, to know what is really passing in my mind ? It
may be that I am racked with gout, or that my eldest son has just sent
me in a thousand pounds' worth of college-bills, or that I am writhing
under an attack of the Stoke Pogis Sentinel, which has just been sent
me under cover, or that there is a dreadfully scrappy dinner, the evident
remains of a party to which I didn't invite you, and yet I conceal my
agony, I wear a merry smile, I say, "What! come to take pot-luck
with us, Brown, my boy ? Betsy ! Put a knife and fork for Mr. Brown.
Eat ! Welcome ! Fall to ! It's my best ! " I say that humbug which
I am performing is beautiful self-denial — that hypocrisy is true virtue.
0, if every man spoke his mind, what an intolerable society ours would
be to live in !
As the young gentlemen are announced, Lady Castlewood advances
towards them with perfect ease and good humour. "We have heard,
Harry," she says, looking at the latter with a special friendliness, " of
this most extraordinary circumstance. My Lord Castlewood said at
breakfast that he should wait on you this very day, Mr. Warrington,
and, cousin Harry, we intend not to love you any the less because you
are poor."
" We shall be able to show now that it is not for your acres that we
like you, Harry ! " says Lady Fanny, following her mamma's lead.
"And I to whom the acres have fallen?" says Mr. George, with a
smile and a bow.
"0, cousin, Vv^e shall like you for being like Harry!" replies the
arch Lady Fanny. m
Ah ! who that has seen the world, has not aamired that astonishing
ease with which fine ladies drop you and pick you up again ? Both the
ladies now addressed themselves almost exclusively to the younger
brother. They were quite civil to Mr. George : but with Mr. Harry
they were fond, they were softly familiar, they were gently kind, they
were affectionately reproachful. Why had Harry not been for days and
days to see them ?
** Better to have had a dish of tea and a game at picquet with them
than with some other folks," says Lady Castlewood. "If we had won
enough to buy a paper of pins from you we should have been content ;
but young gentlemen don't know what is for their own good," says
mamma.
" Now you have no more money to play with, you can come and play
with us, cousin! " cries fond Lady Fanny, lifting up a finger, " and so
your misfortune will be good fortune to us."
George was puzzled. This welcome of his brother was very different
from that to which he had looked. AH these compliments and attentions
paid to the younger brother, though he was without a guinea? Perhaps
the people were not so bad as tliey were painted ? The Blackest of all
THE VIRGINIANS. 391
Blacks is said not to be of quite so dark a complexion as some folks
describe him.
This afiectionate conversation continued for some twenty minutes, at
the end of which period my Lord Castlewood made his appearance, wig
on head, and sword by side. He greeted both the young men with
much politeness : one not more than the other. " If you were to come
to us — and I, for one, cordially rejoice to see you — what a pity it is you
did not come a few months earlier ! A certain evening at picquet would
then most likely never have taken place. A younger son would have
been more prudent."
" Yes, indeed," said Harry.
*' Or a kinsman more compassionate. But I fear that love of play
runs in the blood of all of us. I have it from my father, and it has
made me the poorest peer in England. Those fair ladies whom you see
before you are not exempt. My poor brother Will is a martyr to it ;
and what I, for my part, win on one day, I lose on the next. 'Tis
shocking, positively, the rage for play in England. All my poor cousin's
bank-notes parted company from me within twenty-four hours after I
got them."
" I have played, like other gentlemen, but never to hurt myself, and
never indeed caring much for the sport," remarked Mr. Warrington.
" When we heard that my lord had played with Harry, we did so
scold him," cried the ladies.
*'But if it had not been I, thou knowest, cousin AVarrington, some
other person would have had thy money. 'Tis a poor consolation, but
as such Harry must please to take it, and be glad that friends won his
money, who wish him well, not strangers, who cared nothing for him,
and Heeced him."
" Eh ! a tooth out is a tooth out, though it be your brother that pulls
it, my lord!" said Mr. George, laughing. "Harry must bear the
penalty of his faults, and pay his debts, like other men."
" I am sure I have never said or thought otherwise. 'Tis not like an
Englishman, to be sulky b.ecause he is beaten," says Harry.
*' Your hand, cousin ! You speak like a man! " cries my lord, with
delight. The ladies smile to each other.
" My sister, in Virginia, has known how to bring up her sons as
gentlemen! " exclaims Lady Castlewood, enthusiastically.
*' I protest you must not be growing so amiable now you are poor,
cousin Harry ! " cries cousin Fanny. ** Why, mamma, we did not
know half his good qualities when he was only Fortunate Youth and
Prince of Virginia! You are exactly like him, cousin George, but I
vow you can't be as amiable as your brother ! "
" I am the Prince of Virginia, but I feai* I am not the Fortunate
Youth," said George, gravely.
Harry was beginning, " By Jove, he is the best " when the noise
of a harpsichord was heard from the upper room. The lad blushed :
ihe ladies smiled.
392 THE VIRGINIANS.
" 'Tis Maria, above," said Lady Castlewood. ** Let some of us go up
to her.
The ladies rose, and made way towards the door ; and Harry followed
them, blushing very much. George was about to join the party, but
Lord Castlewood checked him. ** Nay, if all the ladies follow your
brother," his lordship said, "let me at least have the benefit of your
company and conversation. I long to hear the account of your captivity
end rescue, cousin George ! "
"0, we must hear that too ! " cried one of the ladies, lingering.
*' I am greedy, and should like it all by myself," said Lord Castle-
wood, looking at her very sternly ; and followed the women to the door,
and closed it upon them, with a low bow.
"Tour brother has no doubt acquainted you with the history of all
that has happened to him in this house, cousin George ? " asked
George's kinsman.
" Yes, including the quarrel with Mr. Will, and the engagement to
my Lady Maria," replies George, with a bow. " I may be pardoned for
saying, that he hath met with but ill fortune here, my lord."
" Which no one can deplore more cordially than myself. My brother
lives with horse -jockeys and trainers, and the wildest bloods of the
town, and between us there is very little sympathy. We should not
all live together, were we not so poor. This is the house which our
grandmother occupied before she went to America and married Colonel
Esmond. Much of the old furniture belonged to her." George looked
round the wainscotted parlour with some interest. " Our house has not
flourished in the last twenty years ; though we had a promotion of
rank a score of years since, owing to some interest we had at court,
then. But the malady of play has been the ruin of us all. I am a
miserable victim to it: only too proud to sell myself and title to a
roturiere^ as many noblemen, less scrupulous, have done. Pride is my
fault, my dear cousin. I remember how I was born ! " And his lord-
ship laid his hand on his shirt- frill, turned out his toe, and looked his
cousin nobly in the face.
Young George Warrington's natural disposition was to believe every-
thing which everybody said to him. When once deceived, however, or
undeceived about the character of a person, he became utterly incredu-
lous, and he saluted this fine speech of my lord's with a sardonical,
inward laughter, preserving his gravity, however, and aearc© allowing
any of his scorn to appear in his words.
'* We have all our faults, my lord. That of play hath been condoned
over and over again in gentlemen of our rank. Having heartily for-
given my brother, surely I cannot presume to be your lordship's judge
in the matter ; and instead of playing and losing, I wish sincerely that
you had both played and won I **
" So do I, with all my heart ! " says my lord, with a sigh. " 1 augur
well for your goodness when you can speak in this way, and for your
experience and knowledge of the world, too, cousin, of which you seem
THE YIEGINIAXS. 393
to possess a greater share than most young men of your age. Your
poor Harry hath the best heart in the world ; but I doubt whether his
head be very strong."
"Not very strong, indeed. But he hath the art to make friends
wherever he goes, and in spite of all his imprudences most people love
him."
*' I do — we all do, I'm sure j as if he were our brother ! " cries my
lord.
"■ He has often described in his letters his welcome at your lordship's
house. My mother keeps them all, you may be sure. Harry's style
is not very learned, but his heart is so good, that to read him is better
than wit."
" I may be mistaken, but I fancy his brother possesses a good heart
and a good wit, too ! " says my lord, obstinately gracious.
"I am as Heaven made me, cousin; and perhaps some more
experience and sorrow than has fallen to the lot of most young
men."
" This misfortune of your poor brother — 1 mean this piece of good
fortune, your sudden re-appearance — has not quite left Harry without
resources ? " continued Lord Castlewood, very gently.
"With nothing but what his mother can leave him, or I, at her
death, can spare him. What is the usual portion here of a younger
brother, my lord ? "
"Eh! A younger brother here is — you know — in fine, everybody
knows what a younger brother is," said my lord, and shrugged his
shoulders and looked his guest in the face.
The other went on : " We are the best of friends, but we are flesh
and blood : and I don't pretend to do more for him than is usually done
for younger brothers. Why give him money ? That he should
squander it at cards or horse-racing ? My lord, we have cards and
jockeys in Virginia, too ; and my poor Harry hath distinguished him-
self in his own country already, before he came to yours. He inherits
the family failing for dissipation."
"Poor fellow, poor fellow, I pity him!'*
" Our estate, you see, is great, but our income is small. We have
little more money than that which we get from England for our
tobacco — and very little of that too — for our tobacco comes back to us
in the shape of goods, clothes, leather, groceries, ironmongery, nay,
wine and beer for our people and ourselves. Harry may come back
and share all these : there is a nag in the stable for him, a piece of
venison on the table, a little ready money to keep his pocket warm, and
a coat or two every year. This will go on whilst my mother lives,
unless, which is far from improbable, he gets into some quarrel with
Madam Esmond. Then, whilst I live he will have the run of the
house and all it contains : then, if I die leaving children, he will be less
and less welcome. His future, my lord, is a dismal one, unless some
strange piece of luck turn up on which we were fools to speculate.
THE VIRGINIANS.
Henceforth he is doomed to dependence, and I know no worse lot, than
to be dependent on a self-willed woman like our mother. The means
he had to make himself respected at home he hath squandered away
here. He has flung his patrimony to the dogs, and poverty and sub-
serviency are now his only portion." Mr. Warrington delivered this
speech with considerable spirit and volubility, and his cousin heard him
respectfully.
" You speak well, Mr. Warrington. Have you ever thought of
public life ? " said my lord.
" Of course I have thought of public life like every man of my
station — every man, that is, who cares for something beyond a dice-box
or a stable," replies George. " I hope, my lord, to be able to take my
own place, and my unlucky brother must content himself with his.
This I say advisedly, having heard from him of certain engagements
which he has formed, and which it would be misery to all parties were
he to attempt to execute now."
"Your logic is very strong," said my lord. "Shall we go up and
see the ladies ? There is a picture above stairs which your grandfather
is said to have executed. Before you go, my dear cousin, you will
please to fix a day when our family may have the honour of receiving
you. Castlewood, you know, is always your home when we are there.
It is something like your Yirginian Castlewood, cousin, from your
account. We have beef, and mutton, and ale, and wood, in plenty ;
but money is wofully scarce amongst us."
They ascended to the drawing-room, where, however, they found
only one of the ladies of the family. This was my Lady Maria, who
came out of the embrasure of a window, where she and Harry War-
rington had been engaged in talk.
George made his best bow, Maria her lowest curtsey. "You are
indeed wonderfully like your brother," she said, giving him her hand.
" And from what he says, cousin George, I think you are as good as
he is."
At the sight of her swollen eyes and tearful face George felt a pang
of remorse. "Poor thing," he thought. "Harry has been vaunting
my generosity and virtue to her, and I have been playing the Lelfish
elder brother down-stairs ! How old she looks I How could he ever
have a passion for such a woman as that ? " How ? Because he did
not see with your eyes, Mr. George. He saw rightly too now with his
own, perhaps. I never know whether to pity or congratulate a man on
coming to his senses.
After the introduction a little talk took place, which for a while Lady
Maria managed to carry on in easy manner : but though ladies in
this matter of social hypocrisy are, I think, far more consummate per-
formers than men, after a sentence or two the poor lady broke out
into a sob, and, motioning Harry away with her hand, fairly fled from
the room.
Harry was rushing forward, but stopped— checked by that sign. My
THE VIRGIXIAXS.
lord said his poor sister was subject to these fits of nerves, and had
ah-eady been ill that morning. After this event our young gentlemen
thought it was needless to prolong their visit. Lord Castlewood fol-
lowed them down-stairs, aceompanitd them to the door, admired their
nags in the phaeton, and waved them a friendly farewell.
" And so we have been coaxing and cuddling in the window, and
we part good friends, Harry ? Is it not so ? " says George to his
charioteer.
" 0, she is a good woman ! " cries Harry, lashing the horses, " I
know you'll think so when yon come to know her."
"When you take her home to Virginia? A pretty welcome our
mother will give her. She will never forgive me for not breaking the
match off, nor you for making it."
" I can't help it, George ! Don't you be popping your ugly head so
close to my ears. Gumbo ! After what has passed between us, I am
bound in honour to stand by her. If she sees no objection, I must find
none. I told her all. I told her that madam would be very rusty at
first ; but that she was very fond of me, and must end by relenting.
And when you come to the property, I told her that I knew my dearest
George so well, that I might count upon sharing with him."
•^'ihe deuce you did ! Let me tell you, my dear, that I have been
telling my Lord Castlewood quite a different story. That as an elder
brother I intend to have all my rights — there, don't flog that near horse
so — and that you can but look forward to poverty and dependence."
"What? You won't help me?" cries Harry, turning quite pale.
" George, I don't believe it, though I hear it out of your own
mouth ! "
There was a minute's pause after this outbreak, during which Harry
did not even look at his brother, but sate, gazing blindly before him,
the picture of grief and gloom. He was driving so near to a road-
post, that the carriage might have been upset but for George's pulling
the rein.
" You had better take the reins, sir," said Harry, ** I told you you
had better take them."
" Kd you ever know me fail you, Harry ? " George asked.
"jS'o," said the other, '* not till now" — the tears were rolling down
his cheeks as he spoke.
" My dear, I think one day you will say I have done my duty."
*' What have you done ? " asked Harry.
" I have said you v^^ere a younger brother — that you have spent all
your patrimony, and that your portion at home must be very slender.
Is it not true ? "
" Yes, but I would not have believed it, if ten thousand men had
told me," said Harry. " Whatever happened to me, I thought I could
trust you, George Warrington." And in this frame of mind Harry
remaint;d during the rest of the drive.
Their dinner was served soon after their return to their lodgings, of
THE VIRGINIANS.
which Harry scarce ate any, though he drank freely of the wine before
him.
** That wine is a bad consoler in trouble, Harry," his brother
remarked.
**I have no other, sir," said Harry, grimly; and Laving drunk
glass after glass in silence, he presently seized his hat, and left the
room.
He did not return for three hours. George, in much anxiety about his
brother, had not left home meanwhile, but read his book, and smoked
the pipe of patience. " It was shabby to say I would not aid him,
and, God help me, it was not true. I won't leave him, though he
marries a blackamoor," thought George : "have I not done him harm
enough already, by coming to life again ? Where has he gone ; has he
gone to play ? "
** Good God ! what has happened to thee ? " cried George "Warrington,
presently, when his brother came in, looking ghastly pale.
He came up and took his brother's hand. " I can take it now,
Georgy," he said. '' Perhaps what you did was right, though I for one
will never believe that you would throw your brother off in distress.
I'll tell you what. At dinner, I thought suddenly, I'll go back to her
and speak to her. I'll say to her, * Maria, poor as I am, your conduct to
me has been so noble, that, by Heaven 1 I am yours to take or to leave.
If you will have me, here I am : I will enlist : I will work : I will try
and make a livelihood for myself somehow, and my bro my relations
will relent, and give us enough, to live on.' That's what I determined
to tell her ; and I did, George. I ran all the way to Kensington in the
rain — look, I am splashed from head to foot, — and found them all at
dinner, all except Will, that is. I spoke out that very moment to them
all, sitting round the table, over their wine. * Maria,' says I, ' a poor
fellow wants to redeem his promise which he made when he fancied
he was rich. Will . you take him ? ' I found I had plenty of words,
and didn't hem and stutter as I am doing now. I spoke ever so long,
and I ended by saying I would do my best and my duty by her, so help
me God !
*' When I had done, she came up to me quite kind. She took my
hand, and kissed it before the rest. * My dearest, best Harry ! ' she
said (those were her words, I don't want otherwise to be praising myself),
* you are a noble heart, and I thank you with all mine. But, my dear,
I have long seen it was only duty, and a foolish promise made by a young
man to an old woman, that has held you to your engagement. To keep
it would make you miserable, my dear. I absolve you from it, thanking
you with all my heart for your fidelity, and blessing and loving my dear
cousin always.' And she came up and kissed me before them all, and
went out of the room quite stately, and without a single tear. They
were all crying, especially my lord, who was sobbing quite loud. I
didn't think he had so much feeling. And she, George ? 0, isn't she a
noble creature ? '*
THE YIEGINIANS. S97
" Here's her health ! " cries George, filling one of the glasses that still
fftood before him.
<'Hip,hip,huzzay!" saysHarry. He was wild with delight at being free.
CHAPTEE LYII.
IN WHICH ME. HAKEY's NOSE CONTINUES TO EE PUT OUT OP JOINT.
Madame de Beenstein was scarcely less pleased than her Virginian,
nephews at the result of Harry's final interview with Lady Maria.
George informed the Baroness of what had passed, in a billet which he
sent to.her the same evening ; and shortly afterwards her nephew Castle-
wood, whose visits to his aunt were very rare, came to pay his respects
to her, and frankly spoke about the circumstances which had taken
place ; for no man knew better than my Lord Castlewood how to be frank
upon occasion, and now that the business between Maria and Harry was
ended, what need was there of reticence or hypocrisy ? The game had
been played, and was over : he had no objection now to speak of its
various moves, stratagems, finesses. " She is my own sister," said my
lord, afiectionately ; " she won't have many more chances — many more
such chances of marrying and establishing herself. I might not
approve of the match in all respects, and I might pity your ladyship's
young Virginian favourite : but of course such a piece of good fortune
was not to be thrown away, and I was bound to stand by my own flesh
and blood."
** Your candour does your lordship honour," says Madame de Bern-
stein, ** and your love for your sister is quite edifying ! "
*'Nay, we have lost the game, and I am speaking sans rancune.
It is not for you, who have won, to bear malice," says my lord, with
a bow. *
Madame de Bernstein protested she was never in her life in better
humour. "Confess, now, Eugene, that visit of Maria to Harry at the
spunging-house — ^that touching giving up of all his presents to her, was
a stroke of thy invention ? "
** Pity for the young man, and a sense of what was due from Maria
to her friend — her affianced lover — in misfortune, sure these were
motives sufficient to make her act as she did," replies Lord Castlewood,
demurely.
** But 'twas you advised her, my good nephew ? "
Castlewood, with a shrug of his shoulders, owned that he did advise
his sister to see Mr. Henry "Warrington. *' But we should have won,
in spite of your ladyship," he continued, **had not the elder brother
made his appearance. And I had been trying to console my poor
Maria by showing her what a piece of good fortune it is after all, that
we lost."
THE VIRGINIANS.
" Suppose she had married Harry, and then Cousin George had made
his appearance ? " remarks the Baroness.
^^ Effectivement" cries Eugene, taking snuff. ** As the grave was to
give up its dead, let us he thankful to the grave for disgorging in time !
I am hound to say, that Mr. George "Warrington seems to he a man of
sense, and not more selfish than other elder sons and men of the world.
My poor Molly fancied that he might he a — what shall I say ? — a green-
horn perhaps is the term — like his younger hrother. She fondly hoped
that he might he inclined to go share and share alike with Twin junior ;
in which case, so infatuated was she about the young fellow, that I
believe she would have taken him. * Harry Warrington, with half a
loaf, might do very weU,' says I, * but Harry Warrington with no bread,
my dear ! "
" How no bread ? " asks the Baroness.
** Well. No bread except at his brother's side-table. The elder
said as much."
*' What a hard-hearted wretch! " cries Madame de Bernstein.
*'Ah, bah! I play with you, aunt, cartes sur table! Mr. George
only did what everybody else would do ; and we have no right to be
angry with him, really, we haven't. Molly herself acknowledged as
much, after her first burst of grief was over, and I brought her to listen
to reason. The silly old creature ! to be so wild about a young lad at
her time of life ! "
" 'Twas a real passion, I almost do believe," said Madame de Bern-
stein.
** You should have heg-rd her take leave of him ! C^etait touchant^ ma
parole d^honneur ! I cried. Before George, I could not help myself.
The young fellow with muddy stockings, and his hair about his eyes,
flings himself amongst us when we were at dinner ; makes his off'er to
Molly in a very frank and noble manner, and in good language too ; and
she replies. Begad it put me in mind of Mrs. Woffington in the new
Scotch play, that Lord Bute's man has wrote — Douglas — what d'ye call
it ? She clings round the lad ; she bids him adieu in heart-rending
accents. She steps out of the room in a stately despair — no more
chocolate, thank you. If she had made a mauvais pas no one could
retire from it with more dignity. 'Twas a masterly retreat after a
defeat. We were starved out of our position, but we retired with all the
honours of war."
*' Molly won't die of the disappointment!" said my lord's aunt,
sipping her cup.
My lord snarled a grin, and showed his yellow teeth. "He, he !"
he said, " she hath once or twice before had the malady very severely,
and recovered perfectly. It don't kill, as your ladyship knows, at
Molly's age."
How should her ladyship know P She did not marry Doctor Tusher
until she was advanced in life. She did not become Madame de
Bernstein until still later. Old Dido, a poet remarks, was not igno-
THE VIEGINIANS. 399
rant of misfortune, and hence learned to have compassion on the
wretched.
People in the little world, as I have been told, quarrel and fight,
and go on abusing each other, and are not reconciled for ever so long.
But people in the great world are surely wiser in their generation.
They have differences ; they cease seeing each other. They make it up
and come together again, and no questions are asked. A stray prodigal,
cr a stray pnppy-dog, is thus brought in under the benefit of an amnesty,
though you know he has been away in ugly company. For six months
past, ever since the Castlewoods and Madame de Bernstein had been
battling for possession of poor Harry Warrington, these two branches
of the Esmond family had remained apart. Now, the question being
settled, they were free to meet again, as though no difference ever had
separated them : and Madame de Bernstein drove in her great coach to
Lady Castlewood's rout, and the Esmond ladies appeared smiling at
Madame de Bernstein's drums, and loved each other just as much as
they previously had done.
" So, sir, I hear you have acted like a hard-hearted monster about
your poor brother Harry ! " says the Baroness, delighted, and menacing
George with her stick.
** I acted but upon your ladyship's hint, and desired to see whether
it was for himself or his reputed money that his kinsfolk wanted to have
him," replies George, turning rather red,
" Nay, Maria could not marry a poor fellow who was utterly penny-
less, and whose elder brother said he would give him nothing ! "
** I did it for the best, madam," says George, still blushing.
" And so thou didst, thou hypocrite ! " cries the old lady.
*' Hypocrite, madam! and why?" asks Mr. Warrington, drawing
himself up in much state.
'' I know all, my infant ! " says the Baroness in French. "Thou art
very like thy grandfather. Come, that I embrace thee! Harry has
told me all, and that thou hast divided thy little patrimony with him !"
"It was but natural, madam. We have had common hearts and
purses since we were born. I but feigned hard-heartedness in order to
try those people yonder," says George, with filling eyes.
" And thou wilt divide Virginia with him, too ?" asks the Bernstein.
*' I don't say so. It were not just," replied Mr. Warrington. " The
land must go to the eldest born, and Harry would not have it other-
wise : and it may be I shall die, or my mother outlive the pair of us.
But half of what is mine is his : and he, it must be remembered, only
"Was extravagant because he was mistaken as to his position."
" But it is a knight of old, it is a Bayard, it is the grandfather come to
life ! " cried Madame de Bernstein to her attendant, as she was retiring
for the night. And that evening, when the lads left her, it was to
poor Harry she gave the two fingers, and to George the rouged cheek,
who blushed for his part, almost as deep as that often- dyed rose, at
6uch a mark of his old kinswoman's favour.
400 THE VIEGINIANS.
Although Harry AYarrington was the least envious of men, and did
honour to his brother as in all respects his chief, guide, and superior,
yet no wonder a certain feeling of humiliation and disappointment
oppressed the young man after his deposition from his eminence as
Fortunate Youth and heir to boundless Virginian territories. Our
friends at Kensington might promise and vow that they would love
him all the better after his fall ; Harry made a low bow and professed
himself very thankful ; but he could not help perceiving, when he went
with his brother to the state entertainment with which my Lord Castle-
wood regaled his new-found kinsman, that George was all in all to his
cousins, had all the talk, compliments, and petits soins for himself;
whilst of Harry no one took any notice save poor Maria, who followed him
with wistful looks, pursued him with eyes conveying dismal reproaches,
and, as it were, blamed him because she had left him. *' Ah ! " the eyes
seemed to say, "'tis mighty well of you, Harry, to have accepted the
freedom which I gave you ; but I had no intention, sir, that you should
be so pleased at being let off." She gave him up, but yet she did not
quite forgive him for taking her at her word. She would not have
him, and yet she would. 0, my young friends," how delightful is the
beginning of a love-business, and how undignified, sometimes, the end !
This is what Harry "Warrington, no doubt, felt when he went to
Kensington and encountered the melancholy reproachful eyes of his
cousin. Yes ! it is a foolish position to be in ; but it is also melancholy
to look into a house you have once lived in, and see black casements and
emptiness where once shone the fires of welcome. Melancholy ? Yes ;
but, ha ! how bitter, how melancholy, how absurd to look up as you
pass sentimentally by No. 13, and see somebody else ■ grinning out of
window, and evidently on the best terms with the landlady. I always
feel hurt, even at an inn which I frequent, if I see other folks' trunks
and boots at the doors of the rooms which were once mine. Have those
boots lolled on the sofa which once I reclined on i* I kick you from
before me, you muddy, vulgar highlows !
So considering that his period of occupation was over, and Maria's
rooms, if not given up to a new tenant, were, at any rate, to let, Harry
did not feel very easy in his cousin's company, nor she possibly in his.
He found either that he had nothing to say to her, or that what she had
to say to him was rather dull and common-place, and that the red lip of
a white-necked pipe of Virginia was decidedly more agreeable to him
now than Maria's softest accents and most melancholy moue. When
George went to Kensington, then, Harry did not care much about going,
and pleaded other engagements.
At his uncle's house in Hill Street the poor lad was no better amused,
and, indeed, was treated by the virtuous people there with scarce any
attention at all. The ladies did not scruple to deny themselves when he
came ; he could scarce have believed in such insincerity after their
caresses, their welcome, their repeated vows of affection ; but happening
to sit with the Lamberts for an hour after he had called upon his aunt,
THE YIIIGIXLVXS. 401
he saw her ladyship's chairmen arrive with an empty chair, and his aunt
step out and enter the vehicle, and not even blush when he made her a
bow from the opposite window. To be denied by his own relations — to
have that door which had opened to him so kindly, slammed in his face !
He would not have believed such a thing possible, poor simple Harrv
said. Perhaps he thought the door-knocker had a tender heart, and
was not made of brass : not more changed than the head of that
knocker was my Lady Warrington's virtuous face when she passed her
nephew.
" My father's own brother's wife ! What have I done to offend her ?
Aunt Lambert, Aunt Lambert, did you ever see such cold-hearted-
ness?" cries out Harry, with his usual impetuosity.
"Do ive make any difference to you, my dear Harry?" says Aunt
Lambert, with a side look at her youngest daughter. " The world may
look coldly at you, but we don't belong to it : so you may come to us in
safety."
" In this house you are different from other people," replies Harry.
*' I don't know how, but I always feel quiet and happy somehow when I
come to you."
" Quis me uno vivit felicior ? aut magis hac est
Optandum vita dicere quis potuit ? "
calls out General Lambert. " Do you know where I got these verses,
Mr. Gownsman ? " and he addresses his son from college, who is come
to pass an Easter holiday with his parents.
"You got them out of Catullus, sir," says the scholar.
"I got them out of no such thing, sir. I got them out of my
favourite Democritus Junior — out of old Burton, who has provided
many indifferent scholars with learning;" and who and Montaigne
were favourite authors with the good General.
CHAPTEE LVIII.
WHEEE 'WE DO WHAT CATS MAY DO.
We have said how our Virginians, with a wisdom not uncommon in
youth, had chosen to adopt strong Jacobite opinions, and to profess a
prodigious affection for the exiled royal faraih'. The banished prince
had recognised Madam Esmond's father as Marquis of Esmond, and she
did not choose to be very angry with an unfortunate race, that, after all,
was so willing to acknowledge the merits of her family. As for any
little scandal about her sister, Madame de Bernstein, and the Old
Chevalier, she tossed away from her with scorn the recollection of that
odious circumstance, asserting, with perfect truth, that the two first
402 THE -VIKGINIAKS.
monarchs of the House of Hanover vrere quite as bad as any Stuarts ia
regard to their domestic morality. But the king de facto was the king,
as well as his Majesty dejure. De Facto had been solemnly crowned
and anointed at church, and had likewise utterly discomfited de Jure,
when they came to battle for the kingdom together. Madam's clear
opinion was, then, that her sons owed it to themselves as well as the
sovereign to appear at his royal court. And if his Majesty should have
been minded to confer a lucrative post, or a blue or red ribbon upon
either of them, she, for her part, would not have been in the least
surprised. She made no doubt but that the king knew the Virginian
Esmonds as well as any other members of his nobility. The lads were
specially commanded, then, to present themselves at Court, and, I dare
say, their mother would have been very angry had she known that
George took Harry's laced coat on the day when he went to make his
bow at Kensington.
A hundred years ago the king's drawing-room was open almost q,yqtj
day to his nobility and gentry ; and loyalty— especially since the war
had begun — could gratify itself a score of limes in a month with the
august sight of the sovereign. A wise avoidance of the enemy's ships-
of-war ; a gracious acknowledgment of the inestimable loss the British
isles would suffer by the seizure of the royal person at sea, caused tho
monarch to forego those visits to his native Hanover which was so dear
to his royal heart, and compelled him to remain, it must be owned,
unwillingly amongst his loving Britons. A Hanoverian lady, however,
whose virtues had endeared her to the prince, strove to console him for
his enforced absence from Herrenhausen. And from the lips of the
Countess of Walmoden (on whom the imperial beneficence had gracefully
conferred a high title of British honour) the revered Defender of the
Taith could hear the accents of his native home.
To this beloved Sovereign, Mr. Warrington requested his uncle, an
assiduous courtier, to present him : and as Mr. Lambert had to go to
Court likewise, and thank his Majesty for his promotion, the two gentle-
men made the journey to Kensington together, engaging a hackney
coach for the purpose, as my Lord Wrotham's carriage was now wanted
by its rightful owner, who had returned to his house in town. They
alighted at Kensington Palace Gate, where the sentries on duty knew
and saluted the good General, and hence modestly made their way on
foot to the summer residence of the Sovereign. Walking under the
portico of the Palace, they entered the gallery which leads to the great
black marble staircase (which hath been so richly decorated and painted
by Mr. Kent), and then passed through several rooms, richly hung with
tapestry and adorned with pictures and bustos, until they came to the
King's great diawing-room, where that famous Venus by Titian is, and,
amongst other masterpieces, the picture of St. Francis adoring the
infant Saviour, performed by Sir Peter Paul Rubens ; and here, with
the rest of the visitors to the Court, the gentlemen waited until his
]ilajesty issued from his private apartments, where he was in conference
THE YIKGIXIANS. 403
with certain personages who were called in the newspaper language of
that day his M— j— ty's M— n — st— rs.
George Warrington, who had never been in a palace before, had
leisure to admire the place, and regard the people round him. He saw-
fine pictures for the first time too, and I daresay delighted in that
charming piece of Sir Anthony Yandyke, representing King Charles the
First, his Q,ueen and Family, and the noble picture of Esther before
Ahasuerus, painted by Tintoret, and in which all the figures are dressed
in the magnificent Venetian habit. With the contemplation of these
works he was so enraptured, that he scarce heard all the remarks of his
good friend the General, who was whispering into his young companion's
almost heedless ear the names of some of the personages round about
them.
"Yonder," says Mr. Lambert, *' are two of my Lords of the Admi-
ralty, Mr. Gilbert Elliot and Admiral Boscawen : your Boscawen, whose
fleet fired the first gun in your waters two years ago. That stout gen-
tleman all belaced with gold is Mr. Fox, that was minister, and is noiT
content to be paymaster with a great salary."
*' He carries the auri fames on his person; why, his waistcoat is a
perfect Potosi ! " says George,
^^ Alieni appetens — how goes the text? He loves to get money and
to spend it," continues General Lambert. ** Yon is my Lord Chief-
Justice Willes, talking to my Lord of Salisbury, Doctor Hoadley, who,
if he serve his God as he serves his king, will be translated to some very
high promotion in Heaven. He belongs to your grandfather's time, and
was loved by Dick Steele and hated by the Dean. With them is my
Lord of London, the learned Doctor Sherlock. My lords of the lawn
sleeves have lost half their honours now. I remember when I was a boy
in my mother's iiand, she made me go down on my knees to the Bishop
of liochester ; him who went over the water, and became minister to
somtbody who shall be nameless — Perkins Bishop. That handsome fair
man is Admiral Smith. He was president of poor Byng's court-martial,
and strove in vain to get him ofi" his penalty ; Tom of Ten Thousand
they call him in the fleet. The French Ambassador had him broke,
when he was a lieutenant, for making a French man-of-war lower top
sails to him, and the King made Tom a captain the next day. That tall,
haughty-looking man is my Lord George Sackville, who, now I am a
major-general myself, will treat me somewhat better than a footman.
I wish my stout old Blakeney were here ; he is the soldier's darling,
and as kind and brave as yonder poker of a nobleman is brave and
I am your lordship's very humble servant. This is a young gentleman
who is just from America, and was in Braddock'a sad business two
years ago."
" 0, indeed ! " says the poker of a nobleman. " I have the honour of
speaking to Mr. "
*' To Major-General Lambert, at your lordship's service, and who was
in his Maj bty's sometime before you entered it. That, Mr. Warrington,
OF THE
D D 2
404 THE VlftGINIANS.
is tbe first commoner in England, Mr. Speaker Onslow. Where is your
uncle ? I shall have to present you myself to his Majesty if Sir Miles
delays much longer." As he spoke, the worthy General addressed
himself entirely to his young friend, making no sort of account of his
colleague, who stalked away with a scared look as if amazed at the
other's audacity. A hundred years ago, a nobleman was a nobleman,
and expected to be admired as such.
Sir Miles's red waistcoat appeared in sight presently, and many cordial
greetings passed between him, his nephew, and General Lambert : for
we have described how Sir Miles was the most aifectionate of men. So
the General had quitted my Lord Wrotham's house ? It was time, as
his lordship himself wished to occupy it ? Yery good ; but consider what
a loss for the neighbours !
*' We miss you, we positively miss you, my dear General," cries Sir
Miles. "My daughters were in love with those lovely young ladies —
upon my word they were, and my Lady Warrington and my girls were
debating over and over again how they should find an opportunity of
making the acquaintance of your charming family. We feel as if we
were old friends already ; indeed we do, General, if you will permit me
the liberty of saying so ; and we love you, if I may be allowed to speak
frankly, on account of your friendship and kindness to our dear nephews :
though we were a little jealous, 1 own a little jealous of them, because
they went so often to see you. Often and often have I said to my
Lady Warrington, ' My dear, why don't we make acquaintance with the
General? Why don't we ask him and his ladies to come over in a
" family way and dine with some other plain country gentlefolks ? '
Carry my most sincere respects to Mrs. Lambert, I pray, sir ; and thank
her for her goodness to these young gentlemen. My own flesh and
blood, sir ; my dear, dear brother's boys ! " He passed his hand across
his manly eyes : he was choking almost with generous and affectionate
emotion.
Whilst they were discoursing — George Warrington the while re-
straining his laughter with admirable gravity — the door of the King's
apartments opened, and the pages entered, preceding his Majesty. He
was followed by his burly son, his Royal Highness the Duke, a very
corpulent Prince, with a coat and face of blazing scarlet : behind them
came various gentlemen and officers of state, among whom George at
once recognised the famous Mr. Secretary Pitt, by his tall stature, his
eagle eye and beak, his grave and majestic presence. As I see that
solemn figure passing, even a hundred years off, I protest I feel a present
awe, and a desire to take my hat off. I am not frightened at George
the Second ; nor are my eyes dazzled by the portentous appearance of
his Royal Highness the Duke of Culloden and Fontenoy ; but the Great
Commoner, the terrible Cornet of Horse ! His figure bestrides our narrow
isle of a century back like a Colossus ; and I hush as he passes in his
gouty shoes, his thunderbolt hand wrapped in flannel. Perhaps as we
see him now, issuing with dark looks from the royal closet, angry
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 405
scenes have been passing between him and his august master. He has
been boring that old monarch for hours with prodigious long speeches,
full of eloquence, voluble with the noblest phrases upon the commonest
topics ; but, it must be confessed, utterly repulsive to the little shrewd
old gentleman, " at whose feet he lays himself," as the phrase is, and
who has the most thorough dislike for fine hoedry and for fine hrose
too ! The sublime minister passes solemnly through the crowd ; the
company ranges itself respectfully round the wall; and his Majesty
walks round the circle, his royal son lagging a little behind, and engaging
select individuals in conversation for his own part.
The monarch is a little, keen, fresh- coloured old man, with very pro-
truding eyes, attired in plain, old-fashioned snuff-coloured clothes and
brown stockings, his only ornament the blue ribbon of his Order of the
Garter. He speaks in a German accent, but with ease, shrewdness,
and simplicity, addressing those individuals whom he has a mind to
notice, or passing on with a bow. He knew Mr. Lambert well, who had
served under his Majesty at Dettingen, and with his royal son in Scotland,
and he congratulated him good-humouredly on his promotion.
*' It is not always," his Majesty was pleased to say, " that we can do
as we like ; but I was glad when, for once, I could give myself that
pleasure in your case. General ; for my army contains no better officer
as you."
The veteran blushed and bowed, deeply gratified at this speech.
Meanwhile, the Best of Monarchs was looking at Sir Miles Warrington
(whom his Majesty knew perfectly, as the eager recipient of all favours
from all ministers), and at the youtig gentleman by his side.
"Who is this?" the Defender of the Faith condescended to ask,
pointing towards George Warrington, who stood before his sovereign in
a respectful attitude, clad in poor Harry's best embroidered suit.
With the deepest reverence Sir Miles informed his King, that the
young gentleman was his nephew, Mr. George Warrington of Virginia,
who asked leave to pay his humble duty.
"This, then, is the other brother?" the Venerated Prince deigned to
observe. "He came in time, else the other brother would have spent
all the money. My Lord Bishop of Salisbury, why do you come out in
this bitter weather ? You had much better stay at home ! " and with
this, the revered wielder of Britannia's sceptre passed on to other lords
and gentlemen of his Court. Sir Miles Warrington was deeply affected
at the royal condescension. He clapped his nephew's hands. " God
bless you, my boy," he cried ; " I told you that you would see the greatest
monarch and the finest gentleman in the world. Is he not so, my Lord
Bishop ? "
"That, that he is!" cried his lordship, clasping his ruffled hands
and turning his fine eyes up to the sky, " the best of princes and of
men."
" That is Master Louis, my Lady Yarmouth's favourite nephew," says
Lambert, pointing to a young gentleman who stood with a crowd round
406 THE YIRGINIAKS.
Mm ; and presently the stout Duke of Cumberland came up to our little
group.
His Eoyal Highness held out his hand to his old companion in arms.
** Congratulate you on your promotion, Lambert," he said good-naturedly.
Sir Miles Warrington's eyes were ready to burst out of his head with
rapture.
"I owe it, sir, to your Eoyal Highness's good offices," said the grateful
General.
*' Not at all; not at all: ought to have had it a long time before.
Always been a good officer; perhaps there'll be some employment
for you soon. This is the gentleman whom James Wolfe introduced
to me."
" His brother, sir.'*
" 0, the real fortunate youth ! You were with poor Ned Eraddock
in America — a prisoner, and lucky enough to escape. Come and see
me, sir, in Pall Mall. Bring him to my levee, Lambert ; " and the
broad back of the Eoyal Prince was turned to our friends.
*' It is raining ! You came on foot, General Lambert ? You and
George must come home in my coach. You must and shall come home
with me, I say. By George you must ! I'll have no denial," cried
the enthusiastic Baronet ; and he drove George and the General back
to Hill Street, and presented the latter to my Lady Warrington and
his darlings. Flora and Dora, and insisted upon their partaking of a
collation, as they must be hungry after their ride. '* What, there is
only cold mutton? Well, an old soldier can eat cold mutton. And a
good glass of my Lady Warrington's own cordial, prepared with her
own hands, will keep the cold wind out. Delicious cordial ! Capital
mutton! Our own, my dear General," says the hospitable Baronet,
" our own from the country, six years old if a day. We keep a plain
table ; but all the Warringtons since the Conqueror have been re-
markable for their love of mutton ; and our meal may look a little
scanty, and is, for we are plain people, and I am obliged to keep my
rascals of servants on board-wages. Can't give them seven-year-old
mutton, you know."
Sir Miles, in his nephew's presence and hearing, described to his
wife and daughters, George's reception at Court in such flattering terms
that George hardly knew himself, or the scene at which he had been
present, or how to look his uncle in the face, or how to contradict
him before his family in the midst of the astonishing narrative he was
relating. Lambert sat by for a while with open eyes. He, too, had
been at Kensington. He had seen none of the wonders which Sir Miles
described.
*' We are proud of you, dear George. We love you, my dear nephew
— we all love you, we are all proud of you — "
" Yes ; but I like Harry best," says a little voice.
— " not because you are wealthy ! Sere why, take Master Miles to his
governor^ Go, dear child. Not because you are blest with great estates-
THE VIRGINIANS. 40?
mid an ancient name ; but because, George, you have put to good use
the talents with which Heaven has adorned you: because you have
fought and bled in your country's cause, in your monarch's cause, and
as such are indeed worthy of the favour of the best of sovereigns.
General Lambert, you have kindly condescended to look in on a country
family, and partake of our unpretending meal. I hope we may see you
some day when our hospitality is a little less homely. Yes, by George,
General, you must and shall name a day v/hen you and Mrs. Lambert,
and your dear girls, will dine with us. I'll take no refusal now, by
George I won't," bawls the knight.
" You will accompany us, I trust, to my drawing-room?" says my
lady, rising.
Mr. Lambert pleaded to be excused. ; but the ladies on no account
would let dear George go away. No, positively, he should 7iot go. They
wanted to make acquaintance with their cousin. They must hear about
that dreadful battle and escape from the Indians. Tom Claypool came
in and heard some of the story. Flora was listening to it with her hand-
kerchief to her eyes, and little Miles had just said :
'' "Why do you take your handkerchief, Flora? You're not crying a
bit."
Being a man of great humour, Martin Lambert, when he went home,
could not help entertaining his wife with an account of the new family
with which he had made acquaintance. A certain cant word called
humbug had lately come into vogue. "Will it be believed that the
General used it to designate the family of this virtuous country gentle-
man? He described the eager hospitalities of the father, the pompous
Hatteries of the mother, and the daughters' looks of admiration ; the
toughness and scarcity of the mutton, and the abominable taste and
odour of the cordial ; and we may be sure Mrs. Lambert contrasted Lady
Warrington's recent behaviour to poor Harry with her present conduct to
George.
** Is this Miss Warrington really handsome ? " asks Mrs. Lambert.
** Yes ; she is very handsome indeed, and the most astounding flirt I
have ever set eyes on," replies the General.
"The hypocrite! I have no patience with such people!" cries the
lady.
To which the General, strange to say, only replied by the mono-
syllable " Bo ! "
*' Why do you say ' Bo ! ' Martin ? " asks the lady.
** I say * Bo !' to a goose, my dear," answers the General.
And his wife vows she does not know what he means, or of what he is
thinking, and the General says ;
*' Of course not."
408 THE YIEGIXIAXS.
CHAPTEE LIX.
IN TTHICH WE AEE TREATED TO A PLAY.
The real business of life, I fancy, can form but little portion of tbe
novelist's budget. "When he is speaking of the profession of arras, in
•which men can show courage or the reverse, and in treating of v/hich the
writer naturally has to deal with interesting circumstances, actions,
and characters, introducing recitals of danger, devotedness, heroic
deaths, and the like, the novelist may perhaps venture to deal with
actual affairs of life : but otherwise, they scarcely can enter into our
stories. The main part of Ficulnus's life, for instance, is spent in selling
sugar, spices, and cheese ; of Causidicus's in poring over musty volumes
of black letter law ; of Sartorius's in sitting, cross-legged, on a board
after measuring gentlemen for coats and breeches. What can a story-
teller say about the professional existence of these men? Would a real
rustical history of hobnails and eighteenpence a-day be endurable ? In
the days whereof we are writing, the poets of the time chose to represent
a shepherd in pink breeches and a chintz waistcoat, dancing before his
flocks, and playing a flageolet tied up with a blue satin ribbon. I say,
in reply to some objections which have been urged by potent and friendly
critics, that of the actual affairs of life the novelist cannot be expected
to treat— with the almost single exception of war before named. But
law, stock-broking, polemical theology, linen-drapery, apothecary-
business, and the like, how can writers manage fully to develop these in
their stories ? All authors can do, is to depict men outoi their business —
in their passions, loves, laughters, amusements, hatreds, and what not —
and describe these as well as they can, taking the business-part for
granted, and leaving it as it were for subaudition.
Thus, in talking of the present or the past w^orld, I know I am only
dangling about the theatre-lobbies, coffee-houses, ridottos, pleasure-
haunts, fair-booths, and feasting and fiddling-rooms of life; that,
meanwhile, the great serious past or present world is plodding in its
chambers, toiling at its humdrum looms, or jogging on its accustomed
labours, and we are only seeing our characters away from their work.
Corydon has to cart the litter and thresh the barley, as well as to make
love to Phillis ; Aneillula has to dress and wash the nursery, to wait at
breakfast and on her misses, to take the children out, &c., before she
can have her brief sweet interview through the area-railings with Boopis,
the policeman. All day long have his heels to beat the stale pavement
before he has the opportunity to snatch the hasty kiss or the furtive
cold pie. It is only at moments, and away from these labours, that we
can light upon one character or the other ; and hence, though most of
the persons of whom we are writing have doubtless their grave employ-
THE VIRGINIANS. 4i»9
ments and avocations, it is only when they are disengaged and away
from their work, that we can bring them and the equally disengaged
reader together.
The Macaronis and fine gentlemen at "White's and Arthur's continued
to show poor Harry Warrington such a very cold shudder, that he sought
their society less and less, and the Eing and the Mall and the gaming-
table knew him no more. Madame de Bernstein was for her nephew's
braving the indifference of the world, and vowed that it would be con-
quered, if he would but have courage to face it ; but the young man was
too honest to wear a smiling face when he was discontented ; to disguise
mortification or anger ; to parry slights by adroit flatteries or cunning
impudence ; as many gentlemen and gentlewomen must and do who wish
to succeed in society.
" You pull a long face, Harry, and complain of the world's treatment
of you," the old lady said. " Fiddlededee, sir ! Everybody has to put
up with impertinences ; and if you get a box on the ear now you are
poor and cast down, you must say nothing about it, bear it with a smile,
and if you can, revenge it ten years after. Moi qui vous parle, sir ! —
do you suppose I have had no humble pie to eat ? All of us in our turn
are called upon to swallow it; and now you are no longer. the Fortunate
Youth, be the Clever Youth, and win back the place you have lost by
your ill luck. Go about more than ever. Go to all the routs and parties
to which you are asked, and to more still. Be civil to everybody — to all
women especially. Only of course take care to show your spirit, of
which you have plenty. With economy, and by your brother's, I must
say, admirable generosity, you can still make a genteel figure. With
your handsome person, sir, you can't fail to get a rich heiress. Tenez !
You should go amongst the merchants in the City, and look out there.
They won't know that you are out of fashion at the court-end of the
town. AVith a little management, theje is not the least reason, sir, why
you should not make a good position for yourself still. When did you
go to see my Lady Yarmouth, pray ? Why did you not improve that
connexion ? She took a great fancy to you. I desire you will be
constant at her ladyship's evenings, and lose no opportunity of paying
court to her."
Thus the old woman who had loved Harry so on his first appearance
in England, who had been so eager for his company, and pleased with
his artless conversation, was taking the side of the world, and turning*
against him. Instead of the smiles and kisses with which the fickle old
creature used once to greet him, she received him with coldness ; she
became peevish and patronising ; she cast jibes and scorn at him before
her guests, making his honest face flush with humiliation, and awaking
the keenest pangs of grief and amazement in his gentle manly heart.
Madame de Bernstein's servants, who used to treat him with such eager
respect, scarcely paid him now any attention. My lady was often indis-
posed or engaged when he called on her ; her people did not press him to
wait i did not volunteer to ask whether he would stay and dine, as they
410 THE YIRGIXIANS.
used in the days when lie was the Fortunate Youth and companion of
the wealthy and great. Plarry carried his woes to Mrs. Lambert. In a
passion of sorrow he told her of his aunt's cruel behaviour to him. He
was stricken down and dismayed by the fickleness and heartlessness of
the world in its treatment of him. While the good lady and her
daughters would move to and fro, and busy themselves with the cares
of the house, our poor lad would sit glum in a window seat, heart -sick
and silent :
** I know you are the best people alive," he would say to the ladies,
" and the kindest, and that I must be the dullest company in the world —
yes, that I am."
" Well, you are not very lively, Harry," says Miss Hetty, who began
to command him, and perhaps to ask herself, " What? Is this the gen-
tleman whom I took to be such a hero ? "
"If he IS unhappy why should he be lively?" asks Tlieo, gently.
** He has a good heart, and is pained at his friends' desertion of him.
Sure, there is no harm in that ? "
"I would have too much spirit to show I was hurt, though," cries
Hetty, clenching her little fists. " And I would smile, though that
horrible old painted woman boxed my ears. She is horrible. Mamma.
You think so yourself, Theo ! Own, now, you think so yourself ! You
said so last night, and acted her coming in on her crutch, and grinning
round to the company."
** I mayn't like her," said Theo, turning very red. ** But there is
no reason why I should call Harry's aunt names before Harry's
face."
"You provoking thing; you are always right ! " cries Hetty, "and
that's what makes me so ar.gry. Indeed, Harry, it was very wrong of
me to make rude remarks about any of your relations."
"I don't care about the others, Hetty ; but it seems hard that this
one should turn upon me. I had got to be very fond of her ; and, you
see, it makes me mad, somehow, when people I'm very fond of turn
away from me, or act unkind to me."
"Suppose George were to do so?" asks Hetty. You see, it was
George and Hetty, and Theo and Harry amongst them now.
" You are very clever and very lively, and you may suppose a number
of things ; but not that, Hetty, if you please," cried Harry, standing
up, and looking very resolute and angry. " You don't know my brother
as I know him — or you wouldn't take — such a — liberty as to suppose —
my brother, George, could do anything unkind or unworthy ! " Mr.
Harry was quite in a flush as he spoke.
Hetty turned very white. Then she looked up at Harry, and then
she did not say a single word.
Then Harry said, in his simple way, before taking leave, "I'm
very sorry, and I beg your pardon, Hetty, if I said anything rough, or
that seemed unkind ; but I always fight up if anybody says anything
against George."
THE VIRGINIANS. 411
Hetty did not answer a word out of her pale lips, but gave him her
hand, and dropped a prim little curtsey.
- "When she and Theo were together at night, making curl-paper con-
fidences, " 0," said Hetty, *' I thought it would be so happy to see him
every day, and was so glad when Papa said we were to stay in London !
And now I do see him, you see, I go on ofFending him. I can't help
oflending him ; and I know he is not clever, Theo. But ! isn't
he good, and kind, and brave? Didn't he look handsome when he
was angry ? "
*' You silly little thing, you are always trying to make him look
handsome," Theo replied.
It was Theo and Hetty, and Harry and George, among these young
people, then ; and I dare say the reason why General Lambert chose to
apply the monosyllable ''Bo" to the mother of his daughters, was as a
rebuke to that good woman for the inveterate love of sentiment and pro-
pensity to match-making which belonged to her (and every other
woman in the world whose heart is worth a fig) ; and as a hint that
Madame Lambert was a goose if she fancied the two Virginian lads
were going to fall in love with the young women of the Lambert house.
Little Het might have her fancy ; little girls will ; but they get it over :
"and you know, Molly (which dear, soft-hearted Mrs. Lambert could
not deny), you fancied somebody else before you fancied me," says the
General: but Harry had evidently not been smitten by Hetty; and,
now he was superseded, as it were, by having an elder brother over
h^.m, and could not even call the coat upon his back his own, Master
Harry was no great catch.
** yes : now he is poor we will show him the door, as all the rest of
the world does, I suppose," says Mrs. Lambert.
** That is what I always do, isn't it, Molly ? turn my back on my
friends in distress ? " asks the General.
** No, my dear! I am a goose, now, and that T own, Martin ! " says
the wife, having recourse to the usual pockethandkerchief.
" Let the poor boy come to us, and welcome : ours is almost the only
house in this selfish place where so much can be said for him. He is
unhappy, and to be with us puts him at ease ; in God's name let him be
with us ! " says the kind-hearted officer. Accordingly whenever poor
crest-fallen Hal wanted a dinner, or an evening's entertainment, Mr,
Lambert's table had a corner for him. So was George welcome, too.
He went among the Lamberts, not at first with the cordiality which
Harry felt for these people, and inspired among them : for Creorge was
colder in his manner, and more mistrustful of himself and others than
his twin-brother : but there was a goodness and friendliness about the
family which touched almost all people who came into frequent contact
with them ; and George soon learned to love them for their own sake,
as well as for their constant regard and kindness to his brother. He
could not but see and own how sad Harry was, and pity his brother's
depression. In his sarcastic way, George would often take himself to
412 THE VIRGINIANS.
task before his brother for coming to life again, and say, ** Dear
Harry, I am George the Unlucky, though you have ceased to bo
Harry the Fortunate. Florae would have done much better not U
pass his sword through that Indian's body, and to have left my
scalp as an ornament for the fellow's belt. I say he would, sir!
At White's the people would have respected you. Our mother would
have wept over me, as a defunct angel, instead of being angry with
me for again supplanting her favourite — you are her favourite, you
deserve to be her favourite : everybody's favourite : only, if I had not
come back, your favourite, Maria, would have insisted on marrying
you ; and that is how the gods would have revenged themselves upon
you for your prosperity."
"I never know whether you are laughing at me or yourself,
Oeorge," says the brother. " I never know whether you are serious
or jesting."
*' Precisely my own case, Harry, my dear ! " says George.
** But this I know, that there never was a better brother in all the
world ; and never better people than the Lamberts."
" Never was truer word said ! " cries George, taking his brother's
hand.
** And if I'm unhappy, 'tis not your fault — nor their fault — nor
perhaps mine, George," continues the younger. " 'Tis fate, you see ;
'tis the having nothing to do. I must work ; and how, George, that is
the question ? "
*' We will see what our mother says. We must wait till we hear
from her," says George.
" I say, George! Do you know, I don't think I should much like
going back to Virginia ?" says Harry, in a low, alarmed voice.
" What ! in love with one of the lasses here ? "
*' Love 'em like sisters — with all my heart, of course, dearest, best
girls ! but, having come out of that business, thanks to you, I don't
want to go back, you know. No ! no ! It is not for that I fancy
staying in Europe better than going home. But, you see, I don't fancy
hunting, duck- shooting, tobacco-planting, whist-playing, and going to
sermon, over and over and over again for all my life, George. And
what else is there to do at home ? What on earth is there for me to do
at all, I say ? That's what makes me miserable. It would not
matter for you to be a younger son ; you are so clever you would make
your way anywhere ; but, for a poor fellow like me, what chance is
there ? Until I do something, George, I shall be miserable, that's
what I shall ! "
"Have I not always said so? Art thou not coming round to my
opinion ? "
"What opinion, George? You know pretty much whatever you
think, I think, George ! " says the dutiful j unior.
" That Florae had best have left the Indian to take my scalp, my
dear ! "
THE YIEGINIA^^S. 413
At which Harry bursts away with an angry exclamation ; and they
continue to puif their pipes in friendly union.
They lived together, each going his own gait ; and not much inter-
course, save that of affection, was carried on between them. Harry
never would venture to meddle with George's books, and would sit as
dumb as a mouse at the lodgings whilst his brother was studying.
They removed presently from the court-end of the town, Madame de
Bernstein pishing and pshaing at their change of residence. But
George took a great fancy to frequenting Sir Hans Sloane's new read-
ing-room and museum, just set up in Montagu House, and he took
cheerful lodgings in Southampton Eow, Bloomsbury, looking over the
delightful fields towards Harapstead, at the back of the Duke of Bed-
ford's gardens. And Lord Wrotham's family coming to May Fair, and
Mr. Lambert having business which detained him in London, had to
change his house, too, and engaged furnished apartments in Soho, not
very far off from the dwelling of our young men ; and it was, as we
have said, with the Lamberts that Harry, night after night, took
refuge.
George was with them often, too ; and, as the acquaintance ripened,
he frequented their house with increasing assiduity, finding their com-
pany more to his taste than that of Aunt Bernstein's polite circle of
gamblers, than Sir Miles Warrington's port and mutton, or the daily
noise and. clatter of the coffee-houses. And as he and the Lambert
ladies were alike strangers in London, they partook of its pleasures
together, and, no doubt, went to Yauxhall and Eanelagh, to Marybone
Gardens, and the play, and the Tower, and wherever else there was
honest amusement to be had in those days. Martin Lambert loved that
his children should have all the innocent pleasure which he could pro-
cure for them, and Mr. George, who was of a most generous, open-
handed disposition, liked to treat his friends likewise, especially those
who had been so admirably kind to his brother.
With all the passion of his heart Mr. Warrington loved a play. He
had never enjoyed this amusement in Virginia, and only once or twice
at Quebec, when he visited Canada ; and when he came to London,
where the two houses were in their full glory, I believe he thought he
never could have enough of the delightful entertainment. Anything
he liked himself, he naturally wished to share amongst his companions.
No wonder that he was eager to take his friends to the theatre, and we
may be sure our young country folks were not unwilling. Shall it be
Drury Lane or Covent Garden, ladies ? There was Garrick and Shak-
speare at Drury Lane. Well, will it be believed, the ladies wanted
to hear the famous new author whose piece was being played at Covent
Garden ?
At this time a star of genius had arisen, and was blazing with quite
a dazzling brilliancy. The great Mr. John Home, of Scotland, had
produced a tragedy, than which, since the days of the ancients, there
had been nothing more classic and elegant. What had Mr. Garrick
414 THE VIRGINIANS.
meant by refusing such a masterpiece for his theatre ? Say what you
will about Shakspeare ; in the works of that undoubted great poet (who
had begun to grow vastly more popular in England since Monsieur
Voltaire attacked him), there were many barbarisms that could not but
shock a polite auditory; whereas, Mr. Home, the modern author,
knew how to be refined in the very midst of grief and passion ; to
represent death, not merely as awful, but graceful and pathetic ; and
never condescended to degrade the majesty of the Tragic Muse by the
ludicrous apposition of bufibonery and familiar punning, such as the
elder play-wright certainly had resort to. Besides, Mr. Home's per-
formance had been admired in quarters so high, and by personages
whose taste was known to be as elevated as their rank, that all Britons
could not but join in the plaudits for which august hands had given
the signal. Such, it was said, was the opinion of the very best com-
pany, in the coffee-houses, and amongst the wits about town. Why,
the famous Mr. Gray, of Cambridge, said there had not been for a
hundred years any dramatic dialogue of such a true style ; and as for
the poet's native capital of Edinburgh, where the piece was first brought
out, it was even said that the triumphant Scots called out from the pit
(in their dialect), "Where's Wully Shakspeare, noo?"
" I should like to see the man who could beat Willy Shakspeare,"
says the General, laughing.
'* Mere national prejudice," says Mr. Warrington.
** Beat Shakspeare, indeed ! " cries Mrs. Lambert.
**Pooh, pooh! you. have cried more over Mr. Sam Eichardson, than
ever you did over Mr. Shakspeare, Molly! " remarks the General. " I
think few women love to read Shakspeare : they say they love it, but
they don't."
*' 0, Papa! " cry three ladies, throwing up three pair of hands.
**Well, then, why do you all three prefer 'x)ouglas?' And you
boys, who are such Tories, will you go see a play which is wrote by a
Whig Scotchman, who was actually made prisoner at Falkirk ? "
** Relictd non hene parmuld,^^ says Mr. Jack the scholar.
**Nay; it was relictd bene parmuld,''^ cried the General. **Itwas
the Highlanders who flung their targes down, and made fierce work
among us red coats. If they had fought all their fields as well as that,
and young Perkin had not turned back from Derby — "
" I know which side would be rebels, and who would be called the
Young Pretender," interposed George.
" Hush ! you must please to remember my cloth, Mr. Warrington,"
said the General, with some gravity ; " and that the cockade I wear is
a black, not a white one ! Well, if you will not love Mr. Home for his
politics, there is, I think, another reason, George, why you should liko
him."
*' I may have Tory fancies, Mr. Lambert ; but I think I know how to
love and honour a good >Vhig," said George, with a bow to the General:
*' and why should I like this Mr. Home, sir ? "
THE yiiigi::ia:;3. 41^
- "Eeeause, h'Ar,^ a Presbyterian cler^-yman, he Las coimnitted tho
heinous crime of writing a play, and bis brother parsons have barktd
out an excommunication at him. They took the poor fellow's mears of
livelihood away from him for his performance ; and he would have
starved, but that the young Pretender on on?' side of the water has given
him a pension."
"If he has been persecuted by the parsons there is hope for him,"
says George, smiling. *' And henceforth I declare myself ready to hear
his sermons."
" Mrs. "Woffington is divine in it, though not generally famous in
tragedy. Barry is drawing tears from all eyes ; and Garrick is wild at
having refused the piece. Girls, you must bring each half-a-dozen
handkerchiefs ! As for Mamma, I cannot trust her ; and she positively
must be left at home."
But Mamma persisted she would go ; and, if need were to weep, she
would sit and cry her eyes out in a corner. They all went to Covent
Garden, then ; the most of the party duly prepared to see one of the
master-pieces of the age and drama. Could they not all speak long
pages of Congreve; had they not wept and kindled over Otway and
Howe ? ye past literary glories, that were to be eternal, how lor.g
have you been dead ? Who knows much more now than where your
graves are ? Poor, neglected Muse of the bygone theatre ! She pipes
for us, and we will not dance ; she tears her hair, and we will not weep.
And the Immortals of our time, how soon shall they be dead and buried,
think you ? How many will survive ? How long shall it be ere Isos et
Dcmus Plutonia shall overtake them ?
So away went the pleased party to Covent Garden to see the tragedy
of the immortal John Home. The ladies and the General were conveyed
in a glass coach, and found the young men in waiting to receive them at
the theatre door. Hence they elbowed their way through a crowd of
torch-boys, and a whole regiment of footmen. Little Hetty fell to
Harry's arm in this expedition, and the blushing Miss Theo was handed
to the box by Mr. George. Gumbo had kept the places until his masters
arrived, when he retired, with many bows, to take his own seat in the
footman's gallery. They had good places in a front box, and there was
luckily a pillar behind which Mamma could weep in comfort. And
opposite them they had the honour to see the august hope of the empire,
his Eoyal Highness George Prince of Wales, with the Princess Dowager
his mother, whom the people greeted with loyal, but not very enthu-
siastic, plaudits. That handsome man standing behind his Eoyal
Highness was my Lord Bute, the Prince's Groom of the Stole, the
patron of the poet whose performance thev had come to see, and over
whose work the Royal party had already wept more than once.
How can we help it, if during the course of the performance, Mr.
Lambert would make his jokes and mar the solemnity of the scene?
At first, as the reader of the tragedy well knows, the characters aro
occupied in making a number of explanations. Lady Randolph explains
416 TKE VlRGraiAXS.
how it is that she is so melancholy. Married to Lord Randolph sorae-
■what late in life, she owns, and his lordship perceives, that a dead lover
yet occupies all her heart, and her husband is fain to put up with this
dismal, second-hand regard, which is all that my lady can bestow.
Hence, an invasion of Scotland by' the Danes, is rather a cause of
excitement than disgust to my lord, who rushes to meet the foe, and
forget the dreariness of his domestic circumstances. Welcome Vikings
and Norsemen ! Blow, northern blasts, the invaders' keels to Scotland's
shore ! Randolph and other heroes will be on the beach to give the
foemen a welcome ! His lordship has no sooner disappeared behind the
trees of the forest, but Lady Randolph begins to explain to her confidante
the circumstances of her early life. The fact was she had made a
private marriage, and what would the confidante say, if, in early youth,
she, Lady Randolph, had lost a husband ? In the cold bosom of the
earth was lodged the husband of her youth, and in some cavern of the
ocean lies her child and his !
Up to this the General behaved with as great gravity as any of his
young companions to the play, but when Lady Randolph proceeded to
say, '' Alas ! Hereditary evil was the cause of my misfortunes," he
nudged George Warrington, and looked so droll, that the young man
burst out laughing.
The magic of the scene was destroyed after that. These two gentle-
men went on cracking jokes during the whole of the subsequent perform-
ance, to their own amusement, but the indignation of their company,
and perhaps of the people in the adjacent boxes. Young Douglas, in
those days, nsed to wear a white satin "shape" slashed at the legs and
body, and when Mr. Barry appeared in his droll costume, the General
vowed it was the exact dress of the Highlanders in the late war. The
Chevaliers Guard, he declared, had all white satin slashed breeches, and
red boots — " only they left them at home, my dear," adds this wag.
Not one pennyworth of sublimity would he or George allow henceforth
to Mr. Home's performance. As for Harry, he sat in very deep medita-
tion over the scene ; and when Mrs. Lambert ofl:ered him a penny for
his thoughts, he said, " That he thought, Young Nerval, Douglas,
What-d'ye-call-'em, the fellow in white satin — who looked as old as his
mother — was very lucky to be able to distinguish himself so soon. I wish
I could get a chance. Aunt Lambert," says he, drumming on his hat ;
on which Mamma sighed, and Theo, smiling, said, '* We must wait, and
perhaps the Danes will land."
** How do you mean ?" asks simple Harry.
**0! the Danes always land, pour qui sgait attendre!" says kind
Theo, who had hold of her sister's little hand, and, I ^aresay, felt its
pressure.
She did not behave unkindly — that was not in Miss Theo's nature—
but somewhat coldly to Mr. George, on whom she turned her back,
addressing remarks, from time to time, to Harry. In spite of the
gentlemen's scorn, the women chose to bo aflfected. A mother and son.
TnE YIRGrlXIANS. 417
meeting in love and parting in tears, will always awaken emotion in
female hearts.
** Look, Papa! there is an answer to all your jokes!" says Theo,
pointing towards the stage.
At a part of the dialogue between Lady Randolph and her son, one
of the grenadiers on guard on each side of the stage, as the custom of
those days was, could not restrain his tears, and was visibly weeping
uefore the side-box.
'* You are right, my dear," says Papa.
" Didn't I tell you she always is?" interposes Hetty.
** Yonder sentry is a beT;«L- ci:ltic than wo are, and a touch of nature
masters us all."
•* Tamen usque recurrit !" cries the young student from college.
George felt abashed somehow and interested, too. He had been
sneering, and Theo sympathising. Her kindness was better — nay,
wiser — than his scepticism, perhaps. Nevertheless, when, at the begin-
ning of the filth act of the play, young Douglas, drawing his sword and
looking up at the gallery, bawled out —
Ye glorious stars ! high heaven's resplendent host!
To whom I oft have of my lot complained,
Hear and record my soul's unaltered wish :
XiiA^ing or dead, let me but be renowned !
May Heaven inspire some fierce gigantic Dane
To give a bold defiance to our host !
Before he speaks it out, I will accept, —
Like Douglas conquer, or hke Douglas die !
The gods, to whom Mr. Barry appealed, saluted this heroic wish with
immense applause, and the General clapped his hands prodigiously.
His daughter was rather disconcerted.
** This Douglas is not only brave, but he is modest !" says Papa.
" I own I think he need not have asked for a gigantic Dane," says
Theo, smiling, as Lady Randolph entered in the midst of the gallery-
thunder.
When the applause had subsided. Lady Randolph is made to say —
My son, I heard a voice !
" I think she did hear a voice I " cries Papa. *' "Why, the fellow was
bellowing like a bull of Basan." And the General would scarcely behave
himself from thenceforth to the end of the performance. He said he
was heartily glad that the young gentleman was put to death behind the
scenes. When Lady Randolph's friend described how her mistress had
*' tlown like lightning up the hill, and plunged herself into the empty
air," Mr. Lambert said he was delighted to be rid of her. *' And as for
that story of her early marriage," says he, ** I have my very strongest
doubts about it."
418 THE VIRGINIANS.
"Nonsense, Martin! Look, cliildren! Their Royal Highnesses are
moving."
The tragedy over, the Princess Dowager and the Prince were, in
fact, retiring ; though, I daresay, the latter, who was always fond of a
farce, would have heen far better pleased with that which followed,
than he had been with Mr. Home's dreary tragic masterpiece.
CHAPTEE LX.
WHICH TEEATS OF MACBETH, A SUPPER, AK^D A PEETTT KETTLE OF PISH.
When the performances were concluded, our friends took coach for
Mr. Warrington's lodging, where the Virginians had provided an elegant
supper. Mr. Warrington was eager to treat them in the handsomest
manner, and the General and his wife accepted the invitation of the
two bachelors, pleased to think that they could give their young friends
pleasure. General and Mrs. Lambert, their son from collie, their two
blooming daughters, and Mr. Spencer of the Temple, a new friend whom
George had met at the coffee-house, formed the party, and par.took with
cheerfulness of the landlady's fare. The order of their sitting I have
not been able exactly to ascertain; but, somehow. Miss Theo had a
place next to the chickens and Mr. George Warrington, whilst Miss
Hetty and a ham divided the attentions of Mr. Harry. Mrs. Lambert
must have been on George's right hand, so that we have but to settle
the three places of the General, his son, and the Templar.
Mr. Spencer had been at the other theatre, where, on a former day,
he had actually introduced George to the green-room. The conversation
about the play was resumed, and some of the party persisted in being
delighted with it.
*' As for what our gentlemen say, sir," cries Mrs. Lambert to Mr.
Spencer, ** you must not believe a word of it. 'Tis a delightful piece,
and my husband and Mr. George behaved as ill as possible,"
" We laughed in the wrong place, and when we ought to have cried,"
the General owned, " that's the truth.'*
"You caused all the people in the boxes about us to look round,
and cry * Hush !' You made the pit-folks say, " Silence in the boxes,
yonder ! ' Such behaviour I never knew, and quite blushed for you,
Mr. Lambert!"
" Mamma thought it was a tragedy, and we thought it was a piece of
fun," says the General. *' George and I behaved perfectly well, didn't
we, Theo ?"
" Not when I was looking your way. Papa ! " Theo replies. At whiclt
the General asks, " Was there ever such a saucy baggage seen ?"
**You know, sir, 1 didn't speak till I was bid," Theo continues,
THE VlllGl^^ANS. 419
koodestly. *' 1 own I was very inu:>h moved by the play, and the beauty
and acting of Mrs. Woffington. I was sorry that the poor mother ehould
find her child, and lose him. I am sorry too. Papa, if I oughtn't to have
been sorry ! " adds the young lady, with a smile.
** Women are not so clever as men, you know, Theo!" cries Hetty
from her end of the table, with a sly look at Harry. ** The next time
we go to the play, please, brother Jack, pinch us when we ought to cry,
or give us a nudge when it is right to laugh."
*' I wish we could have had the fight," said General Lambert — " the
fight between little Nerval and the gigantic Norwegian — that would
have been rare sport : and you should write, Jack, and suggest it ta
Mr. Kich, the manager ! "
•' I have not seen that : but I saw Slack and Broughton at Mary bone
Gardens!" says Harry, gravely; and wondered if he had said some-
thing witty, as all the company laughed so? **It would require no
giant," he added, " to knock over yonder little fellow in the red boots.
I, for one, could throw him over my shoulder."
" Mr. Garrick is a little man. But there are times when he looks a
giant," says Mr. Spencer. " How grand he was in Macbeth, Mr. War-
rington ! How awful that dagger-scene was ! You should have seen
oiu' host, ladies ! I presented Mr. Warrington in the green-room, to
Mr. Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard, and Lady Macbeth did him the honour
to take a pinch out of his box."
" Did the wife of the Thane of Cawdor sneeze ?" asked the General in
an awful voice.
*' She thanked Mr. Warrington, in tones so hollow and tragic, that
he started back, and must have upset some of his rappee, for Macbeth
sneezed thrice."
*' Macbeth, Macbeth, Macbeth !" cries the General.
And the great philosopher who was standing by, — Mr. Johnson, says,
"You must mind, Davy, lest thy sneeze should awaken Duncan!"
who, by the way, was talking with the three witches as they sat against
the wall.
*' What ! Have you been behind the scenes at the play ? 0, I would
give worlds to go behind the scenes ! " cries Theo.
" And see the ropes pulled, and smell the tallow candles, and look
at the pasteboard gold, and the tinsel jewels, and the painted old
women, Theo? No. Do not look too close," says the sceptical young
host, demurely drinking a glass of hock. " You were angry with your
Papa and me."
" Nay, George ! " cries the girL
*'Nay? I say, yes! You were angry with us because we laughed
when you were disposed to be crying. If I may speak for you, sir, as
well as myself," says George (with a bow to his guest. General Lambert),
** I tliink w^e were not inclined to weep, like the ladies, because we stood
behind the author's scenes of the play, as it were. Looking close up to
the young hero, we saw how much of him was rant and tinsel ; and as
£ £ 2
420 THE VIRGINIANS.
for the pale, tragical mother, that her pallor was white chalk, and iitT
grief her pockethandkerchief. Own now, Theo, you thought me very-
unfeeling ? "
" If you find it out, sir, without my owning it, — what is the good of
my confessing ?" says Theo.
** Suppose I were to die ? " goes on George, ** and you saw Harry in
grief, you would be seeing a genuine affliction, a real tragedy ; you
would grieve too. But you wouldn't be affected if you saw the under-
taker in weepers and a black chjak ! "
" Indeed, but I should, sir ! " S'lys Mrs. Lambert ; " and so, I promise
you, would any daughter of mine."
"Perhaps we might find weepers of our own, Mr. \yarrington," says
Theo, " in such a case."
'* Would you! " cries George, and his cheeks and Theo's simultaneously
flushed up with red ; I suppose because they both saw Hetty's bright
young eyes watching them.
*' The elder writers understood but little of the pathetic," remarked
Mr. Spencer, the Temple wit.
*' What do you think of Sophocles and Antigone ? " calls out Mr. John
Lambert.
" Faith, our wits trouble themselves little about him, unless an Oxford
gentleman comes to remind us of him ! I did not mean to go back fur-
ther than Mr. Shakspeare, who, as you will all agree, does not understand
the elegant and pathetic as well as the moderns. Has he ever approached
Belvidera, or Monimia, or Jane Shore ; or can /you find in his comic
female characters the elegance of Congreve ? " ati^. the Templar offered
snuff" to the right and lelt.
" I think Mr. Spencer himself must have tried his hand ? " asks some
one.
" Many gentlemen of leisure have. Mr. Garrick, I own, has had a
piece of mine, and returned it." ^^
*' And I confess that I have four acts of^a play in one of my boxes,"
says George,
"I'll be bound to say it's as good as any of 'em," whispers Harry to
his neighbour.
" Is it a tragedy or a comedy ? " asks Mrs. Lambert,
" 0, a tragedy, and two or three dreadful murders at least ! " George
replies.
"Let us play it, and let the audience look to their eyes ! Yet my
chief humour is for a tyrant," says the General.
"The tragedy, the tragedy! Go and fetch the tragedy this moment
Gumbo ! " calls Mrs. Lambert to the black. Gumbo makes a low bow
and says " Tragedy? yes, madam."
. " In the great cowskin trunk. Gumbo," George says, gravely.
Gumbo bows and says, "Yes, sir," with still superior gravity.
" But my tragedy is at the bottom of I don't know how much linen,
packages, books, and boots, Hetty."
THE VIRGINIANS. 421
" Never mind, let us have it, aud fling the linen out of window ! "
cries Miss Hetty.
** And the great cowskin trunk is at our agent's at Bristol : so Gumho
must get post-horses, and we can keep it up till he returns the day after
to-morrow," says George.
The ladies groaned a comical ! and Papa, perhaps more seriously
said : " Let us be thankful for the escape. Let us be thinking of going
home too. Our young gentlemen have treated us nobly, and we will all
drink a parting bumper to Madam Esmond Warrington of Castlewood,
in Virginia. Suppose, boys, you were to find a tall, handsome stepfather
when you got home ? Ladies as old as she have been known to marry
before now."
" To Madam Esmond AVarrington, my old school- fellow ! " cries Mrs.
Lambert. *' I shall write and tell her what a pretty supper her sons
have given us : and, Mr. George, I won't say how ill you behaved at the
play ! " And, with this last toast, the company took leave; the General's
coach and servant, with a flambeau, being in waiting to carry his family
borne.
After such an entertainment as that which Mr. "Warrington had given,
■what could be more natural or proper than a visit from him to his guests,
to inquire how they had reached home and rested ? Why, their coach
might have taken the o[)en country behind Montagu House, in the direc-
tion of Oxford Road, and been waylaid by footpads in the fields. The
ladies might have caught cold or slept ill after the excitement of the
tragedy. In a word, there was no reason why he should make any
excuse at all to himself or them for visiting his kind friends ; and he
shut his books early at the Sloane Museum, and perhaps thought, as he
walked away thence, that he remembered very little about what he had
heen reading.
Pray what is the meaning of this eagerness, this hesitation, this
pshaing and shilly-shallying, these doubts, this tremor as he knocks at
the door of Mr. Lambert's lodgings in Dean Street, and surveys the
footman who comes to his summons ? Does any young man read ? does
any old one remember ? does any wearied, worn, disappointed pulseless
heart recall the time of its full beat and early throbbing ? It is ever so
many hundred years since some of us were young ; and we forget, but
do not all forget. No, madam, we remember with advantages, as Shak-
speare's Harry promised his soldiers they should do if they survived
Agincourt and that day of St. Cris|tin. Worn old chargers turned out
to grass, if the trumpet sounds over the hedge, may we not kick up our
old heels, and gallop a minute or so about the paddock, till we are
brought up roaring ? I do not care for clown and pantaloon now, and
think the fairy ugly, and her verses insufferable : but I like to see children
at a pantomime. I do not dance, or eat supper any more ; but I like
to watch Eugenio and Flirtilla twirling round in a pretty waltz, or
Lucinda and Ardentio pulling a cracker. Burn your little fingers,
422 THE VIRGINIANS.
children ! Blaze out little kindly flames from each other's eyes ! And
then draw close together and read the motto (that old namhy-pamby
motto, so stale and so new !) — I say, let her lips read it, and his con-
strue it ; and so divide the sweetmeat, young people, and crunch it
between you. I have no teeth. Bitter almonds and sugar disagree with
me, I tell you : but, for all that, shall not bon-bons melt in the mouth ?
We follow John up-stairs to the General's apartments, and enter with
Mr. George Esaiond Warrington, who makes a prodigious fine bow.
There is only one lady in the room, seated near a window : there is not
often much sunshine in Dean Street : the young lady in the window is
DO special beauty : bnt it is spring time, and she is blooming vernally.
A bunch of fresh roses is flushing in her cheek. I suppose her eyes are
violets. If we lived a hundred years ago, and wrote in the Gentleman's
or the London Magazine, we should tell Mr. Sylvauus Urban that her
neck was the lily, and her shape the nymph's; we should write an
acrdstic about her, and celebrate our Lambertella in an elegant poem,
still to be read between a neat new engraved plan of the city of Prague
and the King of Prussia's camp, and a map of Maryland and the Dela-
ware counties.
Here is Miss Theo blushing like a rose. What could Mamma have
meant an hour since by insisting that she was very pale and tire;!, and
had best not come out to-day with the rest of the party ? They were
gone to pay their compliments to my Lord Wrothara's ladies, ar.d
thank them for the house in their absence ; and Papa was at the
Horse Guards. He is in great spirits. I believe he expects some
command, though Mamma is in a sad tremor lest he should again be
ordered abroad.
" Your brother and mine are going to see our little brnther. at his school
at the Chartreux. My brothers are both to be clergymen, I think,"
Miss Theo continues. She is assiduously hemming at some article of
boyish wearing apparel as she talks. A hundred years ago, young
ladies were not afraid either to make shirts, or to name them. Mind, I
don't say they were the worse or the better for that plain stitching or
plain speaking: and have not the least desire, my dear young lady, that
you should make puddings or I should black boots.
" So Harry has been with them ? He often comes, almost every day,"
Theo says, looking up in George's face. ''Poor fellow! He likes us
belter than the fine folks, who don't care for him now — now he is no
longer a fine folk himself," adds the girl, smiling. *' Why have you not
set up for the fashion, and frequented the chocolate houses and the race-
courses, Mr. Warrington ? "
'* Has my brother got so much good out of his gay haunts or his grand
friends, that I should imitate him ?"
*' You might at least go to Sir Miles Warrington ; sure his arms are
open to receive you. Her ladyship was here this morning in her chair,
and to hear her praises of you I She declares you are in a certain way
to preferment. She says his Royal Highness the Duke made much of
THE VIRGINIANS. 423
you at Court. When you aivj a great man will you forget us, Mr.
Warrington ? "
** Yes, when I am a great man I will, Miss Lamberts"
<'Well! Mr. George, then—"
*'J/r. George!"
** When Papa and Mamma are here, I suppose there ner^d be no mister-
ini," says Theo, looking out of the window, ever so little frightened.
** And what have you been doing, sir ? Reading books, or writing more
of your tragedy ? Is it going to be a tragedy to make us cry, as we like
them, or only to frighten us, as you like them ? "
** There is plenty of killing, but, I fear, not much crying. I have not
met many women. I have not been very intimate with those. I daresay
what I have written is only taken out of books or parodied from poems
which I have read and imitated like other young men. Women do not speak
to me, generally; I am said to have a sarcasticway which displeases them."
" Perhaps you never cared to please them ? " inquires Miss Theo, with
a blush.
" I displeased you last night ; you know I did? "
'* Yes ; only it can't be called displeasure, and afterwards I thought I
was wrong."
" Did you think about me at all when I was away, Theo ? "
" Yes, George — that is, Mr. — well, George ! I thought you and Papa
were right about the play ; and, as you said, that it was not r al
sorrow, only affectation, which was moving us. I wonder whether it is
good or ill- fortune to see so clearly? Hetty and I agreed that we
would be very careful, for the future, how we allowed ourselves to enjoy
a tragedy. So, be careful when yours comes? What is the name of it ? '
"lie is not christened. Will you be the godmother? The name
of the chief character is — " But at this very moment Mamma and
Miss Hetty arrived from their walk ; and Mamma straightway began
protesting that she never expected to see Mr. Warrington at all that
day — that is, she thought he might come — that is, it was very good of
him to come, and the play and the supper of yesterday were all charming,
except that Theo had a little headache this morning.
'* I daresay it is better now. Mamma," says Miss Hetty.
" Indeed, my dear, it never was of any consequence ; and I told
Mamma so," says Miss Theo, with a toss of her head.
Then they fell to talking about Harry. He was very low. He must
tave something to do. He was always going to the Military Coffee-
house, and perpetually poring over the King of Prussia's campaigns. It
was not fair upon him, to bid him remain in London, after his deposi-
tion, as it were. He said nothing, but you could see how he regretted
his previous useless life, and felt his present dependence, by the manner
in which he avoided his former haunts and associates. Passing by the
guard at St. James's, with John Lambert, he had said to brother Jack,
** Why mayn't I be a soldier, too? I am as tall as yonder fellow,
and can kill with a fowling-piece as well as any man I know. But I
424 THE YIRGINIANS.
can't earn so much as sixpence a-day. I have squandered my own
hread, and now I am eating half my brother's. He is the best of
brothers, but so much the more shame that I should live upon him.
Don't tell my brother, Jack Lambert." " And my boy promised he
wouldn't tell," says Mrs. Lambert. No doubt. The girls were both
out of the room when their mother made this speech to George War-
rington. He, for his part, said he had written home to his mother —
that half his little patrimony, the other half likewise, if wanted, were
at Harry's disposal, for purchasing a commission, or for any other pro-
ject which might bring him occupation or advancement.
" He has got a good brother, that is sure. Let us hope for good times
for him," sighs the lady.
*' The Danes always come pou?- qui scait attendre^'' George said, in a
low voice.
'' What, you heard that ? Ah, George ! my Theo is an . Ah I
never mind what she is, George Warrington," cried the pleased mother,
with brimful eyes. " Bah ! I am going to make a gaby of myself, as
I did at the tragedy."
Now Mr. George had been revolving a fine private scheme, which he
thought might turn to his brother's advantage. After George's presen-
tation to his Royal Highness at Kensington, more persons than one,
his friend General Lambert included, had told him that the Duke had
inquired regarding him, and had asked why the young man did not
come to his levee. Importunity so august could not but be satisfied.
A day was appointed between Mr. Lambert and his young friend,
and they went to pay their dutv to his Royal Highness at his house
in Pall Mall.
When it came to George's turn to make a bow, the Prince was espe-
cially gracious; he spoke to Mr. Warrington at some length about
Braddock and the war, and was apparently pleased with the modesty
and intelligence of the young gentleman's answers. George ascribed
the failure of the expedition to the panic and surprise certainly, but
more especially to the delays occasioned by the rapacity, selfishness,
and unfair dealing of the people of the colonies towards the King's
troops who were come to defend them. *' Could we have moved, sir, a
rflonth sooner, the fort was certainly ours, and the little army had never
been defeated," Mr. Warrington said ; in which observation his Royal
Highness entirely concurred.
*' I am told you saved yourself, sir, mainly by your knowledge of tlw
French language," the Royal Duke then affably observed. Mr. War-
rington modestly mentioned how he had been in the French colonies in
his youth, and had opportijnities of acquiring that tongue.
The Prince (who had a great urbanity when well pleased, and the
finest sense of humour) condescended to ask who had taught Mr.
Warrington the language ; and to express his opinion, that, for the
pronunciation, the French ladies were by far the best teachers.
The young Viiginian gentleman made a low bow, and said it was
THE YIRGINIANS. 425
not for him to gainsay his Royal Highness ; upon which the Duke was
goodenodghtosay (in a jocose manner) that Mr. Warrington was a sly dog.
Mr. W. remaining respectfully silent, the Prince continued most
kindly : " I take the field immediately against the French, who, as
you know, are threatening his Majesty's Electoral dominions. If you
have a mind to make the campaign with me, your skill in the language
may he useful, and I hope we shall be more fortunate than poor
Braddock ! " Every eye was fixed on a young man to whom so great a
Prince offered so signal a favour.
And now it was that Mr. George thought he would make his very
cleverest speech. *' Sir," he said, " your Eoyal Highness's most kind
proposal does me infinite honour, but — "
** But what, sir ? " says the Prince, staring at him.
" But I have entered myself of the Temple, to study our laws, and
to fit myself for my duties at home. If my having been wounded in
the service of my country be any claim on your kindness, I would
humbly ask that my brother, who knows the French language as well
as myself, and has far more strength, courage, and military genius,
might be allowed to serve your Royal Highness in the place of "
*' Enough, enough, sir ! " cried out the justly irritated son of the
Monarch. ** What ? I offer you a favour, and you hand it over to
your brother ? Wait, sir, till I off'er you another ! " And with this
the Prince turned his back upon Mr. Warrington, just as abruptly as
he turned it on the French a few months afterwards.
"0 George! George! Here's a pretty kettle of fish I " groaned
General Lambert, as he and his young friend walked home together.
CHAPTEE LXI.
IN WHICH THE PEIXCE MARCHES UP THE HILL AND DOWN AGAIN.
We understand the respectful indignation of all loyal Britons when
they come to read of Mr. George Warrington's conduct towards a
gallant and gracious Prince, the beloved son of the best of monarchs,
and the Captain-General of the British army. What an inestimable
favour has not the young man slighted ! What a chance of promotion
had he not thrown away ! Will Esmond, whose language was always
rich in blasphemies, employed his very strongest curses in speaking of
his cousin's behaviour, and expressed his delight that the confounded
young Mohock was cutting liis own throat. Cousin Castlewood said
that a savage gentleman had a right to scalp himself if he liked : or
perhaps, he added charitably, our cousin Mr. Warrington heard enough
of the war-whoop in Braddock's affair, and has no more stomach for
fighting. Mr. Will rejoiced that the younger brother had gone to the
deuce, and he rejoiced to think that the elder was following him. The
426 TnE VIRGINIAXS.
first time he met the fellow, Will said, he should take care to let Mr,
Oeorge know what he thought of him.
" If you intend to insult George, at least you had best take care that
his brother Harry is out of hearing ! " cried Lady Maria — on which wo
may fancy more curses uttered by Mr. Will, with regard to his twin
kinsfolk.
" Ta, ta, ta ! " says my lord. "No more of this squabbling! We
can't be all warriors in the family ! "
" I never heard your lordship laid claim to be one ! " says Maria.
"Never, my dear ; quite the contrary ! Will is our champion, and
one is quite enough in the house. So I dare say with the two Mohocks ;
— George is the student, and Harry is the fighting man. When you
intended to quarrel. Will, what a pity it was you had not George,
instead of t'other, to your hand ! "
" Your lordship's hand is famous — at picquet," says Will's mother.
"It is a pretty one ! " says my lord, surveying his fingers with a
simper. " My Lord Ilervey's glove and mine were of a size. Yes, my
hand, as you say, is more fitted for cards than for war. Yours, my
Lady Castlewood, is pretty dexterous, too. How I bless the day when
you bestowed it on my lamented father ! " In this play of sarcasm,
as in some other games of skill, his lordship was not sorry to engage,
having a cool head, and being able to beat his family all round.
Madame de Bernstein, when she heard of Mr. Warrington's bevue,
was exceedingly angry, stormed, and scolded her immediate household ;
and would have scolded George, but she was growing old, and had not
the courage of her early days. Moreover, she was a little afraid of her
nephew, and respectful in her behaviour to him. "You will never
make your fortune at Court, nephew! " she groaned, when, soon after
his discomfiture, the young gentleman went to wait upon her.
" It was never my wish, madam ! " said Mr. George, in a very stately
manner.
" Your wish was to help Harry? You might hereafter have been of
service to your brother, had you accepted the Duke's oflfer. Princes do
not love to have their favours refused, and I don't wonder that his
Eoyal Highness was offended."
" General Lambert said the same thing," George confessed, turning
rather red ; " and I see now that I was wrong. But you must please
remember that I had never seen a court before, and I suppose I am
scarce likely to shine in one."
" I think possibly not, my good nephew," says the aunt, taking snuff.
" And what then ? " asked George. " I never had ambition for that
kind of glory, and can make myself quite easy without it. When his
Royal Highness spoke to me — most kindly, as I own — my thought was,
I shall make a very bad soldier, and my brother would be a very good
one. He has a hundred good qualities for the profession, in which I
am deficient ; and would have served a commanding ofiicer far better
than I ever could. Say the Duke is in battle, and his horse is shot,
THE YIRGINIAXS. 427
as ray poor chief's was at home, would he not be better for a beast that
hud courage and strength to bear him anywhere, than with one that
could not carry his weight ? "
^* Aic fait. His Eoyal Highness's charger must be a strong one, my
dear ! " says the old lady.
" Expende Hannihalem,''^ mutters George, witli a shrug. " Our
Hannibal weighs no tritie."
** I don't quite follow you, sir, and your Hannibal," the Baroness
remarks.
" When Mr. "Wolfe and Mr. Lambert remonstrated with me as you
have done, madam," George rejoins, with a laugh, '' I made this same
defence which I am making to you. I said I offered to the Prince the
best soldier in the family, and the two gentlemen allowed that my
blunder at least had some excuse. Who knows but that they may set
me right with his Eoyal Highness ? The taste I have had of battles
has shown me how little my genius inclines that way. We saw the
Scotch play which everybody is talking about t'other night. And when
the hero, young Nerval, said how he longed to follow to the field some
warlike lord, I thought to myself, ' how like my Harry is to him, except
that he doth not brag.' Harry is pining now for a red coat, and if we
don't mind, v/ill take the shilling. He has the map of Germany for
ever under his eyes, and follows the King of Prussia everywhere. He is
not afraid of men or gods. As for me, I love my books and quiet best,
and to read about battles in Homer or Lucan,"
*' Then what made a soldier of you at all, my dear ? And why did
you not send Harry with Mr. Braddock, instead of going yourself?"
asked Madame de Bernstein.
" My mother loved her younger son the best," said George, darkly.
** Besides, with the enemy invading our country, it was my duty, as the
head of our family, to go on the campaign. Had I been a Scotchman
twelve years ago, I should have been a — "
" Hush, sir ! or I shall be more angry than ever !" said the old lady,
with a perfectly pleased face.
George's explanation might thus appease Madame de Bernstein, an
old woman whose principles we fear were but loose : but to the loyal
heart of Sir Miles Warrington and his lady, the young man's conduct
gave a severe blow indeed ! *' I should have thought," her ladyship
said, "from my sister Esmond Warrington's letter, that my brother's
widow was a woman of good sense and judgment, and that she had
educated her sons in a becoming manner. But what, Sir Miles, what
my dear Thomas Claypool, can we think of an education which has
resulted so lamentably for both these young men."
'' The elder seems to know a power of Latin, though, and speaks the
French and the German too. I heard him with the Hanover Envoy,
at the Baroness's rout," says Mr. Claypool. " The French he jabbered
quite easy : and when he was at a loss for the High Dutch, he and the
envoy began in Latin, and talked away till all the room stared."
428 THE VIRGINIANS.
" It is not language, but principles, Thomas Claypool ! " exclaims the
Tirtuous matron. ''What must Mr. Warrington's principles be, when
he could reject an offer made him by his Prince ? Can he speak the
High Dutch ? So much the more ought he to have accepted his Eoyal
Highness's condescension, and made himself useful in the campaign I
Look at our son, look at Miles !"
" Hold up thy head, Miley, my boy ! " says Papa.
" I trust. Sir Miles, that as a member of the House of Commons, as
an English gentleman, you will attend his Royal Highness's levee to-
morrow, and say, if such an offer had been made to us for that child,
we would have taken it, though our boy is but ten years of age."
" Faith, Miley, thou wouldst make a good little drummer or fifer I"
says Papa. " Shouldst like to be a little soldier, Miley ?"
"Anything, sir, anything! a "Warrington ought to be ready at any
moment to have himself cut in pieces for his sovereign ! " cries the
matron, pointing to the boy; who, as soon as he comprehended his
mother's proposal, protested against it by a loud roar, in the midst of
which he was removed by Sere why. In obedience to the conjugal
orders. Sir Miles went to his Royal Highness's levee the next day, and
made a protest of his love and duty, which the Prince deigned to accept,
saying :
" ]Nobody ever supposed that Sir Miles Warrington would ever refuse
any place offered to him." A compliment gracious indeed, and repeated
everywhere by Lady W^arrington, as showing how implicitly the august
family on the throne could rely on the loyalty of the Warriugtons.
Accordingly, when this worthy couple saw George, they received him
with a ghastly commiseration, such as our dear relatives or friends will
sometimes extend to us when we have done something fatal or clumsy
in life ; when we have come badly out of our lawsuit ; when we enter
the room just as the company has been abusing us; when our banker
has broke ; or we for our sad part have had to figure in the commercial
columns of the London Gazette ; when, in a word, we are guilty of
some notorious fault, or blunder, or misfortune. Who does not know
that face of pity ? Whose dear relations have not so deplored him, not
dead, but living ? Not yours ? Then, sir, if you have never been in
scrapes ; if you have never sowed a handful of wild oats or two ; if you
have always been fortunate, and good, and careful, and butter has never
melted in your mouth, and an imprudent word has never come out of it ;
if you have never sinned and repented, and been a fool and been sorry —
then, sir, you are a wiseacre who won't waste your time over an idle
novel, and it is not de te that the fable is narrated.
Not that it was just on Sir Miles's part to turn upon George, and be
angry with his nephew for refusing the offer of promotion made by his
Royal Highness, for Sir Miles himself had agreed in George's view of
pursuing quite other than a military career, and it was in respect to
this plan of her son's that Madam Esmond Jiad written from Virginia
to Sir Miles Warrington. George had announced to her his intention of
THE VIRGINIAXS. 429
entering at the Temple, and qualifymg himself for the magisterial and
civil duties which, in the course of nature, he would he called to fultil ;
nor could any one applaud his resolution more cordially than his uncle
Sir Miles, who introduced George to a lawyer of reputation, under whose
guidance we may fancy the young gentleman reading leisurely. Madam
Esmond from home signified her approval of her son's course, fully agree-
ing with Sir Miles (to whom and his lady she begged to send her grateful
remembrances) that the British Constitution was the envy of the world,
and the proper object of every English gentleman's admirinji: study.
The chief point to which George's mother objected was the notion that
Mr. Warrington should have to sit down in the Temple dinner-hall, and
cut at a shoulder of mutton, and drink small-beer out of tin pannikins,
by the side of rough students who wore gowns like the parish-clerk.
George's loyal younger brother shared too this repugnance. Anything
was good enough for him, Harry said ; he was a younger son, and
prepared to rough it ; but George in a gown, and dining in a mess with
three nobody's sons off dirty pewter platters ! Harry never could relish
this condescension on his brother's part, or fancy George in his proper
place at any except the high table ; and was sorry that a plan Madam
Esmond hinted at in her letters was not feasible — viz., that an applica-
tion should be made to the Master of the Temple, who should be informed
that Mr. George Warrington was a gentleman of most noble birth, and
of great property in America, and ought only to sit with the very best
company in the Hall. Rather to Harry's discomfiture, when he com-
municated his own and his mother's ideas to the gentlemen's new coffee-
house friend Mr. Spencer, Mr. Spencer received the proposal with roars
of laughter ; and I cannot learn, from the Warrington papers, that any
application was made to the Master of the Temple on this subject.
Besides his literary and historical pursuits, which were those he most
especially loved, Mr. Warrington studied the laws of his country,
attended the courts at Westminster, where he heard a Henley, a Pratt,
a Murray, and those other great famous schools of eloquence and
patriotism, the two houses of parliament-
Gradually Mr. Warrington made acquaintance with some of the mem-
bers of the House and the Bar ; who, when they came to know hira,
spoke of him as a young gentleman of good parts and good breeding,
and in terms so generally complimentary, that his good uncle's heart
relented towards him, and Dora and Flora began once more to smile upon
him. This reconciliation dated from the time when his Koyal High-
ness the Duke, after having been defeated by the French, in the affair
of Hastenbeck, concluded the famous capitulation with the French, which
his Majesty George II. refused to ratify. His Royal Highness, as 'tis
well known, flung up his commi3sions after this disgrace, laid down his
commander's baton — which, it must be confessed, he had not wielded
with much luck or dexterity — and never again appeared at the head of
armies or in public life^ The stout warrior would not allow a word of
complaint against his father and soveileign to escape his lips ; but, as he
430 THE VIHGINIANS.
retired with his wounded honour, and as he would have no interest or
authority more, nor any places to give, it may be supposed that Sir Miles
"Warrington's anger against his nephew diminished as his respect for his
Eoyal Highness diminished.
As our two gentlemen were walking in St. James's Park, one day,
with their friend Mr. Lambert, they met his Royal Highness in plain
clothes and without a star, and made profound bows to the Prince, who
was pleased to stop and speak to them.
He asked Mr. Lambert how he liked my Lord Ligonier, his new
chief at the Horse Guards, and the new duties there in which he was
engaged? And, recognising the young men, with that fidelity of
memory for which his Royal race hath ever been remarkable, he said
to Mr. Warrington :
" You did well, sir, not to come with me when I asked you in the
spring."
" I was sorry, then, sir," Mr. Warrington said, making a very low
reverence, "but I am more sorry now."
On which the Prince said, *' Thank you, sir," and, touching his hat,
walked away. And the circumstances of this interview, and the dis-
course "which passed at it, being related to Mrs. Esmond Warrington
in a letter from her younger son, created so deep an impression in that
lady's mind, that she narrated the anecdote many hundreds of times
until all her friends and acquaintances knew and, perhaps, were tired
of it.
Our gentlemen went through the Park, and so towards the Strand,
where they had business. And Mr. Lambert, pointing to the lion on
the top of the Earl of Northumberland's house at Charing Cross, says : —
" Harry Warrington ! your brother is like yonder lion."
" Because he is as brave as one," says Harry.
** Because I respect virgins!" says George, laughing.
" Because you are a stupid lion. Because you turn your back on the
East, and absolutely salute the setting sun. Why, child, what earthly
good can you get by being civil to a man in hopeless dudgeon and dis-
grace ? if our uncle will be more angry with you than ever — and so am
I, sir." But Mr. Lambert was always laughing in his waggish way, and,
indeed, he did not look the least angry.
CHAPTEE LXII.
AHMA VIRUMQTJE.
Indeed, if Harry Warrington had a passion for military pursuits and
studies, there was enough of war stirring in Lurope, and enough talk in
all societies which he frequented in London to excite and inflame him.
THE VIEGINIANS. 431
Though our own gracious Prince of the house of Hanover had been
beaten, the Protestant Hero, the king of Prussia, was filling the world
with his glory, and winning those astonishing victories in which I deem
it fortunate on my own account that my poor Harry took no part ; for
then his veracious biographer would have had to narrate battles the
description whereof has been undertaken by another pen. I am glad, I
say, that Harry Warrington was not at Rossbach on that famous Gun-
powder Fete day, on the oth of November, in the year 1757 ; nor at that
tremendous slaughtering-match of Leuthen, which the Prussian king
played a month afterwards ; for these prodigious actions will presently
be narrated in other volumes, which I and all the world are eager to
behold. Would you have this history compete with yonder book?
Could my jaunty, yellow park-phaeton run counter to that grim chariot
of thundering war ? Could my meek little jog-trot Pegasus meet the
shock of yon steed of foaming bit and liaming nostril ? Dear, kind
reader (with whom I love to talk from time to time, stepping down from
the stage where our figures are performing, attired in the habits and
using the parlance of past ages), — my kind, patient reader ! it is a mercy
for both of us that Harry Warrington did not follow the King of the
Borussians, as he was minded to do, for then I should have had to de-
scribe battles which Carlyle is going to paint ; and I don't wish you
sliould make odious comparisons between me and that master.
Harry Warrington not only did not join the King of the Borussians,
but he pined and chafed at not going. He led a sulky useless life, that
is the fact. He dangled about the military cofiEee-houses. He did not
care for reading anything save a newspaper. His turn was not literary.
He even thought novels were stupid ; and, as for the ladies crying their
eyes out over Mr. Richardson, he could not imagine how they could be
moved by any such nonsense. He used to laugh in a very hearty jolly
way, but a little late, and some time after the joke was over. Pray,
v/hy should all gentlemen have a literary taste ; and do we like some of
our friends the worse because they never turned a couplet in their lives ?
Ruined, perforce idle, dependent on his brother for supplies, if he read a
book falling asleep over it, with no fitting work for his great strong hands
to do— how lucky it is that he did not get into more trouble. Why, in
the case of Achilles himself, when he was sent by his mamma to the
court of King Whatd'yecallem in order to be put out of harm's reach,
what happened to him amongst a parcel of women with whom he was
made to idle his life away ? And how did Pyrrhus come into the world ?
A powerful mettlesome young Achilles ought not to be leading-stringed
by women too much ; is out of his place dawdling by distaffs or handing
coffee-cups; and when he is not fighting, depend on it, is likely to fall
into much worse mischief.
Those soft-hearted women, the two elder ladies of the Lambert family,
with whom he mainly consorted, had an untiring pity and kindness for
Harry, such as women only — and only a few of those— can give. If a
man is in grief, who cheers him ; in trouble, who consoles him; in
432 THE VIRGINIANS.
wrath, who soothes him ; in joy, who makes him doubly happy ; in pro-
sperity, who rejoices ; in disgiace, who backs him against the world,
and dresses with gentle unguents and warm poultices the rankling
wounds made by the stings and arrows of outrageous Fortune ? Who
but woman, if you please ? You who are ill and sore from the bullets
of Fate, have you one or two of these sweet physicians ? Return thanks
to the gods that they have left you so much of consolation. What gen-
tleman is not more or less a Prometheus ? Who has not his rock (ai, ai),
his chain (ea, ea), and his liver in a deuce of a condition ? But the sea-
nymphs come — the gentle, the sympathising ; they kiss our writhing
feet ; they moisten our parched lips with their tears ; they do their
blessed best to console us Titans ; they don't turn their backs upon us
after our overthrow.
Now Theo and her mother were full of pity for Harry ; but Hetty's
heart was rather hard and seemingly savage towards him. She chafed
that his position was not more glorious ; she was angry that he was still
dependent and idle. The whole world was in arms, and could he not
carry a musket ? It was harvest time, and hundreds of thousands of
reapers were out with their flashing sickles ; could he not use his, and
cut down his sheaf or two of glory ?
" Why, how savage the little thing is with him ! " says Papa, after a
scene in which, according to her word, Miss Hetty had been tiring little
shots into that quivering target which came and set itself up in Mrs.
Lambert's drawing-room every day.
"Her conduct is perfectly abominable ! " cries Mamma; " she deserves
to be whipj)ed, and sent to bed."
" Perhaps, Mother, it is because she likes him better than any of us
do," says Theo, '* and it is for his sake that Hetty is angry. If I were
fond of — of some one, I should like to be able to admire and respect him
always— to think everything he did right— and my gentleman better than
all the gentlemen in the world ! "
*' The truth is, my dear," answers Mrs. Lambert, "that your father is
so much belter than all the world, he has spoiled us. Did you ever see
any one to compare with him?"
'* Very few, indeed," owns Theo, with a blush,
*' Very few. Who is so good tempered ? "
" I think nobody, Mamma," Theo acknowledges.
** Or so brave ? "
'* Why, I daresay Mr. Wolfe, or Harry, or Mr. George, are very
brave."
" Or so learned and witty ? "
" 1 am sure Mr. George seems very learned, and witty too, in his
way," says Theo ; *' and his manners are very tine — you own they are.
Madame "de Bernstein says they are, and she hath seen the world. In-
deed, Mr. George has a lofty way with him, which I don't see in other
people ; and in reading books, I find he chooses the fine noble things
always, and loves them in spite of all his satire. He certainly is of a
THE VIRGINIANS. 4^3
satirical turn, but then he is only bitter against mean things and people.
Ko gentleman hath a more tender heart, I am sure ; and but yesierday,
after he had been talking so bitterly as you said, I happened to look out
of window, and saw him stop and treat a whole crowd of little children
to apples at tbe stall at the corner. And the day before yesterday, when
he was coming and brought me the Moliere, he stopped and gave money
to a beggar, and how charmingly, sure, he reads the French ! I agree
with him though about Tartuffe, though 'tis so wonderfully clever and
lively, that a mere villain and hypocrite is a figure too mean to be made
the chief of a great piece. lago, Mr. George said, is near as great a
villain ; but then he is not the first character of the tragedy, which is
Othello, with his noble weakness. But what fine ladies and gentlemen
Moliere represents — so Mr. George thinks — and — but 0, I don't dare to
repeat the verses after Aj'm."
** But you know them by heart, my dear ?" asks Mrs. Lambert.
And Theo replies, " yes, Mamma ! I know them by . . . , •
Nonsense!"
I here fancy osculations, palpitations, and exit Miss Theo, blushing
like a rose. Why had she stopped in her sentence ? Because Mamma
was looking at her so oddly. And why was Mamma looking at her so
oddly ? And why had she looked after Mr. George, when he was going
away, and looked for him when he was coming ? Ah, and why do
cheeks blush, and why do roses bloom ? Old Time is still a- flying.
Old spring and bud time ; old summer and bloom time ; old autumn and
seed time ; old winter time, when the cracking, shivering old tree-tops
are bald or covered with snow.
A lew minutes after George arrived, Theo would come down-stairs
with a fluttering heart, may be, and a sweet nosegay in her cheeks, just
culled, as it were, fresh in his honour ; and I suppose she must have
been constantly at that window which commanded the street, and whence
she could espy his generosity to the sweep, or his purchases from the
apple-woman. But if it was Harry who knocked, she remained in her
own apartment with her work or her books, sending her sister to
receive the young gentleman, or her brothers when the elder was at
home from college or Doctor Crusius from the Chartreux gave the
younger leave to go home. And what good eyes Theo must have
had — and often in the evening, too — to note the diflerence between
Harry's yellow hair and George's dark locks, — and between their figures,
though they were so like that people continually were mistaking one for
the other brother. Now it is certain that Theo never mistook one or
t'other ; and that Hetty, for her part, was not in the least excited, or
rude, or pert, when she found the black-haired gentleman in her mother's
drawing-room.
Our friends could come when they liked to Mr. Lambert's house, and
stay as long as they chose ; and, one day, he of the golden locks was
sitting on a couch there, in an attitude of more than ordinary idleness
and despondency, when who should come down to him but Miss Hetty Y
434 THE VIEGINIANS.
I say it was a most curious thing (though the girls would have gone to
the rack rather than own any collusion), that when Harry called, Hetty
appeared ; when George arrived, Theo someljow came ; and so, according
to the usual dispensation, it was Miss Lambert, junior, who now arrived
to entertain the younger Virginian..
After usual ceremonies and compliments, we may imagine that the lady
says to the gentleman :
" And pray, sir, what makes your honour look so glum this
morning ? "
*' Ah, Hetty ! " says he. ** I have nothing else to do but to look glum.
I remember when we were boys — and I a rare idle one, you may be sure — •
I would always be asking my tutor for a holiday, which I would pass
very likely swinging on a gate, or making ducks and drakes over the
pond, and those do-nothing days were always the most melancholy.
What have I got to do now from morning till night ? "
** Breakfast, walk — dinner, walk — tea, supper, I suppose; and a pipe
of your Virginia," says Miss Hetty, tossing her head.
"I tell you what, when I went back with Charley to the Chartreux,
t'other night, I had a mind to say to the master, ' Teach me, sir. Here's
a boy knows a deal more Latin and Greek, at thirteen, than I do, who
am ten years older. I have nothing to do from morning till night, and I
might as well go to my books again, and see if I can repair my idleness
as a boy.* Why do you laugh, Hetty ? "
" I laugh to fancy you at the head of a class, and called up by the
master ! " cries Hetty.
" I shouldn't be at the head of the class," Harry says, humbly.
** George might be at the head of any class, but I am not a book-man,
you see ; and when I was young, neglected myself, and was very idle.
We would not let our tutors cane us much at home, but, if we bad, it
might have done me good."
Hetty drubbed with her little foot, and looked at the young man
sitting before her — strong, idle, melancholy.
*' Upon my word, it might do you good now !" she was minded to say.
" What does Tom say about the caning at school ? Does his account of
it set you longing for it, pray ?" she asked.
" His account of his school," Harry answered, simply, '' makes me sec
that I have been idle when I ought to have worked, and that I have not
a genius for books, and for what am I good ? Only to spend my patri-
mony when I come abroad, or to lounge at coffee-houses or race- courses,
or to gallop behind dogs when I am at home. I am good for notliing,
I am."
" What, such a great, brave, strong fellow as you good for nothing ?"
cries Het. "I would not confess as much to any woman, if I were twice
as good for nothing ! "
" What am I to do ? I ask for leave to go into the army, and Madam
Esmond does not answer me. 'Tis the only thing I am lit for. I have
no money to buy. Having spent all my own, and so much of my brother's.
THE VIRGI^'IAXS. 435
I cannot and won't ask for more. If my mother would but send me to
tlie army, you know I would jump to go."
"Eh! A gentleman of spirit does not want a .woman to buckle his
sword on for him, or to clean his firelock ! What was that our Papa
told us of the young gentleman at court yesterday ? — Sir John Army-
tage " , ,
**Sir John Armytage ? I used to know him when I frequented
White's and the club-houses — a fine, noble young gentleman, of a great
estate in the north."
" And engaged to be married to a famous beauty, too — Miss Howe,
my Lord Howe's sister — but thatj I suppose, is not an obstacle to
gentlemen?"
'■'■ An obstacle to what ? " asks the gentleman.
*'An obstacle to glory! " says Miss Hetty. "I think no woman of
spirit would say * Stay ! ' though she adored her lover ever so much,
when his country said ' Go ! ' Sir John had volunteered for the expedi-
tion which is preparing, and being at court yesterday his Majesty asked
him when he would be ready to go ? * To-morrow, please your Majesty,'
replies Sir John, and the king said, that was a soldier's answer. My
father himself is longing to go, though he has Mamma and all us brats
at home. dear, dear ! "Why wasn't I a man myself ? Both my
brothers are for the Church ; but, as for me, I know I should have made
a famous little soldier ! " And, so speaking, this young person strode
about the room, wearing a most courageous military aspect, and looking
as bold as Joan of Arc.
Harry beheld her with a tender admiration. ** I think," says he, <*I
would hardly like to see a musket on that little shoulder, nor a wound
on that pretty face, Hetty."
" Wounds ! who fears wounds ?" cries the little maid. " Muskets ? If
I could carry one, I would use it. You men fancy that we women are
good for nothing but to make puddings or stitch samplers. Why wasn't
I a man, I say ? George was reading to us yesterday out of Tasso — look,
here it is, and I thought the verses applied to me. See ! Here is the
book, with the mark in it where we left off."
" With the mark in it ?" says Harry dutifully.
" Yes ! it is about a woman who is disappointed because — because her
brother does not go to war, and she says of herself — ■
" ' Alas ! why did not Heaven these memhers frail
"Witii Kveiy force and vigour strengthen, so
Tiiat I this silken gown . . .'"
" Silken gown ? " says downright Harry, with a look of inquiry.
'* Well, sir, I know 'tis but Calimanco ; —but so it is in the book-=^
" * . . . this silken gown and slender veil
Might for a breastplate and a helm forego ;
Then should not heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor hail,
2for storms that fall, nor blust'ring winds that blow,
Withhold me ; but I would, both day and night.
In pitched field or private combat, fight — '
F Fi
436 THE VIRGINIANS.
Piglit ? Yes, that I would ! "Why are both my brothers to be parsons,
I say ? One of my Papa's children ought to be a soldier ! "
Harry laughed, a very gentle, kind laugh, as he looked at her. He
felt that he would not like much to hit such a tender little warrior as
that.
" Why," says he, holding a finger out, ** I think here is a finger nigh
as big as your arm. How would you stand up before a great, strong
man ? I should like to see a man try and injure you, though ; I should
just like to see him ! You little, delicate, tender creature ! Do you
suppose any scoundrel would dare to do anything unkind to you f "
And, excited by this flight of his imagination, Harry fell to walking up
and down the room, too, chafing at the idea of any rogue of a Frenchman
daring to be rude to Miss Hester Lambert.
It was a belief in this silent courage of his which subjugated Hetty,
and this quality which she supposed him to possess, which caused her
specially to admire him. Miss Hetty was no more bold, in reality, than
Madam Erminia, whose speech she had been reading out of the book,
and about whom Mr. Harry Warrington never heard one single word.
He may have been in the room when brother George was reading his
poetry out to the ladies, but his thoughts were busy with his own affairs,
and he was entirely bewildered with your Clotildas and Erminias, and
giants, and enchanters, and nonsense. No, Miss Hetty, I say and believe,
had nothing of the virago in her composition ; else, no doubt, she would
have taken a fancy to a soft young fellow with a literary turn, or a genius
for playing the flute, according to the laws of contrast and nature pro-
vided in those cases ; and who has not heard how great, strong men have
an affinity for frail, tender little women ; how tender little women are
attracted by great, honest, strong men ; and how your burly heroes and
champions of war are constantly henpecked ? i/'Mr. Harry Warrington
falls in love with a woman who is like Miss Lambert in disposition, and
if he marries her — without being conjurors, I think we may all see what
the end will be.
So, whilst Hetty was firing her little sarcasms into Harry, he for a
while scarcely felt that they were stinging him, and let her shoot on
without so much as taking the trouble to shake the little arrows out of
his hide. Did she mean by her sneers and innuendos to rouse him into
action ? He was too magnanimous to understand such small hints. Did
she mean to shame him by saying that she, a weak woman, would don
the casque and breast- plate ? The simple fellow either melted at the idea
of her being in danger, or at the notion of her fighting fell a-laughing.
*'Pray what is the use of having a strong hand if you only use it to
hold a skein of silk for my mother ? " cries Miss Hester ; " and what is
the good of being ever so strong in a drawing-room ? Nobody wants
you to throw anybody out of window, Harry ! A strong man, indeed!
I suppose there's a stronger at Bartholomew Fair. James Wolfe is not
a strong man. He seems quite weakly and ill. When he was here last
he was coughing the whole time, and as pale as if he had seen a ghost."
THE \^RGIXIAXS. 437
** I never could understand why a man should be frightened at a
ghost," says Harry.
*' Pray, have you seen one, sir?" asks the pert young lady.
** No. I thought I did once at home — when we were boys ; but it was
only Nathan in his night-shirt ; but I wasn't frightened when I thouglit
he was a ghost. I believe there's no such things. Our nurses tell a pack
of lies about 'em," says Harry, gravely. *' George was a little frightened ;
but then he's ." Here he paused.
** Then George is what ?" asked Hetty.
** George is different from me, that's all. Our mother's a bold woman
as ever you saw, but she screams at seeing a mouse — always does— can't
help it. It's her nature. So, you see, perhaps my brother can't bear
ghosts. I don't mind 'em."
" George always says, vou would have made a better soldier than
he."
** So I think I should, if I had been allowed to try. But he can do a
thousand things better than me, or anybody else in the world. Why
didn't he let me volunteer on Brad dock's expedition ? I might have got
knocked on the head, and then I should have been pretty much as useful
as I am now, and then I shouldn't have ruined myself, and brought
people to point at me and say that I had disgraced the name of "Warring-
ton. Why mayn't I go on this expedition, and volunteer like Sir John
Armytage ? Hetty ! I'm a miserable fellow — that's what I am," and
the miserable fellow paced the room at double quick time. "I wish I
had never come to Europe," he groaned out.
" What a compliment to us ! Thank you, Harry ! " but presently, on
an appealing look from the gentleman, she added, "Are you— are you
thinking of going home ?"
"And have all Virginia jeering at me! There's not a gentleman
tliere that wouldn't, except one, and him my mother doesn't like. I
should be ashamed to go home now, I think. You don't know my
mother, Hetty. I ain't afraid of most things ; but, somehow, I am of
her. What shall I say to her, when she says, ' Harry, where's your
patrimony?' 'Spent, Mother,' I shall have to say. * What have you
done with it? ' * Wasted it. Mother, and went to prison after.' * Who
took you out of prison ? ' ' Brother George, Ma'am, he took me out of
prison ; and now I'm come back, having done no good for myself, with,
no profession, no prospects, no nothing — only to look after negroes, and
be scolded at home ; or to go to sleep at sermons ; or to play at cards,
and drink, and fight cocks at the taverns about.' How can I look the
gentlemen of the country in the face ? I'm ashamed to go home in this
way, I say. I must and will Jo something ! What shall I do, Hetty ?
Ah I what shall I do?"
*' Do ? What did Mr, Wolfe do at Louisbourg ? Ill as he was, and
in love as we knew him to be, he didn't stop to be nursed by his mother,
Harry, or to dawdle with his sweetheart. He went on the King's
service, and hath come back covered with honour. If there is to be
438 THE VIRGINIANS.
another great campaign in America, Papa says lie is sure of a great
command."
*' I wish lie would take me with him, and that a ball would knock me
on the head and finish me," groaned Harry. *' You speak to me, Hetty,
as thoujjh it were my fault that I am not in the army, when you know
I would give — give, forsooth, what have I to give ? — yes ! my life to go
on service !"
*' Life, indeed !" says Miss Hetty, with a shrug of her shoulders.
** You don't seem to think that of much value, Hetty," remarked
Harry, sadly. ** No more it is — to anybody. I'm a poor useless fellow.
I'm not even free to throw it away as I would like, being under orders
here and at home."
" Orders, indeed ! Why under orders?" cries Miss Hetty. "Aren't
you tall enough, and old enough, to act for yourself, and must you have
George for a master here, and your mother for a schoolmistress at home ?
If I were a man, I would do something famous before I was two-and-
twenty years old, that I would ! I would have the world speak of me.
I wouldn't dawdle at apron-strings. I wouldn't curse my fortune — I'd
make it. I vow and declare I would ! "
Now, for the first time, Harry began to wince at the words of his
young lecturer.
*' No negro on our estate is more a slave than I am, Hetty," he said,
turning very red as he addressed her; " but then, Miss Lambert, we
don't reproach the poor fellow for not being free. That isn't generous.
At least, that isn't the way I understand honour. Perhaps with women
it's different, or I may be wrong, and have no right to be hurt at a
young girl telling me what my faults are. Perhaps my faults are not
my faults — only my cursed luck. You have been talking ever so long
al)0ut this gentleman volunteering, and that man winning glory, and
cracking up their courage as if I had none of my own. I suppose, for
the matter of that, I'm as well provided as other gentlemen. 1 don't
brag : but I'm not afraid of Mr. Wolfe, nor of Sir John Armytage, nor
of anybody else that ever I saw. How can I buy a commission when
I've spent my last shilling, or ask my brother for more who has already
halved with me ? A gentleman of my rank can't go a common soldier
— else, by Jupiter, I would ! And if a ball finished me, I suppose Miss
Hetty Lambert wouldn't be very sorry. It isn't kind, Hetty — I didn't
think it of you."
*' What is it I have said ? " asks the young lady. " I have only said
Sir John Armytage has volunteered, and Mr. Wolfe has covered himself
v/ith honour, and you begin to scold me ! How can I help it if Mr. Wolfe
is brave and famous ? Is that any reasoil you should be angry, pray ? "
*' I didn't say angry," said Harry, gravely. "I said I was hurt."
*' 0, indeed ! I thought such a little creature as I am couldn't hurt
anybody ! I'm sure 'tis mighty complimentary to me to say that a young
lady whose arm is no bigger than your little finger can hurt such a great
Btroug man as you ! "
^HE VIRGINIAXS. 435
*' I scarce thought you would try, Hetty," the young man said, " You
see, I'm not used to this kind of welcome in this liouse."
" AYhat is it, my poor boy ? " asks kind Mrs. Lambert, looking in at
the door at this juncture, and finding the youth with a very woe- worn
countenance.
"0, we have heard the story before, Mamma ! " says Hetty, hur-
riedly. *' Harry is making his old complaint of having nothing to do.
And he is quite unhappy ; and he is telling us so over and over again,
that's all."
'* So are you hungry over and over again, my dear ! Is that a reason
why your Papa and I should leave off giving you dinner ? " cries Mamma,
with some emotion. " AVill j-ou stay and have ours, Harry ? 'Tis just
three o'clock ! " Harry agreed to stay, after a few faint negations.
*' My husband dines abroad. We are but three women, so you will have
a dull dinner," remarks Mrs. Lambert.
" We shall have a gentleman to enliven us, Mamma, I dare say ! "
says Madam Pert, and then looked in Mamma's face with that admirable
gaze of blank innocence which Madam Pert knows how to assume when
she has been specially and successfully wicked.
W^hen the dinner appeared Miss Hetty came down-stairs, and was
exceedingly chatty, lively, and entertaining. Theo did not know that
any little difference had occurred (such, alas, my Christian friends, will
happen in the most charming families), did not know, I say, that
an\thinghad happened until Hetty's uncommon sprightliness and gaiety
roused her suspicions. Hetty would start a dozen subjects of conver-
sation — the King of Prussia, and the news from America ; the last mas-
querade, and the highwayman shot near Barnet ; and when her sister,
admiring this volubility, inquired the reason of it, with her eyes, —
''0, my dear, you need not nod and wink at me!" cries Hetty.
'' Mamma asked Harry on purpose to enliven us, and I am talking until
lie begins,— just like the tiddles at the playhouse, you know, Hetty I
First the tiddles. Then the play. Pray begin. Hurry I "
** Hester ! " cries Mamma.
** I merely asked Harry to entertain us. You said yourself, Mother,
that we were only three women, and tlie dinner would be dull for &
gentleman ; unless, indeed, he chose to be very lively."
" I'm not that on most days — and, Heaven knows, on this day less
than most," says poor Harry.
" Why on this day less than another ? Tuesday is as good a day to
be li%'ely as Wednesday. The only day when we mustn't be lively is
Sunday. Well, you know it is, ma'am ! We musn't sing, nor dance^
nor do anything on Sunday."
And in this naughty way the young woman went on for the rest of
the evening, and was complimented by her mother and sister when poor
Harry took his leave. He was not ready of wit, and could not fling
back the taunts which Hetty cast against him. JS^ay, had he been able
to retort, he would have been silent. He was too generous to engage in
440 THE VIRGINIANS.
that small war, and chose to take all Hester's sarcasms without an
attempt to parry or evade them. Very likely the young lady watched
and admired that magnanimity, while she tried it so cruelly. And
after one of her fits of ill-behaviour, her parents and friends had not
the least need to scold her, as she candidly told them, because she
suffered a great deal more than they would ever have had her, and her
conscience punished her n great deal more severely than her kind elders
would have thought of doing. I suppose she lies awake all that night,
and tosses and tumbles in her bed. I suppose she wets her pillow with
tears, and should not mind about her sobbing : unless it kept her
sister awake ; unless she was unwell the next day, and the doctor had
to be fetched ; unless the whole family is to be put to discomfort ;
mother to choke over her dinner in flurry and indignation ; father to
eat his roast beef in silence and with bitter sauce : everybody to look
at the door each time it opens, with a vague hope that Harry is coming
in. If Harry does not come, why at least does not George come ? thinks
Miss Theo,
Some time in the course of the evening comes a billet from George
Warrington, with a large nosegay of lilacs, per Mr. Gumbo. ** * I
send my best duty and regards to Mrs. Lambert and the ladies,' "
George says, " * and humbly beg to present to Miss Theo this nosegay
of lilacs, which she says she loves in the early spring. You must not
thank me for them, please, but the gardener of Bedford House, with
whom I have made great friends by presenting him with some dried
specimens of a Virginian plant which seme ladies don't think as fragrant
as lilacs.
** * I have been in the garden almost all the day. It is alive with
sunshine and spring : and I have been composing two scenes of you know
what, and polishing the verses which the Page sings in the fourth act,
under Sybilla's window, when she cannot hear, poor thing, because she
has just had her head off.'
"Provoking! I wish he would not always sneer and laugh ! The
verses are beautiful," says Theo.
*' You really think so, my dear ? How very odd ! " remarks Papa.
Little Het looks up from her dismal corner with a faint smile of
humour. Theo's secret is a secret for nobody in the house, it seems.
Can any young people guess what it is ? Our young lady continues to
read:
" * Spencer has asked the famous Mr. Johnson to breakfast to-morrow,
who condescends to hear the play, and who won't, I hope, be too angry
because my heroine undergoes the fate of his in Irene. I have heard
he came up to London himself as a young man with only his tragedy
in his wallet. Shall I ever be able to get mine played ? Can you fancy
the catcall music beginning, and the pit hissing at that perilous part
of the fourth act, where my executioner comes out from the closet with
his great sword, at the awful moment when he is called upon to amputate f
They say, Mr. Fielding, when the pit hissed at a part of one of his pieces,
THE VIRGINIANS. 441
about which Mr. Garrick had warned him, said, " Hang them, they have
found it out, have they?" and finished his punch in tranquillity. I
suppose his wife was not in the boxes. There are some women to whom
I would be very unwilling to give pain, and there are some to whom I
would give the best I have.' "
'' Whom can he mean ? The letter is to you, my dear. I protest he
is making love to your mother before my face ! " cries Papa to Hetty,
who only gives a little sigh, puts her hand in her father's hand, and
then withdraws it.
" ' To whom I would give the best 1 have. To-day it is only a bunch
of lilacs. To-morrow it may be what ? — a branch of rue — a sprig of
bays, perhaps — anything, so it be my best and my all.
" ' I have had a fine long day, and all to myself. What do you think
of Harry playing truant?' (Here we may imagine, what they call in
France, or what they used to call, when men dared to speak or citizens
to hear, sensation dans Vauditoire.)
" ' I suppose Carpezan wearied the poor fellow's existence out. Certain
it is he has been miserable for weeks past ; and a change of air and
scene may do him good. This morning, quite early, he came to my
room ; and told me he had taken a seat in the Portsmouth Machine, and
proposed to go to the Isle of Wight, to the army there.' "
The army! Hetty looks very pale at this announcement, and her
mother continues : —
** * And a little portion of it, namely, the thirty- second regiment, is
commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Richmond Webb — the nephew of the
famous old General under whom my grandfather Esmond served in the
great wars of Marlborough. Mr. Webb met us at our uncle's, accosting
us very politely, and giving us an invitation to visit him at his regi-
ment. Let my poor brother go and listen to his darling music of fife
and drum ! He bade me tell the ladies that they should hear from him.
I kiss their hands, and go to dress for dinner, at the Star and Garter,
in Pall Mail. We are to have Mr. Soame Jenyns, Mr. Cambridge, Mr.
Walpole, possibly, if he is not too fine to dine in a tavern ; a young
Irishman, a Mr. Bourke, who they say is a wonder of eloquence and
learning — in fine, all the wits of Mr. Dodsley's shop. Quick, Gumbo, a
coach, and my French grey suit I And if gentlemen ask me * Who
gave you that sprig of lilac you wear on your heart-side ? ' I shall call a
bumper, and give Lilac for a toast.' "
I fear there is no more rest for Hetty on this night than on the
previous one, when she had behaved so mutinously to poor Harry
Warrington. Some secret resolution must have inspired that gentle-
man, for after leaving Mr. Lambert's table, he paced the streets for a
while, and appeared at a late hour in the evening at Madame de Bern-
Btfein's house in Clarges Street. Her ladyship's health had been some-
what ailing of late, so that even her favourite routs were denied her,
and she was sitting over a quiet game of ecarte, with a divine of whom.
442 THE ' YIKGINIANS .
onr last news were from a lock-up house hard by that in which Harry
Warrington had been himself confined. George, at Harry's request,
had paid the little debt under which Mr. Sampson had suffered tem-
porarily. He had been at his living for a year. He may have paid
and contracted ever so many debts, have been in and out of jail many
times since we saw him. For some time past he had been back in
London stout and hearty as usual, and ready for any invitation to cards
or claret. Madame de Bernstein did not care to have her game inter-
rupted by her nephew, whose conversation had little interest now for
the fickle old woman. Next to the very young, I suppose the very
old are the most selfish. Alas, the heart hardens as the blood ceases
to run. The cold snow strikes down from the head, and checks the
glow of feeling. Who wants to survive into old age after abdicating
all his faculties one by one, and be sans teeth, sans eyes, sans memory,
sans hope, sans sympathy ? How fared it with those patriarchs of old
who lived for their nine centuries, and when were life's conditions so
changed that, after three-score years and ten, it became but a vexation
and a burden ?
Getting no reply but Yes and No to his brief speeches, poor Harry sat
awhile on a couch opposite his aunt, who shrugged her shoulders, had
her bank to her nephew, and continued her game with the Chaplain.
Sam{)Son sat opposite Mr. Warrington, and could see that something dis-
turbed him. His face was ^ ery pale, and his countenance disturbed and
full of yloom. ''Something has happened to him, ma'am," he whispered
to the Baroness.
"Bah!" She shrugged her shoulders again, and continued to deal
her cards. " What is the matter with you, sir ? " she at last said, at a
pause in the game, " that you have such a dismal countenance ? Chap-
lain, that last game makes us even, I think ! "
Harry got up from his place. "I am going on a journey: I am come
to bid you good-bye, aunt," he said, in a very tragical voice.
"On a journey ! Are you going home to America? I mark the
king, Chaplain, and play him."
No, Harry said : he was not going to America yet: he was going to
the Isle of Wight for the present.
" Indeed ! — a lovely spot!" says the Baroness. ^^ Bon jour, mon ami,
et hon voyage ! " And she kissed a hand to her nephew.
" I mayn't come back for some time, aunt," he groaned out.
" Indeed I We shall be incotisolable without you! Unless you have
a spade, Mr. Sampson, the game is mine. Good-bye, my child ! No
more about your journey at present : tell us about it when you come
back ! " And she gaily bade him farewell. He looked for a moment
piteously at her, and was gone.
" Something grave has happened, Madam," says the Chaplain.
" ! The boy is always getting into scrapes ! I suppose he has been
falling in love with one of those country-girls —what are their names,
Lamberts ? — with whom he is ever dawdling about. He has been doing
THE VIRGINIANS. 443
no good here for some time. I am disappointed in him, really quite
grieved about him — I will take two cards, if you please — again ? — quite
grieved. What do you think they say of his cousin — the Miss "Warring-
ton who made eyes at him when she thought he was a prize— they say
the King has remarked her, and the Yarmouth is creving with rage.
He, he ! — those Methodistical Warringtons ! They are not a bit less
worldly than their neighbours ; and, old as he is, if the Grand Signior
throws his pocket-handkerchief they will jump to catch it ! "
"All, Madam ; how your ladyship knows the world ! " sighs the Chap-
lain. *' I propose, if you please : *
" I have lived long enough in it, Mr. Sampson, to know something of
it. 'Tis sadly selfish, my dear sir, sadly selfish; and everybody is
struggling to pass his neighbour ! No, I can't give you any more cards.
You haven't the king? I play queen, knave, and a ten, — a sadly selfish
world, indeed. And here comes my chocolate I "
The more immediate interest of the cards entirely absorbs the old
woman. The door shuts out her nephew and his cares. Under his hat,
he bears them into the street, and paces the dark town for a while.
" Good God ! " he thinks, "what a miserable fellow I am, and what a
spendthrift of my life I have been ! I sit silent with George and his
friends. I am not clever and witty as he is. I am only a burthen to
him : and, if I would help him ever so much, don't know how. My
dear Aunt Lambert's kindness never tires, but I begin to be ashamed of
trying it. Why, even Hetty can't help turning on me ; and when she
tells me I am idle and should be doing something, ought I to be angry ?
The rest have left me. There's my cousins and uncle and my lady my
aunt, they have shown me the cold shoulder this long time. They didn't
even ask me to Norfolk when they went down to the country, and offer
me so much as a day's partridge shooting. I can't go to Castlewood —
after what has happened : I should break that scoundrel William's
bones ; and, faith, am well out of the place altogether."
He laughs a fierce laugh as he recals his adventures since he has been
in Europe. Money, friends, pleasure all have passed away, and he feels
the past like a dream. He strolls into White's Chocolate House, ^\here
the waiters have scarce seen him for a year. The parliament is up. Gen-
tlemen are away; there is not even any play goin^on: — not that h«
would join it, if there were. He has but a few pieces in his pocket;
George's drawer is open, and he may take what money he likes thence;
but very, very sparingly will he avail himself of his brother's repeated
invitation. He sits and drinks his glass in moody silence. Two or
three officers of the Guards enter from St. James's. He knew them in
former days, and the young men, who have been already dining and
drinking on guard, insist on more drink at the club. The other battalion
of their regiment is at AYinchester : it is going on this great expedition,
no one knows whither, which everybody is talking about. Cursed fate
that they do not belong to the other battalion ; and must stay and do
duty in London and at Kensington ! There is Webb, who was of their
444 THE VIRGINIANS.
regiment : he did well to exchange his company in the Coldstreams for
the lieutenant-colonelcy of the thirty ->econd. He will be of the expedi-
tion. Why, everybody is going ; and the young gentlemen mention a
score of names of men of the first birth and fashion, who have volun-
teered. " It ain't Hanoverians this time, commanded by the big Prince,"
says one young gentleman (whose relatives may have been Tories forty
years ago)—*' it's Englishmen, with the Guards at the head of 'em, and
a Marlborough for a leader ! Will the Frenchmen ever stand against
Uiein f No, by George, they are irresistible." And a fresh bowl is
called, and loud toasts are drunk to the success of the expedition.
Mr. Warrington, who is a cup too low, the young Guardsmen say,
walks away when they are not steady enough to be able to follow him,
thinks over the matter on his way to his lodgings, and lies thinking of
it all through the night.
" What is it, my boy ? " asks George Warrington of his brother, when
the latter enters his chamber very early on a blushing May morning.
'* I want a little money out of the drawer," says Harry, looking at his
brother. "I am sick and tired of London."
** Good heavens ! Can anybody be tired of London ? " George asks,
who has reasons for thinking it the most delightful place in the world.
" I have for one. I am sick and ill," says Harry.
*' You and Hetty have been quarrelling ? "
** She don't care a penny piece about me, nor I for her neither," says
Harry, nodding his head. *' But I am ill, and a little country air will
do me good," and he mentions how he thinks of going to visit Mr. Webb
in the Isle of Wight, and how a Portsmouth coach starts from Holborn.
" There's the till, Harry," says George, pointing from his bed. ** Put
your hand in, and take what you will. What a lovely morning, and
how fresh the Bedford House garden looks."
** God bless you, brother ! " Harry says.
" Have a good time, Harry ! " and down goes George's head on the
pillow again, and he takes his pencil and note-book from under his
bolster, and falls to polishing his verses, as Harry, with his cloak over
bis shoulder and a little valise in his hand, walks to the inn in Holborn
Tf^Hence the Portsmouth Machine starts.
CHAPTEE LXIII.
lEELFOMENE.
George Waeeington by no means allowed his legal studies to
obstruct his comfort and pleasures, or interfere with his precious health.
Madam Esmond had pointed out to him in her letters that though he
wore a student's gown, and sat down with a crowd of nameless peopli?
THE VIltGINIANS. 445
to hall- commons, he had himself a name, and a very ancient one, to
support, and could take rank with the first persons at home or in his own
country ; and desired that he would study as a gentleman, not a mere
professional drudge. "With this injunction the young man complied
obediently enough : so that he may be said not to have belonged to the
rank and file of the law, but may be considered to have been a volunteer
in her service, like some young gentlemen of whom we have just heard.
Though not so exacting as she since has become — though she allowed her
disciples much more leisure, much more pleasure, much more punchy
much more frequenting of coffee-houses and holiday-making, than she
admits now-a-days, when she scarce gives her votaries time for amuse-
ment, recreation, instruction, sleep, or dinner — the law a hundred
years ago was still a jealous mistress, and demanded a pretty exclusive
attention. Murray, we are told, might have been an Ovid, but he pre-
ferred to be Lord* Chief Justice, and to wear ermine instead of bays.
Perhaps Mr. Warrington might have risen to a peerage and the wool-
sack, had he studied very long and assiduously, — had he been a dex-
terous courtier, and a favourite of attornies : had he been other than he
was, in a word. He behaved to Themis with a very decent respect and
attention ; but he loved letters more than law always ; and the black
letter of Chaucer was infinitely more agreeable to him than the Gothic
pages of Hale and Coke.
Letters were loved indeed in those quaint times, and authors were
actually authorities. Gentlemen appealed to Yirgil or Lucan in the
Courts or the House of Commons. What said Statins, Juvenal — let
alone Tully or Tacitus — on such and such a point? Their reign is
over now, the good old Heathens : the worship of Jupiter and Juno is
not more out of mode than the cultivation of Pagan poetry or ethics.
The age of economists and calculators has succeeded, and Tooke'a
Pantheon is deserted and ridiculous. Now and then, perhaps, a Stanley
kills a kid, a Gladstone hangs up a wreath, a Lytton burns incense, in
honour of the Olympians. But what do they care at Lambeth, Bir-
mingham, the Tower Hamlets, for the ancient rites, divinities, worship ?
Who the plague are the Muses, and what is the use of all that Greek
and Latin rubbish ? What is Elicon, and who cares ? Who was
Thalia, pray, and what is the length of her i ? Is Melpomene's name
in three syllables or four ?
Now, it has been said how Mr. George in his youth, and in the long
leisure which he enjoyed at home, and during his imprisonment in the
French fort on the banks of Monongahela, had whiled away his idleness
by paying court to Melpomene ; and the result of their union was a
tragedy, which has been omitted in *' Bell's Theatre," though I dare
say it is no worse than some of the pieces printed there. Most young
men pay their respects to the Tragic Muse first, as they fall in love
with women who are a great deal older than themselves. Let the
candid reader own, if ever he had a literary turn, that his ambition
was of the very highest, and that however in his riper age, he might
446 THE VIRGimANS.
come down in his pretensions, and think that to translate an ode of
Horace, or to turn a song of Waller or Prior into decent alcaics or
Sapphics, was about the utmost of his capability, tragedy and epic only
did his green unknowing youth engage, and no prize but the highest
was fit for him.
George Warrington, then, on coming to London, attended the theatrical
performances at both houses, frequented the theatrical coffee-houses,
and heard the opinions of the critics, and might be seen at the Bed-
ford between the plays, or supping at the Cecil along with the wits
and actors when the performances were over. Here he gradually
became acquainted with the players and such of the writers and poets
as were known to the public. The tough old Mackliu, the frolicsome
Foote, the vivacious Hippisley, the sprightly Mr. Garrick himself, might
occasionally be seen at these houses of entertainment ; and our gentle-
man, by his wit and modesty, as well, perhaps, as for the high character
for wealth which he possessed, came to be very much liked in the coffee-
house circles, and found that the actors would drink a bowl of punch
with him, and the critics sup at his expense with great affability. To
be on terms of intimacy with an author or an actor has been an object
of delight to many a young man ; actually to hob and nob with Bobadil
or Henry the Fifth or Alexander the Great, to accept a pinch out of
Aristarchus's own box, to put Juliet into her coach, or hand Monimia
to her chair, are privileges which would delight most young men of a
poetic turn ; and no wonder George Warrington loved the theatre.
Then he had the satisfaction of thinking that his mother only half
approved of plays and playhouses, and of feasting on fruit forbidden at
home. He gave more than one elegant entertainment to the players,
and it was even said that one or two distinguished geniuses had con-
descended to borrow money of him.
And as he polished and added new beauties to his masterpiece, we
may be sure that he took advice of certain friends of his, and that they
gave him. applause and counsel. Mr. Spencer, his new acquaintance of
the Temple, gave a breakfast at his chambers in Fig Tree Court, when
Mr. Warrington read part of his play, and the gentlemen present pro-
nounced that it had uncommon merit. Even the learned Mr. Johnson,
who was invited, was good enough to say that the piece showed talent.
It warred against the unities, to be sure ; but these had been violated by
other authors, and Mr. Warrington might sa6rifice them as well as
another. There was in Mr. W.'s tragedy a something which reminded
him both of Coriolanus and Othello. " And two very good things too,
sir!" the author pleaded. ''Well, well, there was no doubt on that
point ; and 'tis certain your catastrophe is terrible, just, and being in part
true, is not the less awful," remarks Mr. Spencer.
Now the plot of Mr. Warrington's tragedy was quite full indeed of
battle and murder. A favourite book of his grandfather had been the
life of old George Frundsberg of Mindelheim, a colonel of foot-folk
in the Imperial service at Favia fight, and during the wars of the
TnE YIRGIXIANS. 447
Constable Bourbon : and one of Frundsberg's military companions was a
certain Carpzow, or Carpezan, whom our friend selected as his tragedy hero.
His first act, as it at present stands in Sir George Warrington's
manuscript, is supposed to take place before a convent on the Rhine,
which the Lutherans, under Carpezan, are besieging. A godless gang
these Lutherans are. They have pulled the beards of Roman friars,
and torn the veils of hundreds of religious women. A score of these
are trembling within the walls of the convent yonder, of which the
garrison, unless the expected succours arrive before mid-day, has pro-
mised to surrender. Meanwhile there is armistice, and the sentries
within look on with hungry eyes, as the soldiers and camp people
gamble on the grass before the gate. Twelve o'clock, ding, ding, dong !
it sounds upon the convent bell. No succours have arrived. Open
gates, warder ! and give admission to the famous Protestant hero, the
terror of Turks on the Danube, and Papists in the Lombard plains —
Colonel Carpezan ! See, here he comes, clad in complete steel, his
hammer of battle over his shoulder, with which he has battered so
many infidel sconces, his flags displayed, his trumpets blowing. ''Xo
rudeness, my men," says Carpezan, " the wine is yours, and the convent
larder and cellar are good : the church plate shall be melted : any of
the garrison who choose to take service with Gaspar Carpezan are
welcome, and shall have good pay. No insult to the religious ladies !
I have promised them a safe conduct, and he who lays a finger on them,
hangs ! Mind that, Provost Marshal ! " The Provost Marshal, a huge
fellow in a red doublet, nods his head.
" We shall see more of that Provost Marshal, or executioner," Mr.
Spencer explains to his guests.
" A very agreeable acquaintance, I am sure, — shall be delighted to
meet the gentleman again ! " says Mr. Johnson, wagging his head over
his tea. *' This scene of the mercenaries, the camp-followers, and their
wild sports, is novel and stirring, Mr. Warrington, and I make you my
compliments on it. The Colonel has gone into the convent, I think ?
Now let us hear what he is going to do there."
The Abbess, and one or two of her oldest ladies, make their appear-
ance before the conqueror. Conqueror as he is, they beard him in their
sacred halls. They have heard of his violent behaviour in conventual
establishments before. That hammer, which he always carries in
action, has smashed many sacred images in religious houses. Pounds
and pounds of convent plate is he known to have melted, the sacri-
legious plunderer! No wonder the Abbess-Princess of St. Mary's, a
lady of violent prejudices, free language, and noble birth, has a disiilr.?
to the low-born heretic who lords it in her convent, and tells Carpezaii
a bit of her mind, as the phrase is. This scene, in which the lady gets
somewhat better of the Colonel, was liked not a little by Mr. War-
rington's audience at the Temple. Terrible as he might be in war,
Carpezan was shaken at first by the Abbess's brisk opening charge of
words; and, conqueror as he was, seemed at first to be conquered by
448 THE VIRGINIANS.
his actual prisoner. But such an old soldier was not to be beaten
ultimately by any woman. "Pray, madam," says he, "how many
ladies are there in your convent, for whom my people shall provide con-
veyance ? The Abbess, with a look of much trouble and anger, says
that, besides herself, the noble Sisters of Saint Mary's House are twenty
— twenty-three." She was going to say twenty-four, and now says
twenty-three? "Ha! why this hesitation?" asks Captain Ulric, one
of Carpezan's gayest oflScers.
The dark chief pulls a letter from his pocket. " I require from you,
madam," he says, sternly, to the lady abbess, " the body of the noble
lady Sybilla of Hoy a. Her brother was my favourite captain, slain by
ray side, in the Milanese. By his death, she becomes heiress of his
lands. 'Tis said a greedy uncle brought her hither ; and fast immured
the lady against her will. The damsel shall herself pronounce her
fate — to stay a cloistered sister of St. Mary's, or to return to home and
liberty, as Lady Sybil, Baroness of ." Ha! The Abbess was
greatly disturbed by this question. She says, haughtily: "There is
no Lady Sybil in this house : of which every inmate is under your pro-
tection, and sworn to go free. The Sister Agnes was a nun professed,
and what was her laud and wealth revert to this Order."
" Give me straightway the body of the Lady Sybil of Hoya I " roars
Carpezan, in greath wrath. "If not, I make a signal to my reiters,
and give you and your convent up to war."
" Faith, if I lead the storm, and have my right, His not my Lady
Abbess that I'll choose" (says Captain Ulric), "but rather some plump,
smiling, red-lipped maid like — ^like — " Here, as he, the sly fellow, is
looking under the veils of the two attendant nuns, the stern Abbess
cries, " Silence, fellow, with thy ribald talk ! The lady, warrior, whom
you ask of me is passed away from sin, temptation, vanity, and three
days since our Sister Agnes — died."
At this announcement Carpezan is immensely agitated. The Abbess
calls upon the Chaplain to confirm her statement. Ghastly and pale,
the old man has to own that three days since the wretched Sister Agnes
was buried.
This is too much ! In the pocket of his coat of mail Carpezan has
a letter from Sister Agnes herself, in which she announces that she is
going to be buried indeed, but in an oubliette of the convent, where she
may either be kept on water and bread, or die starved outright. He
seizes the unflinching Abbess by the arm, whilst Captain Ulric lays hold
of the Chaplain by the throat. The Colonel blows a blast upon his
horn : in rush his furious lanzknechts from without. Crash, bang !
They knock the convent walls about. And in the midst of flames,
screams, and slaughter, who is presently brought in by Carpezan him-
self, and fainting on his shoulder, but Sybilla herself. A little sister
nun (that gay one with the red lips) had pointed out to the Colonel and
Ulric the way to Sister Agnes's dungeon, and, indeed, had been the
means of making her situation known to the Lutheran chief.
THE ^^:IlGIXIA^^s. 449
•' The convent is suppressed with a vengeance," says Mr. "Warring-
ton. '' We end our first act with the burning of the place, the roars of
triumph of the soldierj-, and the outcries of the nuns. They had best
go change their dresses immediately, for they will have to be court
ladies in the next act — as you will see." Here the gentlemen talked
the matter over. If the piece were to be done at Drury Lane, Mrs.
Pritchard would hardly like to be Lady Abbess, as she doth but appear
in the first act. Miss Pritchard might make a pretty Sybilla, and Miss
Gates the attendant nun. Mr. Garrick was scarce tall enough for
Carpezan — though, when he is excited, nobody ever thinks of him but
as big as a grenadier. Mr. Johnson owns AYoodward will be a good
Ulric, as he plays the Mercutio parts very gaily — and so, by one and
t'other the audience fancies the play already on the boards, and casts
the characters.
In act the second, Carpezan has married Sybilla. He has enriched him-
self in the wars, has been ennobled by the Emperor, and lives at his
castle on the Danube in state and splendour.
But, truth to say, though married, rich, and ennobled, the Lord
Carpezan was not happy. It may be that in his wild life, as leader of
condottieri on both sides, he had committed crimes which agitated his
mind with remorse. It may be that his rough soldier-manners consorted
ill with his imperious high-born bride. She led him such, a life — I am
narrating as it were the Warrington manuscript, which is too long to
print in entire — taunting him with his low birth, his vulgar companions,
whom the old soldier loved to see about him, and so forth — that there
were times when he rather wished that he had never rescued this lovely,
quarrelsome, wayward vixen from the oubliette out of which he fished
her. After the bustle of the first act this is a quiet one, and passed
chiefly in quarrelling between the Baron and Baroness Carpezan, until
horns blow, and it is announced that the young King of Bohemia and
Hungary is coming hunting that way.
Act III. is passed at Prague, whither his Majesty has invited Lord
Carpezan and his wife, with noble offers of preferment to the latter.
From Baron he shall be promoted to be Count, from Colonel he shall bo
General-in-Chief. His wife is the most brilliant and fascinating of all
the ladies of the court — and as for Carpzoff "
** 0, stay — I have it — I know your story, sir, now," says Mr. Johnson.
** 'Tis in Meteranus, in the Theatrum Universum. I read it in Oxford
as a boy — Carpezanus or Carpzoff* "
" That is the fourth act," says Mr. Warrington. In the fourth act
the young King's attentions towards Sybilla grow more and more
marked; but her husband, battling against his jealousy, long refuses to
yield to it, until his wife's criminality is put beyond a doubt — and here
he read the act, which closes with the terrible tragedy which actually
happened. Being convinced of his wife's guilt, Carpezan caused the
executioner who followed his regiment to slay her in her own palace.
And the curtain of the act falls just after the dreadful deed is done, ia
G Q
'450 THE YTEGINIANS.
a side chamber illuminated by the moon shining through a great oriel
window, under which the King comes with his lute, and plays the song
which was to be the signal between him and his guilty victim.
This song (writ in the ancient style, and repeated in the piece, being
sung in the third act previously at a great festival given by the King
and Q,ueen), was pronounced by Mr. Johnson to be a happy imitation
of Mr. Waller's manner, and its gay repetition at the moment of guilt,
murder, and horror, very much deepened the tragic gloom of the
scene.
"But whatever came afterwards?" he asked. *' I remember in the
Theatrum, Carpezan is said to have been taken into favour again by
Count Mansfield, and doubtless to have murdered other folks on the
reformed side."
Here our poet has departed from historic truth. In the fifth act of
"Carpezan" King Louis of Hungary and Bohemia (sufficiently terror-
stricken, no doubt, by the sanguinary termination of his intrigue) has
received word that the Emperor Solyman is invading his Hungarian
dominions. Enter two noblemen who relate how, in the council which
the King held upon the news, the injured Carpezan rushed infuriated
into the royal presence, broke his sword, and flung it at the King's feet
— along with a glove which he dared him to wear, and which he swore
he would one day claim. After that wild challenge the rebel fled from
Prague, and had not since been heard of; but it was reported that he
had joined the Turkish invader, assumed the turban, and was now in
the camp of the Sultan, whose white tents glance across the river yonder,
and against whom the King was now on his march. Then the King
comes to his tent with his generals, prepares his order of battle, and dis-
misses them to their posts, keeping by his side an aged and faithful
knight, his master of the horse, to whom he expresses his repentance for
his past crimes, his esteem for his good and injured Q,ueen, and his deter-
mination to meet the day's battle like a man.
" What is this fleld called ?"
"Mohacz, my liege!" says the old warrior, adding the remark that
"Ere set of sun, Mohacz will see a battle bravely won."
Trumpets and alarms now sound ; they are the cymbals and barbaric
music of the Janissaries : we are in the Turkish camp, and yonder, sur-
rounded by turbaned chiefs, walks the Sultan Solyman's friend, the
conqueror of Ehodes, the redoubted Grand Yizier.
Who is that warrior in an Eastern habit, but with a glove in his
cap ? 'Tis Carpezan. Even Solyman knew his courage and ferocity as
a soldier. He knows the ordinance of the Hungarian host : in what
arms King Louis is weakest : how his cavalry, of which the shock is
tremendous, should be received, and inveigled into yonder morass,
where certain death may await them— he prays for a command in the
front, and as near as possible to the place where the traitor King Louis
will engage. " 'Tis well," says the grim Vizier, " our invincible
Emperor surveys the battle from yonder tower. At the end of the day,
THE VIRGINIAxVS. 451
lie will know how to reward your valour." The signal-guns tire — the
trumpets blow — the Turkish captains retire, vowing death to the infidel,
and eternal fidelity to the Sultan.
And now the battle begins in earnest, and with those various incidents
which the lover of the theatre knoweth. Christian knights and Turkish
warriors clash and skirmish over the stage. Continued alarms are
sounded. Troops on both sides advance and retreat. Carpezan, with
his glove in his cap, and his dreadful hammer smashing all before him,
rages about the field, calling for King Louis. The renegade is about to
slay a warrior who faces him, but recognising young Ulric, his ex-
captain, he drops the uplifted hammer, and bids him fly, and think of
Carpezan. He is softened at seeing his young friend, and thinking of
former times when they fought and conquered together in the cause of
Protestantism. Ulric bids him to return, but of course that is now out
of the question. They fight. Ulric will have it, and down he goes under
the hammer. The renegade melts in sight of his wounded comrade,
when who appears but King Louis, his plumes torn, his sword hacked,
his shield dented with a thousand blows which he has received and
delivered during the day's battle. Ha! who is this? The guilty
monarch would turn away (perhaps Macbeth may have done so before),
but Carpezan is on him. All his softness is gone. He rages like a fury.
"An equal fight!" he roars. **A traitor against a traitor! Stand,
King Louis ! False King, false knight, false friend — by this glove in
my helmet, I challenge you ! " And he tears the guilty token out of his
cap, and flings it at the King.
Of course they set-to, and the monarch falls under the terrible arm
of the man whom he has injured. He dies, uttering a few incoherent
words of repentance, and Carpezan, leaning upon his murderous mace,
utters a heart-broken soliloquy over the royal corpse. The Turkish
warriors have gathered meanwhile : the dreadful day is their own.
Yonder stands the dark Yizier, surrounded by his janissaries, whose
bows and swords are tired of drinking death. He surveys the Renegade
standing over the corpse of the King.
" Christian renegade ! " he says, " Allah has given us a great victory.
The arms of the Sublime Emperor are everywhere triumphant. The
Christian King is slain by you."
♦• Peace to his soul ! He died like a good knight," gasps Ulric, himself
dying on the field.
"In this day's battle," the grim Yizier continues, "no man hatn
comported himself more bravely than you. You are made Bassa of
Tj ansylvania ! Advance, bowmen — Fire ! "
An arrow quivers in the breast of Carpezan.
" Bassa of Transylvania, you were a traitor to your King, who lies
murdered by your hand !" continues grim Vizier. "You contributed
more than any soldier to this day's great victory. 'Tis thus my sublime
Emperor meetly rewards you. Sound trumpets ! We march for Vienna
to-night!"
G 6 2
THE YIllGINIANS.
Aud the curtain drops as Carpezan, crawling towards his djing
comrade, lasses his hands, and gasps —
" Forgive me, Ulric ! "
When Mr. "Warrington has finished reading his tragedy, he turns
round to Mr. Johnson, modestly, and asks, —
" What say you, sir ? Is there any chance for me ?"
But the opinion of this most eminent critic is scarce to be given, for
Mr. Johnson had been asleep for some time, and frankly owned that he
had lost the latter part of the play.
The little auditory begins to hum and stir as the noise of the speaker
ceased. George may have been very nervous when he first commenced
to read ; but everybody allows that he read the 'last two acts uncom-
monly well, and makes him a compliment upon his matter and manner.
Perhaps everybody is in good humour because the piece has come to an
end. Mr. Spencer's servant hands about refreshing drinks. The Tem-
plars speak out their various opinions whilst they sip the negus. They
are a choice band of critics, familiar with the pit of the theatre, and
they treat Mr. Warrington's play with the gravity which such a subject
demands.
Mr. Fountain suggests that the Yizier should not say ''Fire!" when
he bids the archers kill Carpezan, — as you certainly don't Jire with a
bow and arrows. A note is taken of the objection.
Mr. Figtree, who is of a sentimental turn, regrets that Ulric could not
be saved, and married to the comic heroine.
" Nay, sir, there was an utter annihilation of the Hungarian army at
Mohacz," says Mr. Johnson, "and Ulric must take his knock on the
head with the rest. He could only be ^aved by flight, and you wouldn't
have a hero run away ! Pronounce sentence of death against Captain
Ulric, but kill him with honours of war.'*
Messrs. Essex and Tanfield wonder to one another who is this queer
looking j^ut whom Spencer has invited, and who contradicts everybody ;
and they suggest a boat up the river and a little fresh air after the
iatigues of the tragedy.
The general opinion is decidedly favourable to Mr. Warrington's per-
formance; and Mr. Johnson's opinion, on which he sets a special value,
is the most favourable of all. Perhaps Mr. Johnson is not sorry to com-
pliment a young gentleman of fashion and figure like Mr. W. " Up
to the death of the heroine,'* he says, ** I am frankly with you, sir.
And I may speak, as a play-wright who have killed my own heroine,
and had my share of the plausus in thcatro. To hear your own lines
nobly delivered to an applauding house, is indeed a noble excitement.
I like to see a young man of good name and lineage who condescends to
think that the Tragic Muse is not below his advances. It was to a
sordid roof that I invited her, and I asked her to rescue me from pG\ erty
aud squalor. Happy you, sir, who can meet her upon equal terms, and
can afibrd to marry her without a poition ! "
THE VIRGINIANS. 453
** I doubt whether the greatest genius is not debased who has to make
a bargain with Poetry," remarks Mr. Spencer.
" J^ay, sir," Mr. Johnson answered, " I doubt if many a great genius
would work at all without bribes and necessities ; and so a man had
better marry a poor Muse for good and all, for better or worse, than
dally with a rich one. I make you my compliment of your play, Mr.
Warrington, and if you want an introduction to the stage, shall be very
happy if I can induce my friend Mr. Garrick to present you."
" Mr. Garrick shall be his sponsor," cried the florid Mr. Figtree.
"Melpomene shall be his godmother, and he shall have the witches'
cauldron in Macbeth for a christening font."
" Sir, I neither said font nor godmother," remarks the man of letters.
** I would have no play contrary to morals or religion : nor, as I conceive, is
Mr. Warrington's piece otherwise than friendly to them. Yice is chastised,
as it should be, even in Kings, though perhaps we judge of their tempta-
tions too lightly. Revenge is punished — as not to be lightly exercised
by our limited notion of justice. It may have been Carpezan's wife who
perverted the King, and not the King who led the woman astray. At
any rate, Louis is rightly humiliated for his crime, and the Renegade
most justly executed for his. I wish you a good afternoon, gentle-
men ! " And with these remarks, the great author took his leave of the
company.
Towards the close of the reading, General Lambert had made his ap-
pearance at Mr. Spencer's chambers, and had listened to the latter part
of the tragedy. The performance over, he and George took their way
to the latter's lodgings in the first place, and subsequently to the
General's own house, where the young author was expected, in order to
recount the reception which his play had met from his Temple critics.
At Mr. Warrington's apartments in Southampton Row, they found a
letter awaiting George, which the latter placed in his pocket unread, so
that he might proceed immediately with his companion to Soho. We
may be sure the ladies there were eager to know about the Carpezan's
fate in the morning's small rehearsal. Hetty said George was so shy,
that perhaps it would be better for all parties if some other person had
read the play. Theo, on the contrary, cried out :
" Read it, indeed ! Who can read a poem better than the author who
feels it in his heart ? And George had his whole heart in the piece ! "
Mr. Lambert very likely thought that somebody else's whole heart was
in the piece, too, but did not utter this opinion to Miss Theo.
*'I think Harry would look very well in your figure of a Prince,'^
says the General. "That scene where he takes leave of his wife before
departing for the wars reminds me of your brother's manner not a
little."
" 0, Papa! surely Mr. Warrington himself would act the Prince's part
best! " cries Miss Theo.
" And b3 deservedly slain in battle at the end ?" asks the father of
the house.
451 THE YIEGINIANS.
" I did not say that ; only that Mr. George would make a very good
Vrince, Papa ! " cries Miss Theo.
" In which case he would find a suitahle Princess, I have no doubt.
What news of your brother Harry ? "
George, who has been thinking about theatrical triumphs ; about
monumentum tm^e perennius ; about lilacs ; about love whispered and
tenderly accepted, remembers that he has a letter from Harry in hia
pocket, and gaily produces it.
" Let us hear what Mr. Truant says for himself. Aunt Lambert ! " cries
George, breaking the seal.
Why is he so disturbed, as he reads the contents of his letter ? Why
do the women look at him with alarmed eyes ? And why, above all, is
Hetty so pale ?
" Here is the letter," says George, and begins to read it.
" Eyde, Jtme 1, 1758.
*' I did not tell my dearest George what I hoped and intended,
Jvhen I left home on Wednesday. 'Twas to see Mr. Webb at Portsmouth
or the Isle of Wight, wherever his Reg* was, and if need was to go
down on my hnees to him to take me as volunteer with him on the
Expedition. I took boat from Portsmouth, where I learned that he was
with our regiment incampt at the village of Ryde. Was received by
him most kindly, and my petition granted out of hand. That is why I
say our regiment. We are eight gentlemen volunteers with Mr. Webb,
all men of birth, and good fortunes except poor me, who don't deserve
one. We are to mess with the officers ; we take the right of the collamn,
and have always the right to be in front, and in an hour we embark on
Doard his Majesty's Ship the Rochester of 60 guns, while our Commo-
dore's, Mr. Howe's, is the Essex, 70. His squadron is about 20 ships,
and I should think 100 transports at least. Though 'tis a secret expe-
dition, we make no doubt France is our destination — where I hope to see
my friend the Monsieurs once more, and win my colours a la poind de
mon epee, as we used to say in Canada. Perhaps my service as inter-
preter may be useful ; I speaking the language not so well as some one I
hnow, but better than most here.
"I scarce venture to write to our mother to tell her of this step. Will
you, v/ho have a coxing tongue ivill loheadle any one, write to her as soon
as you liave finisht the famous tradgedy i Will you give my affectionate
respects to dear General Lambert and ladies ; and if any accident should
happen, I know you will take care of poor Gumbo as belonging to my
dearest best George's most affectionate brother,
" Heney E. Wareixgton.
<<p^S. — Love to all at home when you write, including Dempster,
Mountain, and Fanny M. and all the people, and duty to my honored
mother, wishing I had pleased her better. And if I said anything unkind
THE YIRGINLVKS. 455
to dear Miss Hester Lambert, I know she will forgive me, and pray God
bless all.— H. E. W.
" To G. Esmond "Wauringtox, Esq.,
*' At Mr. Scrace's house in Southampton Row,
" Opposite Bedford House Gardens, London."
He has not read the last words with a very steady voice. Mr.
Lambert sits silent, though not a little moved. Theo and her mother look
at one another ; but Hetty remains with a cold face and a stricken
heart. She thinks " He is gone to danger, perhaps to death, and it was
I sent him I "
CHAPTEE LXiy.
IS WHICH HAEEY LIYES TO TIGHT ANOTHER DAT.
The trusty Gumbo could not console himself for the departure of his
beloved master : at least, to judge from his tears and howls on first
hearing the news of Mr. Harry's enlistment, you would have thought
the negro's heart must break at the separation. Ko wonder he went for
sympathy to the maid-servants at Mr. Lambert's lodgings. AVherever
that dusky youth was, he sought comfort in the society of females.
Their fair and tender bosoms knew how to feel pity for the poor African,
and the darkness of Gumbo's complexion was no more repulsive to them
than Othello's to Desdemona. I believe Europe has never been so
squeamish in regard to Africa, as a certain other respected Q-uarter. Nay,
some Africans — witness the Chevalier de St. Georges, for instance — have
been notorious favourites with the fair sex.
So, in his humbler walk, was Mr. Gumbo. The Lambert servants
wept freely in his company : the maids kindly considered him not only
as Mr. Harry's man, but their brother. Hetty could not help laughing
when she found Gumbo roaring because his master had gone a volum-
teer, as he called it, and had not taken him. He was ready to save
Master Harry's life any day, and would have done it, and had himself
cut in twenty tousand hundred pieces for Master Harry, that he would !
Meanwhile, iS'ature must be supported, and he condescended to fortify
her by large supplies of beer and cold meat in the kitchen. That he
was greedy, idle, and told lies, is certain ; but yet Hetty gave him half-
a-crown, and was especially kind to him. Her tongue, that was wont to
wag so pertly, was so gentle now, that you might fancy it had never
made a joke. She moved about the house mum and meek. She was
humble to Mamma, thankful to John and Betty when they waited at
dinner ; patient to Polly when the latter pulled her hair in combing it ;
long-suffering when Charley from school trod on her toes, or deranged
her workbox : silent in Papa's company, — 0, such a transmogrified little
456 THE VIRGINIANS,
Hetty ! If Papa had ordered her to roast the leg of mutton, or walk to
church arm-in-arm with Gumbo, she would have made a curtsey, and said,
"Yes, if you please, dear Papa!" Leg of mutton ! What sort of
meal were some poor volunteers having, with the cannon-balls flying
about their heads ? Church ? "When it comes to the prayer in time of
war, how her knees smite together as she kneels, and hides her
head in the pew ! She holds down her head when the parson reads out
"Thou shalt do no murder" from the communion-rail, and fancies he
must be looking at her. How she thinks of all travellers by land or by
water ! How she sickens as she runs to the paper to read if there is
news of the Expedition ! How she watches Papa when he comes home
from his Ordnance Office, and looks in his face to see if there is good
news or bad ! Is he well ? Is he made a General yet ? Is he wounded
and made a prisoner ? ah, me ! or, perhaps, are both his legs taken oflf
by one shot, like that pensioner they saw in Chelsea Garden t'other
day ? She would go on wooden legs all her life, if his can but bring
liim safe home ; at least, she ought never to get up off her knees until
he is returned. "Haven't you heard of people, Theo," says she, "whose
hair has grown grey in a single night ? I shouldn't wonder if mine did, —
shouldn't wonder in the least." And she looks in the glass to ascertain
that phenomenon.
"Hetty, dear, you used not to be so nervous when Papa was away in
Minorca," remarks Theo.
" Ah, Theo ! one may very well see that George is not with the army,
but safe at home," rejoins Hetty ; whereat the elder sister blushes, and
looks very pensive. Au fait, if Mr. George had been in the army, that,
you see, would have been another pair of boots. Meanwhile, we don't
intend to harrow anybody's kind feelings any longer, but may as well
state that Harry is, for the present, as safe as any officer of the Life
Guards at Regent's Park Barracks.
The first expedition in which our gallant volunteer was engaged may
be called successful, but certainly was not glorious. The British Lion,
or any other lion, cannot always have a worthy enemy to combat, or a
battle royal to deliver. Suppose he goes forth in quest of a tiger who
won't come, and lays his paws on a goose, and gobbles him up ? Lions,
we know, must live like any other animals. But suppose, advancing
into the forest in search of the tiger aforesaid, and bellowing his chal-
lenge of war, he espies not one but six tigers coming towards him ?
This manifestly is not his game at all. He puts his tail between his
K>yal legs, and retreats into his own snug den as quickly as he may.
Were he to attempt to go and fight six tigers, you might write that Lion
down an Ass.
Now, Harry Warrington's first feat of war was in this wise. He and
about 13,000 other fighting men embarked in various ships and trans-
ports on the 1st of June, from the Isle of Wight, and at daybreak on
the 5th the fleet stood in to the Bay of Cancale in Brittany. For awhile
he and the gentlemen volunteers had the pleasure of examining tlie
THE YIEGDsIANS. 457
French coast from their ships, whilst the Commander-in-Chief and the
Commodore reconnoitred the bay in a cutter. Cattle were seen, and
some dragoons, who trotted off into the distance ; and a little fort with
a couple of guns had the audacity to fire at his Grace of Marlborough
and the Commodore in the cutter. By two o'clock the whole British
lieet was at anchor, and signal was made for all the grenadier companies
of eleven regiments to embark on board flat-bottomed boats and assemble
round the Commodore's ship, the Essex. Meanwhile, Mr. Howe, hoisting
his broad pennant on board the Success frigate, went in as near as
possible to shore, followed by the other frigates, to protect the landing of
the troops ; and now, with Lord George Sackville and General Dury in
command, the gentlemen volunteers, the grenadier companies, and three
battalions of guards pulled to shore.
The gentlemen volunteers could not do any heroic deed upon this
occasion, because the French, who should have stayed to fight them,
ran away, and the frigates having silenced the fire of the little fort
which had disturbed the reconnoissance of the Commander-in-Chief,
the army presently assaulted it, taking the whole garrison prisoner, and
shooting him in the leg. Indeed he was but one old gentleman who
gallantly had fired his two guns, and who told his conquerors, " If
every Frenchman had acted like me, you would not have landed at
Cancale at all."
The advanced detachment of invaders took possession of the village
of Cancale, where they lay upon their arms all night ; and our volunteer
was joked by his comrades about his eagerness to go out upon the war-
path, and bring in two or three scalps of Frenchmen. None such,
however, fell under his tomahawk ; the only person slain on the whole
day being a French gentleman, who was riding with his servant, and
was surprised by volunteer Lord Downe, marching in the front with a
company of Kingsley's. My Lord Downe offered the gentleman quarter,
which he foolishly refused, whereupon he, his servant, and the two
horses, were straightway shot.
Next day the whole force was landed, and advanced from Cancale to
St. Malo. All the villages were emptied through which the troops passed,
and the roads were so narrow in many places that the men had to march
single file, and might have been shot down from behind the tall leafy
hedges had there been any enemy to disturb them.
At nightfall the army arrived before St. Malo, and were saluted by a
fire of artillery from that town, which did little damage in the darkness.
Under cover of this, the British set fire to the ships, wooden buildings,
pitch and tar magazines in the harbour, and made a prodigious confla-
gration that lasted the whole night.
This feat was achieved without any attempt on the part of the
French to molest the British force : but, as it was confidently asserted
that there was a considerable French force in the town of St. Malo,
though they wouldn't come out, his Grace the Duko of Marlborough
and my Lord George Sackville determined not to disturb the garri-
458 THE VIRGI^^IANS.
son, marched back to Cancale again, and — and bo got on board their
If this were not a veracious history, don't you see that it would have
been easy to send our Virginian on a more glorious campaign ? Exactly
four weeks after his departure from England, Mr. Warrington found
himself at Portsmouth again, and addressed a letter to his brother
George, with which the latter ran off to Dean Street so soon as ever he
received it.
*• Glorious news, ladies !" cries he, finding the Lambert family all at
breakfast. '' Our champion has come back. He has undergone all sorts
of dangers, but has survived them all. He has seen dragons — upon my
word, he says so."
*' Dragons ! What do you mean, Mr. Warrington ?"
** But not killed any — he says so, as you shall hear. He writes : —
<'Deaeest Brother,
*' I think you will be glad to hear that I am returned, without
any commission as yet ; without any wounds or glory ; but, at any rate,
alive and harty. On board our ship, we were almost as crowded as
poor Mr. Holwell and his friends in their Black Hole at Calicutta. We
had rough weather, and some of the gentlemen volunteers, who prefer
smooth water, grumbled not a little. My gentlemen's stomachs are
dainty ; and after Braund's cookery and White's kick-shaws, they don't
like plain sailor's rum and hishet. But I, who have been at sea before,
took my rations and can of flip very contentedly : being determined to
put a good face on everything before our fine English macaronis, and
show that a Virginia gentleman is as good as the best of 'em. I wish,
for the honour of Old Virginia, that I had more to brag about. But all
I can say in truth is, that we have been to France and come back again.
Why, I don't think even your tragich pen could make anything of such
a campaign as ours has been. We landed on the 6 at Cancalle Bay, we
eaw a few dragons on a hill ..."
''There! Did I not tell you there were dragons?" asks George,
laughing.
" Mercy ! What can he mean by dragons ?" cries Hetty.
" Immense long-tailed monsters, with steel scales on their backs, who
vomit fire, and gobble up a virgin a-day. Haven't you read about them
in The Seven Champions?" says Papa. "Seeing St. George's flag, I
suppose they slunk off'."
" I have read of 'em," says the little boy from Chartreux, solemnly.
*' They like to eat women. One was going to eat Andromeda, you know,
Papa : and Jason killed another, who was guarding the apple-tree."
"... A few dragons on a hill," George resumes, " who rode away
from us without engaging. We slept under canvass. We marched to
St. Malo, and burned ever so many privateers there. And we went on
board shipp again, without ever crossing swords with an enemy or meet-
ing any except a few poor devils whom the troops plundered. Better
THE YIRGINIAXS. 459
iuek next time ! This hasn't been very much nor particular glorious ;
but I have liked it for my part. I have smelt jjoivder^ besides a deal of
rosn and pitch we burned. I've seen the enemy ; have sleppt under
canvass, and been dreadful crowdid and sick at sea. I like it. My best
compliments to dear Aunt Lambert, and tell Miss Hetty I wasn't verij
much fritened when I saw the French horse.
** Your most affectionate brother,
" H. E. WAEEI^'GTO^^"
"We hope Miss Hetty's qualms of conscience were allayed by Harry's
announcement that his expedition was over, and that he had so far taken
no hurt. Far otherwise. Mr. Lambert, in the course of his official
duties, had occasion to visit the troops at Portsmouth and the Isle of
Wight, and George Warrington bore him company. They found Harry
vastly improved in spirits and health from the excitement produced by
the little campaign, quite eager and pleased to learn his new military
duties, active, cheerful, and healthy, and altogether a different person
from the listless moping kd who had dawdled in London coffee-houses
and Mrs. Lambert's drawing-room. The troops were under canvass;
the weather was glorious, and George found his brother a ready pupil in
a liae brisk open-air school of war. Not a little amused, the elder
brother, arm-in-arm with the young volunteer, paced the streets of the
warlike city, recalled his own brief military experiences of two years
back, and saw here a much greater army than that ill-fated one of which
he had shared the disasters. The expedition, such as we have seen it,
was certainly not glorious, and yet the troops and the nation were in
high spirits with it. We were said to have humiliated the proud Gaul.
AVe should have vanquished as well as humbled him had he dared to
appear. What valour, after all, is like British valour ? I daresay some
such expressions have been heard in later times. Xot that I would hint
that our people brag much more than any other, or more now than
formerly. Have not these eyes beheld the battle-grounds of Leipzig,
Jena, I)resden, Waterloo, Blenheim, Bunker's Hill, New Orleans?
What heroic nation has not fought, has not conquered, has not run away,
has not bragged in its turn? Well, the British nation was much
excited by the glorious victory of St. Malo. Captured treasures were
sent home and exhibited in London. The people were so excited, that
more laurels and more victories were demanded, and the enthusiastic
army went forth to seek some.
Yfith this new expedition went a volunteer so distinguished, that we
must give him precedence of all other amateur soldiers or sailors. This
was our sailor Prince, H.R.H. Prince Edward, who was conveyed on
board the Essex in the ship's twelve-oared barge, the standard of England
fiying in the bow of the boat, the admiral with his flag and boat following
the Prince's, and all the captains following in seniority.
Away sails the fleet, Harry, in high health and spirits, waving his hat
to his friends as they cheer from the shore. He must and will have his
460 THE VIRGINIANS,
commission before long. There can be no difficulty about that, George
thinks. There is plenty of money in his little store to buy his brother's
ensigncy ; but if he can win it without purchase by gallantry and good
conduct, that were best. The colonel of the regiment reports highly of
his recruit ; men and officers like him. It is easy to see that he is a
young fellow of good promise and spirit.
Hip, hip, huzzay ! What famous news are these which arrive ten days
after the expedition has sailed ? On the 7th and 8th of August his
Majesty's troops have effected a landing in the Bay des Marais, two
leagues westward of Cherbourg, in the face of a large body of the enerny.
Awed by the appearance of British valour, that large body of the enemy
hRS disappeared. Cherbourg has surrendered at discretion ; and the
English colours are hoisted on the three outlying forts. Seven-and-
twenty ships have been burned in t'he harbours, and a prodigious number
of fine brass cannon taken. As for your common iron guns, we have
destroyed 'em, likewise the basin (about which the Mounseers bragged
so), and the two piers at the entrance to the harbour.
There is no end of jubilation in London ; just as Mr. Howe's guns
arrive from Cherbourg, come Mr. "Wolfe's colours captured at Louisbourg.
The colours are taken from Kensington to St. Paul's, escorted by four-
score life-guards and four- score horse-grenadiers with officers in propor-
tion, their standards, kettle-drums, and trumpets. At St. Paul's they
are received by the Dean and Chapter at the West Gate, and at that
minute — bang, bong, bung — the Tower and Park guns salute them!
Next day is the turn of the Cherbourg cannon and mortars. These are
the guns we took. Look at them with their carving and flaunting
emblems — their Mlies, and crowns, and mottoes ! Here they are, the
Temeraire, the Malfaisant, the Vainqueur (the Yainqueur, indeed ! a
pretty vainqueur of Britons !), and ever so many more. How the people
shout as the pieces are trailed through the streets in procession ! As for
Hetty and Mrs. Lambert, I believe they are of opinion that Harry took
every one of the guns himself, dragging them out of the batteries, and
destroying the artillerymen. He has immensely risen in the general
estimation in the last few days. Madame de Bernstein has asked about
him. Lady Maria has begged her dear Cousin George to see her, and,
if possible, give her news of his brother. George, who was quite the
head of the family a couple of months since, finds himself deposed, and
of scarce any account, in Miss Hetty's eyes at least. Your wit, and your
learning, and your tragedies, may be all very well ; but what are these
in comparison to victories and brass cannon ? George takes his deposi-
tion very meekly. They are fifteen thousand Britons. Why should
they not march and take Paris itself ? Nothing more probable, think
some of the ladies. They embrace ; they congratulate each other ; they
are in a high state of excitement. For once, they long that Sir Miles
and Lady Warrington were in town, so that they might pay her ladyship
a visit, and ask, " What do you say to your nephew novir, pray ? Has
he not taken twenty-one finest brass cannon ; flung a hundred and
THE 7RGIXIA. S. 461
twenty iron guns into the water, seized twenty-seven ships in the
harbour, and destroyed the basin and the two piers at the entrance?"
As the whole town rejoices and illuminates, so these worthy folks display
brilliant red hangings in their cheeks, and light up candles of joy in
their eyes, in honour of their champion and conqueror.
But now, I grieve to say, comes a cloudy day after the fair weather.
The appetite of our commanders, growing by what it fed on, led them
to think they had not feasted enough on the plunder of St. Malo;
and thither, after staying a brief time at Portsmouth and the Wight,
the conquerors of Cherbourg returned. They were landed in the Bay of
St. Lunar, at the distance of a few miles from the place, and marched
towards it, intending to destroy it this time. Meanwhile the harbour of
St. Lunar was found insecure, and the fleet moved up to St. Cas, keeping
up its communication with the invading army.
Now the British Lion found that the town of St. Malo — which he had
proposed to swallow at a single mouthful — was guarded by an army of
French, which the governor of Brittany had brought to the succour of
his good town, and the meditated coup de main being thus impossible,
our leaders marched for their ships again, which lay duly awaiting our
warriors in the Bay of St. Cas.
Hide, blushing glory, hide St. Cas's day ! As our troops were march-
ing down to their ships they became aware of an army following them,
which the French governor of the province had sent from Brest. Two-
thirds of the troops, and all the artillery, were already embarked, when
the Frenchmen came down upon the remainder. Four companies of the
First Eegiment of guards and the grenadier companies of the army, faced
about on the beach to await the enemy, whilst the remaining troops were
carried off in the boats. As the French descended from the heights
round the bay, these guards and grenadiers marched out to attack them,
leaving an excellent position which they had occupied — a great dyke
raised on the shore, and behind which they might have resisted to
advantage. And now, eleven hundred men were engaged with six —
nay, ten times their number ; and, after awhile, broke and made for the
boats with a sauve qui peiit! Seven hundred out of the eleven were
killed, drowned, or taken prisoners— the general himself was killed —
and, ah ! where were the volunteers ?
A man of peace myself, and little intelligent of the practice or the
details of war, I own I think less of the engaged troops than of the
people they leave behind. Jack the Guardsman and La Tulipe of the
Royal Bretagne are face to face, and striving to knock each other's brains
out. Bon ! It is their nature to — like the bears and lions — and we will
not say Heaven, but some Power or other has made them so to do. But
the girl of Tower Hill, who hung on Jack's neck before he departed ; and
the lass at Quimper, who gave the Frenchman his hrule-gueule and
tobacco-box before he departed on the 7ioir trajet f What have you
done, poor little tender hearts, that you should grieve so ? My business
is not with the army, but with the people left behind. What a fine state
462 THE VirtGTNlAxNS.
Miss Hetty Lambert must be in, when she hears of the disaster to the
troops and the slaughter of the grenadier companies ! What grief and
doubt are in George Warrington's breast ; what commiseration in Martin
Lambert's, as he looks into his little girl's face and reads her piteous
story there ? Howe, the brave commodore, rowing in his barge under
the enemy's fire, has rescued with his boats scores and scores of our flying
people. More are drowned; hundreds are prisoners, or shot on the
beach. Among these, where is our Virginian ?
CHAPTER LXV.
soldiek's eettjeit.
Great Powers ! will the vain-glory of men, especially of Frenchmen,
never cease ? Will it be believed, that after the action of St. Cas — a
mere aiFair of cutting off a rear-guard, as you are aware — they were so
unfeeling as to fire away I don't know how much powder at the Inva-
lides at Paris, and brag and bluster over our misfortune ? Is there any
magnanimity in hallooing and huzzaying because five or six hundred
brave fellows have been caught by ten thousand on a sea-shore, and that
fate has overtaken them which is said to befall the hindmost ? I had a
mind to design an authentic picture of the rejoicings at London upon our
glorious success at St. Malo. I fancied the polished guns dragged in
procession by our gallant tars ; the stout horse-grenadiers prancing by ;
the mob waving hats, roaring cheers, picking pockets, and our friends in
a balcony in Fleet Street looking on and blessing this scene of British
triumph. But now that the French Invalides have been so vulgar as to
imitate the Tower, and set up their St. Cas against our St. Malo, I scorn
to allude to the stale subject. I say Kolo, not Malo : content, for my
part, if Harry has returned from one expedition and t'other with a whole
skin. And have I ever said he was so much as bruised ? Have I not,
for fear of exciting my fair young reader, said that he was as well as
ever he had been in his life ? The sea air had browned his cheek, and
the ball whistling by his side-curl had spared it. The ocean had wet his
gaiters and other garments, without swallowing up his body. He had,
it is true, shown the lapels of his coat to the enemy ; but for as short a
time as possible, withdrawing out of their sight as quick as might be.
And what, pray, are lapels but reverses ? Coats have them, as well as
men ; and our duty is to wear them with courage and good-humour.
** I can tell you," said Harry, "we all had to run for it ; and when
our line broke, it was he who could get to the boats who was most lucky.
The French horse and foot pursued us down to the sea, and were mingled
among us, cutting our men down, and bayoneting them on the ground.
Poor Armytage was shot in advance of me, and fell; and I took him up
THE VIRGINIiVXS. 463
and staggered through the surf to a boat. It was lucky that the sailors
ia our boat -weren't afraid ; for the shot were whistling about their ears,
breaking the blades of their oars, and riddling their flag with shot ; but
the officer in command was as cool as if he had been drinking a bowl of
punch at Portsmouth, which we had one on landing, I can promise you.
Poor Sir John was less lucky than me. He never lived to reach the ship,
and the service has lost a line soldier, and Miss Howe a true gentleman
to her husband. There must be these casualties, you see ; and his brother
gets the promotion, — the baronetcy."
"It is of the poor lady I am thinkicg," says Miss Hetty (to whom
haply our volunteer is telling his story) ; ■ " and the King. Why did the
King encourage Sir John Armytage to go ? A gentleman could not
refuse a command from such a quarter. And now the poor gentleman is
dead ! what a state his Majesty must be in !"
"I have no doubt his Majesty will be in a deep state of grief," says
Papa, wagging his head.
" Now you are laughing! Do you mean, sir, that when a gentleman
dies in his service, almost at his feet, the King of England won't feel
for him ?" Hetty asks. <* If I thought that, I vow I would be for the
Pretender ! "
" The sauce-box would make a pretty little head for Temple Bar,'*
says the General, who could see Miss Hetty's meaning behind her words,
and was aware in what a tumult of remorse, of consternation, of grati-
tude that the danger was over, the little heart was beating — "No," says
he, " my dear. Were kings to weep for every soldier, what a life you
would make for them ! I think better of his Majesty than to suppose
him so weak ; and, if Miss Hester Lambert got her Pretender, I doubt
whether she would be any the happier. That family was never famous
for too much feeling."
" But if the King sent Harry — I mean Sir John Armytage — actually
to the war in which he lost his life, oughtn't his Majesty to repent very
much ?" asks the young lady.
" If Harry had fallen, no doubt the Court would have gone into
mourning: as it is, gentlemen and ladies were in coloured clothes
yesterday," remarks the General.
"Why should we not make bonfires for a defeat, and put on sack-
cloth and ashes after a victory ? " asks George. " I protest I don't want
to thank Heaven for helping us to burn the ships at Cherbourg."
" Yes you do, George ! Not that I have a right to speak, and you
ain't ever so much cleverer. But when your country wins you're glad
— I know / am. When I run away before Frenchmen I'm ashamed —
I can't help it, though I fZowe it," says Harry. " It don't seem to me
right somehow that Englisbmen should have to do it," he added,
gravely. And George smiled ; but did not choose to ask his brother
what, on the other hand, was the Frenchman's opinion.
" 'Tis a bad business," continued Harry, gravely: "but 'tis lucky
'twas no worse. The story about the French is, that their governor,
iU THE YIRGINIANS.
the Duke of Aiguillon, was rather what you call a moistened chicken.
Our whole retreat might have been cut off, only, to be sure, we our-
selves were in a mighty hurry to move. The French local militia
behaved famous, I am happy to say ; and there was ever so many gen-
tlemen volunteers with 'em, who showed, as they ought to do, in the
front. They say the Chevalier of Tour d'Auvergne engaged in spite of
the Duke of Aiguillon's orders. Officers told us, who came off with a
list of our prisoners and wounded to General Bligh and Lord Howe. He
is a lord now, since the news came of his brother's death to home, George.
He is a brave fellow, whether lord or commoner."
" And his sister who was to have married poor Sir John Armytage,
think what her state must be ! " sighs Miss Hetty, who has grown of
late so sentimental.
"And his mother!" cries Mrs. Lambert. '' Have you seen her lady-
ship's address in the papers to the electors of Nottingham ? ' Lord Howe
being now absent upon the publick service, and Lieutenant-Colonel
Howe with his regiment at Louisbourg, it rests upon me to beg the
favour of your votes and interests that Lieutenant- Colonel Howe may
supply the place of his late brother as your representative in Parliament.'
Isn't this a gallant woman?"
**A Laconic woman," says George.
** How can sons help being brave who have been nursed by such a
mother as that ? " asks the General.
Our two young men looked at each other.
" If one of us were to fall in defence of his country, we have a mother
in Sparta who would think and write so too," says George.
*' If Sparta is anywhere Virginia way, I reckon we have," remarks
Mr. Harry. " And to think that we should both of us have met the
enemy, and both of us been whipped by him, brother!" he adds
pensively.
Hetty looks at him, and thinks of him only as he was the other day,
tottering through the water towar4s the boats, his comrade bleeding on
his shoulder, the enemy in pursuit, the shot flying round. And it was
she who drove him into the danger ! Her words provoked him. He
never rebukes her now he is returned. Except when asked, he scarcely
speaks about his adventures at all. He is very grave and courteous
with Hetty ; with the rest of the family especially frank and tender.
But those taunts of hers wounded him. " Little hand ! " his looks and
demeanour seem to say, '* thou shouldst not have been lifted against
me ! It is ill to scorn anyone, much more one who has been so devoted
to you and all yours. I may not be over quick of wit, but in as far as
the heart goes, I am the equal of the best, and the best of my heart your
family has had."
Harry's wrong, and his magnanimous endurance of it, served him to
regain in Miss Hetty's esteem that place which he had lost during the
previous months' inglorious idleness. The respect which the fair pay
to the brave she gave him. She was no longer pert in her answers, or
THE VIRGINIANS. 465
sarcastic in her observations regarding his conduct. In a word, she was
a humiliated, an altered, an improved Miss Hetty.
And all the world seemed to change towards Harry, as he towards the
world. He was no longer sulky and indolent : he no more desponded
about himself, or defied his neighbours. The colonel of his regiment
reported his behaviour as exemplary, and recommended him for one of
the commissions vacated by the casualties during the expedition. Unlucky
as its termination was, it at least was fortunate to him. His brother
volunteers, when they came back to St. James's Street, reported highly
of his behaviour. These volunteers and their actions were the theme of
everybody's praise. Had he been a general commanding, and slain in
the moment of victory, Sir John Armytage could scarce have had
more sympathy than that which the nation showed him. The papers
teemed with letters about him, and men of wit and sensibility vied with
each other in composing epitaphs in his honour. The fate of his affianced
bride was bewailed. She was, as we have said, the sister of the brave
commodore who had just returned from this unfortunate expedition, and
succeeded to the title of his elder brother, an officer as gallant as himself,
who had just fallen in America.
My Lord Howe was heard to speak in special praise of Mr. Warrington,
and so he had a handsome share of the fashion and favour which the
town now bestowed on the volunteers. Doubtless there were thousands
of men employed who were as good as they : but the English ever love
their gentlemen, and love that they should distinguish themselves ; and
these volunteers were voted Paladins and heroes by common accord. As
our young noblemen will, they accepted their popularity very affiibly.
"White's and Almack's illuminated when they returned, and St. James's
embraced its young knights. Harry was restored to full favour amongst
them. Their hands were held out eagerly to him again. Even his
relations congratulated him ; and there came a letter from Castlewood,
whither Aunt Bernstein had by this time betaken herself, containing
praises of his valour, and a pretty little bank-bill, as a token of his
afiectionate aunt's approbation. This was under my Lord Castlewood's
frank, who sent his regards to both his kinsmen, and an offer of the
hospitality of his country house, if they were minded to come to him.
And besides this, there came to him a private letter through the post —
not very well spelt, but in a handwriting which Harry smiled to see
again, in which his affectionate cousin, Maria Esmond, told him she
always loved to hear his praises (which were in everybody's mouth now), Jjjk.
and sympathised in his good or evil fortune ; and that, whatever w
occurred to him, she begged to keep a little place in his heart. Parson
Sampson, she wrote, had preached a beautiful sermon about the horror*
of war, and the noble actions of men who volunteered to face battle and
danger in the service of their country. Indeed, the Chaplain wrote him-
self, presently, a letter full of enthusiasm, in which he saluted Mr.
Harry as his friend, his benefactor, his glorious hero. Even Sir Miles
Warrington dispatched a basket of game from Norfolk : and one bird
H H
466 THE YIEGINIAKS.
(shot sitting), with love to my cousin, had a string and paper round the
leg, and -was sent as the first victim, of young Miles's fowling-piece.
And presently, with joy beaming in. his countenance, Mr. Lambert
came to visit his young friends at their lodgings in Southampton Eow,
and announced to them that Mr. Henry Warrington was forthwith to be
gazetted as Ensign in the Second Battalion of Kingsley's, the 20th
Ilegiment, which had been engaged in the campaign, and which now at
>his time was formed into a separate regiment, the 67th. Its colonel
was not with his regiment during its expedition to Brittany. He was
away at Cape Breton, and was engaged in capturing those guns at Louis-
bourg, of which the arrival in England had caused such exultation.
CHAPTER LXVI.
IN- WHICH WE GO A-COFRTING.
Some of my amiable readers no doubt are in the custom of visiting
that famous garden in the Eegent's Park, in which so many of our
finned, feathered, four-footed fellow- creatures, are accommodated with
board and lodging, in return for which they exhibit themselves for our
instruction and amusement : and there, as a man's business and private
thoughts follow him everywhere, and mix themselves with all life and
nature round about him, I found myself, whilst looking at some fish in
the aquarium, still actually thinking of our friends the Virginians.
One of the most beautiful motion-masters I ever beheld, sweeping through
his green bath in harmonious curves, now turning his black glistening
back to me, now exhibiting liis fair white chest, in every movement
active and graceful, turned out to be our old homely friend the flounder,
whom we have all gobbled up out of his bath of water souehy at Green-
wich, without having the slightest idea that he was a beauty.
As is the race of man, so is the race of flounders. If you can but see
tlie latter in his right element, you may view him agile, healthy, and
comely : put him out of his place, and behold his beauty is gone, his
motions are disgraceful : he flaps the unfeeling ground ridiculously with
his tail, and will presently gasp his feeble life out. Take him up ten-
derly, ere it be too late, and cast him into his native Thames again .
5^ But stop : I believe there is a certain proverb about fi^h out of water,
and that other profound naturalists have remarked on them before me.
Now Harry Warrington had been floundering for ever so long a time
past, and out of his proper element. As soon as he found it, health,
strength, spirits, energy, returned to him, and with the tap of the
epaulet on his shoulder he sprang up an altered being. He delighted
in his new profession ; he engaged in all its details, and mastered
them with eager quickness. Had I the skill of my friend Lorrequer,
THE VIIIGINIAXS. 467
I would follow the other Harry into camp, and see him on the march,
at the mess, on the parade-ground ; I would have many a carouse
with him and his companions ; I would cheerfully live with him under
the tents ; I would knowingly explain all the manoeuvres of war, and
all the details of the life military. As it is, the reader must please,
out of his experience and imagination, to fill in the colours of the
picture of which I can give but meagre hints and outlines, and, above
all, fancy Mr. Harry Warrington in his new red coat and yellow facings,
very happy to bear the King's colours, and pleased to learn and per-
form all the duties of his new profession.
As each young man delighted in the excellence of the other, and
cordially recognised his brother's superior qualities, George, we may be
sure, was proud of Harry's success, and rejoiced in his returning good
fortune. He wrote an afi'ectionate letter to his mother in Virginia,
recounting all the praises which he had heard of Harry, and which his
brother's modesty, George knew, would never allow him to repeat. He
described how Harry had won his own first step in the army, and how
he, George, would ask his mother leave to share with her the expense
of purchasing a higher rank for him.
Nothing, said George, would give him a greater delight, than to
be able to help his brother, and the more so, as, by his sudden return
into life as it were, he had deprived Harry of an inheritance which
he had legitimately considered as his own. Labouring under that
misconception Harry had indulged in greater expenses than he ever
would have thought of incurring as a younger brother; and Georg*^
thought it was but fair, and, as it were, as a thank-offering for his own
deliverance, that he should contribute liberally to any scheme for his
brother's advantage.
And now, having concluded his statement respecting Harry's affairs,
George took occasion to speak of his own, and addressed his honoured
mother on a point which very deeply concerned himself. She was aware
that the best friends he and his brother had found in England, were
the good Mr, and Mrs. Lambert, the latter Madam Esmond's school-
fellow of earlier years. "Where their own blood relations had been
worldly and anfeeling, these true friends had ever been generous and
kind. The General was respected by the whole army, and beloved by
all who knew him. No mother's affection could have been more touch-
ing than Mrs. Lambert's for both Madam Esmond's children ; and
now, wrote Mr. George, he himself had formed an attachment for the
elder Miss Lambert, on which he thought the happiness of his life
depended, and which he besought his honoured mother to approve.
He had made no precise offers to the young lady or her parents ; but
he was bound to say that he had made little disguise of his sentiments,
and that the young lady, as well as her parents, seemed favourable to
him. She had been so admirable and exemplary a daughter to her own
mother, that he felt sure she would do her duty by his. In a word.
My, Warrington described the young lady as a model of perfection, and
H H 2
468 THE VIllGlxNIA^S.
expressed his firm belief that the happiness or misery of his own future life
depended upon possessing or losing her. Why do you not produce this
letter ? haply asks some sentimental reader, of the present Editor, who
has said how he has the whole Warrington correspondence in his hands.
Why not ? Because 'tis cruel to babble the secrets of a young man's
love : to overhear his incoherent vows and wild raptures, and to note, in
cold blood, the secrets — it may be, the follies — of his passion. Shall
we play eaves-dropper at twilight embrasures, count sighs and hand-
shakes, .bottle hot tears : lay our stethoscope on delicate young breasts,
and feel their heart throbs ? I protest, for one, love is sacred. Wher-
ever I see it (as one sometimes may in this world) shooting suddenly
out of two pair of eyes ; or glancing sadly even from one pair ; or look-
ing down from the mother to the baby in her lap ; or from papa at his
girl's happiness as she is whirling round the room with the captain ; or
from John Anderson, as his old wife comes into the room — the bonne
vieille, the ever-peerless among women ; wherever we see that signal, I
say, let us salute it. It is not only wrong to kiss and tell, but to tell
about kisses. Everybody who has been admitted to the mystery, — hush
about it. Down with him qui Dece sacrum vulgarit arcance. Beware
how you dine with him, he will print your private talk : as sure as you
sail with him, he will throw you over.
Whilst Harry's love of battle has led him to smell powder — to rush
upon reluctantes dracones^ and to carry wounded comrades out of fire,
George has been pursuing an amusement much more peaceful and
delightful to him ; penning sonnets to his mistress's eye-brow, mayhap ;
pacing in. the darkness under her window, and watching the little lamp
which shone upon her in her chamber ; finding all sorts of pretexts for
sending little notes which don't seem to require little answers, but get
them ; culling bits out of his favourite poets, and flowers out of Covent
Garden for somebody's special adornment and pleasure ; walking to
St. James's Church, singing very likely out of the same Prayer-book,
and never hearing one word of the sermon, so much do other thoughts
engross him ; being prodigiously affectionate to all Miss Theo's rela-
tions — to her little brother and sister at school ; to the elder at college ;
to Hiss Hetty with whom he engages in gay passages of wit ; and, to
Mamma, who is half in love with him herself, Martin Lambert says ;
for if fathers are sometimes sulky at the appearance of the destined son-
in-law, is it not a fact that mothers become sentimental and, as it were,
love their own loves over again ?
^ Gumbo and Sady are for ever on the trot between Southampton Row
and Dean Street. In the summer months all sorts of junketings and
pleasure-parties are devised ; and there are countless proposals to go to
llanelagh, to Hampstead, to Vauxhall, to Marylebone Gardens, and
what not. George wants the famous tragedy copied out fair for the
stage, and who can write such a beautiful Italian hand as Miss Theo ?
As the sheets pass to and fro they are accompanied by little notes of
thanks, of interrogation, of admiration, always. See, here is the
THE VIHGIXIAXS. 469
packef', marked la Warrington's neat hand, " T's letters, 1758-9."
Shall we open them and reveal their tender secrets to the public gaze r
Those virgin words were whispered for one ear alone. Years alter they
were written, the husband read, no doubt, with sweet pangs of remem-
brance, the fond lines addressed to the lover. It were a sacrilege to
show the pair to public eyes : only let kind readers be pleased to take
cur word that the young lady's letters are modest and pure, the gentle-
man's most respectful and tender. In fine, you see, we have said very
little about it ; but, in these few last months, Mr. George Warrington
has made up his mind that he has found the woman of women. She
mayn't be the most beautiful. Why, there is Cousin Flora, there is
Coelia, and Ardelia, and a hundred more, who are ever so much more
handsome : but her sweet face pleases A«m better than any other in the
world. She mayn't be the most clever, but her voice is the dearest and
pleasantest to hear; and in her company he is so clever himself; he
has such fine thoughts ; he uses such eloquent words ; he is so generous,
noble, witty, that no wonder he delights in it. And, in regard to the
young lady, — as thank Heaven I never thought so ill of women as to
suppose them to be just, — we may be sure that there is no amount of
wit, of wisdom, of beauty, of valour, of virtue with which she does not
endow her young hero.
When George's letter reached home, we may fancy that it created no
small excitement in the little circle round Madam Esmond's fireside.
So he wa^ in love, and wished to marry ! It was but natural, and
would keep him out of harm's way. If he proposed to unite himself
with a well-bred Christian young woman. Madam saw no harm.
*' I knew they would be setting their caps at him," says Mountain.
*' They fancy that his wealth is as great as his estate. He does not say
whether the young lady has money. I fear otherwise."
'* People would set their caps at him here, I dare say," says Madam
Esmond, grimly looking at her dependant, "and try and catch Mr.
Esmond Warrington for their own daughters, who are no richer than
Miss Lambert may be."
** I suppose your ladyship means me ! " says Mountain. " My
Fanny is poor, as you say ; and 'tis kind of you to remind me of her
poverty ! "
" I said people would set their caps at him. If the cap fits you, tant
pis .' as my papa used to say."
" You think, Madam, I am scheming to keep George for my
daughter ? I thank you, on my word ! A good opinion you seem to
have of us after the years we have lived together ! "
"My dear Mountain, I know you much better than to suppose you
could ever fancy your daughter would be a suitable match for a gentle-
mtin of Mr. Esmond's rank and station," says Madam, with much dignity.
"Fanny Parker was as good as Molly Benson at school, and Mr.
Mountain's daughter is as good as Mr. Lambert's ! " Mrs. Mountain
cries out.
470 TEE VlliaiXIANS.
'* Then you did think of marrying her to my son ? I shall write to
Mr. Esmond AVarrington, and say how sorry I am that you should be
disappointed ! " says the mistress of Castlewood. And we, for our
parts, may suppose that Mrs. Mountain was disappointed, and had
some ambitious views respecting her daughter — else, why should she
have been so angry at the notion of Mr. AYarrington's marriage ?
In reply to her son, Madam Esmond wrote back that she was pleased
with the fraternal love George exhibited ; that it was indeed but right
,n some measure to compensate Harry, whose expectations had led him
to adopt a more costly mode of life than he would have entered on had
he known he was only a younger son. And with respect to purchasing
his promotion, she would gladly halve the expense with. Harry's elder
brother, being thankful to think his own gallantry had won him his first
step. This bestowal of George's money. Madam Esmond added, was at
least much more satisfactory than some other extravagances to which
she would not advert.
The other extravagance to which Madam alluded was the payment
of the ransom to the French captain's family, to which tax George's
mother never would choose to submit. She had a determined spirit of
her own, which her son inherited. IIis persistence she called pride and
obstinacy. What she thought of her own pertinacity, her biographer
who lives so far from her time does not pretend to say. Only I daresay
people a hundred years ago pretty much resembled their grandchildren
of the present date, and loved to have their own way, and to make
others follow it.
]S"ow, after paying his own ransom, his brother's debts, and half the
price for his promotion, George calculated that no inconsiderable portion
of his private patrimony would be swallowed up : nevertheless he made
the sacrifice with a perfect good heart. His good mother always en-
joined him in her letters to remember who his grandfather was, and to
support the dignity of his family accordingly. She gave him various
commissions to purchase goods in England, and though she as yet had
sent him very trifling remittances, she alluded so constantly to the
exalted rank of the Esmonds, to her desire that he should do nothing
unworthy of that illustrious family; she advised him so peremptorily
and frequently to appear in the first society of the country, to frequent
the Court where his ancestors had been accustomed to move, and to
appear always in the world in a manner worthy of his name, that
George made no doubt his mother's money would be forthcoming when
his own ran short, and generously obeyed her injunctions as to his style
of life. I find in the Esmond papers of this period, bills for genteel
entertainments, tailors' bills for court suits supplied, and liveries for
Lis honour's negro servants and chairmen, horse-dealers' receipts, and
so forth ; and am thus led to believe that the elder of our Virginians
was also after a while living at a considerable expense.
He was not wild or extravagant like his brother. There was no talk
of gambling or race-horses against Mr. George ; his table was liberalj.
THE YIRGINIAXS. 471
his equipages handsome, his purse always full, the estate to whieh he
•was heir was known to be immense. I mention these circumstances
because they may probably have influenced the conduct both of Geor;^o
and his friends in that very matter concerning which, as I have said,
he and his mother had been just corresponding. The young heir of
Virginia was travelling for his pleasure and improvement in foreign
kingdoms. The Q,ueen, his mother, was in daily correspondence with his
Highness, and constantly enjoined him to act as became his lofty station.
There could be no doubt from her letters that she desired he should live
liberally and magnificently. He was perpetually making purchases at
his parent's order. She had not settled as yet ; on the contrary, she
had wrote out by the last mail for twelve new sets of waggon-harness,
and an organ that should play fourteen specified psalm- tunes: which
articles George dutifully ordered. Slie had not paid as yet, and might
not to-day or to-morrow, but eventually, of course, she would : and
jilr. Warrington never thought of troubling his friends about these
calculations, or discussing with them his mother's domestic affairs.
They, on their side, took for granted that he was in a state of com-
petence and ease, and, without being mercenary folks, Mr. and Mrs.
Lambert were no doubt pleased to see an attachment growing up
between their daughter and a young gentleman of such good principles,
talents, family, and expectations. There was honesty in all Mr. Esmond
Warrington's words and actions, and in his behaviour to the world a
certain grandeur and simplicity, which showed him to be a true gentle-
man. Somewhat cold and haughty in his demeanour to strangers,
especially towards the great, he was not in the least supercilious : he
was perfectly courteous towards women, and with those people whom he
loved, especially kind, amiable, lively, and tender.
No wonder that one young woman we know of got to think him the
best man in all the world — alas ! not even excepting Papa. A great
love felt by a man towards a woman makes him better, as regards her,
tlian all other men. We have said that George used to wonder himself
when he found how witty, how eloquent, how wise he was, when he
talked with the fair young creature whose heart had become all his.
.... I say we will not again listen to their love whispers. Those
soft words do not bear being written down. If you please — good sir,
or madam, who are sentimentally inclined — lay down the book and
think over certain things for yourself. You may be ever so old now ;
but you remember. It may be all dead and buried ; but in a moment,
up it springs out of its grave, and looks, and smiles, and whispers as of
yore when it clung to your arm, and dropped fresh tears on your heart.
It is here, and alive, did I say ? far, far away ! lonely hearth and
cold ashes ! Here is the vase, but the roses are gone ; here is the shore,
and yonder the ship was moored ; but the anchors are up, and it has
sailed away for ever.
Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. This, however, is mere sentimen-
tality; and as regards George and Theo, is neither here nor there.
472 THE VIRGINIAXS.
What I mean to say is, that the young lady's family were perfectly
satisfied with the state of affairs between her and Mr. Warrington ; and
though he had not as yet asked the decisive question, everybody else
knew what the answer would be when it came.
Mamma perhaps thought the question was a long time coming.
"Psha! my dear!" says the General. ''There is time enough in
all conscience. Theo is not much more than seventeen ; George, if I
mistake not, is under forty ; and, besides, he must have time to write to
Virginia, and ask Mamma."
" But suppose she refuses ?"
**That will be a bad day for old and young," says the General.
"Let us rather say, suppose she consents, my love? — I can't faricv
anybody in the world refusing Theo anything she has set her heart on,"
adds the father : ** and I am sure 'tis bent upon this match."
So they all waited with the utmost anxiety until an answer from
Madam Esmond should arrive ; and trembled lest the French privateers
should take the packet-ship by which the precious letter was conveyed.
CHAPTEE LXYII.
IN WHICH A TEAGEDY IS ACTED, AND TWO MORE ARE BEGUN.
James Wolfe, Harry's new Colonel, came back from America a few
weeks after our Virginian had joined his regiment. Wolfe had pre-
viously been Lieutenant-Colonel of Kingsley's, and a second battalion of
the regiment had been formed and given to him in reward for his dis-
tinguislied gallantry and services at Cape Breton. Harry went with quite
unfeigned respect and cordiality to pay his duty to his new Commander,
on whom the eyes of the world began to be turned now, — the common
opinion being that he was likely to become a great General. In the late
aflfairs in France, several officers of great previous repute had been tried
and found lamentably wanting. The Duke of Marlborough had shown
himself no worthy descendant of his great ancestor. About my Lord
"ofeorge Sackville's military genius there were doubts, even before liis
unhappy behaviour at Minden prevented a great victory. The nation
was longing for military glory, and the minister was anxious to find a
general who might gratify the eager desire of the people. Mr. Wolfe's
and Mr. Lambert's business keeping them both in London, the friendly
intercourse between those officers was renewed, no one being more
delighted than Lambert at his younger friend's good fortune.
Harry, when he was away from his duty, was never tired of hearing
Mr. Wolfe's details of the military operations of the last year, about
which Wolfe talked very freely and openly. Whatever thought was iu
his mind, he appears to have spoken it out generously. He had that
THE VIRGINIAXS. 473
heroic simplicity which distinguished Nelson afterwards : he talked frankly
of his actions. Some of the fine gentlemen at St. James's might wonder
and sneer at him ; hut amongst our little circle of friends we may be
sure he found admiring listeners. The young General had the romance
of a boy on many matters. He delighted in music and poetry. On
the last day of his life he said he would rather have written Grey's
Elegy than have won a battle. We may be sure that with a gentleman
of such literary tastes our friend George would become familiar ; and as
they were both in love, and both accepted lovers, and both eager for
happiness, no doubt they must have had many sentimental conversa-
tions together whit;h would be very interesting to report could we only
have accurate accounts of them. In one of his later letters, Warrington
writes :
" I had the honour of knowing the famous General Wolfe, and seeing
much of him during his last stay in London. We had a subject of con-
versation then which was of unfailing interest to both of us, and I could
not but admire Mr. Wolfe's simplicity, his frankness, and a sort of-
glorious bravery which characterised him. He was much in love, and
lie wanted heaps and heaps of laurels to take to his mistress. * If it be
a sin to covet honour,' he used to say with Harry the Fifth (he was
passionately fond of plays and poetry), ' I am the most offending soul
alive.' Surely on his last day he had a feast which was enough to satisfy
the greediest appetite for glory. He hungered after it. He seemed to
me not merely like a soldier going resolutely to do his duty, but rather
like a knight in quest of dragons and giants. My own country has
furnished of late a chief of a very different order, and quite an opposite
genius. I scarce know which to admire most, the Briton's chivalrous
ardour, or the more than Roman constancy of our great Virginian."
As Mr. Lambert's official duties detained him in London, his family
remained contentedly with him, and I suppose Mr. Warrington was so
satisfied with the rural quiet of Southampton Row and the beautiful
flowers and trees of Bedford Gardens, that he did not care to quit
London for any long period. He made his pilgrimage to Castlewood,
and passed a few days there, occupying the chamber of which he had
often heard his grandfather talk, and which Colonel Esmond had occu-
pied as a boy : and he was received kindly enough by such members
of the family as happened to be at home. But no doubt he loved better
to be in London by the side of a young person in whose society he found
greater pleasure than any which my Lord Castlewood's circle could
afford him, though all the ladies were civil, and Lady Maria especially
gracious, and enchanted with the tragedy which George and Parson
Sampson read out to the ladies. The ChaplainKwas enthusiastic in its
praises, and indeed it was through his interest and not through Mr.
Johnson's after all, that Mr. Warrington's piece ever came on the stage.
Mr. Johnson, it is true, pressed the play on his friend Mr. Garriek for
Drury Lane, but Garriek had just made an arrangement with the
famous Mr. Home for a tragedy from the pen of the author of Douglas.
474 THE YIRGIXIAXS.
Accordingly, Carpezan was carried to Mr. Rich at Covent G-arden, and
accepted by that manager.
On the night of the production of the piece, Mr. "Warrington gave an
elegant entertainment to his friends at the Bedford Head, in Covent
Garden, whence they adjourned in a body to the theatre ; leaving only
one or two with our young author, who remained at the coffee-house,
where friends from time to time came to him with an account of the
performance. The part of Carpezan was filled by Barry, Shuter was the
old nobleman, Eeddish, I need scarcely say, made an excellent Ulric,
and the King of Bohemia was by a young actor from Dublin, Mr. Geoghe-
gan, or Hagan as he was called on the stage, and who looked and per-
formed the part to admiration. Mrs. Woffington looked too old in the
first act as the heroine, but her murder in the fourth act, about which
great doubts were expressed, went off to the terror and delight of the
audience. Miss Wayn sang the ballad which is supposed to be sung by
the king's page, just at the moment of the unhappy wife's execution,
and all agreed that Barry was very terrible and pathetic as Carpezan,
especially in the execution scene. The grace and elegance of the young
actor, Hagan, won general applause. The piece was put very elegantly
on the stage by Mr. Eich, though there was some doubt whether, in the
march of Janissaries in the last, the manager was correct in introducing
a favourite elephant, which had figured in various pantomimes, and by
which one of Mr. Warrington's black servants marched in a Turkish
babit. The other sate in the footman's gallery, and uproariously wept
and applauded at the proper intervals.
The execution of Sybilla was the turning point of the piece. Her head
off', George's friends breathed freely, and one messenger after another
came to him at the Coffee House, to announce the complete success of the
tragedy. Mr. Barry, amidst general applause, announced the play for
repetition, and that it was the work of a young gentleman of Virginia,
his first attempt in the dramatic style.
"We should liked to have been in the box where all our friends were
seated during the performance, to have watched Theo's flutter and
anxiety whilst tho success of the play seemed dubious, and have beheld
the blushes and the sparkles in her eyes, when the victory was assured.
Harry, during the little trouble in the fourth act, was deadly pale —
whiter, Mrs. Lambert said, than Barry, with all his chalk. But if
Briareus could have clapped hands, he could scarcely have made more
noise than Harry at the end of the piece. Mr. Wolfe and General Lam-
bert huzzayed enthusiastically. Mrs. Lambert, of course, cried: and
though Hetty said, " Why do you cry, mamma? You don't want any
of them alive again ; you know it serves them all right :" — the girl was
really as much delighted as any person present, including little Charley
from the Chartreux, who had leave from Dr. Crusius for that evening,
and Miss Lucy, who had been brought from boarding-school on purpose
to be present on the great occasion. My Lord Castlewood and his sister,
Lady Maria, were present; and his lordship went from his box and com-
THE YinGINIANS.
plimented Mr. Barry and the other actors on the stage ; and Parson
Sampson was invaluable in the pit, where he led the applause, having, I
believe, given previous instructions to Gumbo to keep an eye upon him
from the gallery, and do as he did.
Be sure there was a very jolly supper of Mr. "Warrington's friends that
night — much more jolly than Mr. Garrick's, for example, who made but
a very poor success with his Agis and its dreary choruses, and who must
have again felt that he had missed a good chance, in preferring Mr.
Home's tragedy to our young author's. A jolly supper, did we say ? —
Many jolly suppers. Mr. Gumbo gave an entertainment to several gen-
tlemen of the shoulder-knot, who had concurred in supporting his master's
masterpiece : Mr. Henry Warrington gave a supper at the Star and
Garter, in Pall Mall, to ten officers of his new regiment, who had come
up for the express purpose of backing Carpezan ; and finally, Mr. War-
rington received the three principal actors of the tragedy, our family
party from the side box, Mr. Johnson and his ingenious friend, Mr. Rey-
nolds the painter, my Lord Castlewood and his sister, and one or two
more. My Lady Maria happened to sit next to the young actor who had
performed the part of the king. Mr. Warrington somehow had Miss
Theo for a neighbour, and no doubt passed a pleasant evening beside
her. The greatest animation and cordiality prevailed, and when toasts
were called. Lady Maria gaily gave "The King of Hungary" for hers.
That gentleman, who had plenty of eloquence and fire, and excellent
manners, on as well as off the stage, protested that he had already
suffered death in the course of the evening, hoped that he should die a
hundred times more on the same field ; but, dead or living, vowed he
knew whose humble servant he ever should be. Ah, if he had but a real
crown in place of his diadem of pasteboard and tinsel, with what joy
would he lay it at her ladyship's feet ! Neither my lord nor Mr. Esmond
were over well-pleased with the gentleman's exceeding gallantry — a part
of which they attributed, no doubt justly, to the wine and punch, of
which he had been partaking very freely. Theo and her sister, who
were quite new to the world, were a little frightened by the exceeding
energy of Mr. Hagan's manner — but Lady Maria, much more experienced,
took it in perfectly good part. At a late hour coaches were called, to
which the gentlemen attended the ladies, after whose departure some of
them returned to the supper-room, and the end was that Carpezan had
to be carried away in a chair, and that the King of Hungary had a severe
headache; and that the Poet, though he remembered making a great
number of speeches, was quite astounded when half a dozen of his guests
appeared at his house the next day, whom he had invited over night to
come and sup with him once more.
As he put Mrs. Lambert and her daughters into their coach on the
night previous, all the ladies were flurried, delighted, excited; and you
may be sure our gentleman was with them the next day, to talk of the
play and the audience, and the actors, and the beauties of the piece, over
and over again. Mrs. Lambert had heard that the ladies of the theatre
THE YIRGINIANS.
were dangerous company for young men. She hoped George would have
a care, and not frequent the green-room too much.
George smiled, and said he had a preventive against all green-room
temptations, of which he was not in the least afraid ; and as he spoke he
looked in Theo's face, as if in those eyes lay the amulet which was to
preserve him from all danger.
" Why should he be afraid, Mamma?" asks the maiden simply. She
had no idea of danger or of guile.
<' No, my darling, I don't think he need be afraid," says the mother,
kissing her.
'< You don't suppose Mr. George would fall in love with that painted
old creature who performed the chief part?" asks Miss Hetty, with a
toss of her head. " She must be old enough to be his mother."
" Pray, do you suppose that at our age nobody can care for us, or that
we have no hearts left?" asks Mamma, very tartly. *' I believe, or I
may say, I hope and trust, your father thinks otherwise. He is, I
imagine, perfectly satisfied, miss. He does not sneer at age, whatever
little girls out of the schoolroom may do. And they had much better be
back there, and they had much better remember what the fifth com-
mandment is — that they had, Hetty ! "
*' I didn't think I was breaking it by saying that an actress was as old
as George's mother," pleaded Hetty.
" George's mother is as old as I am, miss! — at least she was when we
were at school. And Fanny Parker — Mrs. Mountain who now is — was
seven months older, and we were in the French class together ; and I
have no idea that our age is to be made the subject of remarks and ridi-
cule by our children, and I will thank you to spare it, if you please ! Do
you consider your mother too old, George ?"
'* I am glad my mother is of your age, Aunt Lambert," says George,
in the most sentimental manner.
Strange infatuation of passion — singular perversity of reason! At
some period before his marriage, it not unfrequently happens that a man
actually is fond of his mother-in-law ! At this time our good General
vowed, and with some reason, that he was jealous. Mrs. Lambert made
much more of George than of any other person in the family. She
dressed up Theo to the utmost advantage in order to meet him ; she was
lor ever caressing her, and appealing to her when he spoke. It was,
"Don't you think he looks well?" — "Don't you think he looks pale,
Theo, to-day?" — "Don't you think he has been sitting up over his
books too much at night ? " and so forth. If he had a cold, she would
have liked to make gruel for him and see his feet in hot water. She sent
him recipes of her own for his health. When he was away, she never
ceased talking about him to her daughter. I daresay Miss Theo liked
the subject well enough. When he came, she was sure to be wanted in
some other part of the house, and would bid Theo take care of him till
she returned. Why, before she returned to the room, could you hear
her talking outside the door to her youngest innocent children, to her
THE MRGiXIA.NS. 477
servauts in the upper regions, and so forth ? When slie re-appeared,
■uas not Mr. George always standing or sitting at a considerable distance
from Miss Theo — except, to be sure, on that one day wheu she had just
ha!)pened to drop her scissors, and he had naturally stooped down to
pick them up ? Why was she blushing ? Were not youthful cheeks
made to blush, and roses to bloom in the spring ? If ot that Mamma ever
noted the blushes, but began quite an artless conversation about this or
that, as she sate down brimful of happiness to her work-table.
And at last there came a letter from Virginia in Madam Esmond's neat,
well-known hand, and over which George trembled and blushed before
he broke the seal. It was in answer to the letter which he had sent
home, respecting his brother's commission and his own attachment to
Miss Lambert. Of his intentions respecting Harry, Madam Esmond
fully approved. As for his marriage, she was not against early mar-
riages. She would take his picture of Miss Lambert with the allowance
that was to be made for lovers' portraits, and hope, for his sake, that
the young lady was all he described her to be. With money, as Madam
Esmond gathered from her son's letter, she did not appear to be provided
at all, which was a pity, as, though wealthy in land, their family had
but little ready-money. However, by Heaven's blessing, there was
plenty at home for children and children's children, and the wives of her
sons should share all she had. When she heard more at length from
Mr. and Mrs. Lambert, she would reply for her part more fully. She
did not pretend to say that she had not greater hopes for her son, as a
gentleman of his name and prospects might pretend to the hand of the
first lady of the land ; but as Heaven had willed that her son's choice
should fall upon her old friend's daughter, she acquiesced, and would
welcome George's wife as her own child. This letter was brought by
Mr. Yan den Bosch of Albany, who had lately bought a very large estate
in Virginia, and who was bound for England to put his grand- daughter
to a boarding-school. She, Madam Esmond, was not mercenary, nor
was it because this young lady was heiress of a very great fortune that
she desired her sons to pay Mr. Van d. B. every attention. Their
properties lay close together, and could Harry find in the young lady
those qualities of person and mind suitable for a companion for life, at
least she would have the satisfaction of seeing both her children near
her in her declining years. Madam Esmond concluded ly sending her
afiectionate compliments to Mrs. Lambert, from whom blie begged to
hear further, and her blessing to the young lady who was to be her
daughter-in-law.
The letter was not cordial, and the writer evidently but half satisfied ;
but, such as it was, her consent was here formally announced. How
eagerly George ran away to Soho with the long-desired news in his
pocket I I suppose our worthy friends there must have read his news in
his countenance — else why should Mrs. Lambert take her daughter s
hand and kiss her with such uncommon warmth, when George an-
nounced that he had received letters from home? Then, with a break
47« THE VIRGINIANS.
in his voice, a pallid face, and a considerable tremor, turning to Hr.
Lambert, he said : ** Madam Esmond's letter, sir, is in reply to one of
mine, in which I acquainted her that I had formed an attachment in
England, for which I asked my mother's approval. She gives her con-
sent, I am grateful to say, and I have to pray my dear friends to be
equally kind to me."
" God bless thee, my dear boy I " gays the good General, laying a
hand on the young man's head. "I am glad to have thee for a son,
George. There, there, don't go down on your knees, young folks!
George may, to be sure, and thank God for giving him the best little
wife in all England. Yes, my dear, except when you were ill, you
never caused me a heartache — and happy is the man, I say, who wins
thee ! "
I have no doubt the young people knelt before their parents, as was
the fashion in those days ; and am perfectly certain that Mrs. Lambert
kissed both of them, and likewise bedewed her pocket-handkerchief in
the most plentiful manner. Hetty was not present at this sentimental
scene, and when she heard of it, spoke with considerable asperity, and
a laugh that was by no means pleasant, saying : "Is this all the news
you have to give me ? Why, I have known it these months past. Do
you think I have no eyes to see, and no ears to hear, indeed ?" But
in private she was much more gentle. She flung herself on her sister's
neck, embracing her passionately, and vowing that never, never would
Theo find any one to love her like her sister. With Theo she became
entirely mild and humble. She could not abstain from her jokes and
satire with George, but he was too happy to heed her much, and too
generous not to see the cause of her jealousy.
When all parties concerned came to read Madam Esmond's letter,
that document, it is true, appeared rather vague. It contained only
a promise that she would receive the young people at her house, and
no sort of proposal for a settlement. The General shook his head
over the letter — he did not think of examining it until some days
after the engagement had been made between George and his daughter :
bijt now he read Madam Esmond's words, they gave him but small
encouragement.
*' Bah!" says George. " I shall have three hundred pounds for my
tragedy. I can easily write a play a-year ; and if the worst comes to the
worst, we can live on that."
" On that and your patrimony,'* says Theo's father.
George now had to explain, with some hesitation, that what with
paying bills for his mother, and Harry's commission and debts, and his
own ransom — George's patrimony proper was well-nigh spent.
Mr. Lambert's countenance looked graver still at this announcement,
but he saw his girl's eyes turned towards him with an alarm so tender,
that he took her in his arms and vowed tliat, let the worst come to the
worst, his darling should not be baulked of her wish.
About the going back to Virginia, George frankly owned that ha
THE viKaixiA:;3. 4'»<5
little liked the notion of returning to ha entirely depenlent on his
motiier. lie gave General Lambert an idea of his life at home, and
e:xplained how little to his taste that slavery was. No. Why should
he not stay in England, write more tragedies, study for the bar, get a
place, perhaps ? Why, indeed ? He straightway began to form a plan
for another tragedy. He brought portions of his work, from time to
lime, to Miss Theo and her sister : Hetty yawned over the woi k, but
Theo pronounced it to be still more beautiful and admirable than the
last, which was perfect.
The engagement of our young friends was made known to the mem-
bers of their respective families, and announced to Sir Miles Warrington,
in a ceremonious letter from his nephew. For a while Sir Miles saw
no particular objection to the marriage ; though, to be sure, considering
his name and prospects, Mr. Warrington might have looked higher.
The truth was, that Sir Miles imagined that Madam Esmond had made
some considerable settlement on her son, and that his circumstances
were more than easy. But when he heard that George was entirely
dependent on his mother, and that his own small patrimony was dissi -
pated, as Harry's had been before. Sir Miles's indignation at his nephew's
imprudence knew no bounds ; he could not find words to express his
horror and anger at the want of principle exhibited by both these
unhappy young men : he thought it his duty to speak his mind about
them, and wrote his opinion to his sister Esmond in Virginia. As
for General and Mrs. Lambert, who passed for respectable persons,
was it to be borne that such people should inveigle a penniless
young man into a marriage with their penniless daughter ? Regarding
them, and George's behaviour, Sir Miles fully explained his views to
Madam Esmond, gave half a finger to George whenever his nephew
called on him in town, and did not even invite him to partake of the
famous family small-beer. Towards Harry his uncle somewhat unbent ;
Harry had done his duty in the campaign, and was mentioned with
praise in high q^uarters. He had sowed his wild oats, — he at least was
endeavouring to amend ; but George was a young prodigal, fast careering
to ruin, and his name was only mentioned in the family with a groan.
Are there any poor fellows now-a-days, I wonder, whose polite families
fall on them and persecute them; groan over them and stone them, and
hand stones to their neighbours that they may do likewise ? All the
patrimony spent ! Gracious Heavens ! Sir Miles turned pale when ha
saw his nephew coming. Lady Warrington prayed for him as a dan-
gerous reprobate ; and, in the meantime, George was walking the town,
quite unconscious that he was occasioning so much wrath and so much
devotion. He took little Miley to the play and brought him back again.
He sent tickets to his aunt and cousins which they could not refuse, you
know ; it would look too marked were they to break altogether. So
they not only took the tickets, but whenever country constituents came
to town they asked for more, taking care to give the very worst motives
to George's intimacy with the theatre, and to suppose that he and the
480 THE VIRGINIANS.
actresses were on terms of the most disgraceful intimacy. An august
personage having been to the theatre, and expressed his approbation of
Mr. Warrington's drama to Sir Miles, when he attended his E-y-1
H-ghn-ss's levee at Saville House, Sir Miles, to be sure, modified his
opinion regarding the piece, and spoke henceforth more respectfully
of it. Meanwhile, as we have said, George was passing his life entirely
careless of the opinion of all the uncles, aunts, and cousins in the
world.
Most of the Esmond cousins were at least more polite and cordial
than George's kinsfolk of the Warrington side. In spite of his beha-
viour over the cards. Lord Castlewood, George always maiEtained,
had a liking for our Virginians, and George was pleased enough to be
in his company. He was a far abler man than many wtio succeeded in
life. He had a good name, and somehow only stained it ; a considerable
wit, and nobody trusted it; and a very shrewd experience and know-
ledge of mankind, which made him mistrust them, and himself most of
all, and which perhaps was the bar to his own advancement. My Lady
Castlewood, a woman of the world, wore always a bland mask, and
received Mr. George with perfect civility, and welcomed him to lose
as many guineas as he liked at her ladyship's card-tables. Between
Mr. William and the Virginian brothers there never was any love
lost ; but, as for Lady Maria, though her love affair was over, she had
no rancour; she professed for her cousins a very great regard and
affection, a part of which the young gentlemen very gratefully returned.
She was charmed to hear of Harry's valour in the campaign ; she
was delighted with George's success at the theatre ; she was for ever
going to the play, and had all the favourite passages of Carpezan by
heart. One day, as Mr. George and Miss Theo were taking a senti-
mental walk in Kensington Gardens, whom should they light upon
but their Cousin Maria in company with a gentleman in a smart suit
and handsome laced-hat, and who should the gentleman be but his
Majesty King Louis of Hungary, Mr. Hagan? He saluted the party,
and left them presently. Lady Maria had only just happened to meet
him. Mr. Hagan came sometimes, he said, for quiet, to study his
parts in Kensington Gardens, and George and the two ladies walked
together to Lord Castlewood's door in Kensington Square, Lady Maria
uttering a thousand compliments to Theo upon her good looks, upon her
virtue, upon her future happiness, upon her Papa and Mamma, upon
her destined husband, upon her paduasoy cloak and dear little feet and
shoe-buckles.
Harry happened to come to London that evening, and slept at hia
accustomed quarters. When George appeared at breakfast, the Captain
was already in the room (the custom of that day was to call all army
gentlemen Captains), and looking at the letters on the break fast- table.
•' Why, George," he cries, '* there is a letter from Maria ! "
" Little boy bring it from Common Garden last night — Master
Ceorge asleep," says Gumbo.
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 481
*' What can it be about?" asks Harry, as George peruses his letter
with a queer expression of lace.
" About my play, to be sure," George answers, tearing up the paper,
and still wearing his queer look.
" What, she is not writing love-letters to i/om, is she, Georgy ? "
''Ko, certainly not to me," replies the other. But he spoke no word
more about the letter ; and when at dinner in Dean Street, Mrs. Lambert
gaid, " So you met somebody walking with the King of Hungary
yesterday in Kensington Gardens ?"
" What little tell-tale told you? "
" A mere casual fencontre — the King goes tbere to study his parts,
and Lady Maria happened to be crossing the garden to visit some of
the other King's servants at Kensington Palace." And so there was an
end to that matter for the time being.
Other events were at hand fraught with interest to our Virginians.
One evening after Christmas, the two gentlemen, with a few more
friends, were met round General Lambert's supper-table, and among-
the company was Harry's new Colonel of the 67th, Major-General
Wolfe. The young General was more than ordinarily grave. The
conversation all related to the war. Events of great importance were
pending. The great minister now in power was determined to carry
on the war on a much more extended scale than had been attempted
hitherto : an army was ordered to Germany to help Prince Ferdinand,
another great expedition was preparing for America, and here, says
Mr. Lambert, *' I will give you the health of the Commander — a glorious
campaign, and a happy return to him ! "
"Why do you not drink the toast, General James?" asked the
hostess of her guest.
" He must not drink his own toast," says General Lambert; *' it is
we must do that ! "
What ? was James appointed ? — All the ladies must drink such a toast
as that, and they mingled their kind voices with the applause of the rest
of the company.
Why did he look so melancholy ? the ladies asked of one another when
they withdrew. In after days they remembered his pale face.
"Perhaps he has been parting from his sweetheart," suggests tender-
hearted Mrs. Lambert. And at this sentimental notion, no doubt all
the ladies looked sad.
The gentlemen, mean,^ile, continued their talk about the war and
its chances. Mr. Wolfe did not contradict the speakers when they said
that the expedition was to be directed against Canada.
" Ah, sir," says Harry, *' I wish your regiment was going with you,
and that I might pay another visit to my old friends at Quebec."
What, had Harry been there ? Yes. He described his visit to the
place five years before, and knew the city, and the neighbourhood, well.
He lays a number of bits of biscuit on the table before him, and makes
a couple of rivulets of punch on each side. *' This fork is the Islvi
482 THE YIKGINIANS.
d'Orleans," says he, *' with the north and south branches of St. Law-
rence on each side. Here's the Low town, with a battery — how many
guns was mounted there in our time, brother ? — but at long shots from
the St. Joseph shore you might play the same game. Here's what
they call the little river, the St. Charles, and a bridge of boats with a
tete du pont over to the place of arms. Here's the citadel, and here's
convents — ever so many convents — and the cathedral; and here, out-
side the lines to the west and south, is what they call the Plains of
Abraham— where a certain little affair took place, do you remember,
brother ? He and a young officer of the Eoussillon regiment ca ga'd at
each other for twenty minutes, and George pink«i him, and then they
jure' A. each other an amitie eternelle. Well it was for George : for
his second saved his life on that awful day of Braddock's defeat. He
was a fine little fellow, and I give his toast: *' Je hois a la sante du
Chevalier de Florae / "
"What, can you speak French too, Harry?" asks Mr. Wolfe. The
young man looked at the General with eager eyes.
" Yes," says he, "I can speak, but not so well as George."
*' But he remembers the city, and can place the batteries, you see, and
knows the ground a thousand times better than I do ! " cries the elder
brother.
The two elder officers exchanged looks with one another ; Mr. Lambert
smiled and nodded, as if in reply to the mute queries of his comrade :
on which the other spoke. "Mr. Harry," he said, "if you have had
enough of fine folks, and White's, and horse-racing — "
" 0, sir ! " says the young man, turning very red.
" And if you have a mind to a sea- voyage at a short notice, come and
see me at my lodgings to-morrow."
What was that sudden uproar of cheers which the ladies heard in their
drawing-room ? It was the hurrah which Harry Warrington gave when
he leaped up at hearing the General's invitation.
The women saw no more of the gentlemen that night. General
Lambert had to be away upon his business early next morning, before
seeing any of his family ; nor had he mentioned a word of Harry's
outbreak on the previous evening. But when he rejoined his folks at
dinner, a look at Miss Hetty's face informed the worthy gentleman
that she knew what had passed on the night previous, and what was
about to happen to the young Virginian. After dinner Mrs. Lambert
sat demurely at her work, Miss Theo took her book of Italian Poetry.
Neither of the General's customary guests happened to be present that
evening.
He took little Hetty's hand in his, and began to talk with her. He
did not allude to the subject which he knew was uppermost in her
mind, except that by a more than ordinary gentleness and kindness
he perhaps caused her to understand that her thoughts were known
to him.
THE VIRGINIANS. 483
" I have breakfasted," says he, " with James "Wolfe this inomiDg,
and our friend Harry was of the party. When he and the other guests
were gone, I remained and talked with James about the great expe-
dition on which he is going to sail. "Would that his brave father had
lived a few months longer to see him come back covered with honours
from Louisbourg, and knowing that all England was looking to him to
achieve still greater glory ! James is dreadfully ill in body — so ill that
I am frightened for him — and not a little depressed in mind at having
to part from the young lady whom he has loved so long. A little rest,
he thinks, might have set his shattered frame up ; and to call her his
has been the object of his life. But, great as his love is (and he is as
romantic as one of you young folks of seventeen), honour and duty are
greater, and he leaves home, and wife, and ease, and health, at their
bidding. Every man of honour would do the like ; every woman wlio
loves him truly would buckle on his armour for him. James goes to take
leave of his mother to-night ; and though she loves him devotedly, and is
one of the tenderest women in the world, I am sure she will show no sign
of weakness at his going away."
" When does he sail. Papa ?" the girl asked.
** He will be on board in five days." And Hetty knew quite well
who sailed with him.
CHAPTEE LXVIII.
Ef -WHICH HAEET GOES WESTWARD.
OuE tender hearts are averse to all ideas and descriptions of parting ;
and I shall therefore say nothing of Harry Warrington's feelings at
taking leave of his brother and friends. "Were not thousands of men
in the same plight ? Had not Mr. Wolfe his mother to kiss (his brave
father had quitted life during his son's absence on the glorious Louis-
bourg campaign), and his sweetheart to clasp in a farewell embrace ?
Had not stout Admiral Holmes, before sailing westward, with his
squadron. The Somerset, The Terrible, The Northumberland, The
Eoyal William, The Trident, The Diana, The Sea-horse — his own flag
being hoisted on board The Dublin — to take leave of Mrs. and the
Misses Holmes ? Was Admiral Saunders, who sailed the day after
him, exempt from human feeling? Away go William and his crew
of jovial sailors, ploughing through the tumbling waves, and poor
Black-eyed Susan on shore watches the ship as it dwindles in the
sunset !
It dwindles in the AVest. The night falls darkling over the ocean.
They are gone : but their hearts are at home yet awhile. In silence,
with a heart inexpressibly soft and tender, how each man thinks of
I I 2
484 THE yiilGIXIANS.
these he has left ! "What a chorus of pitiful prayer rises up to the
rather, at sea and on shore, on that parting night : at home by the
vacant bed-side, where the wife kneels in tears ; round the tire, where
the mother and children together pour out their supplications : or on
deck, where the sea-farer looks up to the stars of heaven, as the ship
cleaves through the roaring midnight waters ! To-morrow the sun rises
upon our common life again, and we commence our daily task of toil
and duty.
George accompanies his brother, and stays awhile with him at Ports-
mouth whilst they are waiting for a wind. lie shakes Mr. Wolfe's
hand, looks at his pale face for the last time, and sees the vessels depart
amid the clangour of bells, and the thunder of cannon from the shore,
j^ext day he is back at his home, and at that business which is sure one
of the most selfish and absorbing of the world's occupations, to which
almost every man who is thirty years old has served ere this his appren-
ticeship. He has a pang of sadness, as he looks in at the lodgings to
the little room which Harry used to occupy, and sees his half-burned
papers still in the grate. In a few minutes he is on his way to Dean
Street again, and whispering by the fitful firelight in the ear of the
clinging sweetheart. She is very happy — so happy ! at his return.
She is ashamed of being so. Is it not heartless to be so, when poor
Hetty is so melancholy ? Poor little Hetty ! Indeed, it is selfish to
be glad when she is in such a sad way. It makes one quite wretched
to see her. ''Don't, sir! Well, I ought to be wretched, and it's very,
very wicked of me if I'm not," says Theo ; and one can understand her
soft-hearted repentance. What she means by *' Don't " who can tell ? I
liave said the room was dark, and the fire burned fitfully — and " Don't"
is no doubt uttered in one of the dark fits. Enter servants with, supper
and lights. The family arrives; the conversation becomes general.
The destination of the fleet is known everywhere now. The force on
board is sufficient to beat all the French in Canada ; and, under such an
officer as Wolfe, to repair the blunders and disasters of previous cam-
paigns. He looked dreadfully ill, indeed. But he has a great soul in
a feeble body. The ministers, the country hope the utmost from him.
After supper, according to custom, Mr. Lambert assembles his modest
household, of whom George Warrington may be said quite to form a
part ; and as he prays for all travellers by land and water, Theo and her
sister are kneeling together. And so, as the ship speeds farther and
farther into the West, the fond thoughts pursue it ; and the night passes,
and the sun rises.
A day or two more, and everybody is at his books or his usual work.
As for George Warrington, that celebrated dramatist is busy about
another composition. When the tragedy of Carpezan had run some
thirty or two-score nights, other persons of genius took possession of the
theatre.
There may have been persons who wondered how the town could be so
fickle as ever to tire of such a masterpice as the Tragedy — who could not
TUE YIEGINIAXS. 485
bear to see the actors dressed in other habits, reciting other men's
verses ; but George, of a sceptical turn of mind, took the fate of his
Tragedy very philosophically, and pocketed the proceeds with much quiet
satisfaction. From Mr. Dodsley, the bookseller, he had the usual com-
plement of a hundred pounds ; from the manager of the theatre two
hundred or more ; and such praises from the critics and his friends, that
he set to work to prepare another piece, w^ith which he hoped to achieve
even greater successes than by his first performance.
Over these studies, and the other charming business which occupies
him, months pass away. Happy business! Happiest time of youth
and life, when love is first spoken and returned ; when the dearest eyes
are daily shining welcome, and the fondest lips never tire of whispering
their sweet secrets; when the parting look that accompanies "Good
night!" gives delightful warning of to-morrow; when the heart is so
overflowing with love and happiness, that it has to spare fo'* all the
world , when the day closes with glad prayers, and opens with joyful
hopes ; when doubt seems cowardice, misfortune impossible, poverty
only a sweet trial of constancy ! Theo's elders, thankfully remember-
ing their own prime, sit softly by and witness this pretty comedy per-
formed by their young people. And in one of his later letters, dutifully
written to his wife during a temporary absence from home, George War-
rington records how he had been to look up at the windows of the dear
old house in Dean Street, and wondered who was sitting in the chamber
where he and Theo had been so happy.
Meanwhile we can learn how the time passes, and our friends are
engaged, by some extracts from George's letters to his brother.
" From the old window opposite Bedford Gardens, this 2Qith August, VJo^.
" Why are you gone back to rugged rocks, bleak shores, burning
summers, nipping winters, at home, when you might have been crop-
ping ever so many laurels in Germany ? Kingsley's are coming back
as covered with 'em as Jack-a-Green on May-day. Our six regiments
did wonders ; and our horse would have done if my Lord George Sack-
ville only had let them. But when Prince Ferdinand said ' Charge ! '
his lordship could not hear, or could not translate the German word for
* Forward ; ' and so we only beat the French, without utterly annihilat-
ing them, as we might, had Lord Granby or Mr. Warrington had thi
command. My lord is come back to town, and is shouting for a Court-^'
Martial. He held his head high enough in prosperity : in misfortune he
shows such a constancy of arrogance that one almost admires him. He
looks as if he rather envied poor Mr. Byng, and the not shooting him
were a inanque d^egards towards him.
** The Duke has had notice to get himself in readiness for departing
from this world of grandeurs and victories, and downfalls and disappoint-
ments. An attack of palsy has visited his lloyal Highness ; a.nd pallida
mors has just peeped in at his door, as it were, and said, * I will call
again.' Tyrant as he was, this prince has been noble in disgrace ; and
THE VIRGINIANS.
no king has ever had a truer servant than ours has found in his son.
Why do I like the losing side always, and am I disposed to revolt against
the winners ? Your famous Mr. P , your chiefs patron and dis-
coverer, I have been to hear in the House of Commons twice or thrice.
I revolt against his magniloquence. I wish some little David wouid
topple over that swelling giant. His thoughts and his language are
always attitudinising. I like Barry's manner best, though the other
is the more awful actor.
" Pocahontas gets on apace, Barry likes his part of Captain Smith ;
and, though he will have him wear a red coat and blue facings and an
epaulet, I have a fancy to dress him exactly like one of the pictures of
Queen Elizabeth's gentlemen at Hampton Court ; with a ruff and a
square beard and square shoes. * And Pocahontas — would you like her
to be tattooed?' asks uncle Lambert. Hagan's part as the warrior who
is in love with her, and, seeing her partiality for the Captain, nobly
rescues him from death, I trust will prove a hit. A strange fish is this
Hagan : his mouth full of stage plays and rant, but good, honest, and
brave, if I don't err. He is angry at having been cast lately for Sir
O'ljrallaghan, in Mr. Macklin's new farce of Love A-la-mode. He says
that he does not keer to disgreece his tongue with imiteetions of that
rascal brogue. As if there was any call for imiteetions, when he has
such an admirable twang of his own !
"Shall I tell you? Shall I hide the circumstance? Shall I hurt
yonr feelings ? Shall I set you in a rage of jealousy, and cause you to
ask for leave to return to Europe ? Know, then, that though Carpezan
is long since dead, Cousin Maria is for ever coming to the play-house.
Tom Spencer has spied her out night after night in the gallery, and she
comes on the nights when Hagan performs. Quick, Burroughs, Mr.
Warrington's boots and portmanteau ! Order a chaise and four for
Portsmouth immediately ! The letter which I burned one morning when
we were at breakfast (I may let the cat out of the bag, now puss has
such a prodigious way to run) was from Cousin M., hinting that she
wished me to tell no tales about her : but I can't help just whispering to
you that Maria at this moment is busy consoling herself as fast as pos-
sible. Shall I spoil sport ? Shall I tell her brother ? Is the affair any
business of mine ? What have the Esmonds done for you and me but
win our money at cards ? Yet I like our noble cousin. It seems to me
that he would be good if he could— or rather, he would have been once.
He has been set on a wrong way of life, from which 'tis now probably
too late to rescue him. O heati agricolai ! Our Virginia was dull, but
let us thank Heaven we were bred there. We were made little slaves,
but not slaves to wickedness, gambling, bad male and female company.
It was not until my poor Harry left home that he fell among thieves.
I mean thieves en grand, such as waylaid him and stripped him on Eng-
lish high-roads. I consider you none the worse because you were the
unlucky one, and had to deliver your purse up. And now you arc going
to rolrieve, and make a good name for yourself; and kill more ' French
THE VIRGINIANS. 487
dragons/ and become a great commander. And our mother will talk of
her son the Captain, the Colonel, the General, and have his picture
painted with all his stars and epaulets, when poor I shall be but a
dawdling poetaster, or, if we may hope for the best, a snug placeman,
with a little box at Richmond or Kew, and a half- score of little pica-
ninnies, that willi^ome and bob curtseys at the garden-gate when their
uncle the General rides up on his great charger, with his aide-de-camp's
pockets filled with gingerbread for the nephews and nieces. 'Tis for
you to brandish the sword of Mars. As for me I look forward to a quiet
life : a quiet little home, a quiet little library full of books, and a little
Some one dulce ridentem, dulce loquentem, on t'other side of the fire, as
I scribble away at my papers. I am so pleased with this prospect, so
utterly contented and happy, that I feel afraid as I think of it, lest it
should escape me : and even to my dearest Hal, am shy of speaking of
my happiness. What is ambition to me, with this certainty ? What do
I care for wars, with this beatific peace smiling near ?
''Our mother's friend, Mynheer Van den Bosch, has been away on a
tour to discover his family in Holland, and, strange to say, has found
one. Miss (who was intended by maternal solicitude to be a wife for
your worship) has had six months at Kensington School, and is coming
out with a hundred pretty accomplishments, which are to complete her a
perfect fine lady. Her Papa brought her to make a curtsey in Dean
Street, and a mighty elegant curtsey she made. Though she is scarce
seventeen, no dowager of sixty can be more at her ease. She conversed
with Annt Lambert on an equal footing ; she treated the girls as chits —
to Hetty's wrath and Theo's amusement. She talked politics with the
General, and the last routs, dresses, operas, fashions, scandal, with suck
perfect ease that, but for a blunder or two, you might have fancied Miss
Lydia was born in Mayfair. At the Court end of the town she will
live, she says; and has no patience with her father, who has a lodg-
ing in Monument Yard. For those who love a brown beauty, a prettier
little migno7ine creature cannot be seen. But my taste, you know,
dearest brother, and . . . ."
Here follows a page of raptures and quotations of verse, which, out of
a regard for the reader, and the writer's memory, the editor of the
present pages declines to reprint. Gentlemen and ladies of a certain
age may remember the time when they indulged in these rapturous
follies on their own accounts ; when the praises of the charmer were for
ever warbling from their lips or trickling from their pens ; when the
flowers of life were in full bloom, and all the birds of spring were sing-
ing. The twigs are now bare, perhaps, and the leaves have fallen ; but,
for all that, shall we not remember the vernal time ? As for you, young
people, whose May (or April, is it ?) has not commenced yet, you need
not be detained over other folks' love-rhapsodies ; depend on it, when
your spring-season arrives, kindly Nature will warm all your fiowersinto
bloom, and rouse your glad bosoms to pour out their full song.
488 THE VIRGINIANS.
CHAPTER LXIX.
A LITTLE I^^NOCEXT.
Geoege Waeeikgton lias mentioned in the letter just quoted, that
in spite of my Lord Caetlewood's previous play transactions with Harry,
my lord and George remained friends, and met on terms of good kinsman-
ship. Did George want franks, or an introduction at Court, or a place
in the House of Lords to hear a debate, his cousin was always ready to
serve him, was a pleasant and witty companion, and would do anything
which might promote his relative's interests, provided his own were not
prejudiced.
iS^ow he even went so far as to promise that he would do his best with
the people in power to provide a place for Mr. George Warrington, who
daily showed a greater disinclination to return to his native country, and
place himself once more under the maternal servitude. George had not
merely a sentimental motive for remaining in England : the pursuits and
society of London pleased him infinitely better than any which he could
have at home. A planter's life of idleness might have suited him could
he have enjoyed independence with it. But in Virginia he was only the
lirst, and, as he thought, the worst-treated, of his mother's subjects. He
dreaded to think of returning with his young bride to his home, and of
the life which she would be destined to lead there. Better freedom and
poverty in England, with congenial society, and a hope perchance of
future distinction, than the wearisome routine of home life, the tedious
subordination, the frequent bickerings, the certain jealousies and dif-
ferences of opinion, to which he must subject his wife so soon as they
turned their faces homeward.
So Lord Castlewood's promise to provide for George was very eagerly
accepted by the Virginian. My lord had not provided very well for his
own brother to be sure, and his own position, peer as he was, was any-
thing but enviable ; but we believe what we wish to believe, and George
Warrington chose to put great stress upon his kinsman's offer of
patronage. Unlike the Warrington family, Lord Castlewood was quite
gracious when he was made acquainted with George's engagement to Miss
Lambert ; came to wait upon her parents ; praised George to them and
the young lady to George, and made himself so prodigiously agreeable in
their company that these charitable folk forgot his bad reputation, and
thought it must be a very wicked and scandalous world which maligned
him. He said, indeed, that he was improved in their society, as every
man must be who came into it. Among them he was witty, lively, good
for the time being. He left his wickedness and worldliness with hi»
cloak in the hall, and only put them on again when he stepped into his
chair. What worldling ou life's voyage does not know of some such
THE VIRGINIANS.
harbour of rest and calm, some haven where he puts in out of the
storm ? Very likely Lord Castle wood was actually better whilst he
stayed with those good people, and for the time being at least, no
hypocrite.
And I dare say, the Lambert elders thought no worse of his lordship
for openly proclaiming his admiration for Miss Theo. It was quite
genuine, and he did not profess it was very deep.
" It don't affect my sleep, and I am not going to break my heart
because Miss Lambert prefers somebody else," he remarked. " Only I
wish when I was a young man. Madam, I had had the good fortune to
meet with somebody so innocent and good as your daughter. I might
have been kept out of a deal of harm's way : but innocent and good
young women did not fall into mine, or they would have made me better
than I am."
'' Sure, my lord, it is not too late !" says Mrs. Lambert, very softly.
Castle wood started back, misunderstanding her.
"Not too late, Madam ?" he inquired.
She blushed. "It is too late to court my dear daughter," my lord,
"but not too late to repent. We read, 'tis never too late to do that.
If others have been received at the eleventh hour, is there any reasoD
why you should give up hope :"
"Perhaps I know my own heart better than you," he says in a
plaintive tone. " I can speak French and German very well, and why ?
because I was taught both in the nursery. A man who learns them
late can never get the practice of them on his tongue. And so 'tis the
case with goodness, I can't learn it at my age. I can only see others
practise it, and admire them. When I am on— on the side opposite to
Lazarus, will Miss Theo give me a drop of water ? Don't frown ! I
know I shall be there, Mrs. Lambert. Some folks are doomed so ; and
I think some of our family are amongst these. Some people are vacil-
lating, and one hardly knows which way the scale will turn. Whereas
some are predestined angels, and fly Heavenwards naturally, and do
what they will."
" 0, my lord, and why should you not be of the predestined ? Whilst
there is a day left — whilst there is an hour — there is hope ! " says the
fond matron.
" I know what is passing in your mind, my dear Madam — nay, I
read your prayers in your looks ; but how can they avail ?" Lord
Castlewood asked sadly. " You don't know all, my good lady. You
don't know what a life ours is of the world ; how early it began ; how
selfish Nature, and then necessity and education have made us. It is
Fate holds the reins of the chariot, and we can't escape our doom. I
know better : I see better people : I go my own way. My own ? No,
not mine — Fate's : and it is not altogether without pity for us, since it
allows us, from time to time, to see such people as you." And he took
her hand and looked her full in the face, and bowed with a melancholy
grace. Every word he said was true. No greater error than to suppose
490 THE YIRGINIANS.
tliat weak and bad men are strangers to good feelings, or deficient of
sensibility. Only the good feeling does not last — nay, the tears are a
kind of debauch of sentiment, as old libertines are said to find that the
tears and grief of their victims add a zest to their pleasure. But Mrs.
Lambert knew little of what was passing in this man's mind (how should
she ?), and so prayed for him with the fond persistence of woman. He
was much better — yes, much better than he was supposed to be. He was
a most interesting man. There were hopes, why should there not be the
most precious hopes for him still ?
It remains to be seen which of the two speakers formed the correct
estimate of my lord's character. Meanwhile, if the gentleman was
right, the lady was mollified, and her kind wishes and prayers for this
experienced sinner's repentance, if they were of no avail for his amend-
ment, at least could do him no harm. Kind souled doctors (and what
good woman is not of the faculty ?) look after a reprobate as physicians
after a perilous case. When the patient is converted to health their
interest ceases in him, and they drive to feel pulses and prescribe medi-
cines elsewhere.
But, while the malady was under treatment, our kind lady could not
see too much of her sick man. Q,uite an intimacy sprung up between
my Lord Castlewood and the Lamberts. I am not sure that some worldly
views might not suit even with good Mrs. Lambert's spiritual plans (for
who knows into what pure Eden, though guarded by flaming-sworded
angels, worldliness will not creep ?). Her son was about to take orders.
My Lord Castlewood feared very much that his present Chaplain's, Mr.
Sampson's, careless life and heterodox conversations might lead him to
give up his chaplaincy ; in which case, my lord hinted the little modest
cure would be vacant, and at the service of some young divine of good
principles and good manners, who would be content with a small stipend,
and a small but friendly congregation.
Thus an acquaintance was established between the two families, and
the ladies of Castlewood, always on their good behaviour, came more
than once to make their curtseys in Mrs. Lambert's drawing-room. They
were civil to the parents and the young ladies. My Lady Castlewood's
card assemblies were open to Mrs. Lambert and her family. There was
play, certainly — all the world played — his Majesty, the Bishops, every
Peer and Peeress in the land. But nobody need play who did not like ;
and surely nobody need have scruples regarding the practice, when such
august and venerable personages were daily found to abet it. More than
once Mrs. Lambert made her appearance at her ladyship's routs, and was
grateful for the welcome which she received, and pleased with the
admiration which her daughters excited.
Mention has been made, in a foregoing page and letter, of an
American family of Dutch extraction, who had come to England very
strongly recommended by Madam Esmond, their Virginian neighbour,
to her sons in Europe. The views expressed in Madam Esmond's letter
were so clear, that that arch match-maker, Mrs. Lambert, could not but
THE VIRGIXIANS. 491
understand them. As for George, lie was engaged alreadj^ ; as for poor
Hetty's flame, Harry, he was gone on set vice, for which circumstance
Hetty's mother was not very sorry perhaps. She laughingly told George
that he ouglit to obey his Mamma's injunctions, break off his engagement
with Theo, and make up to Miss Lydia, who was ten times — ten times !
a hundred times as rich as her poor girl, and certainly much handsomer.
** Yes, indeed," says George, *'that I own: she is handsomer, and she
is richer, and perhaps even cleverer." (All which praises Mrs. Lambert
but half liked.) " But say she is all these ? So is Mr. Johnson much
cleverer than I am : so is, whom shall we say ? — so is Mr. Hagan the actor
much taller and handsomer : so is Sir James Lowther much richer : yet
pray. Ma'am, do you suppose I am going to be jealous of any one of these
tliree, or think my Theo would jilt me for their sakes? Why should I
not allow that Miss Lydia is handsomer, then ? and richer, and clever,
too, and lively, and well bred, if you insist on it, and an angel if you
will have it so ? Theo is not afraid : art thou, child ? "
*'No, George," says Theo, with such an honest look of the eyes, as
would convince any scepticism, or shame any jealous}-. And if, after
this pair of speeches. Mamma takes occasion to leave the room for a
minute to fetch her scissors, or her thimble, or a boot-jack and slippers,
or the cross and ball on the top of St. Paul's, or her pocket-handkerchief
which she has forgotten in the parlour — if, I sa}-, JMrs. Lambert quits
the room on any errand or pretext, natural or preposterous, I shall not
be in the least surprised, if, at her return in a couple of minutes, she
finds George in near proximity to Theo, who has a heightened colour,
and whose hand George is just dropping, I shall not have the least idea
of what they have been doing. Have you. Madam? Have you any
remembrance of what used to happen when Mr. Grundy came a
courting ? Are you, who, after all, were not in the room with our young
people, going to cry out fie and for shame ? Then fie and for shame upon
you, Mrs. Grundy !
Well, Harry being away, and Theo and George irrevocably engaged,
so that there was no possibility of bringing Madam Esmond's little plans
to bear, why should not Mrs. Lambert have plans of her own ; and if a
rich, handsome, beautiful little wife should fall in his way, why should
not Jack Lambert from Oxford have her ? So thinks Mamma, who was
always thinking of marrying and giving in marriage, and so she prattles
to General Lambert, who, as usual, calls her a goose for her pains. At
any rate, Mrs. Lambert says beauty and riches are no objection ; at any
rate. Madam Esmond desired that this family should be hospitably
entertained, and it was not her fault that Harry was gone away to
Canada. Would the General wish him to come back ; leave the army
and his reputation, perhaps ; yes, and come to England and marry this
American, and break poor Hetty's heart — would her father wish that?
Let us spare further arguments, and not be so rude as to hint that Mr.
Lambert was in the right in calling a fond wife by the name of that
absurd splay-footed bird, annually sacrificed at the Feast of St. Michael.
492 THE VIRGmiANS.
In those early days, there were vast distinctions of rank drawn
between the Court and city people : and Mr. Van den Bosch, when he
first came to London, scarcely associated with any but the latter sort.
He had a lodging near his agent's in the city. "When his pretty girl
came from school for a holiday, he took her an airing to Islington or
Highgate, or an occasional promenade in the Artillery Ground in
Bunhill Fields. They went to that Baptist meeting-house in Finsbury
Fields, and on the sly to see Mr. Garrick once or twice, or that funny
rogue Mr. Foote, at the Little Theatre. To go to a Lord Mayor's feast
was a treat to the gentleman of the highest order : and to dance with a
young mercer at Hampstead Assembly gave the utmost delight to the
young lady. When George first went to wait upon his mother's friends,
he found our old acquaintance, Mr. Draper, of the Temple, sedulous in
his attentions to her ; and the lawyer, who was married, told Mr. War-
rington to look out, as the young lady had a plumb to her fortune. Mr.
Drabshaw, a young Quaker gentleman, and nephew of Mr. Trail, Madam
Esmond's Bristol agent, was also in constant attendance upon the young
lady, and in dreadful alarm and suspicion when Mr. Warrington first
made his appearance. Wishing to do honour to his mother's neighbours^
Mr. Warrington invited them to an entertainment at his own apart-
ments ; and who should so naturally meet them as his friends from Soho ?
Not one of them but was forced to own little Miss Lydia's beauty. She
had the foot of a fairy : the arms, neck, flashing eyes of a little brown
huntress of Diana. She had brought a little plaintive accent from home
with her — of which I, moi qui vous parle, have heard a hundred gross
Cockney imitations, and watched as many absurd disguises, and which
I say (in moderation) is charming in the mouth of a charming woman.
Who sets up to say No, forsooth ? You dear Miss Whittington, with
whose h's fate has dealt so unkindly ? — you lovely Miss Nicol Jarvie,
•with your northern burr ? — you beautiful Miss Molony, with your Darae
Street warble ? All accents are pretty from pretty lips, an*d who shall
set the standard up ? Shall it be a rose, or a thistle, or a shamrock, or a
star and stripe ? As for Miss Lydia's accent, I have no doubt it was not
odious even from the first day when she set foot on these polite shores,
otherwise Mr. Warrington, as a man of taste, had certainly disapproved
of her manner of talking, and her schoolmistress at Kensington had not
done her duty by her pupil.
After the six months were over, during which, according to her
father's calculation, she was to learn all the accomplishments procurable
at the Kensington Academy, Miss Lydia returned nothing loth to her
grandfather, and took her place in the world. A narrow world at first
it was to her ; but she was a resolute little person, and resolved to
enlarge her sphere in society ; and whither she chose to lead the way,
the obedient grandfather followed her. He had been thwarted himself
in early life, he said, and little good came of the severity he under-
went. He had thwarted his own son, who had turned out but ill.
As for little Lyddy, he was determined she should have as pleasant a
THE VIRGINIANS. 493
life as was possible- Did not Mr. George think he was right ? 'Iwas
said in Virginia — he did not know with what reason — that the young
gentlemen of Castlewood had been happier if Madam Esmond had
allowed them a little of their own way. George could not gainsay
this public rumour, or think of inducing the benevolent old gentle-
man to alter his plans respecting his grand-daughter. As for the
Lambert family, how could they do otherwise than welcome the kind old
man, the parent so tender and liberal. Madam Esmond's good friend ?
When Miss came from school, grandpapa removed from Monument
Yard to an elegant house in Bloomsbury ; whither they were followed
at first by their city friends. There were merchants from Virginia
Walk ; there were worthy tradesmen, with whom the worthy old mer-
chant had dealings ; there were their ladies and daughters and sons,
who were all highly gracious to Miss Lyddy. It would be a long task
to describe how these disappeared one by one — how there were no more
junketings at Belsize, or trips to Highgate, or Saturday jaunts to
Deputy Higgs' villa, Highbury, or country dances at honest Mr. Lute-
string's house at Hackney. Even the Sunday practice was changed ;
and, abomination of abominations ! Mr. Van den Bosch left Bethesda
Chapel in Bunhill Bow, and actually took a pew in Queen Square
Church !
Queen Square Churcli, and Mr. George Warrington lived hard by in
Southampton Bow! 'Twas easy to see at whom Miss Lyddy was
setting her cap, and Mr. Draper, who had been full of her and her
grandfather's praises before, now took occasion to warn Mr. George,
and gave him very different reports regarding Mr. Van den Bosch
to those which had first been current. Mr. Van d. B., for all he
bragged so of his Dutch parentage, came from Albany, and was
nobody's son at ail. He had made his money by land speculation,
or by privateering (which was uncommonly like piracy), and by the
Guinea trcide. His son had married — if marriage it could be called,
which was very doubtful — an assigned servant, and had been cut oft by
his father, and had taken to bad courses, and had died, luckily for him-
self, in his own bed.
"Mr. Draper has told you bad tales about me," said the placid old
gentleman to George. '* Very likely we are all sinners, and some evil
may be truly said of all of us, with a great deal more that is untrue.
Did he tell you that my son was unhappy with nie ? I told you so
too. Did he bring yoii wicked stories about my family ? He liked it
so well that he wanted to marry my Lyddy to his brother. Heaven
bless her ! I have had a many offers for her. And you are the young
gentleman I should have chose for her, and I like you none the worse
because you prefer somebody else ; though what you can see in your
Miss, as compared to my Lyddy, begging your honour's pardon, I am at
a loss to understand."
" There is no accounting for tastes, my good sir," said Mr. George,
"with his most superb air. •
494 THE VIRGINIANS.
"No, sir; 'tis a vronder of nature, and daily happens. "When I
kept store to Albany, there was one of your tip-top gentry there that
might have married my dear daughter that was alive then, and with a
pretty piece of money, whereby — for her father and I had quarrelled —
Miss Lyddy would have been a pauper, you see ; and in place of my
beautiful Bella, my gentleman chooses a little homely creature, no
prettier than your Miss, and without a dollar to her fortune. The
more fool he, saving your presence, Mr. George."
" Pray don't save my presence, my good sir," says George, laughing.
*'I suppose the gentleman's word was given to the other lady, and
he had seen her first, and hence was indifferent to your charming
daughter."
' ' I suppose when a yoting fellow gives his word to perform a cursed
piece of folly, he always sticks to it, my dear sir, begging your pardon.
But Lord, Lord, what am I speaking of? I am a speaking of twenty
year ago. I was well-to-do then, but I may say Heaven has blessed
my store, and I am three times as well off now. Ask my agents how
much they will give for Joseph Yan den Bosch's bill at six months on
New York — or at sight may be — for forty thousand pound ? I warrant
they will discount the paper."
** Happy he who has the bill, sir ! " says George, with a bow, not
a little amused with the candour of the old gentleman.
*' Lord, Lord, how mercenary you young men are ! " cries the elder,
simply. *' Always thinking about money now-a-days ! Happy he
who has the girl, I should say — the money ain't the question, my dear
sir, when it goes along with such a lovely young thing as that — though
I humbly say it, who oughn't, and who am her fond silly old grand-
father. We were talking about you, Lyddy, darling — come, give me a
kiss, my blessing ! We were talking about you, and Mr. George said
he wouldn't take you with all the money your poor old grandfather can
give you."
*'Nay, sir," says George.
"Well, you are right to say nay, for I didn't say all, that's the
truth. My Blessing will have a deal more than that trifle I spoke of,
when it shall please Heaven to remove me out of this world to a better
• — when poor old Gappy is gone, Lyddy will be a rich little Lyddy, that
she will. But she don't wish me to go yet, does she ? "
" O you darling dear grandpapa ! " says Lyddy.
"This young gentleman won't have you." (Lyddy looks an arch
** thank you, sir," from her brown eyes.) " But at any rate he is honest,
and that is more than we can say of some folks in this wicked London.
Lord, Lord, how mercenary they are ! Do you know that yonder, in
Monument Yard, they were all at my poor little Blessing for lier
money ? There was Tom Lutestring ; there was Mr. Draper, your
precious lawyer ; there was actually Mr. Tubbs, of Bethesda Chapel ;
and they must all come buzzing like flies round the honey-pot. That is
why we came out of the quarter, where my brother tradesmen live."
THE VIRGINIAXS.
" To avoid tlie flies, to be sure ! " says Miss Lydia, tossing up her
little head.
" Where my brother tradesmen live," continues the old gentleman.
** Else who am I to think of consorting with your grandees and tine
folk ? I don't care for the fashions, Mr. George ; I don't care for plays
and poetry, begging your honour's pardon ; I never went to a play in
my life, but to please this little minx."
"0, sir, 'twas lovely! and I cried so, didn't I, grandpapa?" says the
child.
*' At what? my dear?"
** At — at Mr. Warrington's play, grandpapa."
*'Did you, my dear':' I daresay; I daresay! It was mail day:
and my letters had come in : and my ship the * Lovely Lyddy' liad
just come into Falmouth ; and Captain Joyce reported how he had
mercifully escaped a French privateer ; and my head was so full of
thanks for that escape, which saved me a deal of money, Mr. George
— for the rate at which ships is underwrote this war time is so scan-
dalous that I often prefer to venture than to insure — that I confess I
didn't listen much to the play, sir, and only went to please this little
Lyddy."
"And you did please me, dearest Gappy! " cries the young lady,
*' Bless you ! then it's all I want. What does a man want more here
below than to please his children, Mr. George ? especially me, who
knew what was to be unhappy when I was young, and to repent of
Laving treated this darling's father too hard."
"0, grandpapa!" cries the child, with more caresses.
" Yes, I was too hard with him, dear ; and that's why I spoil my
little Lydkin so ! "
More kisses ensue between Lyddy and Gappy. The little creature
flings the pretty polished arms round the old man's neck, presses the
\ dark red lips on his withered cheek, surrounds the venerable head with
a halo of powder beaten out of his wig by her caresses ; and eyes Mr.
George the while, as much as to say. There, sir ! should you not like
me to do as much for you ?
We confess ; — but do we confess all ? George certainly told the story
of his interview with Lyddy and Gappy, and the old man's news
regarding his grand-daughter's wealth ; but I don't think he told
everything ; else Theo would scarce have been so much interested, or
so entirely amused and good-humoured with Lyddy when next the two
young ladies met.
They met now pretty frequently, especially after the old American
gentleman took up his residence in Bloomsbury. Mr. Yan den Bosch
s\'as in the City for the most part of the day, attending to his atfairs, and
appearing at his place upon 'Change. During his absence Lyddy had
the command of the house, and received her guests there like a lady, or
rode abroad in a fine coach, which she ordered her grandpapa to keep
for her, and into which he could very seldom be induced to set his foot.
496 THE VIRGIXIANS.
Before long Miss Lyddy was as easy in the coach as if she had ridden
in one all her life. She ordered the domestics here and there ; she
drove to the mercer's and the jeweller's, and she called upon her
friends with the utmost stateliness, or rode abroad with them to take
the air. Theo and Hetty were both greatly diverted with her : but
would the elder have been quite as well pleased had she known all
Miss Lyddy's doings ? Not that Theo was of a jealous disposition, —
far otherwise ; but there are cases when a lady has a right to a
little jealousy, as I maintain, whatever my fair readers may say to the
contrary.
It was because she knew he was engaged, very likely, that Miss
Lyddy permitted herself to speak so frankly in Mr. George's praise.
AVhen they were alone — and this blessed chance occurred pretty often
at Mr. Van den Bosch's house, for we have said he was constantly
absent on one errand or the other — it was wonderful how artlessly the
little creature would show her enthusiasm, asking him all sorts of
simple questions about himself, his genius, his way of life at home and
in London, his projects of marriage, and so forth.
** I am glad you are going to be married, so glad!" she would
say, heaving the most piteous sigh the while, *'for I can talk to you
frankly, quite frankly, as a brother, and not be afraid of that odious
politeness about which they were always scolding me at boarding-
school. I may speak to you frankly ; and if I like you, I may say so,
mayn't I, Mr. George ? "
" Pray, say so," says George, with a bow and a smile. ** That is
a kind of talk which most men delight to hear, especialJy from such
pretty lips as Miss Lydia's."
" What do you know about my lips ? " says the girl, with a pout and
an innocent look into his face.
*' "What, indeed ? " asks George. '' Perhaps I should like to know a
great deal more."
" They don't tell nothin' but truth, any how ! " says the girl; " that's
why some people don't like them ! If I have anything on my mind, it
must come out. I am a country-bred girl, I am — with my heart in my
mouth — all honesty and simplicity ; not like your English girls, who
have learned I don't know what at their boarding-schools, and from the
men afterwards."
** Our girls are monstrous little hypocrites, indeed! " cries George.
''You are thinking of Miss Lamberts? and I might have thought
of them ; but I declare I did not then. They have been at boarding-
school ; they have been in the world a great deal — so much the greater
pity for them, for be certain they learned no good there. And now
I have said so, of course you will go and tell Miss Theo, won't you,
sir?"
" That she has learned no good in the world ? She has scarce spoken
to men at all, except her father, her brother, and me. Which of us
would teach her any wrong, think you ? "
THE VIRGINIANS. 497
" 0, not you ! Though I can understand its being very dangerous to
be with you ! " says the girl, with a sigh.
"Indeed there is no danger, and I don't bite!" says George,
laughing.
*' I didn't say bite," says the girl, softly. ** There's other things
.langerous besides bitiug, I should think. Aren't you very witty ? Yes,
and sarcastic, and clever, and always laughing at people? Haven't you
a coaxing tongue ? If you was to look at me in that kind of way, I
don't know what would come to me. Was your brother like you, as I
■was to have married ? Was he aa clever and witty as you ? I have
heard he was like you : but he hadn't your coaxing tongue. Hoigho !
'Tis well you are engaged, Master George, that is all. Do you think if
you had seen me first, you would have liked Miss Theo best ? "
" They say marriages are made in Heaven, my dear, and let us trust
that mine has been arranged there," says George.
'' I suppose there was no such thing never known, as a man having
two sweethearts ? " asks the artless little maiden. " Guess it's a pity.
me ! What nonsense I'm a-talking ; there now ? I am like the
little girl who cried for the moon ; and I can't have it. 'Tis too
high for me — too high and splendid and shining : can't reach up to it
nohow. Well, what a foolish, wayward, little spoilt thing I am now !
But one thing you promise — on your word and your honour, now, Mr.
George ? "
" And what is that ? "
" That you won't tell Miss Theo, else she'll hate me."
" Why should she hate you ?"
** Because I hate her, and wish she was dead ! " breaks out the young
lady. And the eyes that were looking so gentle and lachrymose but
now, flame with sudden wrath, and her cheeks flush up. " For
shame!" she adds, after a pause. **I'm a little fool to speak ! But
whatever is in my heart must come out. I am a girl of the woods, I am.
1 was bred w^here the sun is hotter than in this foggy climate. And I
am not like your cold English girls ; who, before they speak, or think, or
feel, must wait for Mamma to give leave. There, there ! I may be a
little fool for saying what I have. I know you'll go and tell Miss Lam-
bert. AVell, do ! "
But, as we have said, George didn't tell Miss Lambert. Even from
the beloved person there must be some things kept secret : even to him-
self, perhaps, he did not quite acknowledge what was the meaning of the
little girl's confession ; or, if he acknowledged it, did not act on it ;
except in so far as this, perhaps, that my gentleman, in Miss Lydia's
presence, was particularly courteous and tender ; and in her absence
thought of her very kindly, and always with a certain pleasure. It were
hard, indeed, if a man might not repay by a little kindness and gratitude
the artless affection of such a warm young heart.
What was that story meanwhile which came round to our friends, of
young Mr. Lutestring and young Mr. Drabshaw the Quaker having a
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498 THE VIEGINIAXS.
boxing-match at a tavern in the city, and all about this young lady ?
They fell out over their cups, and fought probably. Why did Mr.
Draper, who had praised her so at first, tell such, stories now against her
grandfather? ''I suspect," says Madame de Bernstein, " that he wants the
girl for some client or relation of his own ; and that he tells these tales
in order to frighten all suitors from her. When she and her grandfather
came to me, slie behaved perfectly well ; and I confess, sir, I thought it
was a great pity that you should prefer yonder red- cheeked country fied
little chit, without a halfpenny, to this pretty, wild, artless girl, with
such a fortune as I hear she has."
"0, she bas been with you, has she, aunt?" asks George of his
relative.
''Of course she has been with me," the other replies, curtly. "Unless
your brother has been so silly as to fall in love witb that other little
Lambert girl "
•' indeed, Ma'am. I think I can say he has not," George remarks.
"Why, then, when he comes back with Mr. Wolfe, should he not
take a fancy to this little person, as his Mamma wishes — only, to do us
justice, we Esmonds care very little for what our Mammas wish — and
marry her, and set up beside you in Virginia ? She is to have a great
fortune, which you won't touch. Pray, why should it go out of the
family ? "
George now learned that Mr. Yan den Bosch and his grand- daughter
had been often at Madame de Bernstein's house. Taking his favourite
walk with his favourite companion to Kensington Gardens, he saw Mr.
Van den Bosch's chariot turning into Kensington Square. The Ame-
ricans were going to visit Lady Ca^tlewood then ? He found, on
some little inquiry, that they had been more than once with her ladyship.
It was, perhavis, strange that they should have said nothing of their
visits to George ; but, being little curious of other people's aftairs, and
having no intrigues or mysteries of his own, George was quite slow to
imagine them in other people. What mattered to him how often
Kensington entertained Bloomsbury, or Bloomsbury made its bow at
Kensington ?
A number of things were happening at both places, of which our Vir-
ginian had not the slightest idea. Indeed, do not things happen under
our eyes, and we not see ihem ? Are not comedies and tragedies daily
performed before us of which we understand neither the fun nor the
pathos ? Very likely George goes home thinking to himself, " I have
made an impression on the heart of this young creature. She has almost
confessed as much. Poor artless little maiden ! I wonder what there is
in me that she should like me ? " Can he be angry with her for this
unlucky preference ? Was ever a man angry at such a reason ? He
would not have been so well pleased, perhaps, had he known all ; and
that he was only one of the performers in the comedy, not the principal
character by any means ; Rosenkrantz and Gildenstern in the Tragedy,
the part of Hanilet by a gentleman unknown. How often are our little
THE YIHGINIAXS. 499
vanities shocked in this waj'', and subjected to wholesome humiliation!
Have you not fancied that Lucinda's eyes beamed on you with a special
tenderness, and presently become aware that she ogles your neighbour
with the very same killing glances ? Have you not exchanged exqui;-it3
whispers with Lalage at the dinner-table (sweet murmurs heard thi ough
the hum of the guests, and clatter of the banquet !) and then overheard
her whispering the very same delicious phrases to old Surdus in the
drawing-room ? The sun shines for everybody ; the flowers smell sweet
for all noses ; and the nightingale and Lalage warble for all ears — not
your long ones only, good Brother !
CHAPTER LXX.
IN WHICH CUPID PLA.YS A CONSIDERABLE PART.
We must now, however, and before we proceed with the history of
Miss Lydia and her doings, perform the duty of explaining that sentence
in Mr. Warrington's letter to his brother which refers to Lady Maria
Esmond, and which, to some simple readers, may be still mysterious.
For how, indeed, could well-regulated persons divine such a secret?
How could innocent and respectable young people suppose that a woman
of noble birth, of ancient family, of mature experience, — a woman
whom we have seen exceedingly in love only a score of months ago, — •
should so far forget herself as (0, my very finger- tips blush as I WTite
the sentence !), — as not only to fall in love with a person of low origin,
and very many years her junior, but actually to marry him in the face of
the world ? That is, not exactly in the face, but behind the back of the
world, so to speak ; for Parson Sampson privily tied the indissoluble knot
for the pair at his chapel in May Fair.
Now stop before you condemn her utterly. Because Lady Maria had
had, and overcome, a foolish partiality for her young cousin, was that
any reason why she should never fall in love with anybody else ? Are
men to have the sole privilege of change, and are women to be rebuked
for availing themselves now and again of their little chance of consola-
tion ? No invectives can be more rude, gross, and unphilosophical than,
for instance, Hamlet's to his mother about her second marriage. The
truth, very likely, is, that that tender, parasitic creature wanted a some-
thing to cling to, and, Hamlet senior out of the way, twined herself
round Claudius. Nay, we have known females so bent on attaching
themselves, that they can twine round two gentlemen at once. Why, for-
sooth, shall there not be marriage -tables after funeral baked-meats ? If
you said grace for your feast yesterday, is that any reason why you shall
not be hungry to-day ? Your natural fine appetite and relish for this
evening's feast, shows that to-morrow evening at eight o'clock you will
most probably be in want of your dinner. I, for my part, when Flirtilla
K K 2
500 THE VIRGINIANS.
or Jiltissa were partial to me (the kind reader will please to fancy that I
am alluding here to persons of the most ravishing beauty and lofty
rank), always used to bear in mind that a time would come when they
would be fond of somebody else. We are served a la Husse, and gobbled
up a dish at a time, like the folks in Polyphomus's cave. 'Tis hodie
mihi, eras tihi: there are some Anthropophagi who devour dozens of us, — •
the old, the young, the tender, the tough, the plump, the lean, the ugly,
the beautiful : there's no escape, and one after another, as our fate is.
we disappear down their omnivorous maws. Look at Lady Ogreshara !
We all remember, last year, how she served poor Tom Kydd : seized
upon him, devoured him, picked his bones, and flimg them away. Now
it is Ised Suckling she has got into her den. He lies under her great
eyes, quivering and fascinated. Look at the poor little trepid creature,
panting and helpless under the great eyes! She trails towards him
nearer and nearer ; he draws to her, closer and closer. Presently, there
will be one or two feeble squeaks for pity, and — hobblegobble — he will
disappear ! Ah me ! it is pity, too. I knew, for instance, that Maria
Esmond had lost her heart ever so many times before Harry Warrington
found it ; but I liked to fancy that he was going to keep it ; that, be-
wailing mischance and times out of joint, she would yet have preserved
her love, and fondled it in decorous celibacy. If, in some paroxysm of
senile folly, I should fall in love to-morrow, I shall still try and think I
have acquired the fee-simple of my charmer's heart ; — not that I am
only a tenant, on a short lease, of an old battered furnished apartment,
where the dingy old wine-glasses have been clouded by scores of pairs
of lips, and the tumbled old sofas are muddy with the last lodger's
hooU. Dear, dear nymph ! Being beloved and beautiful ! Suppose I
Jiad a little passing passion for Glycera (and her complexion really was
as pure as splendent Parian marble) ; suppose you had a fancy for Tele-
phus, and his low collars and absurd neck ; — those follies are all over
now, aren't they ? We love each other for good now, don't we ? Yes,
for ever ; and Glycera may go to Bath, and Telephus take his cervicem
rosenm to Jack Ketch, n'est-ce pas f
No. We never think of changing, my dear. However winds blow,
or time flies, or spoons stir, our potage, which is now so piping hot, will
never get cold. Passing fancies we may have allowed ourselves in former
days ; and really your infatuation for Telephus (don't frown so, my
darling creature! and make the wrinkles in your forehead worse) — I
say, really it was the talk of the whole town ; and as for Glycera, she
behaved confoundedly ill to me. Well, well, now that we understand
each other, it is for ever that our hearts are united, and we can look at
Sir Cresswell Cresswell, and snap our fingers at his wig. But this Maria
of the last century was a woman of an ill-regulated mind. You, my
love, who know the world, know that in the course of this lady's career
a great deal must have passed that would not bear the light, or edify in
the telling. You know (not, my dear creature, that I mean you have
any experience ; but you have heard people say — you have heard your
THE YIllGIXIANS. 501
mother say) that an old flirt, when she has done playing the fool with
one passion, will play the fool with another ; that flirting is like drink-
ing ; and the brandy being drunk up, you — no, not you — Glycera — the
brandy bsing drunk up, Glycera, who has tak'en to drinking, will fall
upon the gin. So, if Xlaria Esmond has found a successor for Harry
Warrington, and set up a new sultan in the precious empire of her
heart, what, after all, could you expect from her ? That territory was
like the Low Countries, accustomed to being conquered, and for ever
open to invasion.
And Maria's present enslaver was no other than Mr. Geoghegau or
Hagau, the young actor who had performed in George's Tragedy. His
tones were so thrilling, his eye so bright, his mien so noble, he looked
so beautiful in his gilt leather armour and large buckled periwig, giving
utterance to the poet's glowing verses, that the lady's heart was yielded
up to him, even as Ariadne's to Bacchus when her aftair with Theseus
was over. The young Irishman was not a little touched and elated by
the high-born damsel's partiality for him. He might have preferred a
Lady Maria Hagan more tender in years, but one more tender in dis-
position it were difneult to discover. She clung to him closely, indeed.
She retired to his humble lodgings in Westminster with him, when it
became necessary to disclose their marriage, aud when her furious
relative disowned her.
General Lambert brought the news home from his office in Whitehall
one day, and made merry over it with his family. In those homely
times a joke was none the worse for being a little broad ; and a fine lady
would laugh at a joll}^ page of Fielding, and weep over a letter of
Clarissa, wliich would make your present ladyship's eyes start out of
your head with horror. He uttered all sorts of waggeries, did the
merry General, upon the subject of this marriage ; upon George's share
in bringing it about ; upon Harry's jealousy when he should hear of it.
He vowed it was cruel that Cousin Hagan had not selected George as
groomsman ;. that the first child should be called Carpezan or Sybilhi,
after the Tragedy, and so forth. They would not quite be able to keep
a coach, but they might get a chariot and pasteboard dragons from Mr.
Rich's theatre. The baby might be christened in Macbeth's cauldron :
and Harry and harlequin ought certainly to be godfathers.
'* Why shouldn't she marry him if she likes him ?" asked little Hetty.
** Why should he not love her because she is a little old ? Mamma is a
little old, and you love her none the worse, AVhen you married my
Mamma, sir, I have heard you say you were very poor; and yet you
were very happy, and nobody lauglied at you!" Thus this impudent
little person spoke by reason of her tender age, not being aware of Lady
Maria Esmond's previous follies.
So her family has deserted her? George described what wrath they
were in ; how Lady Castlewood had gone into mourning ; how Mr. Will
swore he would have the rascal's ears ; how furious Madame de Bern-
gtein was, the most angry of all. '* It is an insult to the family," saya
002 THE VIRGINIANS.
haughty little Miss Hett ; " and I fancy ho^v ladies of that rank must
he indignant at their relative's niarria<j:e with a person of Mr. Hagan's
condition ; but to desert her is a very different matter."
" Indeed, my dear child," cries Mamma, ** you are talking of what
you don't understand. After my Lady Maria's conduct, no respectable
person can go to see her."
** What conduct, Mamma ?"
"Never mind," cries Mamma. ** Little girls can't be expected to
know, and ought not to be too curious to inquire, what Lady Maria's
conduct has been ! Suffice it, miss, that I am shocked her ladyship
should ever have been here ; and I say again, no honest person should
associate with her ! "
" Then, Aunt Lambert, I must be whipped and sent to bed," says
George, with mock gravity. ** I own to you (though I did not confess
sooner, seeing that the affair was not mine) that I have been to see my
cousin the player, and her ladyship his wife. I found them in very
dirty lodgings in Westminster, where the wretch has the shabbiness to
keep not only his wife, but his old mother, and a little brother, whom
he puts to school. I found Mr. Hagan, and came away with a liking,
and almost a respect for him, although I own he has made a very impro-
vident marriage. But how improvident some folks are about marriage^
aren't they, Theo ?"
" Improvident, if they marry such spendthrifts as you," says the
General. " Master George found his relations, and I'll be bound to say
he left his purse behind him."
" No, not the purse, sir," says George, smiling very tenderly. " TheO'
made that. But I am bound to own it came empty away. Mr. Rich
is in great dudgeon. He says he hardly dares have Hagan on his
stage, and is afraid of a riot, such as Mr. Garrick had about the foreign
dancers. This is to be a fine gentleman's riot. The Macaronis are
furious, and vow they will pelt Mr. Hagan, and have him cudgelled
afterwards. My cousin Will, at Arthur's, has taken his oath he will
have the actor's ears. Meanwhile, as the poor man does not play, they
have cut off his salary ; and without his salary, this luckless pair of
lovers have no means to buy bread and cheese."
''And you took it to them, sir? It was like you, George!" saya
Theo, worshipping him with her eyes.
" It was your purse took it, dear Theo !" replies George.
"Mamma, I hope you will go and see them to-morrow !" prays Theo.
"If she doesn't, I shall get a divorce, my dear ! " cries Papa. " Come
and kiss me, you little wench — that is, avec la bonne permission de
3Ionsieur mon hcau-Jils."
"Monsieur mon beau fiddlestick. Papa!" says Miss Lambert, and
I have no doubt complies with the paternal orders. And this was the
first time George Esmond Warrington, Esquire, was ever called a
fiddlestick.
Any man, even in our time, who makes an imprudent marriage,
THE YIEGnriANS. 503
knows how he has to run the gauntlet of the family, and undergo the
ahuse, the scorn, the wrath, the pity of his relations. If your respect-
able family cry out because you marry the curate's daughter, one ia
ten, let us say, of his charming children ; or because you engage your-
self to the young barrister whose only present pecuniary resources como
from the court which he reports, and who will have to pay his Oxford
bills out of your slender little fortune ; — if your friends cry out for
making such engagements as these, fancy the feelings of Lady Maria
Hagan's friends, and even those of Mr. Hagan's, on the announcement
of this marriage.
There is old Mrs, Hagan, in the first instance. Her son has kept her
dutifully and in tolerable comfort, ever since he left Trinity College at
his father's death, and appeared as Komeo at Crow Street Theatre. His
salary has sufficed of late years to keep the brother at school, to help the
sister who has gone out as companion, and to provide fire, clothing, tea,
dinner, and comfort for the old clergyman's widow^ And now, for-
sooth, a fine lady with all sorts of extravagant habits, must come and
take possession of the humble home, and share the scanty loaf and
mutton ! Were Hagan not a high-spirited fellow, and the old mother
very much afraid of him, I doubt whether my lady's life at the "West-
minster lodgings would be very comfortable. It was very selfish per-
haps to take a place at that small table, and in poor Hagan's narrow
bed. But Love in some passionate and romantic dispositions never
regards consequences, or measures accommodation. Who has not expe-
rienced that frame of mind ; what thrifty wife has not seen and lamented
her husband in that condition ; when with rather a heightened colour and
a deuce-may-care smile on his face, he comes home and announces that
he has asked twenty people to dinner next Saturday ? He doesn't know
whom exactly ; and he does know the dining-room will only hold six-
teen. Never mind! Two of the prettiest girls can sit upon young
gentlemen's knees: others won't come: there's sure to bo plenty! In
the intoxication of love people venture upon this dangerous sort of
house-keeping ; they don't calculate the resources of theii- dining table,
or those inevitable butchers' and fishmongers' bills, which will be
brought to the ghastly housekeeper at the beginning of the mouth.
Yes. It was rather selfish of my Lady Maria to seat herself at Hagan's
table and take the cream off the milk, and the wings of the chickens,
and the best half of everything where there was only enough before ;
and no wonder the poor old mamma-in-law was disposed to grumble.
But what was her outcry compared to the ciamo ir at Kensington among
Lady Maria's noble family ? Think of the talk and scandal all over the
town ! Think of the titters and whispers of the ladies in attendance at
the Princess's court, where Lady Fanny had a place ; of the jokes of
Mr. Will's brother-officers at the usher's table ; of the waggeries in tht
daily prints and magazines ; of the comments of outraged prudes ; of the
laughter of the clubs and the sneers of the ungodly ! At the receipt of
the news Madame Bernstein had fits and ran off" to the solitude of her
504 THE VIRGINIANS.
dear rocks at Tunbridge Wells, where she did not see above forty people
of a night at cards. My lord refused to see his sister : and the Countess
in mourning, as we have said, waited upon one of her patronesses, a
gracious princess, who was pleased to condole with her upon the disgrace
and calamity which had befallen her house. For one, two, three whole
days the town was excited and amused by the scandal ; then there came
other news— a victory in Grermany; doubtful accounts from America; a
genoral officer coming home to take his trial ; an exquisite new soprano
singer from Italy; and the public forgot Lady Maria in her garret,
eating the hard-earned meal of the actor's family.
This is an extract from Mr. George Warrington's letter to his brother,
in which he describes other personal matters, as well as a visit he had
paid to the newly-married pair :
*'My dearest little Theo," he writes, '' was eager to accompany her
Mamma upon this errand of charity ; but I thought Aunt Lambert's
visit would be best under the circumstances, and without the attendance
of her little spinster aide-de-cmn]). Cousin Hagan was out when we
called ; we found her ladyship in a loose undress, and with her hair in
not the neatest papers, playing at cribbage with a neighbour from the
secoud-iloor, while good Mrs. Hagan sate on the otlier side of the fire
with a glass of punch, and the Whole Duty of Man.
'' Maria, your Maria once, cried a little when she saw us ; and Aunt
Lambert, you may be sure, was ready with her sympathy. While she
bestowed it on Lady Maria, I paid the best compliments I could invent
to the old lady. When the conversation between Aunt L. and the bride
began to flag, I turned to the latter, and between us we did our best to
make a dreary interview pleasant. Our talk was about you, about
Wolfe, about war ; you must be engaged face to face with the French-
men by this time, and God send ray dearest brother safe and victorious
out of the battle ! Be sure we follow your steps anxiously — we fancy
you at Cape Breton. We have plans of Quebec, and charts of the St.
Lawrence. Shall I ever forget your face of joy that day when you saw
me return safe and sound from the little combat with the little French-
man ? So will my Harry, I know, return from his battle. I feel quit3
assured of it ; elated somehow with the prospect of your certain success
and safety. And I have made all here share my cheerfulness. We
talk of the campaign as over, and Captain Warrington's promotion as
secure. Praj- Heaven, all our hopes may be fuliilled one day ere long.
'*How strange it is that you who are the mettlesome fellow (you
know you are) should escape quarrels hitherto, and I, who am a peaceful
youth, wishing no harm to anybody, should have battles tlirust upon
me ! What do you think actually of my having had another affair
upon my wicked hands, and Avith whom think youP With no less a
personage than your old enemy our kinsman, Mr. Will.
"What or who set him to quarrel with me, I cannot think. Spencer
(who acted as second for me, for matters actually have gone this length ;
—don't bo frightened ; it is all over, and nobody is a scratch the worse)
THE VIRGINIAN S. 505
thinks some one set Will on me, but who, I say ? His conduct has been
most singular ; his behaviour quite unbearable. "We have met pretty
frequently lately at the house of good Mr. Yan den Bosch, whose pretty
grand-daughter was consigned to both of us by our good mother. 0,
dear mother ! did you know that the little thing was to be such a causa
belli, and to cause swords to be drawn, and precious lives to be menaced?
But so it has been. To show his own spirit, I suppose, or having some
reasonable doubt about mine, whenever Will and I have met at Mynheer's
house — and he is for ever going there — he has shown such downright
rudeness to me, that I have required more than ordinary patience to
keep my temper. He has contradicted me once, twice, thrice, in the
presence of the family, and out of sheer spite and rage, as it appeared
to me. Is he paying his addresses to Miss Lydia, and her father's ships,
negroes, and forty thousand pounds ? I should guess so. The old gen-
tleman is for ever talking about his money, and adores his grand-
daughter, and as she is a beautiful little creature, numbers of folk here
are ready to adore her too. Was Will rascal enough to fancy that I
would give up my Theo for a million of guineas, and negroes, and Yenus
to boot? Could the thought of such baseness enter into the man's
mind ? I don't know that he has accused me of stealing Yau den
Bosch's spoons and tankards when we dine there, or of robbing on the
highway. But for one reason or the other he has chosen to be jealous of
me, and as I have parried his impertinences with little sarcastic speeches
(though perfectly civil before company), perhaps I have once or twice
made him angry. Our little Miss Lydia has unwittingly added fuel to
the lire on more than one occasion, especially yesterday, when there was
talk about your worship.
" * Ah ! ' says the heedless little thing, as we sat over our dessert,
* 'tis lucky for you, Mr. Esmond, that Captain Harry is not here.'
" * Why, miss ? ' asks he, with one of his usual conversational orna-
ments. He must have oifended some fairy in his youth, who has caused
him to drop curses for ever out of his mouth, as she did the girl to spit
out toads and serpents. (I know some one from whose gentle lips there
only fall pure pearls and diamonds.) ' Why ? ' says Will, with a
cannonade of oaths.
" ' lie ! ' says she, putting up the prettiest little fingers to the pret-
tiest little rosy ears in the world. ' fie, sir ! to use such naughty
words. 'Tis lucky the Captain is not here, because he might quarrel
with you ; and Mr. George is so peaceable and quiet, that he won't.
Have you heard from the Captain, Mr. George ? '
" * From Cape Breton,' says I. * He is very well, thank you ; that is
— ' I couldn't finish the sentence, for I was in such a rage, that I scarce
Could contain myself.
" ' From the Captain, as you call him, Miss Lyddy,' says Will. ' He'll
distinguish himself as he did at Saint Cas ! Ho, ho ! '
*' ' So I apprehend he did, sir,' says Will's brother.
*''Didhe?' says our dear cousin; * always thought he ran away ;
608 THE VIRGINIANS.
took to his legs ; got a ducking, and ran away as if a bailiff was after
him/
'• * La ! ' says miss, * did the Captain ever have a bailiff after him ? '
*' < Didn't he ! Ho, ho ! ' laughs Mr. Will.
<' I suppose I must have looked very savage, for Spencer, who was
dining with us, trod on my foot under the table. ' Don't laugh so loud,
cousin,' I said, very gently ; * you may wake good old Mr. Yan den
Bosch.' The good old gentleman was asleep in his arm-chair, to which
he commonly retires for a nap after dinner.
** ' 0, indeed ! cousin,' says Will, and he turns and winks at a friend
of his. Captain Deuceace, whose own and whose wife's reputation I
daresay you heard of when you frequented the clubs, and whom Will
has introduced into this simple family as a man of the highest fashion.
' Don't be afraid, miss,' says Mr. Will, ' nor my cousin needn't be.'
*" what a comfort!' cries Miss Liddy. * Keep quite quiet, gen-
tlemen, and don't quarrel, and come up to me when I send to say
the tea is ready.' And with this she malies a sweet little curtsey, and
disappears.
" ' Hang it, Jack, pass the bottle, and don't wake the old gentleman ! "
continues Mr. Will. * Won't you help yourself, cousin ? ' he continues ;
being particularly facetious in the tone of that word cousin.
" *I am going to help myself,' I said, ' but I am not going to drink
the glass ; and I'll tell you what I am going to do with it, if you will
be quite quiet, cousin ! ' (Desperate kicks from Spencer all this time.)
*' ' And what the deuce do I care what you are going to do with it ? "
asks Will, looking rather white.
*' * I am going to Hing it into your face, cousin,' says I, very rapidly
performing that feat.
*' ' By Jove, and no mistake ! ' cries Mr. Deuceace; and as he and
William roared out an oath together, good old Van den Bosch woke
up, and, taking the pocket-handkerchief off his face, asked what was
the matter.
"I remarked it- was only a glass of wine gone the wrong way: and
the old man said, ' Well, well, there is more where that came from ! Let
the butler bring you what you please, young gentlemen ! ' and he sank
back in his great chair, and began to sleep again.
***rrom the back of Montagu House Gardens there is a beautiful
view of Hampstead at six o'clock in the morning ; and the statue of the
King on St. George's Church, is reckoned elegant, cousin ! ' says I,
resuming the conversation.
" < D — the statue ! ' begins Will: but I said, * Don't, cousin I or you
■will wake up the old gentleman. Had we not best go up-stairs to Miss
Lyddy's tea-table ? '
"We arranged a little meeting for the next morning ; and a coroner
miglit have been sitting upon one or other, or both, of our bodies
' this afternoon ; but, would you believe it ? just as our engagement was
about to take place, we were interrupted by three of Sir John Fielding's
THE VIRGINIANS. 607
men, and carried to Bow Street, and ignominionsly bound over to keep
the peace.
" Who gave the information P Not I, or Spencer, I can vow.
Though I own I was pleased when the constables came running to us,
bludgeon in hand : for I had no wish to take Will's blood, or sacrifice
my own to such a rascal. Now, sir, have you such a battle as this to
describe to me ? — a battle of powder and no shot ? — a battle of swords
as bloody as any on the stage ? I have filled my paper, without finishing
the story of Maria and her Hagan. You must have it by the next
ship. You see, the quarrel with Will took place yesterday, very soon
after I had written the first sentence or two of my letter. I had been
dawdling till dinner time (I looked at the paper last night, when I was
grimly making certain little accounts up, and wondered shall I ever
finish this letter ?), and now the quarrel has been so much more inte-
resting to me than poor Molly's love adventures, that behold my paper
is full to the brim ! Wherever my dearest Harry reads it, I know that
there will be a heart full of love for
** His loving brother,
"G. E. W."
CHAPTER LXXI.
-WHITE FA.VOUES.
The little quarrel between George and his cousin caused the former to
discontinue his visits to Bloomsbury in a great measure ; for Mr. Will
was more than ever assiduous in his attentions ; and, now that both were
bound over to peace, so outrageous in his behaviour, that George found
the greatest difficulty in keeping his hands from his cousin. The artless
little Lydia had certainly a queer way of receiving her friends. But six
weeks before madly jealous of George's preference for another, she now
took occasion repeatedly to compliment Theo in her conversation. Miss
Theo was such a quiet, gentle creature, Lyddy was sure George was just
the husband for her. How fortunate that horrible quarrel had been
prevented ! The constables had come up just in time ; and it was quite
ridiculous to hear Mr. Esmond cursing and swearing, and the rage he
was in at being disappointed of his duel I *' But the arrival of the con-
stables saved your valuable life, dear Mr. George, and I am sure Miss
Theo ought to bless them for ever," says Lyddy, with a soft smile,
" You won't stop and meet Mr. Esmond at dinner to-day ? You don't
like being in his company ? He can't do you any harm ; and I am sure
you will do him none." Kind speeches like these, addressed by a little
girl to a gentleman, and spoken by a strange inadvertency in company,
and when other gentlemen and ladies were present, were not likely to
508 THE VIRGINIANS.
render Mr. Warrington very eager for the society of the young American
lady.
George's meeting with Mr. Will was not known for some days in
Dean Street, for he did not wish to disturb those kind folks with his
quarrel ; but when the ladies were made aware of it, you may be sure
there was a great flurry and to do. " You were actually going to take
a fellow-creature's life, and you came to see us, and said not a word !
O, Greorge, it was shocking I " said Theo.
" My dear, he had insulted me and my brother," pleaded George.
** Could I let him call us both cowards, and sit by and say. Thank you?"
The General sate by and looked very grave.
" You know you think. Papa, it is a wicked and un-Christian prac-
tice ; and have often said you wished gentlemen would have the courage
to refuse ! "
'' To refuse ? Yes," says Mr. Lambert, still very glum.
" It must require a prodigious strength of mind to refuse," says Jack
Lambert, looking as gloomy as his father ; " and I think if any man were
to call me a coward, I should be apt to forget my orders."
*' You see brother Jack is with me ! " cries George.
" 1 must not be against you, Mr. Warrington," says Jack Lambert.
*' Mr. Warrington!" cries George, turning very red.
*' Would you, a clergyman, have George break the Commandments,
and commit murder, John ?" asks Theo, aghast.
" I am a soldier's son, sister," says the young divine, drily. '* Besides,
Mr. Warrington has committed no murder at all. We must soon be
hearing from Canada, father. The great question of the supremacy of
the two races must be tried there ere long ! " He turned his back on
Ueorge as he spoke, and the latter eyed him with wonder. ,
Hetty, looking rather pale at this original remark of brother Jack, is
called out of the room by some artful pretext of her sister. George
started up and followed the retreating girls to the door.
*' Great powers, gentlemen ! " says he, coming back, "I believe, on
my honour, you are giving me the credit of shirking this affair with Mr.
Esmond ! " The clergyman and his father looked at one another.
'' A man's nearest and dearest are always the first to insult him," saya
George, flashing out.
*' You mean to say, 'Not guilty ?' God bless thee, my boy!" cries
the General. '* I told thee so, Jack." And he rubbed his hand across
his eyes, and blushed, and wrung George's hand with all his might.
•' Not guilty of what, in Heaven's name ? " asks Mr. Warrington.
"Nay," said the General, "Mr. Jack, here, brought the story.
Let him tell it. I believe 'tis a lie, with all my heart." And
littering this wicked expression, the General fairly walked out of the
room.
The Rev. J. Lambert looked uncommonly foolish.
"And what is this — this d d lie, sir, that somebody has been
telling of me ?" asked George, grinning at the young clergyman.
THE VIRGINIANS. 509
" To question the courage of any man, is always an oiFence to him,"
snys Mr. Lambert, *' and I rejoice that yours has been belied."
"Who told the falsehood, sir, which you repeated?" bawls out Mr.
"Warrington. " I insist on tbe man's name ! "
** You forget you are bound over to keep the peace,'^ says Jack.
** Curse the peace, sir ! We can go and fight in Holland. Tell me the
man's name, I say ! "
** Fair and softly, Mr. Warrington!" cries the young parson, **my
hearing is perfectly good. It was not a man who told me the story
which, I confess, I imparted to my father."
*' What ? " asks George, the truth suddenly occurring. *' Was it that
artful, wicked little vixen in Bloomsbury Square ? "
"Yixen is not the word to apply to any young lady, George War-
rington 1 " exclaims Lambert, *'much less to the charming Miss Lydia.
She artful — the most innocent of Heaven's creatures! She wicked —
that angel ! With unfeigned delight that the quarrel should be over —
with devout gratitude to think that blood consanguineous should not be
shed — she spoke in terms of the highest praise of you for declining this
quarrel, and of the deepest sympathy with you for taking the painful
but only method of averting it."
** What method ? " demands George, stamping his foot.
" Why, of laying an information, to be sure ! " says Mr. Jack ; on
which George burst forth into language much too violent for us to repeat
here, and highly uncomplimentary to Miss Lydia.
" Don't utter such words, sir ! " cried the parson, who, as it seemed,
now took his turn to be angry. ** Do not insult, in my hearing, the
most charming, the most innocent of her sex ! If she has been mistaken
in her information regarding you, and doubted your willingness to
commit what, after all, is a crime — for a crime homicide is, and of the
most awful description — you, sir, have no right to blacken that angel's
character with foul words : and, innocent yourself, should respect the
most innocent as she is the most lovely of women ! 0, George, are you
to be my brother?"
" I hope to have that honour," answered George, smiling. He began
to perceive the other's drift.
" W^hat, then, what — though 'tis too much bliss to be hoped for by
sinful man — what, if she should one day be your sister ? Who could
see her charms without being subjugated by them ? I own that I am a
slave. I own that those Latin Sapphics in the September number of the
Gentleman's Magazine, beginning Lydim quondam cecinit vemistce (with
an English version by my friend Hickson of Corpus) were mine. I have
told my mother what hath passed between us, and Mrs. Lambert also
thinks that the most lovely of her sex has deigned to look favourably
on me. I have composed a letter — she another. She proposes to wait
on Miss Lydia's grandpapa this very day, and to bring me the answer,
which shall make me the happiest or the most wretched of men ! It was
in the unrestrained intercourse of family conversation that I chanced to
610 THE VIRGINIANS.
impart to my father the sentiments which my dear girl had uttered.
Perhaps I spoke slightingly of your courage, which I don't doubt — by
Heaven, I don't doubt : it may be, she has erred, too, regarding you.
It may be, that the fiend jealousy has been gnawing at my bosom and —
horrible suspicion I — that I thought my sister's lover found too much
favour with her I would have all my own. Ah, dear George, who
knows his faults ? I am as one distracted with passion. Confound it,
sir ! What right have you to laugh at me ? I would have you to know
that risu inepto . , . ."
** What, have you two boys made it up ?" cries the General, entering
at this moment, in the midst of a roar of laughter from George.
" I was giving my opinion to Mr. Warrington upon laughter, and
upon his laughter in particular," says Jack Lambert, in a fume.
" George is bound over to keep the peace, Jack ! Thou canst not fight
him for two years ; and between now and then, let us trust you will have
made up your quarrel. Here is dinner, boys ! We will drink absent
friends, and an end to the war, and no fighting out of the profession ! "
George pleaded an engagement, as a reason for running away early
from his dinner ; and Jack must have speedily followed him, for when
the former, after transacting some brief business at his own lodgings,
came to Mr. Van den Bosch's door, in Bloomsbury Square, he found the
young parson already in parley with a servant there. " His master and
mistress had left town yesterday," the servant said.
'* Poor Jack ! And you had the decisive letter in your pocket ? " George
asked of his future brother-in-law.
" Well, yes," — Jack owned he had the document — *' and my mother
has ordered a chair, and was coming to wait on Miss Lyddy," he
whispered piteously, as the young men lingered on the steps.
George had a note, too, in his pocket for the young lady, which he had
not cared to mention to Jack. In truth, his business at home had been
to write a smart note to Miss Lyddy, with a message for the gentleman
•who had brought her that funny story of his giving information regard-
ing the duel ! The family being absent, George, too, did not choose to
leave his note. ** If Cousin Will has been the slander-bearer, I will go
and make him recant," thought George. "Will the family soon be
back ?" he blandly asked.
" They are gone to visit the quality," the servant replied. ** Here ia
the address on this paper ; " and George read, in Miss Lydia's hand,
** The box from Madam Hocquet's to be sent by the Farnham Flying
Coach ; addressed to Miss Van den Bosch, at the Right Honourable the
Earl of Castlewood's, Castlewood, Hants."
<' Where f^^ cried poor Jack, aghast.
" His lordship and their ladyships have been here often," the servant
£&id, with much importance. " The families is quite intimate."
This was very strange ; for, in the course of their conversation, Lyddy
had owned but to one single visit from Lady Castlewood.
*' And they must be a-going to stay there some time, for Mi^:s have
THE YIHGIXIAXS. 511
took a power of boxes and gowns with her ! " the man added. And the
young men walked away, each crumpling his letter in his pocket.
*' What was that remark you made?" asks George of Jack, at some
exclamation of the latter. " I think you said "
'- Distraction ! I am beside myself, George ! I — I scarce know what
I am saying," groans the clergyman. ** She is gone to Hampshire, and
Mr. Esmond is gone with her ! "
'* Othello could not have spoken better ! and she has a pretty scoundrel
in her company!" says Mr. George. "Ha! Here is your mother's
chair ! " Indeed, at this moment poor Aunt Lambert came swinging
down Great Eussell Street, preceded by her footman. " 'lis no use going
farther, Aunt Lambert ! " cries George. '* Our little bird has flown."
" AVhat little bird ? "
*' The bird Jack wished to pair with: — the Lyddy bird, Aunt. Why,
Jack, I protest you are swearing again ! This morning 'twas the Sixth
Commandment you wanted to break; and now "
"Confound it! leave me alone, Mr. Warrington, do you hear?"
growls Jack, looking very savage ; and away he strides far out of the
reach of his mother's bearers.
" What is the matter, George ?" asks the lady.
George, who has not been very well pleased with brother Jack's beha-
viour all day, says : " Brother Jack has not a fine temper, Aunt Lambert.
He informs you all that I am a coward, and remonstrates with me for
being angry. He finds his mistress gone to the country, and he bawls,
and stamps, and swears. 0, fie ! 0, Aunt Lambert, beware of jealousy !
Did the quarrel ever make you jealous ? "
" You will make me very angry if you speak to me in this way," says
poor Aunt Lambert, from her chair.
" I am respectfully dumb. I make my bow. I withdraw," says
George, with a low bow, and turns towards Holborn. His soul was wrath
within him. He was bent on quarrelling with somebody. Had he met
Cousin Will that night, it had gone ill with his sureties.
He sought Y/ill at all his haunts, at Arthur's, at his own house.
There Lady Castlewood's servants informed him that they believed Mr.
Esmond had gone to join the family in Hants. He wrote a letter to his
cousin :
"My dear, kind cousin William," he said, *'you know I am bound
over, and would not quarrel with any one, much less with a dear, truth-
telling, afl^ctionate kinsman, whom my brother insulted by caning. But
if you can find any one who says that I prevented a meeting the other
day by giving information, will you tell your informant that I think it
is not I but somebody else is the coward ? And I write to Mr. Van dea
Bosch by the same post, to inform him and Miss Lyddy that I find some
rascal has been telling them lies to my discredit, and to beg them have a
care of such persons." And, these neat letters being dispatched, Mr.
W^vrrington dressed himself, showed himsslf at the play, and took supper
cheerfully at the Bedford.
512 THE VIRGINIANS.
In a few days George found a letter on his breakfast table franked
** Castlewood," and, indeed, written by that nobleman.
*' Dear Cousin," my lord wrote, " there has been so mucli annoyance
in our family of late, that I am sure 'tis time our quarrels should cease.
Two days since my brother "William brought me a very angry letter,
signed G-. Warrington, and at the same time, to my great grief and pain,
acquainted me with a quarrel that had taken place between you, in
which, to say the least, your conduct was violent. 'Tis an ill use to
put good wine to — that to which you applied good Mr. Yan den Bosch's.
Sure, before an old man, young ones should be more respectful. I do
not deny that William's language and behaviour are often irritating. I
know he has often tried my temper, and that within the 24 hours.
*' Ah ! Why should we not all live happily together ? You know, cou-
sin, I have ever professed a sincere regard for you — that I am a sincere
admirer of the admirable young lady to whom you are engaged, and to
whom I offer my most cordial compliments and remembrances. I would
live in harmony with all my family where 'tis possible — the more because
I hope to introduce to it a Countess of Castlewood.
*' At my mature age, 'tis not uncommon for a man to choose a young
wife. My Lydia (you will divine that I am happy in being able to call
mine the elegant Miss Yan den Bosch) will naturally survive me. After
soothing my declining years, I shall not be jealous if at their close she
should select some happy man to succeed me ; though I shall envy him
the possession of so much perfection and beauty. Though of a noble
Dutch family, her rank, the girl declares, is not equal to mine, which she
confesses that she is pleased to share. I, on the other hand, shall not
be sorry to see descendants to my house, and to have it, through my
Lady Castlewood's means, restored to something of the splendour which
it knew before two or three improvident predecessors impaired it. My
Lydia, who is by my side, sends you and the charming Lambert family
her warmest remembrances.
" The marriage will take place very speedily here. May I hope to see
you at church ? My brother will not be present to quarrel with you.
When I and dear Lydia announced the match to him yesterday, he took
the intelligence in bad part, uttered language that I know he will one day
regret, and is at present on a visit to some neighbours. The Dowager
Lady Castlewood retains the house at Kensington ; we having our own
establishment, where you will ever be welcomed, dear cousin, by your
affectionate humble servant,
** Castlewood."
From the London Magazine of November, 1 759 :
*' Saturday, October 13th, married, at his seat, Castlewood, Hants,
the llight Honourable Eugene Earl of Castlewood to the beautiful Miss
Yan den Bosch, of Yirginia. £70,000.
THE YIIIGINIANS. 511
CHAPTEE LXXII.
(rEOM THE WAEEINGTON MS.) IN" WHICH MY LADY IS ON THE TOP OF
THE LADDER.
Looking across the fire, towards her accustomed chair, who has been
the beloved partner of my hearth during the last half of my life, I often
ask (for middle-aged gentlemen have the privilege of repeating their
jokes, their questions, their stories) whether two young people ever were
more foolish and imprudent than we were, when we married, as we did,
in the year of the old King's death ? My son, who has taken some pro-
digious leaps in the heat of his fox-hunting, says he surveys the gaps
and rivers w-hich he crossed so safely over, with terror afterwards, and
astonishment at his own fool-hardiness in making such desperate ven-
tures : and yet there is no more eager sportsman in the two counties than
Miles. He loves his amusement so much that he cares for no other.
He has broken his collar-bone, and had a hundred tumbles (to his
mother's terror) ; but so has his father (thinking, perhaps, of a copy of
verse, or his speech at Quarter Sessions) been thrown ovlr his old mare's
head, who has slipped on a stone, as they were both dreaming along a
park road at four miles an hour ; and Miles' s reckless sport has been the
delight of his life, as my marriage has been the blessing of mine ; and I
never think of it but to thank Heaven. Mind, I don't set up my wor-
ship as an example : I don't say to all young folks, " Go and marry upon
two-pence a- year ; " or people would look very black at me at our
vestry-meetings ; but my wife is known to be a desperate match-maker ;
and when Hodge and Susan appear in my justice-room with a talk of
allowance, we urge them to spend their halfcrown a week at home, add
a little contribution of our own, and send for the vicar.
Now, when I ask a question of my dear oracle, I know what the
answer will be ; and hence, no doubt, the reason why I so often consult
her. I have but to wear a particular expression of face, and my Diana
takes her reflection from it. Suppose I say, " My dear, don't you think
the moon was made of cream-cheese to-night?" She will say, " Well,
papa, it did look very like cream-chease, indeed — there's nobody like
you for droll similes." Or, suppose I say, "My love, Mr. Pitt's speech
was very fine, but I don't think he is equal to what I remember his
father." "Nobody was equal to my Lord Chatham," says my wife.
And then one of the girls cries, " Why I have often heard our Papa say,
Lord Chatham was a charlatan ! " On which mamma says, " How like
she is to her aunt Hetty ! "
As for Miles, Tros Tyriusve is all one to him. He only reads the
sporting announcements in the Norwich paper. So long as there is good
scent, he does not care about the state of the country. I believe the
L L
BH THE VIRGINIANS.
rascal has never read my poems, much more my tragedies (for I men-
tioned Pocahontas to him the other day, and the dunce thought she was
a river in Virginia) ; and with respect to my Latin verses, how can he
understand them, when I knov/ he can't construe Corderius ? Why this
note-book hes pubhcly on the little table at my coiner of the fireside,
and anyone may read in it who will take the trouble of lifting my spec-
tacles off the cover : but Miles never hath. I insert in the loose pages
caricatures of Miles ; jokes against him : but he never knows nor heeds
them. Only once, in place of a neat drawing of mine, in China-ink,
representing Miles asleep after dinner, and which my friend Bunbury
would not disown, I found a rude picture of myself going over my mare,
Sultana's head, and entitled " The Squire on Horseback, or Fish out of
Water." And the fellow began to roar with laughter, and all the girls to
titter, when I came upon the page ! My wife said she never was in such
a fright as when I went to my book : but I can bear a joke against
myself, and have heard many, though (strange to say for one who has
lived among some of the chief wits of the age) I never heard a good one
in my life. Never mind. Miles, though thou art not a wit, I love thee
none the worse (there never was any love lost between two wits in a
family) ; though thou hast no great beauty, thy mother thinks thee as
handsome as Apollo, or his Koyal Highness the Prince of AVales, who
•was born in thivery same year with thee. Indeed, she always thinks
Coates's picture of the Prince is very like her eldest boy, and has the
print in her dressing-room to this very day.*
In that same year with what different prospects ! my Lord Esmond,,
Lord Castlewood's son, likewise appeared to adorn the world. My Lord
C. and his humble servant had already come to a coolness at that time,
and, Heaven knows ! my honest Miles's godmother, at his entrance into
life, brought no gold pap-boats to his christening ! Matters have
mended since, Laus Deo — Laus Deo, indeed ! for I suspect neither
Miles nor his father would ever have been able to do much for them-
selves, and by their own wits.
Castlewood House has quite a different face now from that venerable
one which it wore in the days of my youth, when it was covered with
the wrinkles of time, the scars of old wars, the cracks and blemishes
which years had marked on its hoary features. I love best to remember
it in its old shape, as I saw it when young Mr. George Warrington went
down at the owner's invitation, to be present at his lordship's marriage
•with Miss Lydia Van den Bosch — " an American lady of noble family
of Holland," as the county paper announced her ladyship to be. Then
the towers stood as Warrington's grandfather the Colonel (the Marquis,
• Note, in a female hand : " My son is not a spendthrift, nor a Ireaker of wbtneti's
hearts, as soi>e gentlemen are; but that he was exceeding like H.R.IL when they
were both babies, is most certain, the Duchess of Ancaster having herself remarked
him in St. James's Park, where Gumbo and my poor Molly used often to take him
for an airing. Th. W."
THE VIRGINIANS. 515
as Madam Esmond would like to call her father) had seen them. The
woods (thinned not a little to be sure) stood, nay, some of the self-same
rooks may have cawed over them, which the Colonel had seen three-
score years back. His picture hung in the hall, which might have been
his, had he not preferred love and gratitude to wealth and worldly
honour; and Mr. George Esmond "Warrington (that is, E^omet Ipse
who write this page down), as he walked the old place, pacing the long
corridors, the smooth dew-spangled terraces, and cool darkling avenues,
felt awhile as if he was one of Mr. Walpole's cavaliers with ruff, rapier,
buff-coat, and gorget, and as if an Old Pretender, or a Jesuit emissary
in disguise, might appear from behind any tall tree -trunk round about
the mansion, or antique carved cupboard within it. I had the strangest,
saddest, pleasantest, old-world fancies as I walked the place ; I
imagined tragedies, intrigues, serenades, escaladoes, Oliver's Round-
heads battering the towers, or bluff Hal's Beefeaters pricking over the
plain before the castle. I was then courting a certain young lady
(Madam, your ladyship's eyes had no need of spectacles then, and on
the brow above them there was never a wrinkle or a silver hair),
and I remember I wrote a ream of romantic description, under my
Lord Castlewood's franks, to the lady who never tired of reading my
letters then. She says I only send her three lines now, when I am
away in London or elsewhere. *Tis that I may not fatigue your old
eyes, my dear !
Mr. Warrington thought himself authorised to order a genteel new
suit of clothes for my lord's marriage, and with Mens. Gumbo in attend-
ance, made his appearance at Castlewood a few days before the ceremony.
I may mention that it had been found expedient to send my faithful
Sady home on board a Virginia ship. A great inflammation attacking
the throat and lungs, and proving fatal in very many cases, in that
year of Wolfe's expedition, had seized and well nigh killed my poor lad,
for whom his native air was pronounced to be the best cure. We parted
with an abundance of tears, and Gumbo shed as many when his master
went to Quebec : but he had attractions in this country and none for
the military life, so he remained attached to my service. We found
Castlewood House full of friends, relations, and visitors. Lady Fanny
was there upon compulsion, a sulky bridesmaid. Some of the virgins of
the neighbourhood also attended the young Countess. A bishop's
widow herself, the Baroness Beatrix brought a holy brother-in-law
of the bench from London to tie the holy knot of matrimony between
Eugene Earl of Castlewood and Lydia Yan den Bosch, spinster ; and
for some time before and after the nuptials the old house in Hampshire
wore an appearance of gaiety to which it had long been unaccustomed,
The country families came gladly to pay their compliments to the
newly-married couple. The lady's wealth was the subject of every-
body's talk, and no doubt did not decrease in the telling. Those
naughty stories which were rife in town, and spread by her disappointed
Buitors there, took some little time to travel into Hampshire ; and vfhen
L L 2
fil6 THE VIRGINIANS.
they reached the country found it disposed to treat Lord Castlewood'a
wife with civility, and not inclined to be too curious about her
behaviour in town. Suppose she had jilted this man, and laughed at
Ihe other P It was her money they were anxious about, and she was
no more mercenary than they. The Hampshire folks were determined
that it was a great benefit to the country to have Castlewood House
once more open, with beer in the cellars, horses in the stables, and spits
turning before the kitchen fires. The new lady took her place with
great dignity, and 'twas certain she had uncommon accomplishments
and wit. Was it not written, in the marriage advertisements, that her
ladyship brought her noble husband seventy thousand pounds ? On a
heaucoup d^esprit with seventy thousand pounds. The Hampshire
people said this was only a small portion of her wealth. When tlie
grandfather should fall, ever so many plums would be found on that
old tree.
That quiet old man, and keen reckoner, began quickly to put the
dilapidated Castlewood accounts in order, of which long neglect, poverty,
and improvidence had hastened the ruin. The business of the old
gentleman's life now, and for some time henceforth, was to advance,
improve, mend my lord's finances ; to screw the rents up where
practicable ; to pare the expenses of the establishment down. He
could, somehow, look to every yard of worsted-lace on the footmen's
coats, and every pound of beef that went to their dinner. A watchful
old eye noted every flagon of beer which was fetched from the buttery,
and marked that no waste occurred in the larder. The people were
fewer, but more regularly paid ; the liveries were not so ragged,
and yet the tailor had no need to dun for his money ; the gardeners
and grooms grumbled, though their wages were no longer overdue:
but the horses fattened on less corn, and the fruit and vegetables were
ever so much more plentiful — so keenly did my lady's old grandfather
keep a watch over the household afiairs, from his" lonely little chamber
in the turret.
These improvements, though, here told in a paragraph or two, were
the afiairs of months and years at Castlewood ; where, with thrift,
order, and judicious outlay of money (however, upon some pressing
occasions, my lord might say he had none) the estate and household
increased in prosperity. That it was a flourishing and economical
household no one could deny : not even the dowager lady and her two
children, who now seldom entered within Castlewood gates, my lady
considering them in the light of enemies — for who, indeed, would like
a step-mother-in-law ? The little reigning Countess gave the dowager
battle, and routed her utterly and speedily. Though educated in the
colonies, and ignorant of polite life during her early years, the Countess
Lydia had a power of language and a strength of will that all had to
acknowledge who quarrelled with her. The dowager and my Lady
Fanny were no match for the young American : they fled from before
her to their jointure house in Kensington, and no wonder their abseuoo
THE VIRGmiANS. 517
■was not regretted by my lord, who was in the habit of regretting no
one whose back was turned. Could Cousin Warrington, whose hand hia
lordship pressed so affectionately on coming and parting, with whom
Cousin Eugene was so gay and frank and pleasant when they were
together, expect or hope that his lordship would grieve at his departure,
at his death, at any misfortune which could happen to him, or any soula
alive ? Cousin "Warrington knew better. Always of a sceptical turn,
Mr. W. took a grim delight in watching the peculiarities of his neigh-
bours, and could like this one even though he had no courage and no
heart. Courage ? Heart ? What are these to you and me in the
world ? A man may have private virtues as he may have half a million
in the funds. What we du monde expect is, that he should be lively,
agreeable, keep a decent figure, and pay his way. Colonel Esmond,
Warrington's grandfather (in whose history and dwelling-place Mr. W.
took an extraordinary interest), might once have been owner of this
house of Castlewood, and of the titles which belonged to its possessor.
The gentlemen often looked at the Colonel's grave picture as it still hung
in the saloon, a copy or replica of which piece Mr. Warrington fondly
remembered in Virginia.
" He must have been a little touched here,'* my lord said, tapping his
own tall, placid forehead.
There are certain actions simple and common with some men, which
others cannot understand, and deny as utter lies, or deride as acts of
madness.
"I do you the justice to think, cousin," says Mr. Warrington to his
lordship, " that you would not give up any advantage for any friend in
the world."
*'Eh! I am selfish: but am I more selfish than the rest of the
world ? " asks my lord, with a French shrug of his shoulders, aud a
pinch out of his box. Once, in their walks in the fields, his lordship
happening to wear a fine scarlet coat, a cow ran towards him : and the
ordinarily languid nobleman sprang over a style with the agility of a
schoolboy. He did not conceal his tremor, or his natural want of
courage. *' I dare say you respect me no more than 1 respect myself,
George," he would say, in his candid way, and begin a very pleasant
sardonical discourse upon the fall of man, and his faults, and short-
comings ; and wonder why Heaven had not made us all brave and tall,
and handsome, and rich ? As for Mr. Warrington, who very likely
loved xo be king of his company (as some people do), he could not help
liking thb kinsman of his, so witty, graceful, polished, high-placed in
the world — so utterly his inferior. Like the animal in Mr. Sterne's
famous book, " Do not beat me," his lordship's look seemed to say,
"but, if you will, you may." No man, save a bully and coward him-
self, deals hardly with a creature so spiritless.
518" THE VIRGINIAInS.
CHAPTEE LXXIII.
WE KEEP CHEISTMAS AT CASTLEWOOD, 17o9.
We know, my dear children, from our favourite fairy story-books,
how at all christenings and marriages some one is invariably disap-
pointed, and vows vengeance ; and so need not wonder that good cousin
Will should curse and rage energetically at the news of his brother's
engagement with the colonial heiress. At first, Will fled the house, in
his wrath, swearing he would never return. But nobody, including the
swearer, believed much in Master Will's oaths ; and this unrepentant
prodigal, after a day or two, came back to the paternal house. The
fames of the marriage feast allured him: he could not afford to resign
his knife and fork at Castlewood table. He returned, and drank and ate
there in token of revenge. He pledged the young bride in a bumper,
and drank perdition to her under his breath. He made responses of
smothered maledictions as her father gave her away in the chapel and my
lord vowed to love, honour, and cherish her. He was not the only
grumbler respecting that marriage, as Mr. Warrington knew : he heard,
then and afterwards, no end of abuse of my lady and her grandfather.
The old gentleman's city friends, his legal adviser, the Dissenting clergy-
man at whose chapel they attended on their first arrival in England, and
poor Jack Lambert, the orthodox young divine, whose eloquence he had
fondly hoped had been exerted over her in private, were bitter against
the little lady's treachery, and each had a story to tell of his having
been enslaved, encouraged, jilted, by the young American. The lawyer,
who had had such an accurate list of all her properties, estates, moneys,
slaves, ships, expectations, was ready to vow and swear that he believed
the whole account was false ; that there was no such place as New York
or Virginia ; or at any rate, that Mr. Van den Bosch had no land there ;
that there was no such thing as a Guinea trade, and that the negroes
were so many black falsehoods invented by the wily old planter. The
Dissenting Pastor moaned over his stray lambling — if such a little, wily,
mischievous monster could be called a lamb at all. Poor Jack Lambert
ruefully acknowledged to his mamma the possession of a lock of black
hair, which he bedewed with tears and aposthrophised in quite unclerical
language: and, as for Mr. William Esmond, he, "with the shrieks and
curses in which he always freely indulged, even at Castlewood, under his
sister-in-law's own pretty little nose, when under any strong emotion,
called Acheron to witness, that out of that region there did not exist such
an artful young devil as Miss Lydia. He swore that she was an infernal
female Cerberus, and called down all the wrath of this world and the
next upon his swindling ras^cal of a brother, who had cajoled him with
fair words, and filched his prize from him.
THE TIRGIXIAXS. 519
"Why," says Mr. Warriugton (when Will expatiated on these matters
with him), " if the girl is such a she-devil as you describe her, you are
all the better for losing her. If she intends to deceive her husband, and
to give him a dose of poison, as you say, how lucky for you, you are not
the man ! You ought to thank the gods, Will, instead of cursing theiu
for robbing you of such a fury, and can't be better revenged on Castle-
wood than by allowing him her sole possession."
"All this was very well," Will Esmond said; but— not unjustly,
perhaps, — remarked that his brother was not the less a scoundrel for
having cheated him out of the fortune which he expected to get, and
which he had risked his life to win, too.
George Warrington was at a loss to know how his cousin had been
made so to risk his precious existence (for which, perhaps, a rope's-end
had been a fitting termination), on which Will Esmond, with the utmost
candour, told his kinsman how the little Cerbera had actually caused
the meeting between them, which was interrupted somehow by Sir John
Fielding's men ; how she was always saying that George Warrington
was a coward for ever sneering at Mr. Will, and the latter doubly a
poltroon for not taking notice of his kinsman's taunts ; how George
had run away and nearly died of fright in Braddock's expedition;
and *' Deuce take me," says Will, " I never was more surprised,
cousin, than when you stood to your ground so coolly in Tottenham-
Court-Fields yonder, for me and my second offered to wager that you
would never come ! "
Mr. Warrington laughed, and thanked Mr. Will for this opinion of
him.
" Though," says he, "cousin, 'twas lucky for me the constables came
up, or you would have whipped your sword through my body in another
minute. Didn't you see how clumsy I was as I stood before you ? And
you actually turned white and shook with anger ! "
"Yes, curse me," says Mr. Will (who turned very red this time),
" that's my way of showing my rage; and I was confoundedly angry
with you, cousin ! But now 'tis my brother I hate, and that little devil
of a countess— a countess ! a pretty countess, indeed ! " And, with
another rumbling cannonade of oaths. Will saluted the reigning member
of his family.
" Well, cousin," says George, looking him queerly in the face, " you
let me off easily, and, I dare say, I owe my life to you, or at any rate a
whole waistcoat, and I admire your forbearance and spirit. What a pity
that a courage like yours should be wasted as a mere court usher ! You
are a loss to his Majesty's army. You positively are ! "
" I never know whether you are joking or serious, Mr. Warrington,"
growls Will.
" I should think very few gentlemen would dare to joke with yoM,
cousin, if they had a regard for their own lives or ears ! " cries Mr.
Warrington, who loved this grave way of dealing with his noble kins-
man, and used to watch, with a droll interest, the othe choking his
620 THE VIEGINIANS.
curses, grinding his teetli because afraid to bite, and smothering his
cowardly anger.
** And you should moderate your expressions, cousin, regarding the
dear countess and my lord, your brother," Mr. Warrington resumed.
** Of you they always speak most tenderly. Her ladyship has told me
everything."
" What everything f " cries Will, aghast.
" As much as women ever do tell, cousin. She owned that she thought
you had been a little epris with her. What woman can help liking a man
who has admired her ? "
"Why she hates you, and says you were wild about her, Mr. War-
rington ! " says Mr. Esmond.
" Spret<B injuria formce, cousin ! "
"For me, — what's for me ? " asks the other.
"I never did care for her, and hence, perhaps, she does not love
me. Don't you remember that case of the wife of the Captain of the
Guard?"
** Which Guard ? " asks Will.
" My Lord Potiphar," says Mr. Warrington.
" Lord Who ? My Lord Falmouth is Captain of the Yeomen of the
Guard, and my Lord Berkeley of the Pensioners. My Lord Hobart had
'em before. Suppose you haven't been long enough in England to know
who's who, cousin! " remarks Mr. William.
But Mr. Warrington explained that he was speaking of a Captain of
the Guard of the King of Egypt, whose wife had persecuted one Joseph
for not returning her affection for him. On which Will said that, as for
Egypt, he believed it was a confounded long way off, and that, if Lord
Whatdyecall's wife told lies about him, it was like her sex, who he sup-
posed were the same everywhere.
Now the truth is, that when he paid his marriage visit to Castlewood,
Mr. Warrington had heard from the little countess her version of the
story of differences between Will Esmond and herself. And this tale
differed, in some respects, though he is far from saying it is more au-
thentic than the ingenuous narrative of Mr. Will. The lady was grieved
to think how she had been deceived in her brother-in-law. She feared
that his life about the Court and town had injured those high principles
which all the Esmonds are known to be born with ; that Mr. Will's
words were not altogether to be trusted ; that a loose life and pecuniary
difEculties had made him mercenary, blunted his honour, perhaps even
impaired the high chivalrous courage " which we Esmonds, cousin," the
little lady said, tossing her head, "which we Esmonds most always
possess — leastways, you and me, and my lord, and my cousin Harry have
it, I know!" says the Countess. "0, cousin George! and must I
confess that I was led to doubt of yours, without which a man of
ancient and noble family like ours isn't worthy to be called a man \
I shall try, George, as a Christian lady, and the head of one of the
iirst families in this kingdom and the whole world, to forgive mj
THE VIRGINIANS. 521
brother William for having spoke ill of a member of our family, though
a younger branch and by the female side, and made me for a moment
doubt of you. He did so. Perhaps he told me eyer so many bad things
you had said of me."
" I, my dear lady ! " cries Mr. Warrington.
** Which he said you said of me, cousin, and I hope you didn't, and
heartily pray you didn't ; and I can afford to despise 'em. And he paid
me his court, that's a fact; and so have others, and that I'm used to ;
and he might have prospered better than he did perhaps (for I did not
know my dear lord, nor come to vally his great and eminent qualities,
as I do out of the fulness of this grateful heart now !), but, ! I found
William was deficient in courage, and no man as wants that can ever
have the esteem of Lydia Countess of Castlewood, no more he can ! He
said 'twas you that wanted for spirit, cousin, and angered me by telling
me that you was always abusing of me. But I forgive you, George, that
I do ! And when I tell you that it was he was afraid — the mean
skunk ! — and actually sent for them constables to prevent the match
between you and he, you won't wonder I wouldn't vally a feller like-
that — no, not that much ! " and her ladyship snapped her little fingers.
" I say, noblesse oblige, and a man of our family who hasn't got courage,
I don't care not this pinch of snuff for him — there, now, I don't ! Look
at our ancestors, George, round these walls! Haven't the Esmonds-
always fought for their country and king ? Is there one of us that,
when the moment arrives, ain't ready to show that he's an Esmond and
a nobleman ? If my eldest son was to show the white feather, ' My
Lord Esmond ! ' I would say to him (for that's the second title in our
family), * I disown your lordship ! ' " And so saying, the intrepid
little woman looked round at her ancestors, whose effigies, depicted by
Lely and Kneller, figured round the walls of her drawing-room at
Castlewood,
Over that apartment, and the whole house, domain, and village, the
new countess speedily began to rule with an unlimited sway. It was
surprising how quickly she learned the ways of command ; and, if she
did not adopt those methods of precedence usual in England among-
great ladies, invented regulations for herself, and promulgated them,
and made others submit. Having been bred a Dissenter, and not being-
over familiar with the Established Church service, Mr. Warrington
remarked that she made a blunder or two during the office (not knowing,
for example, when she was to turn her face towards the east, a custom
not adopted, I believe, in other Eeforming churches besides the En-
glish) ; but between Warrington's first bridal visit to Castlewood and hi»
second, my lady had got to be quite perfect in that part of her duty,
and sailed into chapel on her cousin's arm, her two footmen bearing her
ladyship's great prayer-book behind her, as demurely as that delightful
old devotee with her lacquey, in Mr. Hogarth's famous picture of
*' Morning," and as if my lady Lydia had been accustomed to have a
chaplain all her life. She seemed to patronise not only the new chaplain,
622 THE VIRGINIxVNS.
but the service and the church itself, as if she had never in her own
country heard a Eanter in a barn. She made the oldest established
families in the country — grave baronets and their wives — worthy squires
of twenty descents, who rode over to Castle wood to pay the bride and
bridegroom honour — know their distance, as the phrase is, and give her
the pas. She got an old heraldry book ; and a surprising old maiden
lady fromWinton, learned in politeness and genealogies, from whom she
learned the court etiquette (as the old "Winton lady had known it in
Queen Anne's time), and ere long she jabbered gules and sables, bends
and saltires, not with correctness always, but with a wonderful volubility
and perseverance. She made little progresses to the neighbouring
towns in her gilt coach and six, or to the village in her chair, and
asserted a quasi-regal right of homage from her tenants and other clod-
poles. She lectured the parson on his divinity ; the bailiff on his
farming ; instructed the astonished housekeeper how to preserve and
pickle ; would have taught the great London footmen to jump behind
the carriage, only it was too high for her little ladyship to mount ; gave
the village gossips instructions how to nurse and take care of their
children long before she had one herself ; and as for physick, Madam
Esmond in Virginia was not more resolute about her pills and draughts
than Miss Lydia, the earl's new bride. Do you remember the story of
the Fisherman and the Genie, in the Arabian Nights ? So\one wondered
with regard to this lady, how such a prodigious genius could have been
corked down into such a little bottle as her body. When Mr. Warrington
returned to London after his first nuptial visit, she brought him a little
present for her young friends in Dean Street, as she called them (Theo
being older, and Hetty scarce younger than herself), and sent a trinket
to one and a book to the other — Gr. Warrington always vowing that Theo's
present was a doll, while Hetty's share was a nursery-book with words
of one syllable. As for Mr. Will, her younger brother-in-law, she treated
him with a maternal gravity and tenderness, and was in the habit of
speaking of and to him with a protecting air, which was infinitely di-
verting to Warrington, although Will's usual curses and blasphemies
were sorely increased by her behaviour.
As for old age, my lady Lydia had little respect for that accident in
the life of some gentlemen and gentlewomen ; and, once the settlements
were made in her behalf, treated the ancient Yan den Bosch and his
large periwig with no more ceremony than Dinah her black attendant,
whose great ears she would pinch, and whose woolly pate she would pull
without scruple, upon offence given — so at least Dinah told Gumbo, who
told his master. All the household trembled before my lady the
countess : the housekeeper, of whom even my lord and the dowager had
been in awe ; the pampered London footmen, who used to quarrel if they
were disturbed at their cards, and grumbled as they swilled the endless
beer, now stepped nimbly about their business when they heard her lady-
ship's call ; even old Lockwood, who had been gate-porter for half a
century or more, tried to rally his poor old wandering wits when she came
I
THE VIRGINIA^^S. 523
into his lodge to opeu his window, inspect his wood-closet, and turn his
old dogs out of doors. Lockwood bared his old bald head before his new
mistress, turned an appealing look towards his niece, and vaguely trem-
bled before her little ladyship's authority. Gumbo, dressing his master
for dinner, talked about Elisha (of whom he had heard the Chaplain read
in the morning), " and his bald head and de boys who call um names,
and de bars eat em up, and serve um right," says Gumbo. But as for
my lady, when discoursing with her cousin about the old porter, " Pooh,
pooh! Stupid old man ! " says she; ''past his work, he and his dirty
old dogs ! They are as old and ugly as those old iish in the pond ! "
(Here she pointed to two old monsters of carp that had been in a pond
in Castlewood gardens for centuries, according to tradition, and had
their backs all covered with a hideous grey mould.) " Lockwood must
pack off; the workhouse is the place for him; and I shall have a
smart, good-looking, tall fellow in the lodge that wiD. do credit to our
livery."
*' He was my grandfather's man, and served him in the wars of Q,ueen
Anne," interposed Mr. Warrington. On which my lady cried, petu-
lantly, " Lord ! Queen Anne's dead, I suppose, and we ain't a going
into mourning for her."
This matter of Lockwood was discussed at the family dinner, when her
ladyship announced her intention of getting rid of the old man.
"lam told," demurely remarks Mr. Yan den Bosch, "that, by the
laws, poor servants and poor folks of all kinds are admirably provided in
their old age here in England. I am sure I wish we had such an asylum
for our folks at home, and that we were eased of the expense of keeping
our old hands,"
" If a man can't work he ought to go ! " cries her ladyship.
"Yes, indeed, and that's a fact! " says grandpapa.
" What ! an old servant ? " asks my lord.
" Mr. Yan den Bosch possibly was independent of servants when he
was young," remarks Mr. Warrington.
" Greased my own boots, opened my own shutters, sanded and watered
my own "
" Sugar, sir? " says my lord.
" No ; floor, son-in-law ! " says the old man, with a laugh ; " though
there is such tricks in grocery- stores, saving your ladyship's presence."
" La, pa ! what should /know about stores and groceries ? " cries her
ladyship.
" He ! Eemember stealing the sugar, and what came on it, my dear
ladyship ? " says grandpapa.
"At any rate, a handsome well-grown man in our livery will look
better than that shrivelled old porter creature ! " cries my lady.
" ^0 livery is so becoming as old age, madam, and no lace as hand-
some as silver hairs," says Mr. Warrington. "What will the county
say if you banish old Lockwood ? "
" ! if you plead for him, sir, I suppose he must stay. Hadn't I
624 THE VIRGmiANS.
better order a couch for him out of my drawing-room, and send him
8ome of the best wine from the cellar ? "
" Indeed your ladyship couldn't do better," Mr. Warrington remarked,
very gravely.
And my lord said, yawning, *' Cousin George is perfectly right, my
dear. To turn away such an old servant as Loekwood would have an
ill-look."
"You see those mouldy old carps are, after all, a curiosity, and
attract visitors," continues Mr. Warrington, gravely. ** Your ladyship
must allow this old wretch to remain. It won't be for long. And you
may then engage" the tall porter. It is very hard on us, Mr. Van den
Bosch, that we are obliged to keep our old negroes when they are past
work. I shall seU that rascal Gumbo in eight or ten years."
" Don't tink you will, master ! " says Gumbo, grinning.
" Hold your tongue, sir! He doesn't know English ways, you see,
and perhaps thinks an old servant has a claim on his master's kind-
ness," says Mr. Warrington.
The next day, to Warrington's surprise, my lady absolutely did send
a basket of good wine to Loekwood, and a cushion for his arm-chair.
*' I thought of what you said, yesterday, at night when I went to bed;
and guess you know the world better than I do, cousin ; and that it's best
to keep the old man, as you say."
And so this affair of the Porter' s-lodge ended, Mr. Warrington won-
dering within himself at this strange little character out of the West, with
her naivete and simplicities, and a heartlessness would have done credit
to the most battered old dowager who ever turned trumps in St. James's.
"You tell me to respect old people. Why? I don't see nothin' to
respect in the old people, I know," she said to Warrington. "They
ain't so funny, and I'm sure they ain't so handsome. Look at grand-
father ; look at Aunt Bernstein. They say she was a beauty once !
That picture painted from her ! I don't believe it, nohow. No one
shall tell me that I shall ever be as bad as that ! When they come to
that, people oughtn't to live. No, that they oughtn't."
Now, at Christmas, Aunt Bernstein came to pay her nephew and niece
a visit, in company with Mr. Warrington. They travelled at their
leisure in the Baroness's own landau ; the old lady being in particular
good health and spirits, the weather delightfully fresh and not too cold ;
and, as they approached her paternal home, Aunt Beatrice told her com-
panion a hundred stories regarding it and old days. Though often
lethargic, and not seldom, it must be confessed, out of temper, the old
lady would light up at times, when her conversation became wonderfully
lively, her wit and malice were brilliant, and her memory supplied her
with a hundred anecdotes of a bygone age and society. Sure, 'tis hard
with respect to Beauty, that its possessor should not have even a life-
enjoyment of it, but be compelled to resign it after, at the most, some
forty years' lease. As the old woman prattled of her former lovers and
admirers (her auditor having much more information regarding her
THE VIRGINIANS. 525
past career than her ladyship knew of), I would look in her face, and,
out of the ruins, try to build up in my fancy a notion of her beauty in
its prime. What a homily I read there ! How the courts were grown
with grass, the towers broken, the doors ajar, the fine gilt saloons tar-
nished, and the tapestries cobwebbed and torn! Yonder dilapidated
palace was all alive once with splendour and music, and those dim
windows were dazzling and blazing with light ! What balls and feasts
were once here, what splendour and laughter ! I could see lovers in
waiting, crowds in admiration, rivals furious. I could imagine twilight
assignations, and detect intrigues, though the curtains were close and
drawn. I was often minded to say to the old woman as she talked,
** Madam, I know the story was not as you tell it, but so and so" — (I
had read at home the history of her life, as my dear old grandfather had
wrote it) : and my fancy wandered about in her, amused and solitary, aa
I had walked about our father's house at Castlewood, meditating on de-
parted glories, and imagining ancient times.
When Aunt Bernstein came to Castlewood, her relatives there, more
I think on account of her own force of character, imperiousness, and
sarcastic wit, than from their desire to possess her money, were accus-
tomed to pay her a great deal of respect and deference, which she accepted
as her due. She expected the same treatment from the new countess,
whom she was prepared to greet with special good humour. The match,
had been of her making. <' As you, you silly creature, would not have
the heiress," she said, "I was determined she should not go out of the
family," and she laughingly told of many little schemes for bringing the
marriage about. She had given the girl a coronet and her nephew a
hundred thousand pounds. Of course she should be welcome to both of
them. She was delighted with the little Countess's courage and spirit
in routing the Dowager and Lady Fanny. Almost always pleased with
pretty people on her first introduction to them, Madame Bernstein
raffoled of her niece Lydia's bright eyes and lovely little figure. The
marriage was altogether desirable. The old man was an obstacle, to be
sure, and his talk and appearance somewhat too homely. But he will
be got rid of. He is old and in delicate health. ** He will want to go to
America, or perhaps farther," says the Baroness, with a shrug. As for
the child, she had great fire and liveliness, and a Cherokee manner, which
is not without its charm," said the pleased old Baroness. " Your brother
had it— so have you, Master George ! Nous la former ons, cette petite,
Eugene wants character and vigour, but he is a finished gentleman, and
between us we shall make the little savage perfectly presentable." In
this way we discoursed on the second afternoon as we journeyed towards
Castlewood. We lay at the King's Arms at Bagshot the first night,
where the Baroness was always received with profound respect, and
thence drove post to Hexton, where she had written to have my lord's
horses in waiting for her ; but these were not forthcoming at the inn,
and after a couple of hours we were obliged to proceed with our Bagshot
horses to Castlewood.
526 THE VIRGINIANS.
During this last stage of the journey, I am bound to say the old aunt's
testy humour returned, and she scarce spoke a single word for three
hours. As for her companion ; being prodigiously in love at the time,
no doubt he did not press his aunt for conversation, but thought
•unceasingly about his dulcinea, until the coacb actually reached Castle-
wood Common, and rolled over the bridge before the house.
The housekeeper was ready to conduct her ladyship to her apartments.
My lord and lady were both absent. She did not know what bad kept
them, the housekeeper said, heading the way.
" Not that door, my lady ! " cries the woman, as Madame de Bern-
stein put her hand upon the door of the room which she had always
occupied. " That's her ladyship's room now. This way," and our aunt
followed, by no means in increased good humour. I do not envy her
maids when their mistress was displeased. But she had cleared her
brow before she joined the family, and appeared in the drawing-room
before supper time with a countenance of tolerable serenity.
" How d'ye do. Aunt ? " was the Countess's salutation. " I declare
now, I was taking a nap when your ladyship arrived ! Hope you found
your room fixed to your liking ! "
Having addressed three brief sentences to the astonished old lady, the
Countess now turned to her other guests, and directed her conversation
to them. Mr. Warrington was not a little diverted by her behaviour,
and by the appearance of surprise and wrath which began to gather over
Madame Bernstein's face. " La petite,'' whom the Baroness proposed
to " form," was rather a rebellious subject, apparently, and proposed
to take a form of her own. Looking once or twice rather anxiously
towards his wife, my lord tried to atone for her pertness towards his
aunt by profuse civility on his own part ; indeed, when he so wished, no
man could be more courteous or pleasing. He found a score of agreeable
things to say to Madame Bernstein. He warmly congratulated Mr.
Warrington on the glorious news which had come from America, and on
his brother's safety. He drank a toast at supper to Captain Warrington.
" Our family is distinguishing itself, cousin," he said ; and added, look-
ing with fond significance towards his Countess, "I hope the happiest
days are in store for us all."
"Yes, George!" says the little lady. "You'll write and tell Harry
that we are all very much pleased with him. This action at Quebec is
a most glorious action ; and now we have turned the French king out of
the country, shouldn't be at all surprised if we set up for ourselves in
America."
" My love, you are talking treason ! " cries Lord Castlewood.
"I am talking reason, anyhow, my lord. I've no notion of folks
being kept down, and treated as children for ever ! "
George ! Harry ! I protest I was almost as much astonished as
amused. " When my brother hears that your ladyship is satisfied with
his conduct, his happiness will be complete," I said, gravely.
Next day, when talking beside her sofa, where she chose to lie in
THE VIRGINIANS. 527
state, the little countess no longer called her cousin " George," but
" Mr. George," as before ; on which IMr. George laughingly said she had
changed her language since the previous day.
" Guess I did it to tease old Madam Buzwig," says her ladyship.
" She wants to treat me as a child, and do the grandmother over me.
I don't want no grandmothers, I don't. I'm the head of this house, and
I intend to let her know it. And I've brought her all the way from
London in order to tell it her, too ! La ! how she did look when I called
you George ! I might have called you George — only you had seen that
little Theo first, and liked her best, I suppose."
" Yes, I suppose I like her best," says Mr. George.
" Well, I like you because you tell the truth. Because you was the
only one of 'em in London who didn't seem to care for my money,
though I was downright mad and angry with you once, and with myself
too, and with that little sweetheart of yours, who ain't to be compared
to me, I know she ain't."
" Don't let us make the comparison, then ! " I said, laughing.
" I suppose people must lie on their beds as they make 'em," says she,
with a little sigh. " Dare say Miss Theo is very good, and you'll marry
her and go to Virginia, and be as dull as we are here. We were talking
of Miss Lambert, my lord, and I was wishing my cousin joy. How is
old Goody to-day ? What a supper she did eat last night and drink ! —
drink like a dragoon ! i^o wonder she has got a headache, and keeps
her room. Guess it takes her ever so long to dress herself."
" You, too, may be feeble when you are old, and require rest and wine
to warm you ! " says Mr. Warrington.
" Hope I shan't be like her when I'm old, anyhow ! " says the lady.
" Can't see why I am to respect an old woman, because she hobbles on a
stick, and has shaky hands, and false teeth ! " And the little heathen
sank back on her couch, and showed twenty-four pearls of her own.
" Law ! " she adds, after gazing at both her hearers through the
curled lashes of her brilliant dark eyes. "How frightened you both
look ! ]\Iy lord has already given me ever so many sermons about old
Goody. You are both afraid of her: and I ain't, that's all. Don't
look so scared at one another! I ain't a-goiisg to bite her head off.
We shall have a battle, and I intend to win. How did I serve the
Dowager, if you please, and my Lady Fanny, with their high and
mighty airs, when they tried to put down the Countess of Castlewood
in her own house, and laugh at the poor American girl? We had a
fight, and which got the best of it, pray ? Me and Goody will have
another, and when it is over, you will see that we shall both be perfect
friends ! "
When at this point of our conversation, the door opened and Madam
Beatrix, elaborately dressed according to her wont, actually made her
appearance, I, for my part, am not ashamed to own that I felt as great
a panic as ever coward experienced. My lord, witb his profouudest
bows and blandest courtesies, greeted his aunt and led her to the fire,
628 THE VIRGINIANS.
by which my lady (who was already hoping for an heir to Castlewood)
lay reclining on her sofa. She did not attempt to rise, but smiled a
greeting to her venerable guest. And then, after a brief talk, in which
she showed a perfect self-possession, while the two gentlemen blundered
and hesitated with the most dastardly tremor, my lord said :
** If we are to look for those pheasants, cousin, we had better go
now."
** And I and aunt will have a cozy afternoon. And you will tell me
about Castlewood in the old times? Won't you, Baroness ?" says the
new mistress of the mansion.
O les laches que les hommes! I was so frightened, that I scarce saw
anything, but vaguely felt that Lady Castlewood's dark eyes were
following me. My lord gripped my arm in the corridor, we quickened
our paces till our retreat became a disgraceful run. We did not breathe
freely till we were in the open air in the courtyard, where the keepers
and the dogs were waiting.
And what happened ? I protest, children, I don't know. But this is
certain ; if your mother had been a woman of the least spirit, or had
known how to scold for five minutes during as many consecutive days of
her early married life, there would have been no more humble, henpecked
wretch in Christendom than your father. When Parson Blake comes to
dinner, don't you see how at a glance from his little wife, he puts his
glass down and says, 'N"o, thank you, Mr. Gumbo,' when old Gum
brings him wine ? Blake wore a red coat before he took to black, and
walked up Breed's Hill with a thousand bullets whistling round his
ears, before ever he saw our Bunker Hill in Suffolk. And the fire-eater
of the 43rd now dare not face a glass of old port wine ! 'Tis his wife
has subdued his courage. The women can master us, and did they know
their own strength were invincible.
Well, then, what happened I know not on that disgraceful day of
panic when your father fled the field, nor dared to see the heroines
engage ; but when we returned from our shooting, the battle was over.
America had revolted, and conquered the mother country.
CHAPTEE LXXIV.
KEWS TEGM CANADA,
Otjb Castlewood relatives kept ns with them till the commencement of
the new year, and after a fortnight's absence (which seemed like an age
to the absurd and infatuated young man) he returned to the side of his
charmer. Madame de Bernstein was not sorry to leave the home of her
lather. She began to talk more freely as we got away from the place.
THE VTRGINIANS. 529
"What passed during that interview in which the battle royal between
her and her niece occurred, she never revealed. But the old lady talked
no more of forming cette petite, and indeed, when she alluded to her,
spoke in a nervous, laughing way, but without any hostility towards the
young Countess. Her nephew Eugene, she said, was doomed to be hen-
pecked for the rest of his days : that she saw clearly. A little order
brought into the house would do it all the good possible. The little old
vulgar American gentleman seemed to be a shrewd person, and would
act advantageously as a steward. The Countess's mother was a convict,
she had heard, sent out from England, where no doubt she had beaten
hemp in most of the gaols ; but this news need not be carried to the
town-crier ; and, after all, in respect to certain kind of people, what
mattered what their birth was ? The young woman would be honest for
her own sake now : was shrewd enough, and would learn English pre-
sently ; and the name to which she had a right was great enough to
get her into any society. A grocer, a smuggler, a slave-dealer, what
mattered Mr. Yan den Bosch's pursuit or previous profession ? The
Countess of Castlewood could afford to be anybody's daughter, and as
soon as my nephew produced her, says the old lady, it is our duty to
stand by her.
The ties of relationship binding Madame de Bernstein strongly to
her nephew, Mr. Warrington hoped that she would be disposed to be
equally affectionate to her niece ; and spoke of his visit to Mr. Hagan
and his wife, for whom he entreated her aunt's favour. But the old
lady was obdurate regarding Lady Maria ; begged that her name might
never be mentioned, and immediately went on for two hours talking
about no one else. She related a series of anecdotes regarding her
niece, which, as this book lies open virginibus puerisque to all the young
people of the family, I shall not choose to record. But this I will say
of the kind creature, that if she sinned, she was not the only sinner of
the family, and if she repented, that others will do well to follow her
example. Hagan, 'tis known, after he left the stage, led an exemplary
life, and was remarkable for elegance and eloquence in the pulpit. His
lady adopted extreme views, but was greatly respected in the sect which
she joined ; and when I saw her last, talked to me of possessing a peculiar
spiritual illumination, which I strongly suspected at the time to be
occasioned by the too free use of liquor : but I remember when she and
her husband were good to me and mine, at a period when sympathy was
needful, and many a Pharisee turned away.
I have told how easy it was to rise and fall in my fickle aunt's favour,
and how each of us brothers, by turns, was embraced and neglected.
My turn of glory had been after the success of my play. I was intro-
duced to the town- wits ; held my place in their company tolerably well ;
was pronounced to be pretty well bred by the Macaronis and people of
fashion, and might have run a career amongst them had my purse been
long enough ; had I chose to follow that life ; had I not loved at that
time a pair of kind eyes better than the brightest orbs of the Gunnings or
530 THE VIRGINIANS.
Chudleighs, or all the painted beauties of the Ranelagh ring. Because
I was fond of your mother, will it be believed, children, that my tastes
were said to be low, and deplored by my genteel family ? So it was, and
I know that my godly Lady Warrington and my worldly Madame
Bernstein both laid their elderly heads together and lamented my way of
life. "Why, with his name, he might marry anybody," says meek
Religion, who had ever one eye on heaven and one on the main chance.
"I meddle with no man's affairs, and admire genius," says uncle, "but it
is a pity you consort with those poets and authors, and that sort of
people, and that, when you might have had a lovely creature, with a
hundred thousand pounds, you let her slip and make up to a country-
girl without a penny-piece."
" But if I had promised her, uncle ?" says I.
"Promise, promise! these things are matters of arrangement and
prudence, and demand a careful look-out. When you first committed
yourself with little Miss Lambert, you had not seen the lovely American
lady whom your mother wished you to marry, as a good mother natu-
rally would. And your duty to your mother, nephew, — your duty to the
Fifth Commandment, would have warranted your breaking with Miss
L., and fulfilling your excellent mother's intentions regarding Miss
What was the Countess's Dutch name? Never mind. A name is
nothing ; but a plumb. Master George, is something to look at ! Why,
I have my dear little Miley at a dancing-school with Miss Barwell,
nabob Barwell's daughter, and I don't disguise my wish that the children
may contract an attachment which may endure through their lives ! I
tell the nabob so. We went from the House of Commons one dancing-
day and saw them. 'Twas beautiful to see the young things walking a
minuet together ! It brought tears into my eyes, for I have a feeling
heart, George, and I love my boy ! "
" But if I prefer Miss Lambert, uncle, with two-pence tocher fortune,
to the Countess, with her hundred thousand pounds ? " ^
"Why then, sir, you have a singular taste, that's all," says the old
gentleman, turning on his heel and leaving me. And I could perfectly
understand his vexation at my not being able to see the world as he
viewed it.
IsTor did my Aunt Bernstein much like the engagement which I had
made, or the family with which I passed so much of my time. Their
simple ways wearied, and perhaps annoyed, the old woman of the world,
and she no more relished their company than a certain person (who ig
not so black as he is painted) likes holy water. The old lady chafed at
my for ever dangling at my sweetheart's lap. Having risen mightily in
her favour, I began to fall again: and once more Harry was the favourite,
and his brother. Heaven knows, not jealous.
He was now our family hero. He wrote us brief letters from the
scat of war, where he was engaged, Madame Bernstein caring little at
first about the letters or the writer, for they were simple, and the facts
he narrated not over interesting. We had early learned in London the
THE VIRGINIANS. 531
news of the action on the glorious first of August at Minden, where
Wolfe's old regiment was one of the British, six which helped to achieve
the victory on that famous day. At the same hour, the young general
lay in his bed, in sight of Q,uebec, stricken down by fever, and perhaps
rage and disappointment, at the check which his troops had just received.
Arriving in the Saint Lawrence in June, the fleet which brought
"Wolfe and his army had landed them on the last day of the month on
the Island of Orleans, opposite which rises the great cliff of Quebec.
After the great action in which his general fell, the dear brother who
accompanied the chief, wrote home to me one of his simple letters,
describing his modest share in that glorious day, but added nothing to
the many descriptions already wrote of the action of the 13th of Septem-
ber, save only I remember he wrote, from the testimony of a brother
aide-de-camp who was by his side, that the General never spoke at all
after receiving his death-wound, so that the phrase which has been put
into the mouth of the dying hero may be considered as no more authentic
than an oration of Livy or Thucydides.
From his position on the island, which lies in the great channel of the
river to the north of the town, the General was ever hungrily on the
look-out for a chance to meet and attack his enemy. Above the city and
below it he landed, — now here and now there ; he was bent upon attack-
ing wherever he saw an opening. 'Twas surely a prodigious fault on the
part of the Marquis of Montcalm, to accept a battle from Wolfe on equal
terms, for the British General had no artillery, and when we had made
our famous scalade of the heights, and were on the plains of Abraham,
we were a little nearer the citj'', certainly, but as far off as ever from
being within it.
The game that was played between the brave chiefs of those two
gallant little armies, and which lasted from July until Mr. Wolfe won
the crowning hazard in September, must have been as interesting a
match as ever eager players engaged in. On the very first night after
the landing (as my brother has narrated it) the sport began. At mid-
night the French sent a flaming squadron of fire-ships down upon the
British ships which were discharging their stores at Orleans. Our sea-
men thought it was good sport to tow the fire-ships clear of the fleet,
and ground them on the shore where they burned out.
As soon as the French commander heard that our ships had entered
the river, he marched to Beaufort in advance of the city, and there
took up a strong position. When our stores and hospitals were
established, our General crossed over from his island to the left shore,
and drew nearer to his enemy. He had the ships in the river behind
him, but the v/hole country in face of him was in arms. The Indians
in the forest seized our advanced parties as they strove to clear it, and
murdered them with horrible tortures. The French were as savage as
their Indian friends. The Montmorenci River rushed between Wolfe
and the enemy. He could neither attack these nor the city behind them.
Bent on seeing whether there was no other point at which his foe
M M 2
632 THE VIRGINIANS.
might be assailable, the General passed round the town of Quebec and
skirted the left shore beyond. Everywhere it was guarded, as well aa
in his immediate front, and having run the gauntlet of the batteries up
and down the river, he returned to his post at Montmorenci. On the
right of the French position, across the Montmorenci Eiver, which was
fordable at low tide, was a redoubt of the enemy. He would have that.
Perhaps, to defend it, the French chief would be forced out from his
lines, and a battle be brought on. Wolfe, determined to play these
odds. He would fetch over the body of his army from the island of
Orleans, and attack from the St. Lawrence. He would time his attack,
so that, at shallow water, his lieutenants, Murray and Townsend, might
cross the Montmorenci, and, at the last day of July, he played this
desperate game.
He first, and General Monekton, his second in command (setting out
from Point Levi, which he occupied), crossed over the St. Lawrence
from their respective stations, being received with a storm of shot and
artillery as they rowed to the shore. No sooner were the troops landed
than they rushed at the French redoubt without order, were shot down
before it in great numbers, and were obliged to fall back. At the pre-
concerted signal the troops on the other side of the Montmorenci advanced
across the river in perfect order. The enemy even evacuated the re-
doubt, and fell back to their lines ; but from these the assailants were
received with so severe a fire that an impression on them was hopeless,
and the General had to retreat.
That battle of Montmorenci (which my brother Harry and I have fought
again many a time over our wine) formed the dismal burthen of the first
despatch from Mr. Wolfe which reached England, and plunged us all in
gloom. What more might one expect of a commander so rash ? What
disasters might one not foretell ? Was ever scheme so wild as to bring
three great bodies of men, across, broad rivers, in the face of murderous
batteries, merely on the chance of inducing an enemy strongly intrenched
and guarded, to leave his position and come out and engage us ? 'Twas
the talk of the town. Ko wonder grave people shook their heads, and
prophesied fresh disaster. The General, who took to his bed after this
failure, shudderiijgjvithfever^jv^ to livejbarelysix weeks longer, and
die immortal [ J How is it, and by what, and whom, that Greatness is
achieved ? Is Merit — is Madness the patron ? Is it Frolic or Fortune ?
Is it Fate that awards successes and defeats ? Is it the Just Cause that
ever wins ? How did the French gain Canada from the savage, and we
from the French, and after which of the conquests was the right time to
sing Te Deum ? We are always for implicating Heaven in our quarrels,
and causing the gods to intervene whatever the nodus may be. Does
Broughton, after pummelling and beating Slack, lift up a black eye to
Jove and thank him for the victory ? And if ten thousand boxers are to
be so heard, why not one ? And if Broughton is to be grateful, what is
Slack to be ?
" By the list of disabled officers (many of whom are of rank) you may
THE VIRGINIANS. 633
perceive, sir, that the army is much weakened. By the nature of this
river the most formidable part of the armament is deprived of the power
of acting, yet we have almost the whole force of Canada to oppose. la
this situation there is such a choice of difficulties, that I own myself at
a loss how to determine. The affairs of Great Britain, I know, require
the most vigorous measures ; but then the courage of a handful of brave
men should be exerted only where there is some hope of a favourable
event. The admiral and I have examined the town with a view to a
general assault : and he would readily join in this or any other measure
for the public service ; but I cannot propose to him an undertaking of
so dangerous a nature, and promising so little success I found
myself so ill, and am still so weak, that I begged the general officers to
consult together for the public utility. They are of opinion that they
should try by conveying up a corps of 4000 or 5000 men (which is nearly
the whole strength of the army, after the points of Levi and Orleans are
put in a proper state of defence) to draw the enemy from their present
position, and bring them to an action. I have acquiesced in their
proposal, and we are preparing to put it into execution."
So wrote the General (of whose noble letters it is clear our dear scribe
was not the author or secretary) from his head-quarters at Montmorenci
Falls on the 2nd day of September : and on the 14th of October follow-
ing, the Eodney cutter arrived with the sad news in England. The
attack had failed, the chief was sick, the army dwindling, the menaced
city so strong that assault was almost impossible ; " the only chance was
to fight the Marquis of Montcalm upon terms of less disadvantage than
attacking his intrenchments, and, if possible, to draw him from his pre-
sent position." "Would the French chief, whose great military genius
was known in Europe, fall into such a snare ? No wonder there were
pale looks in the City at the news, and doubt and gloom wheresoever it
was known.
Three days after this first melancholy intelligence, came the famous
letters announcing that wonderful consummation of Fortune with which
Mr. Wolfe's wonderful career ended. If no man is to be styled happy
till his death, what shall we say of this one ? His end was so glorious,
that I protest not even his mother nor his mistress ought to have deplored
it, or at any rate have wished him alive again. I know it is a hero we
speak of ; and yet I vow I scarce know whether in the last act of his life
I admire the result of genius, invention, and daring, or the boldness of a
gambler winning surprising odds. Suppose his ascent discovered a half-
hour sooner, and his people, as they would have been assuredly, beaten
back? Suppose the Marquis of Montcalm not to quit his entrenched
lines to accept that strange challenge ? Suppose these points — and none of
them depend upon Mr. Wolfe at all — and what becomes of the glory of
the young hero, of the great minister who discovered him, of the intoxi-
cated nation which rose up frantic with self-gratulation at the victory ?
I say, what fate is it that shapes our ends, or those of nations ? In the
many hazardous games which my Lord Chatham played, he won this
634 THE YIKGINIANS.
prodigious one. And as the greedy British, hand seized the Canadas, it
let fall the United States out of its grasp.
To be sure this wisdom d^apres coup is easy. "We wonder at this
man's rashness now the deed is done, and marvel at the other's fault.
What generals some of us are upon paper ; what repartees come to our
mind when the talk is finished ; and, the game over, how well we see
how it should have been played ! Writing of an event at a distance of
thirty years, 'tis not difficult now to criticise and find fault. But at the
time when we first heard of Wolfe's glorious deeds upon the plains of
Abraham — of that army marshalled in darkness and carried silently up
the midnight river — of those rocks scaled by the intrepid leader and his
troops — of that miraculous security of the enemy, of his present accept-
ance of our challenge to battle, and of his defeat on the open plain by
the sheer valour of his conqueror — we were all intoxicated in England
by the news. The whole nation rose up and felt itself the stronger for
Wolfe's victory. Not merely all men engaged in the battle, but those at
home who had condemned its rashness, felt themselves heroes. Our
spirit rose as that of our enemy faltered. Friends embraced each
other when they met. Coffee-houses and public places were thronged
with people eager to talk the news. Courtiers rushed to the King and
the great minister by whose wisdom the campaign had been decreed.
When he showed himself, the people followed him with shouts and bless-
ings. People did not deplore the dead warrior, but admired his eutha^
nasia. Should James Wolfe's friends weep and wear mourning, because
a chariot had come from the skies to fetch him away ? Let them watch
with wonder, and see him departing, radiant ; rising above us superior.
To have a friend who had been near or about him was to be distinguished.
Every soldier who fought with him was a hero. In our fond little circle
I know 'twas a distinction to be Harry's brother. We should not in the
least wonder but that he, from his previous knowledge of the place, had
found the way up the heights which the British army took, and pointed '
it out to his General. His promotion would follow as a matter of course.
Why, even our uncle Warrington wrote letters to bless Heaven and con-
gratulate me and himself upon the share Harry had had in the glorious
achievement. Our Aunt Beatrix opened her house and received company
upon the strength of the victory. I became a hero from my likeness to
my brother. As for Parson Sam.pson, he preached such a sermon, that
his auditors (some of whom had been warned by his reverence of the
coming discourse) were with difficulty restrained from huzzaing the
orator, and were mobbed as they left the chapel. *' Don't talk to me,
madam, about grief," says General Lambert to his wife, who, dear soul,
was for allowing herself some small indulgence of her favourite sorrow
on the day when Wolfe's remains were gloriously buried at Greenwich.
*' If our boys could come by such deaths as James's, you know you
wouldn't prevent them from being shot, but would scale the Abraham
heights to see the thing done ! Wouldst thou mind dying in the anna
of victory, Charley ? " he asks of the little hero from the Chartreux.
THE VIRGINIANS. 535
"That I wouldn't," says the little man; *'and the doctor gave us a
holiday, too."
Our Harry's promotion was insured after his share in the famous
battle, and our aunt announced her intention of purchasing a company
for him.
CHAPTER LXXV.
THE COURSE OP TETJE LOVE.
Had your father, young folks, possessed the commonest share of pru-
dence, not only would this chapter of his history never have been
written, but you yourselves would never have appeared in the world to
plague him in a hundred ways : to shout and laugh in the passages
when he wants to be quiet at his books ; to wake him when he is dozing
after dinner, as a healthy country gentleman should : to mislay his
spectacles for him, and steal away his newspaper when he wants to read
it ; to ruin him with tailors' bills, mantua-makers' bills, tutors' bills,
as you all of you do : to break his rest of nights when you have the im-
pudence to fall ill, and when he would sleep undisturbed, but that your
silly mother will never be quiet for half-an-hour ; and when Joan can't
sleep, what use, pray, is there in Darby putting on his nightcap ? Every
trifling ailment that any one of you has had, has scared her so that I
protest I have never been tranquil ; and, were I not the most long-
suffering creature in the world, would have liked to be rid of the whole
pack of you. And now, forsooth, that you have grown out of childhood,
long petticoats, chicken-pox, small-pox, hooping cough, scarlet fever,
and the other delectable accidents of puerile life, what must that uncon-
scionable woman propose but to arrange the south rooms as a nursery for
possible grandchildren, and set up the Captain with a wife, and make
him marry early because we did ! He is too fond, she says, of Brookes's
and Goosetree's when he is in London. She has the perversity to hint
that, though an entree to Carlton House may be very pleasant, 'tis very
dangerous for a young gentleman : and she would have Miles live away
from temptation, and sow his wild oats, and marry, as we did. Marry !
my dear creature, we had no business to marry at all ! By the laws of
common prudence and duty, I ought to have backed out of my little
engagement with Miss Theo (who would have married somebody else),
and taken a rich wife. Your Uncle John was a parson and couldn't
fight, poor Charley was a boy at school, and your grandfather was too
old a man to call me to account with sword and pistol. I repeat there
never was a more foolish match in the world than ours, and our rela-
tions were perfectly right in being angry with us. What are relations
made for, indeed, but to be angry and find fault? When Hester
536 THE VIEGINIANS.
marries, do you miud, Master George, to quarrel with her if she does
not take a husband of your selecting. When George has got his living,
after being senior wrangler and fellow of his college. Miss Hester, do you
toss up your little nose at the young lady he shall fancy. As for you,
my little Theo, I can't part with you* You must not quit your old
father ; for he likes you to play Haydn to him, and peel his walnuts
after dinner.
"Whilst they had the blessing (forsooth !) of meeting, and billing and
cooing every day, the two young people, your parents, went on in a
fools' paradise, little heeding the world round about them, and all its
tattling and meddling. Rinaldo was as brave a warrior as ever slew
Turk, but you know he loved dangling in Armida's garden. Pray, my
Lady Armida, what did you mean by flinging your spells over me in
youth, so that not glory, not fashion, not gaming-tables, not the society
of men of wit in whose way I fell, could. keep me long from your apron-
strings, or out of reach of your dear simple prattle ? Pray, my dear,
what used we to say to each other during those endless hours of meeting ?
I never went to sleep after dinner then. Which of us was so witty?
Was it I or you ? And how came it our conversations were so delight-
ful ? I remember that year I did not even care to go and see my Lord
Perrers tried and hung, when all the world was running after his lord-
ship. The King of Prussia's capital was taken ; had the Austrians and
E-ussians been encamped round the Tower there could scarce have been
more stir in London : yet Miss Theo and her young gentleman felt no
inordinate emotion of pity or indignation. What to us was the fate of
Leipzig or Berlin ? The truth is, that dear old house in Dean Street
was an enchanted garden of delights. I have been as idle since, but
never as happy. Shall we order the post-chaise, my dear, leave the
children to keep house; and drive up to London and see if the old
lodgings are still to be let ? And you shall sit at your old place in the
window, and wave a little handkerchief as I walk up the street. Say
what we did was imprudent. Would we not do it over again ? My
good folks, if Venus had walked into the room and challenged the apple,
I was so infatuated, I would have given it your mother. And had she
had the choice, she would have preferred her humble servant in a thread-
bare coat to my Lord Olive with all his diamonds.
Once, to be sure, and for a brief time in that year, I had a notion of
going on the highway in order to be caught and hung as my Lord
Ferrers ; or of joining the King of Prussia, and requesting some of
his Majesty's enemies to knock my brains out ; or of enlisting for the
♦ On the blank leaf opposite this paragraph is written, in a large, girlish hand :
" I never intend to go. — Theodosia.
"Nor I.— Hester."
They both mairied, as I see by the note in the Family Bible, Miss Theodosia
"Warrington to Joseph Clinton, son of the Rev. Joseph Blake, and himself subse-
quently Master of Ilodwell Regis Grammar School ; and Miss Hester Mary, in 1804,
to Captain F. Handyman, R.N.— Ed.
TnE VIRGINIANS. 637
India service, and performing some desperate exploit whicli should end
in my bodily destruction. Ah, me ! that was indeed a dreadful time !
Your mother scarce dares speak of it now, save in a whisper of terror ;
or think of it— it was such cruel pain. She was unhappy years after
on the anniversary of the day, until one of you was born on it. Sup-
pose we had been parted ; what had come to us ? AVhat had my lot
been without her? As I think of that possibility, the whole world is a
blank. I do not say were we parted now. It has pleased God to give
us thirty years of union. "We have reached the autumn season. Our
successors are appointed and ready; and that one of us whc^ is first
called away, knows the survivor will follow ere long. But we were
actually parted in our youth ; and I tremble to think what might have
been, had not a dearest friend brought us together.
Unknown to myself, and very likely meaning only my advantage,
my relatives in England had chosen to write to Madam Esmond in Vir-
ginia, and represent what they were pleased to call the folly of the
engagement I had contracted. Every one of them sang the same song :
and I saw the letters, and burned the whole cursed pack of them years
afterwards when my mother showed them to me at home in Vir-
ginia. Aunt Bernstein was forward with her advice. A young person,
with no wonderful good looks, of no family, with no money ; — was
ever such an imprudent connection, and ought it not for dear George's
sake to be broken off ? She had several eligible matches in view for
me. With my name and prospects, 'twas a shame I should throw
myself away on this young lady; her sister ought to interpose — and
so forth.
My Lady Warrington must write, too, and in her peculiar manner.
Her ladyship's letter was garnished with scripture texts.' She dressed
her worldliness out in phylacteries. She pointed out how I was living
in an unworthy society of player-folks, and the like people, who she
could not say were absolutely without religion (Heaven forbid !), but
who were deplorably worldly. She would not say an artful woman had
inveigled me for her daughter, having in vain tried to captivate my
younger brother. She was far from saying any harm of the young
woman I had selected ; but at the least this was certain. Miss L. had
no fortune or expectations, and her parents might naturally be anxious
to compromise me. She had taken counsel, &c., &c. She had sought
for guidance where it was, &c. Feeling what her duty was, she had
determined to speak. Sir Miles, a man of excellent judgment in the
affairs of this world (though he knew and sought a better), fully agreed
with her in opinion, nay, desired her to write, and entreat her sister to
interfere, that the ill-advised match should not take place.
And who besides must put a little finger into the pie but the new
Countess of Castle wood ? She wrote a majestic letter to Madam Esmond,
and stated, that having been placed by Providence at the head of the
Esmond family, it was her duty to communicate with her kinswoman
and warn her to break off this marriage. I believe the three women
638 THE VIRGINIANS.
laid their heads together previously ; and, packet after packet, sent off
their warnings to the Virginian lady.
One raw April morning, as Coi^don goes to pay his usual duty to
Phillis, he finds, not his charmer with her dear smile as usual ready
to welcome him, but Mrs. Lambert, with very red eyes, and the General
as pale as death. " Eead this, George Warrington !" says he, as his
wife's head drops between her hands ; and he puts a letter before me, of
which I recognised the handwriting. I can hear now the sobs of the
good Aunt Lambert, and to this day the noise of fire-irons stirring a
fire in a room overhead gives me a tremor. I heard such a noise that
day in the girls' room where the sisters were together. Poor gentle
child ! Poor Theo !
*' What can I do after this, George, my poor boy ? " asks the General,
pacing the room with desperation in his face.
I did not quite read the whole of Madam Esmond's letter, for a kind
of sickness and faintness came over me ; but I fear I could say some of
it now by heart. Its style was good, and its actual words temperate
enough, though they only implied that Mr. and Mrs. Lambert had
inveigled me into the marriage ; that they knew such an union was
unworthy of me ; that (as Madam E. understood) they had desired a
similar union for her younger son, which project, not unluckily for him,
perhaps, was given up when it was found that Mr. Henry Warrington
was not the inheritor of the Virginian property. If Mr. Lambert was a
man of spirit and honour, as he was represented to be, Madam Esmond
scarcely supposed that, after her representations, he would persist in
desiring this match. She would not lay commands upon her son, whose
temper she knew ; but for the sake of Miss Lambert's own reputation
and comfort, she urged that the dissolution of the engagement should
come from' her family, and not from the just uuwilliugness of Rachel
Esmond Warrington of Virginia.
'* God help us, George ! " the General said, " and give us all strength
to bear this grief, and these charges which it has pleased your mother
to bring ! They are hard, but they don't -matter now. What is of
most importance, is to spare as much sorrow as we can to my poor girl.
I know you love her so well, that you will help me and her mother to
make the blow as tolerable as we may to that poor gentle heart. Since
she was born she has never given pain to a soul alive, and 'tis cruel that
she should be made to sufi'er." And as he spoke he passed his hand
across his dry eyes.
"It was my fault, Martin! It was my fault!" weeps the poor
mother.
"Your mother spoke us fair, and gave her promise," said the
father.
" And do you think I will withdraw mine ?" cried I ; and protested,
with a thousand frantic vows, what they knew full well, " that I was
bound to Theo before Heaven, and that nothing should part me from
her."
THE VIRGINIANS. 539
** She herself will demand the partinj. She is a good girl, God help
me ! and a dutiful. She will not have her father and mother called
schemers, and treated with scorn. Your mother knew not, very likely,
what she was doing, but 'tis done. You may see the child, and she
will tell you as much. Is Theo dressed, Molly ? I brought the letter
home from my office last evening after you were gone. The women
have had a bad night. She knew at once by my face that there was
bad news from America. She read the letter quite firml5\ She said
she would like to see you and say Good-bye. Of course, George, you
will give me your word of honour not to try and see her afterwards.
As soon as my business will let me we will get away from this, but
mother and I think we are best all together. 'Tis you, perhaps, had
best go. But give me your word, at any rate, that you will not try and
see her. We must spare her pain, sir ! We must spare her pain ! "
And the good man sate down in such deep anguish himself that I, who
was not yet under the full pressure of my own grief, actually felt his,
and pitied it. It could not be that the dear lips I had kissed yesterday
were to speak to me only once more. We were all here together : loving
each other, sitting in the room where we met every day ; my drawing
on the table by her little work-box ; she was in the chamber up-stairs ;
she must come down presently.
Who is this opens the door ? I see her sweet face. It was like our
little Mary's when we thought she would die of the fever. There was
even a smile upon her lips. She comes up and kisses me. '* Good-bye,
dear George ! " she says. Great Heaven ! An old man sitting in this
room, — with my wife's work-box opposite, and she but five minutes
away, my eyes grow so dim and full that I can't see the book before
me. I am three-and-twenty years old again. I go through every stage
of that agony. I once had it sitting in my own post-chaise, with my
wife actually by my side. Who dared to sully her sweet love with
suspicion ? Who had a right to stab such a soft bosom ? Don't you
see my ladies getting their knives ready, and the poor child baring it ?
My wife comes in. She has been serving out tea or tobacco to some of
her pensioners. "What is it makes you look so angry, papa?" she
says. '* My love ! " I say, *' it is the thirteenth of April." A pang of
pain shoots across her face, followed by a tender smile. She has
undergone the martyrdom, and in the midst of the pang comes a halo of
forgiveness. I can't forgive ; not until my days of dotage come, and
I cease remembering anything. ** Hal will be home for Easter ; he
will bring two or three of his friends with him from Cambridge,"
she says. And straightway she falls to devising schemes for amusing
the boys. When is she ever occupied, but with plans for making others
happy ?
A gentleman sitting in spectacles before an old ledger, and writing
down pitiful remembrances of his own condition, is a quaint and ridi-
culous object. My corns hurt me, I know, but I suspect my neigh-
bour's shoes pinch him too. I am not going to howl much over my
5i0 THE VIEGIXIAXS.
own grief, or enlarge at any great length on this one. Many another
man, I dare say, has had the light of his day suddenly put out, tho
joy of his life extinguished, and has been left to darkness and vague
torture. I have a book I tried to read at this time of grief — Howel's
Letters — and when I come to the part about Prince Charles in Spain,
up starts the whole tragedy alive again. I went to Brighthelmstone,
and there, at the inn, had a room facing the east, and saw the sun get
up ever so many mornings, after blank nights of wakefulness, and
smoked my pipe of Virginia in his face. When I am in that place by
chance, and see the sun rising now, I shake my fist- at him, thinking,
orient Phoebus, what horrible grief and savage wrath have you not
eeen me suifer ! Though my wife is mine ever so long, I say I am
angry just the same. Who dared, I want to know, to make us suffer
so ? I was forbidden to see her. I kept my promise, and remained
away from the house : that is, after that horrible meeting and parting.
But at night I would go and look at her window, and watch the lamp
burning there ; I would go to the Chartreux (where I knew another
boy), and call for her brother, and gorge him with cakes and half-
crowns. I would meanly have her elder brother to dine, and almost
kiss him when he went away. I used to breakfast at a coffee •house
in Whitehall, in order to see Lambert go to his office ; and we would
salute each other sadly, and pass on without speaking. Why did not
the women come out ? They never did. They were practising on her,
and persuading her to try and forget me. 0, the weary, weary days !
O, the maddening time ! At last a doctor's chariot used to draw up
before the General's house every day. Was she ill? I fear I was
rather glad she was ill. My own suffering was so infernal, that I
greedily wanted her to share my pain. And would she not ? What
grief of mine has it not felt, that gentlest and most compassionate of
hearts ? What pain would it not suffer to spare mine a pang ?
I sought that Doctor out. I had an interview with him. 1 told my
«tory, and laid bare my heart to him, with an outburst of passionate
sincerity, which won his sympathy. My confession enabled him to
understand his young patient's malady ; for which his drugs had no
remedy or anodyne. I had promised not to see her, or to go to her : I
had kept my promise. I had promised to leave London : I had gone
away. Twice, thrice I went back and told my sufferings to him. He
would take my fee now and again, and always receive me kindly, and
let me speak. Ah, how I clung to him ! I suspect he must have been
unhappy once in his own life, he knew so well and gently how to succour
the miserable.
He did not tell me how dangerously, though he did not disguise from
me how gravely and seriously, ray dearest girl had been ill. I told him
everything — that I would marry her, and brave every chance and
<langei ; that, without her, 1 was a man utterly wrecked and ruined,
and cared not what became of me. My mother had once consented, and
had now chosen to withdraw her consent, when the tie between us had
THE VIRGmiAJN'S. 541
I been, as I held, drawn so closely together, as to be paramount to all
I filial duty.
I "I think, sir, if your mother heard you, and saw Miss Lambert, she
I would relent," said the Doctor. "Who was my mother to hold me in
; bondage ; to claim a right of misery over me ; and to take this angel
out of my arms ?
j "He could not," he said, " be a message-carrier between young ladiea
I who were pining and young lovers on whom the sweetheart's gates were
shut: but so much he would venture to say that he had seen m^,
, and was prescribing for me, too." Yes, he must have been unhappy
once himself. I saw him, you may be sure, on the very day when he
: had kept his promise to me. He said she seemed to be comforted by
hearing news of me.
"She bears her suffering with an angelical sweetness. I prescribe
Jesuits' bark, which she takes ; but I am not sure the hearing of you
has not done more good than the medicine." The women owned
afterwards that they had never told the General of the Doctor's new
patient.
I know not what wild expressions of gratitude I poured out to the
good doctor for the comfort he brought me. His treatment was curing
two unhappy sick persons. 'Twas but a drop of water, to be sure ; but
then a drop of water to a man raging in torment. I loved the ground
he trod upon, blessed the hand that took mine, and had felt her pulse.
I had a ring with a pretty cameo head of a Hercules on it. 'Twas too
small for his finger, nor did the good old man wear such ornaments. I
made him hang it to his watch-chain, in hopes that she might see it,
and recognise that the token came from me. How I fastened upon
Spencer at this time (my friend of the Temple who also had an unfor-
tunate love-match), and walked with him from my apartments to the
Temple, and he back with me to Bedford Gardens, and our talk was for
ever about our women ! I daresay I told everybody my grief. My
good landlady and Betty the housemaid pitied me. My son Miles, who,
for a wonder, has been reading in my MS., says, "By Jove, sir, I
didn't know you and my mother were took in this kind of way. The
year I joined, I was hit very bad myself. An infernal little jilt that
threw me over for Sir Craven Oaks of our regiment. I thought I
should have gone crazy." And he gives a melancholy whistle, and
i walks away.
The General had to leave London presently on one of his military
'inspections, as the doctor casually told me ; but, having given my word
that I would not seek to present myself at his house, I kept it, availing
myself, however, as you may be sure, of the good physician's leave to
! visit him, and have news of his dear patient. His accounts of her were
far from encouraging. " She does not rally," he said. " We must get
her back to Kent again, or to the sea." I did not know then that the
[poor child had begged and prayed so piteously not to be moved, that her
parents, divining, perhaps, the reason of her desire to linger in London,
642 THE VIRGINIANS.
and feeling that it might be dangerous not to humour her, bad yielded
to her entreaty, and consented to remain in town.
At last one morning I came, pretty much as usual, and took my place
in my doctor's front parlour, whence his patients were called in their
turn to his consulting-room. Here I remained, looking heedlessly over
the books on the table and taking no notice of any person in the
room, which speedily emptied itself of all, save me and one lady who
sate with her veil down. I used to stay till the last, for Osborn, the
doctor's man, knew my business, and that it was not my own illness I
came for.
When the room was empty of all save me and the lady, she puts out
two little hands, cries in a voice which made me start, " Don't you
know me, George ? " And the next minute I have my arms round her,
and kissed her as heartily as ever I kissed in my life, and gave way to
a passionate outgush of emotion the most refreshing, for my parched
soul had been in rage and torture for six weeks past, and this was a
glimpse of heaven.
"Who was it, children ? You think it was your mother whom the
doctor had brought to me ? No. It was Hetty.
CHAPTEE LXXYI.
htpoems T7S how me. waeeingtoi^ jumped into a landau.
The emotion at the first surprise and greeting over, the little maiden
began at once.
** So you are come at last to ask after Theo, and you feel very sorry
that your neglect has made her so ill ? For six weeks she has been
unwell, and you have never asked a word about her ! Yery kind of
you, Mr. George, I'm sure ! "
" Kind ! " gasps out Mr. Warrington.
" I suppose you call it kind to be with her every day and all day for
a year, and then to leave her without a word."
*' My dear, you know my promise to your father ? " I reply,
*' Promise!" says Miss Hetty, shrugging her shoulders. **A very
fine promise, indeed, to make my darling ill, and then suddenly, one
fine day, to say, ' Good bye, Theo,' and walk away for ever. I suppose
gentlemen make these promises, because they wish to keep 'em. /
would'nt trifle with a poor child's heart, and leave her afterwards, if I
were a man. What has she ever done to you, but be a fool and too fond
of you ? Pray, sir, by what right do you take her away from all of us,
and then desert her, because an old woman in America don't approve of
her ? She was happy with us before you came. She loved her sister —
there never was such a sibter — until she saw you. And now, because
THE VIRGINIAXS. 643
your Mamma thinks her young gentleman might do better, you must
leave her forsooth ! "
" Great powers, child ! " I cried, exasperated at this wrong-headed-
ness. *' Was it I that drew back ? Is it not I that am forbidden your
house ; and did not your father require, on my honour, that I should
not see her ? "
** Honour ! And you are the men who pretend to be our superiors ;
and it is we who are to respect you and admire you ! I declare, George •
Warrington, you ought to go back to your schoolroom in Virginia
again ; have your black nurse to tuck you up in bed, and ask leave
from your Mamma when you might walk out. George ! I little
thought that my sister was giving her heart away to a man who hadn't
the spirit to stand by her ; but, at the first difficulty, left her ! When
Doctor Heberden said he was attending you, I determined to come and
see you, and you do look very ill, that I am glad to see ; and I suppose
it's your mother you are frightened of. But I sha'n't tell Theo that
you are unwell. She hasn't left off caring for you. She can't walk out
of a room, break her solemn engagements, and go into the world the
next day as if nothing had happened! That is left for men, our
superiors in courage and wisdom ; and to desert an angel — yes, an
angel ten thousand times too good for you ; an angel who used to love me
till she saw you, and who was the blessing of life and of all of us — is
what you call honour? Don't tell me, sir! I despise you all! You
are our betters, are you ? We are to worship and wait on you, I sup-
pose ? / don't care about your wit, and your tragedies, and your
verses ; and I think they are often very stupid. I won't set up at
nights copying your manuscripts, nor watch hour after hour at a
window wasting my time and neglecting everybody because I want to
see your worship walk down the street with your hat cocked ! If you
are going away, and welcome, give me back my sister, I say ! Give
me back my darling of old days, who loved every one of us 'till she
saw you. And you leave her because your Mamma thinks she can
find somebody richer for you ! you brave gentleman ! Go and marry
the person your mother chooses, and let my dear die here deserted ! "
*' Great Heavens, Hetty!" I cry, amazed at the logic of the little
woman. '*ls it 1 who wish to leave your sister? Did I not offer to
keep my promise, and was it not your father who refused me, and made
me promise never to try and see her again ? What have I but my
word, and my honour ? "
** Honour, indeed ! You keep your word to him, and you break it to
her ! Pretty honour ! If I were a man, I would soon let you knov/
what I thought of your honour ! Only I forgot — you are bound to keep
the peace and mustn't 0, George, George ! Don't you see the
grief I am in ? I am distracted, and scarce know what I say. You
must not leave my darling. They don't know it at home. They don't
think so : but I know her best of all, and she will die if you leave her.
Say you won't ? Have pity upon me, Mr. Warrington, and give me my
544 THE VIRGINIANS.
dearest back ! " Thus the warm-hearted, distracted creature ran from
anger to entreaty, from scorn to tears. "Was my little Doctor right in
thus speaking of the case of her dear patient ? Was there no other
remedy than that which Hetty cried for ? Have not others felt the
same cruel pain of amputation, undergone the same exhaustion and
fever afterwards, lain hopeless of anything save death, and yet recovered
after all, and limped through life subsequently ? Why, but that love
is selfish, and does not heed other people's griefs and passions, or that
ours was so intense and special that we deemed no other lovers could
suffer like ourselves; — here in the passionate young pleader for her
sister, we might have shown an instance, that a fond heart could be
stricken with the love malady and silently suffer it, live under it,
recover from it. What had happened in Hetty's own case ? Her sister
and I, in our easy triumph and fond confidential prattle, had many a
time talked over that matter, and, egotists as we were, perhaps drawn a
secret zest and security out of her less unfortunate attachment. 'Twas
like sitting by the fireside, and hearing the winter howling without ;
'twas like walking by the man' magno, and seeing the ship tossing at
sea. We clung to each other only the more closely, and, wrapped in
our own happiness, viewed others' misfortunes with complacent pity.
Be the truth as it may. Grant that we might have been sundered, and
after a while survived the separation, so much my sceptical old age may
be disposed to admit. Yet,, at that time, I was eager enough to share
my ardent little Hetty's terrors and apprehensions, and willingly chose
to believe that the life dearest to me in the world would be sacrificed if
separated from mine. Was I wrong ? I would not say as much uow.
I may doubt about myself (or not doubt, I know), but of her never ;
and Hetty found in her quite a willing sharer in her alarms and terrors.
I was for imparting some of these to our doctor ; but the good gentle-
man shut my mouth. ** Hush," says he, with a comical look of fright.
** I must hear none of this. If two people who happen to know each
other, chance to meet and talk in my patient's room, I cannot help
myself; but as for match-making and love-making, I am your humble
servant ! What will the General do when he comes back to town ?
He will have me behind Montague House, as sure as I am a live
doctor, and alive I wish to remain, my good sir ! " And he skips into
his carriage, and leaves me there meditating. ** And you and Miss
Hetty must have no meetings here again, mind you that," he had said
previously.
no ! Of course we would have none ! We are gentlemen of honour,
and so forth, and our word is our word. Besides, to have seen Hetty,
was not that an inestimable boon, and would we not be for ever grateful ?
I am so refreshed with that drop of water I have had, that I think
I can, hold out for ever so long a time now. I walk away with Hetty to
Soho, and never once thought of arranging a new meeting with her.
But the little emissary was more thoughtful, and she asks me whether
I go to the Museum now to read ? And I say, *' yes, sometimes, my
THE VIRGIXIANS. IM
dear; but I am too wretched for reading now; I cannot see what is on
the paper. I do not care about my books. Even Pocahontas is weari-
some to me. I . . ." I might have continued ever so much farther,
when, " Xonsense ! " she says, stamping her little foot. "Why, I
declare, George, you are more stupid than Harry ! '*
*' How do you mean, my dear child ?" I ask.
" When do you go ? You go away at three o'clock. You strike
across on the road to Tottenham Court. You walk through the village,
and return by the Green Lane that leads back towards the new hospital.
You know you do! If you walk for a week there, it can't do you
any harm. Good morning, sir ! You'll please not follow me any
further." And she drops me a curtesy, and walks away with a veil
over her face.
That Green Lane, which lay to the north of the new hospital, is built
all over with houses now. In my time, when good old George II. was
yet king, 'twas a shabby rural outlet of London ; so dangerous, that the
city folks who went to their villas and junketing houses at Hampstead
and the outlying villages, would return in parties of nights, and
€scorted by waiters with lanthorns, to defend them from the foot-pads
who prowled about the town outskirts. Hampstead and High gate
churches, each crowning its hill, filled up the background of the view
which you saw as you turned your back to London ; and one, two, three
days Mr. George Warrington had the pleasure of looking upon this
landscape, and walking back in the direction of the new hospital.
Along the lane were sundry small houses of entertainment ; and I
remember at one place, where they sold cakes and beer, at the sign of
the ''Protestant Hero," a decent woman smiling at me on the third or
fourth day, and curtseying in her clean apron, as she says, " It appears
the lady don't come> sir I Your honour had best step in, and take a
can of my cool beer."
At length, as I am coming back through Tottenham Road, on the
25th of May— day to be marked with the whitest stone ! — a little
way beyond Mr. Whitfield's Tabernacle, I see a landau before me, and
on the box-seat by the driver is my young friend Charley, who waves
his hat to me, and calls out, "George! George!" I ran up to the
carriage, my knees knocking together so that I thought I should fall by
the wheel ; and inside I see Hetty, and by her my dearest Theo, propped
with a pillow. How thin the little hand had become since last it was
laid in mine! The cheeks were fl.ushed and wasted, the eyes strangely
bright, and the thrill of the voice when she spoke a word or two, smote
me with a pang, I know not of grief or joy was it, so intimately were
they blended.
" I am taking her an airing to Hampstead," says Hetty, demurely.
** The doctor says the air will do her good."
*' I have been ill, but I am better now, George," says Theo. There
came a great burst of music from the people in the chapel hard by,
as she was speaking. I held her hand in mine. Her eyes wero
64G THE VIKGINIAlfS.
loolcing into mine once more. [It seemed as if we had never been
parted.
I can never forget the tune of tliat psalm. I have heard it all
through my life. My wife has touched it on her harpsichord, and her
little ones have warbled it. Now, do you understand, young people,
why I love it so ? Because 'twas the music played at our amoris redinte-
gratio. Because it sang hope to me, at the period of my existence the
most miserable. Yes, the most miserable : for that dreary confinement
of Duquesne had its tendernesses and kindly associations connected with
it ; and many a time in after days I have thought with fondness of the
poor Biche and my tipsy gaoler ; and the reveillee of the forest birds and
the military music of my prison.
Master Charley looks down from his box-seat upon his sister and me
engaged in beatific contemplation, and Hetty listening too, to the music.
" I think I should like to go and hear it. And that famous Mr. "Whit-
field, perhaps he is going to preach this very day ! Come in with me,
Charley — and George can drive for half an hour with dear Theo towards
Eampstead and back."
Charley did not seem to have any very strong desire for witnessing
the devotional exercises of good Mr. "Whitfield and his congregation,
and proposed that George Warrington should take Hetty in ; but Het
was not to be denied. " I will never help you in another exercise as long
as you live, sir," cries Miss Hetty, " if you don't come on," — while the
youth clambered down from his box-seat, and they entered the temple
together.
Can any moralist, bearing my previous promises in mind, excuse me
for jumping into the carriage and sitting down once more by my dearest
Theo ? Suppose I did break 'em ? "Will he blame me much ? Reverend
sir, you are welcome. I broke my promise ; and if you would not do
as much, good friend, you are welcome to your virtue. Not that I for a
moment suspect my own children will ever be so bold as to think of
having hearts of their own, and bestowing them according to their
liking. No, my young people, you will let papa choose for you ; be
hungry when he tells you ; be thirsty when he orders ; and settle your
children's marriages afterwards.
And now of course you are anxious to hear what took place when
Papa jumped into the landau by the side of poor little Mamma propped
up by her pillows. " I am come to your part of the story, my dear,"
says I, looking over to my wife as she is plying her needles.
"To what, pray ?" says my lady. " You should skip all that part,
and come to the grand battles, and your heroic defence of "
"Of Fort Fiddlededee in the year 1778, when I pulled oiF Mr.
Washington's epaulet, gouged General Gates's eye, cut ofl:* Charles Lee's
head, and pasted it on again !"
"Let us hear all about the fighting," says the boys. Even the
Captain condescends to own he will listen to any military detaiia,
though only from a militia officer.
THE YIRGINIANS. 647
** Fair and softly, young people ! Everything in its turn. I am not
yet arrived at the war. I am only a young gentleman, just stepping
into a landau, by the side of a young lady whom T promised to avoid.
I am taking her hand, which, after a little ado, she leaves in mine. Do
you remember how hot it was, the little thing, how it trembled, and how
it throbbed and jumped a hundred and twenty in a minute ? And as
we trot on towards Hampstead, I address Miss Lambert in the following
terms "
" Ah, ah, ah ! " say the girls in a chorus with Mademoiselle, their
French governess, who cries *' Nous ecoutons maintenant. La parole
est a, vous, Monsieur le Chevalier I "
Here we have them all in a circle. Mamma is at her side of the fire,
Papa at his ; Mademoiselle Eleonore, at whom the Captain . looks rather
sweetly (eyes off. Captain !) ; the two girls, listening like — like nymphas
discentes to Apollo, let us say ; and John and Tummas (with obtuse ears),
who are bringing in the tea-trays and urns.
*' Yery good," says the Squire, pulling out the MS., and waving it
before him. " "We are going to tell your mother's secrets and mine."
" I am sure you may, Papa," cries the house matron. " There's
nothing to be ashamed of." And a blush rises over her kind face.
" But before I begin, young folks, permit me two or three questions."
** Allons, toujours des questions !^^ says Mademoiselle, with a shrug of
her pretty shoulders. (Florae has recommended her to us, and I suspect
the little Chevalier has himself an eye upon this pretty Mademoiselle de
Blois.)
To the questions, then.
CHAPTER LXXVII.
AND HOW EVERYBODY GOT OTJT AGAT3J".
** YoiT, Captain Miles Warrington, have the honour of winning the
good graces of a lady — of ever so many ladies — of the Duchess of Devon-
shire, let us say, of Mrs. Crew, of Mrs. Fitzherbert, of the Queen of
Prussia, of the Goddess Yenus, of Mademoiselle Hillisberg of the Opera
— never mind of whom, in fine. If you win a lady's good graces, do you
always go to the mess and tell what happened ? "
" Not such a fool, Squire ! " says the Captain, surveying his side-curl
in the glass.
" Have you, Miss Theo, told your mother every word you said to Mr,
Joe Blake, Junior, in the shrubbery this morning ? "
" Joe Blake, indeed ! " cries Theo Junior.
*'And you, Mademoiselle? That scented billet which came to you
under Sir Thomas's frank, have you told us all the letter contains ?
W N 2
648 THE VIEGINIANS.
Look how she blushes! As red as the curtain, on my word! No.
Mademoiselle, we all have our secrets " (says the Squire, here makiuj^
his best French bow). *' No, Theo, there was nothing in the shrubbery
— only nuts, my child ! No, Miles, my son, we don't tell all, even to
the most indulgent of fathers — and, if I tell what happened in a landau
on the Hampstead Road, on the 25th of May, 1760, may the Chevalier
Ruspini pull out every tooth in my head ! "
" Pray tell. Papa I " cries Mamma ; *' or, as Jobson who drove us, is
in your service now, perhaps you will have him in from the stables ! I
insist upon your telling ! "
"What is, then, this mystery?" asks Mademoiselle, in her pretty
French accent, of my wife.
"^A, majille!^^ whispers the lady. ** Thou wouldst ask me what I
said ? I said * Yes ! ' — behold all I said." And so 'tis my wife has
peached, and not I ; and this was the sum of our conversation, as the
carriage, all too swiftly as I thought, galloped towards Hampstead, and
flew back again. Theo had not agreed to fly in the face of her honoured
parents — no such thing. But we would marry no other person ; no, not
if we lived to be be as old as Methuselah ; no, not the Prince of Wales
himself would she take. Her heart she had given away with her Papa's
consent — nay, order — it was not hers to resume. So kind a father must
relent one of these days ; and, if George would keep his promise — were
it now, or were it in twenty years, or were it in another world, she knew
she should never break hers.
Hetty's face beamed with delight when, my little interview over, she
saw Theo's countenance wearing a sweet tranquillity. All the doctor's
medicine has not done her so much good, the fond sister said. The girls
went home after their act of disobedience. I gave up the place which I
had held during a brief period of happiness by my dear invalid's side.
Hetty skipped back into her seat, and Charley on to his box. He told
me, in after days, that it was a very dull, stupid sermon he had heard.
The little chap was too orthodox to love dissenting preachers' sermons.
Hetty was not the only one of the family who remarked her sister's
altered countenance and improved spirits. I am told that on the girls'
return home, their mother embraced both of them, especially the invalid,
with more than common ardour of afifection. " There was nothing like
a country ride," Aunt Lambert said, ** for doing her dear Theo good.
She had been on the road to Hampstead, had she ? She must have
another ride to-morrow. Heaven be blessed, my Lord Wrotham's
horses were at their orders three or four times a-week, and the sweet
child might have the advantage of them ! " As for the idea that Mr.
Warrington might have happened to meet the children on their drive,
Aunt Lambert never once entertained it, — at least spoke of it. I leave
anybody who is interested in the matter to guess whether Mrs. Lambert
could by any possibility have supposed that her daughter and her sweet-
heart could ever have come together again. Do women help each other
in love perplexities ? Do women scheme, intriguci make little plans,
THE VIRGINIANS. 549
tell little liljs,' provide little amorous opportunities, hang up the rope-
ladder, coax, wheedle, mystify the guardian or Abigail, and turn their
attention away while Strephon and Chloe are billing and cooing in the
twilight, or whisking off in the post-chaise to Gretna-Green ? My dear
young folks, some people there are of this nature ; and some kind souls
who have loved tenderly and truly in their own time, continue ever after
to be kindly and tenderly disposed towards their young successors, when
they begin to play the same pretty game.
♦' Miss Prim doesn't. If she hears of two young persons attached to
each other, it is to snarl at them for fools, or to imagine of them all con-
ceivable evil. Because she has a hump-back herself, she is for biting
everybody else's. I believe if she saw a pair of turtles cooing in a wood,
she would turn her eyes down, or fling a stone to frighten them ; but I
am speaking, you see, young ladies, of your grandmother Aunt Lambert,
who was one great syllabub of human kindness ; and, besides, about the
affair at present under discussion, how am I ever to tell whether she
knew anything regarding it or not ?
So, all she says to Theo on her return home, is, " My child, the country
air has done you all the good in the world, and I hope you will take
anotlier drive to-morrow, and another, and another, and so on."
'* Don't you think, papa, the ride has done the child most wonderful
good, and must not she be made to go out in the air?" Aunt Lambert
asks of the General, when he comes in for supper.
** Yes, sure, if a coach and six will do his little Theo good, she shall
have it," Lambert says, " or he will drag the landau up Harapstead Hill
himself, if there are no horses ;" and so the good man would have spent
freely, his guineas, or his breath, or his blood, to give his child pleasure.
He was charmed at his girl's altered countenance ; she picked a bit of
chicken with appetite : she drank a little negus, which he made for her :
indeed it did seem to be better than the kind doctor's best medicine,
which hitherto, God wot, had been of little benefit. Mamma was
gracious and happy. Hetty was radiant and rident. It was quite like
an evening at home at Oakhurst. Never for months past, never since
that fatal, cruel day, that no one spoke of, had they spent an evening so
delightful.
But, if the other women chose to coax and cajole the good, simple
father, Theo herself was too honest to continue for long even that sweet
and fond delusion. When, for the third or fourth time, he comes back
to the delightful theme of his daughter's improved health, and asks
"What has done it? Is it the country air ? is it the Jesuit's bark ?
is it the new medicine ? "
" Can't you think, dear, what it is? " she says, laying a hand upon her
father's, with a tremor in her voice, perhaps, but eyes that are quite open
and bright.
** And what is it, my child ? " asks the General.
*' It is because I have seen him again. Papa ! " she says.
The other two women turned pale, and Theo's heart too begins to p^i*
550 THE VIRGINIANS.
tate, and her clieek to whiten, as she continues to look in her father's
scared face.
"It was not wrong to see him," she continues, more quickly ; "it
would have been wrong not to tell you."
*' Great God ! " groans the father, drawing his hand back, and
with such a dreadful grief in his countenance, that Hetty runs to her
almost swooning sister, clasps her to her heart, and cries out, rapidly,
" Theo knew nothing of it, sir ! It was my doing — it was all my
doing ! "
Theo lies on her sister's neck, and kisses it twenty, fifty times.
"Women, women! are you playing with my honour?" cries the
father, bursting out with a fierce exclamation.
Aunt Lambert sobs, wildly, " Martin ! Martin! " " Don't say a word
to her ! " again calls out Hetty, and falls back herself staggering towards
the wall, for Theo has fainted on her shoulder.
I was taking my breakfast next morning, with what appetite I
might, when my door opens, and my faithful black announces,
** General Lambert." At once I saw, by the General's face, that the
yesterday's transaction was known to him. " Your accomplices did
not confess," the General said, as soon as my servant had left us, "but
sided with you against their father — a proof how desirable clandestine
meetings are. It was from Theo herself I heard that she had seen
you."
" Accomplices, sir ! " I said (perhaps not unwilling to turn the con-
versation from the real point at issue). " You know how fondly and
dutifully your young people regard their father. If they side against
you in this instance, it must be because justice is against you. A man
like you is not going to set up sic volo sic juheo as the sole law in his
family ! "
" Psha ! George," cries the General. "For though we are parted,
God forbid I should desire that we should cease to love each other, I
had your promise that you would not seek to see her."
"Nor did I go to her, sir," I said, turning red, no doubt ; for though
this was truth, I own it was untrue.
" You mean she was brought to you ?" says Theo's father, in great
agitation. " Is it behind Hester's petticoat that you will shelter your-
self? What a fine defence for a gentleman ! "
" Weil, I won't screen myself behind the poor child," I replied. " To
speak as I did was to make an attempt at evasion, and I am ill-
accustomed to dissemble. I did not infringe the letter of my agreement,
but I acted against the spirit of it. From this moment I annul it
altogether."
" You break your word given to me ! " cries Mr. Lambert,
" I reeal a hasty promise made on a sudden at a moment of extreme
excitement and perturbation. No man can be for ever bound by words
uttered at such a time ; and, what is more, no man of honour or huma-
jiity, Mr. Lambert, would try to bind him."
THE VIRGINIANS. 551
** Dishonour to me ! sir," exclaims the General.
"Yes, if the phrase is to be shuttlecocked between us ! " I answered,
hotly. " There can be no question about love, or mutual regard, or
difference of age, when that word is used : and were you my owa father
— and I love you better than a father, Uncle Lambert, — I would not
bear it ! What have I done ? I have seen the woman whom I consider
my wife before God and man, and if she calls mo I will see her again.
If she comes to me, here is my home for her, and the half of the little I
have. 'Tis you, who have no right, having made me the gift, to resume it.
Because my mother taunts you unjustly, are you to visit Mrs. Esmond's
wrong upon this tender, innocent creature? You profess to love your
daughter, and you cau't bear a little wounded pride for her sake. Better
she should perish away in misery, than an old woman in Virginia
should say that Mr. Lambert had schemed to marry one of his daughters.
Say that to satisfy what you call honour and I call selfishness, we part,
we break our hearts well nigh, we rally, we try to forget each other, we
marry elsewhere ? Can any man be to my dear as I have been ? God
forbid! Can any woman be tome what she is? Youshallmarry her to the
Prince of Wales to-morrow, and it is a cowardice and treason. How can
we, how can you, undo the promises we have made to each other befoie
Heaven ? You may part us : and she will die as surely as if she were
Jephthah's daughter. Have you made any vow to Heaven to compass
her murder ? Kill her if you conceive your promise so binds you : but
this 1 swear, that I am glad you have come, so that I may here formally
recal a hasty pledge which I gave, and that, call me when she will, I
will come to her ! "
No doubt this speech was made with the flurry and agitation belonging
to Mr. Warrington's youth, and with the firm conviction that death
would infallibly carry off one or both of the parties, in case their worldly
separation was inevitably decreed. Who does not believe his first
passion eternal ? Having watched the world since and seen the rise,
progress, and— alas, that I must say it ! — decay of other amours, I may
smile now as I think of my own youthful errors and ardours ; but, if it
be a superstition, I had rather hold it; I had rather think that neither of
us could have lived with any other mate, and that, of all its innumerable
creatures. Heaven decreed these special two should be joined together.
" We must come, then, to what I had fain have spared myself," says
the General, in reply to my outbreak ; "to an unfriendly separation.
When I meet you, Mr. AYarrington, I must know you no more. I
must order — and they will not do other than obey me — my family and
children not to recognise you when they see you, since you will not
recognise in your intercourse with me the respect due to my age, the
courtesy of gentlemen. I had hoped so far from your sense of honour,
and the idea I had formed of you, that, in my present great grief and
perplexity, I should have found you willing to soothe and help me as
far as you might — for, God knows, I have need of everybody's sym-
pathy. But, instead of help, you fling obstacles in my way. Instead of
552 THE VIRGINIANS.
a friend — a gracious Heaven pardon me ! — I find in you an enemy ! An
enemy to the peace of my home and the honour of my children, sir !
And as such I shall treat you, and know how to deal with you, when you
molest me ! "
And waving his hand to me, and putting on his hat, Mr. Lambert
hastily quitted my apartment.
I was confounded, and believed, indeed, there was war between us.
The brief happiness of yesterday was clouded over and gone, and I
thought that never since the day of the first separation had I felt sa
exquisitely unhappy as now, when the bitterness of quarrel was added
to the pangs of parting, and I stood not only alone but friendless. In thty
course of one year's constant intimacy I had come to regard Lambert
with a reverence and affection which I had never before felt for any
mortal man except my dearest Harry. That his face should be turned
from me in anger was as if the sun had gone out of my sphere, and all
was dark around me. And yet I felt sure that in withdrawing the hasty
promise I had made not to see Theo, I was acting rightly — that my
fidelity to her, as hers now to me, was paramount to all other ties of
duty or obedience, and that, ceremony or none, I was hers, first and
before all. Promises were passed between us, from which no parent could
absolve either ; and all the priests in Christendom could no more than
attest and confirm the sacred contract which had tacitly been ratified
between us.
I saw Jack Lambert by chance that day, as I went mechanically to my
not unusual haunt, the library of the new Museum ; and with the im-
petuousness of youth, and eager to impart my sorrow to some one, I
took him out of the room and led him about the gardens, and poured
out my grief to him. i did not much care for Jack (who in truth was
somewhat of a prig, and not a little pompous and wearisome with his
Latin quotations) except in the time of my own sorrow, when I would
fasten upon him or any one ; and having suffered himself in his afiair
with the little American, being hand ignarus maii (as I knew he would
say), I found the college gentleman ready to compassionate another's,
misery. I told him, what has here been represented at greater length,
of my yesterday's meeting with his sister ; of my interview with his
father in the morning ; of my determination at all hazards never to part
with Theo. When I found from the various quotations from the Greek
and I^atin authors which he uttered that he leaned to my side in the
dispute, I thought him a man of great sense, clung eagerly to his elbow,
and bestowed upon him much more affection than he was accustomed at
other times to have from me. I walked with him up to his father's lodg-
ings in Dean Street ; saw him enter at the dear door ; surveyed the house
from without with a sickening desire to know from its exterior appear-
ance how ray beloved fared within ; and called for a bottle at the coffee-
house where I waited Jack's return. I called him Brother when I sent
him away. I fondled him as the condemned wretch at Newgate hang&
about the jailer or the parson, or any one who is kind to him in hia
THE VIRGINIANS.
misery. I drank a whole bottle of wine at the coffee-house — by the way,
Jack's Coffee House was its name — called another. I thought Jack would
never come back.
He appeared at length with rather a scared face ; and, coming to my
box, poured out for himself two or three bumpers from my second bottle,
and then fell to his story, which, to me at least, was not a little inte-
resting. My poor Theo was keeping her room, it appeared, being much
agitated by the occurrences of yesterday ; and Jack had come home in
time to find dinner on table ; alter which his good father held forth upon
the occurrences of the morning, being anxious and able to speak more
freely, he said, because his eldest son was present and Theodosia was
not in the room. The General stated what had happened at my lodg-
ings between me and him. He bade Hester be silent, who indeed was as
dumb as a mouse, poor thing! he told Aunt Lambert (who was
indulging in that madefaction of pocket-handkerchiefs which I have
before described), and with something like an imprecation, that the
women were all against him, and pimps (he called them) for one
another ; and frantically turning round to Jack, asked what was his view
in the matter ?
To his father's surprise and his mother's and sister's delight Jack
made a speech on my side. He ruled with me (citing what ancient
authorities I don't know), that the matter had gone out of the hands of
the parents on either side ; that having given their consent, some months
previously, the eiders had put themselves out of court. Though he did
not hold with a great, a respectable, he might say a host of divines,
those sacramental views of the marriage-ceremony — for which there
was a great deal to be said — yet he held it, if possible, even more
sacredly than they ; conceiving that though marriages were made before
the civil magistrate, and without the priest, yet they were, before
Heaven, binding and indissoluble.
"It is not merely, sir," says Jack, turning to his father, 'Hhose
whom I, John Lambert, Priest, have joined, let no man put asunder; it
is those whom God has joined let no man separate." (Here he took off
his hat, as he told the story to me.) " My views are clear upon the
point, and surely these young people were joined, or permitted to plight
themselves to each other by the consent of you, the priest of your own
family. My views, I say, are clear, and I will lay them down at length
in a series of two or three discourses which, no doubt, will satisfy you.
Upon which," says Jack, *' my father said, ' I am satisfied already, my
dear boy,' and my lively little Het (who has much archness) whispers
to me, * Jack, mother and I will make you a dozen shirts, as sure as
eggs is eggs.'
" Whilst we were talking," Mr. Lambert resumed, "my sister, Theo-
dosia, made her appearance, I must say very much agitated and pale,
kissed our father, and sate down at his side, and took a sippet of toast
— (my dear George, this Port is excellent, and I drink your health)—
and took a sippet of toast and dipped it in his negus.
664 THE VIRGINIANS.
*' * You should have been here to hear Jack's sermon ! ' says Hester.
* He has been preaching most beautifully.'
" 'Has he?' asks Theodosia, who is too languid and weak, poor
thing, much to care for the exercises of eloquence, or the display of
authorities, such as I must own," says Jack, '* it was given to me this
afternoon to bring forward.
*' 'He has talked for three quarters of an hour by Shrewsbury clock,'
says my father, though I certainly had not talked so long or half so long
by my own watch. ' And his discourse has been you, my dear,' says
Papa, playing with Theodosia's hand.
" ' Me, Papa ?'
** * You and — and Mr. "Warrington — and — and George, my love,' says
Papa. Upon which" (says Mr. Jack) "my sister came closer to the
General, and laid her head upon him, and wept upon his shoulder.
*' * This is different, sir,' says I, ' to a passage I remember in
Pausanias.'
** * In Pausanias ? Indeed ! ' said the General. * And pray who
was he ? '
** I smiled at my father's simplicity in exposing his ignorance before
his children. * When Ulysses was taking away Penelope from her
father, the king hastened after his daughter and bridegroom, and
besought his darling to return. Whereupon, it is related, Ulysses
offered her her choice, — whether she would return, or go on with him ?
Upon which the daughter of Icarius covered her face with her veil.
For want of a veil my sister has taken refuge in your waistcoat, sir,*
I said, and we all laughed ; though my mother vowed that if such a
proposal had been made to her, or Penelope had been a girl of spirit, she
would have gone home with her father that instant.
" ' But I am not a girl of any spirit, dear mother ! ' says Theodosia,
still in gremio patris. I do not remember that this habit of caressing
was frequent in my own youth," continues Jack. "But after some
more discourse. Brother Warrington ! bethought me of you, and left my
parents insisting upon Theodosia returning to bed. The late trans-
actions have, it appears, weakened and agitated her much. I myself
have experienced, in my own case, how full of solliciti timoris is a
certain passion ; how it racks the spirits ; and I make no doubt, if
carried far enough, or indulged to the extent to which women who have
little philosophy will permit it to go — I make no doubt, I say, is ulti-
mately injurious to the health. My service to you, brother ! "
From grief to hope, how rapid the change was ! What a flood of
happiness poured into my soul, and glowed in my whole being ! Land-
lord, more port ! Would honest Jack have drunk a bin full I would
have treated him ; and, to say truth. Jack's sympathy was large in this
case, and it had been generous all day. I decline to score the bottles
of port : and place to the fabulous computations of interested waiters,
the amount scored against me in the reckoning. Jack was ray dearest,
best of brothers. My friendship for him I swore should be eternal.
THE VIRGINIiVXS. 555
If I could do him any service, were it a bishopric, by George ! he
should have it. He says I was interrupted by the watchman rhapso-
dising verses beneath the loved one's window. I know not. I know I
awoke joyfully and rapturously, in spite of a racking head- ache the
next morning.
Nor did I know the extent of my happiness quite, or the entire
conversion of my dear noble enemy of the previous morning. It must
have been galling to the pride of an elder man to have to yield to
representations and objections couched in language so little dutiful as
that I had used towards Mr. Lambert. But the true Christian gentle-
man, retiring from his talk with me, mortified and wounded by my
asperity of remonstrance, as well as by the pain which he saw his
beloved daughter suffer, went thoughtfully and sadly to his business, as
he subsequently told me, and in the afternoon (as liis custom not unfre-
quently was), into a church which was open for prayers. And it was
here, on his knees, submitting his case in the quarter whither he
frequently, though privately, came for guidance and comfort, that it
seemed to him that his child was right in her persistent fidelity to me,
and hia^self wrong in demanding her utter submission. Hence Jack's
cause was won almost before he began to plead it ; and the brave,
gentle heart, which could bear no rancour, which bled at inflicting pain
on those it loved, which even shrank from asserting authority or
demanding submission, was only too glad to return to its natural pulses
of love and afi'ection.
CHAPTEH LXXVIII.
PTEAMUS AXD THISBE,
In examining the old papers at home, years afterwards, I found,
docketted and labelled with my mother's well-known neat handwriting,
*'From London, April, 1760. My son's dreadful letter." When it
came to be mine I burnt the document, not choosing that that story of
domestic grief and disunion should remain amongst our family annals
for future Warringtons to gaze on, mayhap, and disobedient sons to
hold up as examples of foregone domestic rebellions. For similar
reasons, I have destroyed the paper which my mother despatched to me
at this time of tyranny, revolt, annoyance, and irritation.
Maddened by the pangs of separation from my mistress, and not
uniightly considering that Mrs. Esmond was the prime cause of the
greatest grief and misery which had ever befallen me in the world, I
wrote home to Virginia a letter, which might have been more tempe-
rate, it is true, but in which I endeavoured to maintain the extremest
respect and reticence. I said I did not know by what motives she had
566 THE VIRGINIANS.
been influenced, but that I lield her answerable for the misery of my
future life, which she had chosen wilfully to mar and render wretched.
She had occasioned a separation between me and a virtuous and inno-
cent young creature, whose own hopes, health, and happiness were cast
down for ever by Mrs. Esmond's interference. The deed was done, as 1
feared, and I would offer no comment upon the conduct of the perpe-
trator, who was answerable to God alone ; but I did not disguise from
my mother that the injury which she had done me was so dreadful and
mortal, that her life or mine could never repair it ; that the tie of my
allegiance was broken towards her, and that I never could be, as hereto-
fore, her dutiful and respectful son.
Madam Esmond replied to me in a letter of very great dignity (her
style and correspondence were extraordinarily elegant and fine). She
uttered not a single reproach or hard word, but coldly gave me to under-
stand that it was before that awful tribunal of Grod she had referred the
case between us, and asked for counsel ; that, in respect of her own con-
duct, as a mother, she was ready, in all humility, to face it. Might I,
as a son, be equally able to answer for myself, and to show, when the
Great Judge demanded the question of me, whether I had done my own
duty, and honoured my father and mother ! O popoi, my grandfather
has quoted in. his memoir a line of Homer, showing how in our troubles
and griefs the gods are always called in question. When our pride, our
avarice, our interest, our desire to domineer, are worked upon, are we
not for ever pestering Heaven to decide in their favour ? In our great
American quarrel, did we not on both sides appeal to the skies as to the
justice of our causes, sing Te Deum for victory, and boldly express our
confidence that the right should prevail ? Was America right because
she was victorious ? Then I suppose Poland was wrong because she was
defeated ? — How am I wandering into this digression about Poland,
America, and what not, and all the while thinking of a little woman now
no more, who appealed to Heaven and confronted it with a thousand
texts out of its own book, because her sou wanted to make a marriage
not of her liking ! We appeal, we imprecate, we go down on our knees,
we demand blessings, we shriek out for sentence according to law ; the
great course of the great world moves on ; we pant, and strive, and
struggle ; we hate ; we rage ; we weep passionate tears ; we reconcile ;
we race and win ; we race and lose ; we pass away, and other little
strugglers succeed ; our days are spent ; our night comes, and another
morning rises, which shines on us no more.
My letter to Madam Esmond, announcing my revolt and disobedience
(perhaps I myself was a little proud of the composition of that document),
I showed in duplicate to Mr. Lambert, because I wished him to under-
stand what my relations to my mother were, and how I was determined,
whatever of threats or quarrels the future might bring, never for my own
part to consider my separation from Theo as other than a forced one.
Whenever I could see her again I would. My word given to her was
in secula seculu7'um, or binding at least as long as my life should endure.
THE VIRGINIANS. 557
I implied that the girl was similarly bound to me, and her poor father
knew indeed as much. He might separate us ; as he might give her a
dose of poison, and the gentle, obedient creature would take it and die ;
but the death or separation would be his doing : let him answer them.
Now he was tender about his children to weakness, and could not have
the heart to submit any one of them — this one especially — to torture.
We had tried to part : we could not. He had endeavoured to separate
us : it was more than was in his power. The bars were up, but the
young couple — the maid within and the knight without — were loving
€ach other all the same. The wall was built, but Pyramus and Thisbe
were whispering on either side. In the midst of all his grief and per-
plexity. Uncle Lambert had plenty of humour, and could not but see
that his role was rather a sorry one. Light was beginning to show
through that lime and rough plaster of the wall : the lovers were getting
their hands through, then their heads through— <ndeed, it was wall'?
best business to retire.
I forget what happened stage by stage and day by day ; nor, for the
instruction of future ages, does it much matter. When my descendants
have love scrapes of their own, they will find their own means of getting
out of their troubles. I believe I did not go back to Dean Street, but
that practice of driving in the open air was considered most healthful for
Miss Lambert. I got a fine horse, and rode by the side of her carriage.
The old woman at Tottenham Court came to know both of us quite well,
and nod and wink in the most friendly manner when we passed by. I
fancy the old Goody was not unaccustomed to interest herself in young
couples, and has dispensed the hospitality of her roadside cottage to mord
than one pair.
The doctor and the country air efi'ected a prodigious cure upon Miss
Lambert. Hetty always attended as duenna, and sometimes of his holi-
day, Master Charley rode my horse when I got into the carriage. What
a deal of love-making Miss Hetty heard ! — with what exemplary patience
she listened to it ! I do not say she went to hear the Methodist sermons
any more, but 'tis certain that when we had a closed carriage she would
very kindly and considerately look out of the window. Then, what
heaps of letters there were ! — what running to and fro ! Gumbo's bandy
legs were for ever on the trot from my quarters to Dean Street ; and, on
my account or her own, Mrs. Molly, the girls' maid, was for ever bringing
back answers to Bloomsbury. By the time when the autumn leaves
began to turn pale. Miss Th.eo's roses were in full bloom again, and my
good Doctor Heber den's euro was pronounced to be complete. What else
happened during this blessed period ? Mr. Warrington completed his
great tragedy of Pocahontas, which was not only accepted by Mr. Gar-
\ick this time (his friend Dr. Johnson having spoken not unfavourably
of the work), but my friend and cousin, Hagan, was engaged by th«
manager to perform the part of the hero. Captain Smith. Hagan's
engagement was not made before it was wanted. I had helped him and
his family with. means disproportioned, perhaps, to my power, especially
THE VIRGINIAXS.
considering my feud with Madam Esmond, whose answer to my angry
missive of April came to me towards autumn, and who wrote back from
Virginia with war for war, controlment for controlment. These menaces,
however, frightened me little : ray poor mother's thunder could not reach
me ; and my conscience, or casuistry, supplied me with other interpreta-
tions for her texts of Scripture, so that her oracles had not the least
weight with me in frightening me from my purpose. How my new lov?s
speeded I neither informed her, nor any other members of my maternal
or paternal family, who, on both sides, had been bitter against my mar-
riage. Of what use wrangling with them ? It was better to carpere
diem and its sweet loves and pleasures, and to leave the railers to
grumble, or the seniors to advise, at their ease.
Besides Madam Esmond I had, it must be owned, in the frantic rage
of my temporary separation, addressed notes of wondrous sarcasm to my
Uncle Warrington, to my Aunt Madame de Bernstein, and to my Lord
or Lady of Castle wood (I forget to which individually), thanking them
for the trouble which they had taken in preventing the dearest happiness
of my life, and promising them a corresponding gratitude from their
obliged relative. Business brought the jovial Baronet and his family to
London somewhat earlier than usual, and Madame de Bernstein was
never sorry to get back to Clarges Street and her cards. I saw them.
They found me perfectly well. They concluded the match was broken
off, and I did not choose to undeceive them. The Baroness took heart at
seeing how cheerful I was, and made many sly jokes about my philo-
sophy, and my prudent behaviour as a man of the world. She was, as
ever, bent upon finding a rich match for me : and I fear I paid many
compliments at her house to a rich young soap-boiler's daughter from
Mile End, whom the worthy Baroness wished to place in my arms.
" You court her with infinite wit and esprit, my dear," says my
pleased kinswoman, ** but she does not understand half you say, and the
other half, I think frightens her. This ton de persiflage is very well in
our society, but you must be sparing of it, my dear nephew, amongst
these roturiers."
Miss Badge married a young gentleman of royal dignity, though
shattered fortunes, from a neighbouring island ; and I trust Mrs. Mack-
shane has ere this pardoned my levity. There was another person besides
Miss at my aunt's house, who did not understand my persiflage much
better than Miss herself; and that was a lady who had seen James the
Second's reign, and who was alive and as worldly as ever in King
George's. I loved to be with her : but that my little folks have access
to this volume, I could put down a hundred stories of the great old folks
whom she had known in the great old days — of George the First and his
ladies, of St. John and Marlborough, of his reigning Majesty and the
late Prince of Wales, and the causes of the quarrel* between them— but
my modest muse pipes for boys and virgins. Son Miles does not care
about court stories, or if he doth, has a fresh budget from Carlton House,
quite as bad as the worst of our old Baroness. No, my dear wife, thou
THE VIEGINIANS. 65C
hast no need to shake thy powdered locks at me ! Papa is not going to
scandalise his nursery with Old World gossip, nor bring a blush over our
chaste bread and butter.
Bat this piece of scandal I cannot help. My aunt used to tell it with
infinite gusto ; for, to do her justice, she hated your would-be good
people, and sniggered over the faults of the self-styled righteous with
uncommon satisfaction. In her later days she had no hypocrisy, at
least ; and in so far was better than some white- washed. . . . Well, to
the story. My Lady Warrington, one of the tallest and the most vir-
tuous of her sex, who had goodness for ever on her lips and ** heaven in
her eye," like the woman in Mr. Addison's tedious tragedy (which has
kept the stage, from which some others, which shall be nameless, have
disappeared), had the world in her other eye, and an exceedingly shrewd
desire of pushing herself in it. What does she do when my marriage
with your ladyship yonder was supposed to be broken off, but attempt to
play off on me those arts which she had tried on my poor Harry with
such signal ill-success, and which failed with me likewise ! It was not
the Beauty — Miss Flora was for my master (and what a master ! I pro-
test I take off my hat at the idea of such an illustrious connection !) — it
was Dora, the Muse, was set upon me to languish at me and to pity me,
and to read even my godless tragedy, and applaud me and console me.
Meanwhile, how was the Beauty occupied ? Will it be believed that my
severe aunt gave a great entertainment to my Lady Yarmouth, presented
her boy to him, and placed poor little Miles under her ladyship's august
protection ? That, so far is certain ; but can it be that she sent her
daughter to stay at my lady's house, which our gracious lord and master
daily visited, and with the views which old Aunt Bernstein attributed
to her ? " But for that fit of apoplexy, my dear," Bernstein said, " that
aunt of yours intended there should have been a Countess in her own
right in the Warrington family I "* My neighbour and kinswoman, my
Lady Claypole, is dead and buried. Grow white, ye daisies upon Flora's
tomb ! I can see my pretty Miles, in a gay little uniform of the Norfolk
Militia, led up by his parent to the lady whom the king delighted to
honour, and the good-natured old Jezebel laying her hand upon the boy's
curly pate. I am accused of being but a lukewarm royalist ; but sure I
can contrast those times with ours, and acknowledge the difference
between the late Sovereign and the present, who, born a Briton, has
given to every family in the empire an example of decorum and virtuous
life.t
Thus my life sped in the pleasantest of all occupation ; and, being so
happy myself, I could afford to be reconciled to those who, after all, had
done me no injury, but rather added to the zest of my happiness by the
* Compare "Walpole's letters in Mr. Cunningham's excellent new edition. See
the story of the supper at N. House, to show what great noblemen would do for a
king's mistress, and the pleasant account of the waiting for the Prince of Wales
before Holland House. — Editor.
t The Warrington MS. is dated 1793.— Ed.
THE VIRGINIANS.
brief obstacle which they had placed in my way. No specific plans were
formed, but Theo and I knew that a day would come when we need say
Farewell no more. Should the day befal a year hence — ten years hence
— we were ready to wait. Day after day we discussed our little plans,
with Hetty for our confidante. On our drives we spied out pretty cot-
tages that we thought might suit young people of small means ; we
devised all sorts of delightful schemes and childish economies. We wera
Strephon and Chloe to be sure. A cot and a brown loaf should content
us ! Gumbo and Molly should wait upon us, (as indeed they have done
from that day until this.) At twenty who is afraid of being poor ? Our
trials would only confirm our attachment. The '* sweet sorrow" of
every day's parting but made the morrow's meeting more delightful ;
and when we separated we ran home and wrote each other those precious
letters, which we and other young gentlemen and ladies write under
such circumstances ; but though my wife has them all in a great tin
sugar-box in the closet in her bed-room, and, I own, I myself have
looked at them once, and even thought some of them pretty, — I hereby
desire my heirs and executors to burn them all, unread, at our demise ;
specially desiring my son the Captain (to whom I know the perusal of
MSS. is not pleasant), to perform this duty. Those secrets whispered to
the penny-post, or delivered between Molly and Gumbo, were intended
for us alone, and no ears of our descendants shall over-hear them.
We heard in successive brief letters how our dear Harry continued
with the army, as General Amherst's aide-de-camp, after the death of
his own glorious general. By the middle of October there came news of
the Capitulation of Montreal and the whole of Canada, and a brief
postscript in which Hal said he would ask for leave now, and must go
and see the old lady at home, who wrote as sulky as a bear, Captain
Warrington remarked. I could guess why, though the claws could not
reach me. I had written pretty fully to my brother how affairs were
standing with me in England.
Then, on the 2oth October, comes the news that his Majesty has
fallen down dead at Kensington, and that George III. reigned over us.
I fear we grieved but little. What do those care for the Atridaa, whose
hearts are strung only to erota mounon ? A modest, handsome, brave
new Prince, we gladly accept the common report that he is endowed
with every virtue ; and we cry huzzay with the loyal crowd that
hails his accession : it could make little difi"erence to us, as we
thought, simple young sweethearts, whispering our little love-stories
in our corner.
But who can say how great events aflPeet him ? Did not our little
Charley, at the Chartreux, wish impiously for a new king immediately,
because on his gracious Majesty's accession Doctor Crusius gave his boys
a holiday ? He and I, and Hetty, and Theo (Miss Theo was strong
enough to walk many a delightful mile now), heard the Heralds pro-
claim his new Majesty before Savile House in Leicester Fields, and a
pickpocket got the watch and chain of a gentleman hard by us, and
THE VIRGINIANS. 561
Tvas caught and carried to Bridewell, all on account of his Majesty's
accession. Had the king not died, the gentleman would not have been
in the crowd ; the chain would not have been seized ; the thief would
not have been caught and soundly whipped : in this way many of us,
more or less remotely, were implicated in the great change which ensued,
and even we humble folks were affected by it presently.
As thus. My Lord Wrotham was a great friend of the august family
of Savile House, who knew and esteemed his many virtues. Now, of all
living men, my Lord Wrotham knew and loved best his neighbour and
old fellow-soldier, Martin Lambert, declaring that the world contained
few better gentlemen. And my Lord Bute, being all-potent, at first,
with his Majesty, and a nobleman, as I believe, very eager at the com-
mencement of his brief and luckless tenure of power, to patronise merit
wherever he could find it, was strongly prejudiced in Mr. Lambert's
favour by the latter's old and constant friend.
My (and Harry's) old friend Parson Sampson, who had been in and
out of gaol I don't know how many times of late years, and retained an
ever-enduring hatred for the Esmonds of Castlewood, and as lasting a
regard for me and my brother, was occupying poor Hal's vacant bed at
my lodgings at this time (being, in truth, hunted out of his own by the
bailiffs). I liked to have Sampson near me, for a more amusing Jack-
friar never walked in cassoek ; and, besides, he entered into all my
rhapsodies about Miss Theo : was never tired (so he vowed) of hearing me
talk of her ; admired Pocahontas and Carpezan with, I do believe, an
honest enthusiasm ; and could repeat whole passages of those tragedies
with an emphasis and effect that Barry or Cousin Hagan himself could
not surpass. Sampson was the go-between between Lady Maria and
sucli of her relations as had not disowned her ; and, always in debt him-
self, was never more happy than in drinking a pot, or mingling his
tears with his friends in similar poverty. His acquaintance with pawn-
brokers' shops was prodigious. He could procure more money, he
boasted, on an article than any gentleman of his cloth. He never paid
his own debts, to be sure, but he was ready to forgive his debtors.
Poor as he was, he always found means to love and help his needy little
sister, and a more prodigal, kindly, amiable rogue never probably
grinned behind bars. They say that I love to have parasites about me.
I own to have had a great liking for Sampson, and to have esteemed
him much better than probably much better men.
When he heard how my Lord Bute was admitted into the cabinet,
Sampson vowed and declared that his lordship— a great lover of the
drama, who had been to see Carpezan, who had admired it, and who
would act the part of the king very finely in it— he vowed, by George I
that my lord must give me a place worthy of my birth and merits. He
insisted upon it that I should attend his lordship's levee. I wouldn't ?
The Esmonds were all as proud as Lucifer ; and, to be sure, ray birth
was as good as that of any man in Europe. Where was my lord liimself
wnen the Esmonds were lords of great counties, warriors, and Cru-
00
562 THE VIEGINIANS.
saders? AVhere were they? Beggarly Scotchmen, without a rag to
their backs — by George ! tearing raw fish in their islands. But now
the times were changed. The Scotchmen were in luck. Mum's the
word! " I don't envy him," says Sampson, ''but he shall provide for
you and my dearest, noblest, heroic captain ! He shall, by George ! "
would my worthy parson roar out. And when, in the month after his
accession, his Majesty ordered the play of Richard III. at Drury Lane,
my chaplain cursed, vowed, swore, but he would have him to Co vent
Garden to see Carpezan, too. And now, one morning, he bursts into
my apartment, where I happened to lie rather late, waving the news-
paper in his hand, and singing " Huzza ! " with all his might.
''What is it, Sampson?" says I. "Has my brother got his
promotion ? "
"No, in truth: but some one else has. Huzzay! huzzay ! His
Majesty has appointed Major-General Martin Lambert to be Governor
and Commander-in-Chief of the Island of Jamaica."
I started up. Here was news, indeed ! Mr. Lambert would go to his
government : and who would go with him ? I had been supping with
some genteel young fellows at the " Cocoa Tree." The rascal Gumbo
had a note for me from my dear mistress on the night previous, convey-
ing the same news to me, and had delayed to deliver it. Theo begged
me to see her at the old place at midday the next day without fail.*
There was no little trepidation in our little council when we reached
our place of meeting. Papa had announced his acceptance of the
appointment, and his speedy departure. He would have a frigate given
him, R-nd take his fmnilij ivith him. Merciful powers! and were we to
be parted ? My Theo's old deathly paleness returned to her. Aunt
Lambert thought she would have swooned ; one of Mrs. Goodison's girls
had a bottle of salts, and ran up with it from the work-room. " Going
away ? Going away in a frigate. Aunt Lambert ? Going to tear her
away from me ? Great God ! Aunt Lambert, I shall die ! " She was
better when Mamma came up from the work-room with the young lady's
bottle of salts. You see the women used to meet me : knowing dear
Theo's delicate state, how could they refrain from compassionating her ?
But the General was so busy with his levees and his waiting on mini-
sters, and his outfit, and the settlement of his afiairs at home, that they
never happened to tell him about our little walks and meetings ; and
even when orders for the outfit of the ladies were given, Mrs. Goodison,
who had known and worked for Miss Molly Benson as a school-girl (she
remembered Miss Esmond of Virginia perfectly, the worthy lady told
me, and a dress she made for the young lady to be presented at her
Majesty's Ball) — " even when the outfit was ordered for the three
ladies," says Mrs. Goodison, demurely, "why I thought I could do no
harm in completing the order."
* In the Warrington MS. there is not a word to say what the " old place" was.
Perliaps some obliging reader of " Notes and Queries" will be able to inform me,
and who Mrs. Goodison was. — Ed.
THE YIEGIXIANS. 663
Now I need not say in what perturbation of mind Mr. Warrington
went home in the evening to his lodgings, after the discussion with the
ladies of the above news. No, or at least a very few, more walks ; no
more rides to dear, dear Hampstead or beloved Islington ; no more
fetching and carrying of letters for Gumbo and Molly ! The former
blubbered so, that Mr. Warrington was quite touched by his fidelity,
and gave him a crown piece to go to supper with the poor girl, who
turned out to be his sweetheart. What, you too unhappy, Gumbo,
and torn from the maid you love ? I was ready to mingle with him
tear for tear.
What a solemn conference I had with Sampson that evening ! He
knew my affairs, my expectations, my mother's anger. Psha ! that was
far off", and he knew some excellent liberal people (of the order of
Melchisedec) who would discount the other. The General would not
give his consent ? Sampson shrugged his broad shoulders and swore a
great roaring oath. My mother would not relent ? What then ? A
man was a man, and to make his own way in the world ? he supposed.
He is only a churl who won't play for such a stake as that, and lose or
win, by George ! shouts the Chaplain, over a bottle of Burgundy at the
Bedford Head, where we dined. I need not put down our conversa-
tion. We were two of us, and I think there was only one mind between
us. Our talk was of a Saturday night
I did not tell Iheo, nor any relative of her's, what was being done.
But when the dear child faltered and talked, trembling, of the coming
departure, I bade her bear up, and vowed all would be well, so con-
fidently, that she, who ever has taken her alarms and joys from my
face (I wish, my dear, it were sometimes not so gloomy), could not but
feel confidence ; and placed (with many fond words that need not here
be repeated) her entire trust in me — murmuring those sweet words of
Euth that must have comforted myriads of tender hearts in my dearest
maiden's plight ; that whither I would go she would go, and that my
people should be hers. At last, one day, the General's preparations
being made, the trunks encumbering the passages of the dear old Dean
Street lodging, which I shall love as long as I shall remember at all —
one day, almost the last of his stay, when the good man (His Excellency
we called him now) came home to his dinner — a comfortless meal
enough it was in the present condition of the family — he looked round
the table at the place where I had used to sit in happy old days, and
sighed out: " I wish, Molly, George was here."
*' Do you, Martin ?"' says Aunt Lambert, flinging into his arms.
"Yes, I do; but I don't wish you to choke me, Molly," he says.
" I love him dearly. I may go away and never see him again, and
take his foolish little sweetheart along with me. I suppose you will
write to each other, children ? I can't prevent that, you know ; and
until he changes his mind, I suppose Miss Theo won't obey Papa's
orders, and get him out of her foolish little head. Wilt thou, Theo ? "
" No, dearest, dearest, best Papa ! "
o 2
564 THE YIRGINIAKS.
"What ! more embraces and kisses ! What does all this mean ? "
** It means that — that George is in the drawing-room," says Mamma.
"Is he? My dearest hoy ! " cries the General. "Come to me —
come in ! " And when I entered he held me to his heart, and kissed me.
I confess at this T was so overcome that I fell down on my knees
before the dear, good man, and sobbed on his own.
" God bless you, my dearest boy ! " he mutters hurriedly. " Always
loved you as a son — haven't I, Molly ? Broke my heart nearly when
I quarrelled with you about this little — What ! — odds marrowbones I —
all down on your knees ! Mrs. Lambert, pray what is the meaning of
all this?"
" Dearest, dearest Papa ! I will go with you all the same ! " whimpers
one of the kneeling party. "And I will wait — 0! as long as ever my
dearest father wants me ! "
" In Heaven's name ! " roars the General, "tell me what has
happened ? "
What had happened was, that George Esmond Warrington and
Theodosia Lambert had been married in Southwark that morning, their
banns having been duly called in the church of a certain friend of the
Reverend Mr. Sampson.
CHAPTEE LXXIX.
CONTAIXING BOTH COMEDY A2ifD TKAGEDY.
- We, who had been active in the guilty scene of the morning, felt
trebly guilty when we saw the effect which our conduct had produced
upon him, who, of all others, we loved and respected. The shock ta
the good man was strange, and pitiful to us to witness who had adminis-
tered it. The child of his heart had deceived and disobeyed him : — I
declare I think, my dear, now, we would not or could not do it over
again ; — his whole family had entered into a league against him. Dear,
kind friend and father ! We know thou hast pardoned our wrong — in
the heaven where thou dwellest amongst purified spirits who learned on
earth how to love and pardon ! To love and forgive were easy duties
with that man. Beneficence was natural to him, and a sweet, smiling
humility; and to wound either was to be savage and brutal, as to
torture a child, or strike blows at a nursing woman. The deed done,
all we guilty ones grovelled in the earth, before the man we had injured.
I pass over the scenes of forgiveness, of reconciliation, of common
worship together, of final separation when the good man departed to
Ids government, and the ship sailed away before us, leaving me and
Theo on the shore. We stood there hand in hand horribly abashed,
TILE VIRGINIANS. 563
silent, and guilty. My wife did not come to me till her father went : in
the interval between tlie ceremony of our marriage and his departure,
she had remained at home, occupying her old place by her father and
bed by her sister's side: he as kind as ever, but the women almost
speechless among themselves ; Aunt Lambert, for once, unkind and
fretful in her temper ; and little Hetty feverish and strange, and saying,
** I wish we were gone. I wish we were g-ne." Though admitted to
the house, and forgiven, I slunk away during those last days, and only
saw my wife for a minute or two in the street, or with her family. She
was not mine till they were gone. We went to Winchester and
Hampton for what may be called our wedding. It was but a dismal
business. For a while we felt utterly lonely : and of our dear father as
if we had buried him, or drove him to the grave by our undutifulness.
I made Sampson announce our marriage in the papers. (My wife
used to hang down her head before the poor fellow afterwards.) I took
Mr3. Warrington back to my old lodgings in Bloomsbury, where there
was plenty of room for us, and our modest married life began. I wrote
home a letter to my mother in Virginia, informing her of no particulars,
but only that Mr. Lambert being about to depart for his government, I
considered myself bound in honour to fulfil my promise towards his
dearest daughter ; and stated that I intended to carry out my intention
of completing my studies for the Bar, and qualifying myself for employ-
ment at home, or in our own or any other colony. My good Mrs.
Mountain answered this letter, by desire of Madam Esmond, she said,
who thought that for the sake of peace my communications had best be
conducted that way. I found my relatives in a fury which was perfectly
amusing to witness. The butler's face, as he said " Not at home," at my
ancle's house in Hill Street, was a blank tragedy that might have been
studied by Garrick when he sees Banquo. My poor little wife was on
my arm, and we were tripping away, laughing at the fellow's accueily
when we came upon my lady in a street stoppage in her chair. I took
off my hat and made her the lowest possible bow. I affectionately
asked after my dear cousins, "I — I wonder you dare look me in the
face ! " Lady AVarrington gasped out. " Ifay, don't deprive me of that
precious privilege!" says L "Move on, Peter," she screams to her
chairman. " Your ladyship would not impale your husband's own flesh
and blood ! " says I. She rattles up the glass of her chair in a fury.
I kiss my hand, take off my hat, and perform another of my very
finest bows.
^Valking shortly afterwards in Hyde Park with my dearest companion,
I met my little cousin exercising on horseback with a groom behind him.
As soon as he sees us, he gallops up to us, the groom powdering after-
wards and bawling out, "Stop, Master Miles, stop!" "I am not to
speak to my cousin," says Miles, "but telling you to send my love to
Harry is not speaking to you. Is it ? Is that my new cousin ? I'm
not told not to speak to her. I'm Miles, cousin, Sir George Warrington
Baronet's son, and you are very pretty!" "Now, duee now, Master
566 THE VIRGINIANS.
Miles," says the groom, touching his hat to us ; and the boy trots away
laughing and looking at us over his shoulder. "You see how my rela-
tions have determined to treat me," I say to my partner. "As if J
married you for your relations ! " says Theo, her eyes beaming joy and
love into mine. Ah, how happy we were ! how brisk and pleasant the
winter ! How snug the kettle by the fire (where the abashed Sampson
sometimes came and made the punch) ; how delightful the night at the
theatre, for which our friends brought us tickets of admission, and
where we daily expected our new play of Pocahontas would rival the
successes of all former tragedies.
The fickle old aunt of Clarges Street, who received me on my first
coming to London with my wife, with a burst of scorn, mollified
presently, and as soon as she came to know Theo (who she had pro-
nounced to be an insignificant little country-faced chit), fell utterly in
love with her, and would have her to tea and supper every day when
there was no other company. " As for company, my dears," she would
say, " I don't ask you. You are no longer du moncle. Your marriage
has put that entirely out of the question." So she would have had us
come to amuse her, and go in and out by the back-stairs. My wife was
fine lady enough to feel only amused at this reception ; and, I must do
the Baroness's domestics the justice to say that, had we been duke and
duchess, we could not have been received with more respect. Madame
de Bernstein was very much tickled and amused with my story of Lady
Warrington and the chair. I acted it for her, and gave her anecdotes
of the pious Baronet's lady and her daughters, which pleased the mis-
chievous, lively old woman.
The Dowager Countess of Castle wood, now established in her house
at Kensington, gave us that kind of welcome which genteel ladies
extend to their poorer relatives. We went once or twice to her lady-
ship's drums at Kensington ; but, losing more money at cards, and
spending more money in coach-hire, than I liked to afford, we speedily
gave up those entertainments, and, I daresay, were no more missed or
regretted than other people in the fashionable world, who are carried by
death, debt, or other accident, out of the polite sphere. My Theo did
not in the least regret this exclusion. She had made her appearance at
one of these drums, attired in some little ornaments which her mother
left behind her, and by which the good lady set some store ; but I
thought her own white neck was a great deal prettier than these poor
twinkling stones ; and there were dowagers, whose wrinkled old bones
blazed with rubies and diamonds, which, I am sure, they would gladly
have exchanged for her modest j^arwre of beauty and freshness. Not a
soul spoke to her — except, to be sure, Beau Lothair, a friend of Mr.
Will's, who prowled about Bloomsbury afterwards, and even sent my
wife a billet. I met him in Covent Garden shortly after, and promised
to break his ugly face if ever I saw it in the neighbourhood of my
lodgings, and Madam Theo was molested no farther.
The only one of our relatives who came to see us (Madame de
THE VIRGINIANS. 567
Born stem never came ; she sent her coach for us sometimes, or made
inquiries regarding us by her woman or her major-domo) was our poor
Maria, who, with her husband, Mr. Hagan, often took a share of our
homely dinner. Then we had friend Spencer from the Temple, who
admired our Arcadian felicity, and gently asked our sympathy for his
less fortunate loves ; and twice or thrice the famous Doctor Johnson
came in for a dish of Theo's tea. A dish? a pail full ! *' And a pail
the best thing to feed him, Sar!" says Mf. (i"jmbo, indignantly: for
the Doctor's appearance was not pleasant, nor his linen particularly
white. He snorted, he grew red, and sputtered in feeding ; he flung
his meat about, and bawled out in contradicting people : and annoyed
my Theo, whom he professed to admire greatly, by saying, every time
he saw her, ** Madam, you do not love me; I see by your manner you
do not love me ; though I admire you, and come here for your sake.
Here is my friend Mr. Re^molds that shall paint you: he has no ceruse
in his paint box that is as brilliant as your complexion." And so Mr.
Reynolds, a most perfect and agreeable gentleman, would have painted
my wife ; but I knew what his price was, and did not choose to incur
that expense. I wish I had now, for the sake of the children, that
they might see what yonder face was like some five-and-thirty years
ago. To me, Madam, 'tis the same now as ever ; and your ladyship is
always young !
What annoyed Mrs. Warrington with Dr. Johnson more than his con-
tradictions, his sputterings, and his dirty nails, was, I think, an unfa-
vourable opinion which he formed of my new tragedy, Hagan once
proposed that he should read some scenes from it after tea.
'* Nay, sir, conversation is better," says the Doctor. " I can read for
myself, or hear you at the theatre. I had rather hear Mrs. AYarrington's
artless prattle than your declamation of Mr. Warrington's decasyllabics.
Tell us about your household affairs, madam, and whether His Excel-
lency your father is well, and whether you made the pudden and the
butter sauce. The butter sauce was delicious ! " (He loved it so well
that he had kept a large quantity in the bosom of a very dingy shirt.)
"You made it as though you loved me. You helped me as though you
loved me, though you don't."
" Faith, sir, you are taking some of the present away with you in
your waistcoat," says Hagan, with much spirit.
" Sir, you are rude ! " bawls the Doctor. " You are unacquainted
with the first principles of politeness, which is courtesy before ladies.
Having received an University education, I am surprised that you have
not learned the rudiments of politeness. I respect Mrs. Warrington.
I should never think of making personal remarks about her guests
before her ! "
"Then, sir," says Hagan, fiercely, "why did you speak of mj
theatre ? "
" Sir, you are saucy ! " roars the Doctor.
" De te fabida,'^ says the actor. " I think it is your waistcoat that ia
THE VIRGINIANS.
saucy. Madam, shall I make some panch in the way we make it in
Ireland ? "
The Doctor, puffing, and purple in the face, was wiping the dingy shirt
with a still more dubious pocket-handkerchief, which he then applied
to his forehead. After this exercise, he blew a hyperborean whistle, as
if to blow his wrath away. ** It is de me, sir — though, as a young man,
perhaps you need not have told me so."
"I drop my point, sir! If you have been wrong, I am sure I am
bound to ask your pardon for setting you so ! " says Mr. Hagan, with a
fine bowc
" Doesn't he look like a god ? " says Maria, clutching my wife's hand :
and indeed Mr. Hagan did look like a handsome young gentleman. His
colour had risen ; he had put his hand to his breast with a noble air :
Chamont or Castalio could not present himself better.
" Let me make you some lemonade, sir ; my papa has sent us a box
of fresh limes. May we send you some to the Temple ? "
" Madam, if they stay in your house they will lose their quality and
turn sweet," says the Doctor. ** Mr. Hagan, you are a young saucebox,
that's what you are ! Ho ! ho ! It is I have been wrong."
** my lord, my Polidorc ! " bleats Lady Maria, when she was alone
in my wife's drawing-room :
*" 0, I could hear thee talk for ever thus.
Eternally admmiig, — fix and gaze
On thof^e dear ej'es, for every glance they send
Darts through my soul, and'fiils my heart with rapture!'
Thou knowest not, my Theo, what a pearl and paragon of a man my
Castalio is ; my Chamont, my — 0, dear me, child, what a pity it is that
in your husband's tragedy he should have to take the horrid name of
Captain Smith ! "
Upon this Tragedy not only my literary hopes, but much of my finan-
cial prospects were founded. My brother's debts discharged, ray
mother's drafts from home duly honoured, my own expenses paid, which,
though moderate, were not inconsiderable, — pretty nearly the whole of
my patrimony had been spent, and this auspicious moment I must choose
for my marriage ! I could raise money on my inheritance : that was not
impossible, though certainly costly. My mother could not leave her
eldest son without a maintenance, whatever our quarrels might be. I
had health, strength, good wits, some friends, and reputation — above all,
my famous tragedy, which the manager had promised to perform, and
upon the proceeds of this I counted for my present support. What
becomes of the arithmetic of youth ? How do we then calculate that a
hundred pounds is a maintenance, and a thousand a fortune ? How did
I dare play against Fortune with such odds ? I succeeded, I remember,
in convincing my dear General, and he left home convinced that his
son-in-law had for the prefient necessity at least a score of hundred
THE YIRGIXIAXS.
pounds at his command. He and bis dear Molly had begun life with
less, and the Eavens had somehow always fed them. As for the women,
the question of poverty was one of pleasure to those sentimental souls,
and Aunt Lambert, for her part, declared it would be wicked and irre-
ligious to doubt of a provision being made for her children. Was the
Kighteous ever forsaken ? Did the Just man ever have to beg his
bread? She knew better than that! "No, no, my dears! I am not
going to be afraid on that account, I warrant you ! Look at me and my
General!"
Theo believed all I said and wished to believe myself. So we actually
began life upon a capital of Five Acts, and about three hundred pounds
of ready money in hand !
Well, the time of the appearance of the famous tragedy drew near,
and my friends canvassed the town to get a body of supporters for the
opening night. I am ill at asking favours from the great ; but when
my Lord Wroth am came to London, I went, with Theo in my hand, to
wait on his lordship, who received us kindly, out of regard for his old
friend, her father — though he good-naturedly shook a finger at me (at
which my little wife hung down her head), for having stole a march on
the good General. However, he would do his best for her father's
daughter ; hoped for a success ; said he had heard great things of the
piece ; and engaged a number of places for himself and his friends.
But this patron secured, I had no other. '*3/o;i cher, at my age," says
the Baroness, "I should bore myself to death at a tragedy : but I wiU
do my best ; and I will certainly send my people to the boxes. Yes !
Case in his best black looks like a nobleman ; and Brett in one of my
gowns, has ^faux air de ?no« which is quite distinguished. Put down my
name for two in the front boxes. Good bye, my dear. Bonne chance ! "
The Dowager Countess presented compliments (on the back of the nine
of clubs), had a card party that night, and was quite sorry she and
Fanny could not go to my tragedy. As for my uncle and Lady War-
rington, they were out of the question. After the afiijir of the sedan
chair I might as well have asked Queen Elizabeth to go to Drury Lane.
These were all my friends — that host of aristocratic connexions about
whom poor Sampson had bragged ; and on the strength of whom, the
manager, as he said, had given Mr. Hagan his engagement ! " Where
was my Lord Bute ? Had I not promised his lordship should come ?"
he asks snappishly, taking snuff (how different from the brisk, and en-
gaging, and obsequious little manager of six months ago !) — ** I promised
Lord Bute should come ? "
** Yes," says Mr. Garrick, "and her Royal Highness the Princess of
Wales, and his Majesty too."
Poor Sampson owned that he, buoyed up by vain hopes, had promised
i the appearance of these august personages.
The next day at rehearsal, matters were worse still, and the manager
in a fury.
*' Great Heavens, sir!" says he, "into what a pretty ^wc^-a-; ens have
570 THE VIRGINIANS.
you led me! Look at that letter, sir!— read that letter!" And he
hands me one,
" My Dear Sie " (said the letter),—" I have seen his Lordship, and
conveyed to him Mr. Warrington's request that he would honour the
tragedy of Pocahontas by his presence. His Lordship is a patron of the
drama, and a magnificent friend of all the liberal arts ; but he desires me
to say that he cannot think of attending himself, much less of asking his
Gracious Master to witness the performance of a play, a principal part in
which is given to an actor who has made a clandestine marriage with a
daughter of one of his Majesty's nobility.
'* Your well wisher,
** Saunders McDuep.
"Mr. D. Garrick,
" At the Theatre Eoyal in Drury Lane,"
My poor Theo had a nice dinner waiting for me after the rehearsal.
I pleaded fatigue as the reason for looking so pale : I did not dare to
convey to her this dreadful news.
CHAPTEE LXXX.
POCAHONTAS.
The English public, not being so well acquainted with the history of
Pocahontas as we of Virginia, who still love the memory of that simple
and kindly creature, Mr. Warrington, at the suggestion of his friends,
made a little ballad about this Indian princess, which was printed in
the magazines a few days before the appearance of the tragedy. This
proceeding, Sampson and I considered to be very artful and ingenious.
<'It is like ground-bait, sir," says the enthusiastic parson, "and you
will see the fish rise in multitudes, on the great day ! " He and Spencer
declared that the poem was discussed and admired at several cofFeo-
houses in their hearing, and that it had been attributed to Mr. Mason,
Mr. Cowper of the Temple, and even to the famous Mr. Gray. I believe
poor Sam had himself set abroad these reports ; and, if Shakspeare
had been named as the author of the tragedy, would have declared
Pocahontas to be one of the poet's best performances. I made acquaint-
ance with brave Captain Smith, as a boy in my grandfather's library at
home, where I remember how I would sit at the good old man's knees,
with my favourite volume on my own, spelling out the exploits of our
Virginian hero. I loved to read of Smith's travels, sufferings, captivi-
ties, escapes, not only in America, but Europe. I become a child again
almost as I take from the shelf before me in England the familiar
volume, and all sorts of recollections of my early home come crowding
THE VIRGINIANS. 671
over my mind. The old grandfather would make pictures for me of
Smith doing battle with the Turks on the Danube, or led out by our
Indian savages to death. Ah, what a terrific fight was that in which
he was engaged with the three Turkish champions, and how I used to
delight over the story of his combat with Bonny Molgro, the last and
most dreadful of the three ! What a name Bonny Molgro was, and
with what a prodigious turban, scymetar, and whiskers we represented
him ! Having slain and taken off the heads of his first two enemies,
Smith and Bonny Molgro met falling to (says my favourite old book)
*' with their battle-axes, whose piercing bills made sometimes the one,
sometimes the other, to have scarce sense to keep their saddles : espe-
cially the Christian received such a wound that he lost his battle-axe,
whereat the supposed conquering Turke had. a great shout from the
rampires. Yet, by the readinesse of his horse, and his great judgment
and dexteritie, he not only avoided the Turke's blows, but, having
drawn his falchion, so pierced the Turke under the cutlets, through
back and body, that though hee aliglited from his horse, hee stood not
long, ere hee lost his head as the rest had done. In reward for which
deed, Duke Segismundus gave him 3 Turke's head in a shield for armes
and 300 Duckats yeerely for a pension." Disdaining time and place
(with that daring which is the privilege of poets) in my tragedy, Smith
is made to perform similar exploits on the banks of our Potowraac and
James's River. Our "ground-bait" verses ran thus: —
POCAHONTAS.
"Wearied arm and broken sword
Wage in vain the desperate fight:
Round him press a countless horde,
He is but a single knight.
Hark ! a cry of triumph shrill
Through the wilderness resounds,
As, with twenty bleeding wounds,
Sinks the warrior, fighting still.
Now they heap the fatal pyre.
And the torch of death they light:
Ah ! 'tis hard to die of fire !
Who will shield the captive knight?
Round the stake with fiendish cry
Wheel and dance the savage crowd,
Cold the victim's mien and proud,
And his breast is bared to die.
Who will shield the fearless heart?
Who avert the nvirderous blade ?
From the throng, with sudden start,
See, there sprincs an Indian maid.
672 THE VIRGINIAXS.
Quick she stands before the knight,
*' Loose the chain, unbind the ring,
I am daughter of the king,
And I claim the Indian right I"
Dauntlessly aside she flings
Lifted axe and thirsty knife ;
Fondly to his heart she clings,
And her bosom guards his life !
In the woods of Powhattan,
Still 'tis told, by Indian fires.
How a daughter of their sires
Saved the captive Englishman.
1 need not describe at length the plot of my tragedy, as my children
can take it down from the shelves any day and peruse it for themselves.
Nor shall I, let me add, be in a hurry to offer to read it again to my
young folks, since Captain Miles and the parson both chose to fall asleep
last Christmas, when, at Mamma's request, I read aloud a couple of
acts. But any person having a moderate acquaintance with plays and
novels can soon, out of the above sketch, fill out a picture to his liking.
An Indian king ; a loving princess, and her attendant, in love with the
British captain's servant ; a traitor in the English fort ; a brave Indian
warrior, himself entertaining an unhappy passion for Pocahontas ; a
medicine-man and priest of the Indians (very well played by Palmer),
capable of every treason, stratagem, and crime, and bent upon the
torture and death of the English prisoner ; — these, with the accidents of
the wilderness, the war-dances and cries (which Gumbo had learned to
mimic very accurately from the red-people at home), and the arrival of
the English fleet, with allusions to the late glorious victories in Canada,
and the determination of Britons ever to rule and conquer in America,
some of us not unnaturally thought might contribute to the success of
■our tragedy.
But I have mentioned the ill omens which preceded the day ; the
difficulties which a peevish, and jealous, and timid management threw
in the way of the piece, and the violent prejudice which was felt against
it in certai7i high quarters. What wonder then, I ask, that Pocahontas
should have turned out not to be a victory ? I laugh to scorn the
malignity of the critics who found fault with the performance. Pretty
oritics, forsooth, who said that Carpezan was a master-piece, whilst a
far superior and more elaborate work received only their sneers ! I
insist on it that Hagan acted his part so admirably that a cci'tain actor
and manager of the theatre might well be jealous of him ; and that, but
for the cabal made outside, the piece would have succeeded. The
order had been given that the play should not succeed ; so at least
Sampson declared to me. " The house swarmed with Macs, by George,
and they should have the galleries washed with brimstone," the honest
THE YIEGINIANS. 673
fellow swore, and always vowed that Mr. Garrick himself would not have
had the piece succeed for the world ; and was never in such a rage as
during that grand scene in the second act, where Smith (poor Hagan)
being bound to the stake, Pocahontas comes and saves him, and when
the whole house was thrilling with applause and sympathy.
Anybody who has curiosity sufficient, may refer to the published
tragedy (in the octavo form, or in the subsequent splendid quarto
edition of my Collected Works, and Poems Original and Translated),
and say whether the scene is without merit, whether the verses are not
elegant, the language rich and noble? One of the causes of the failure
was my actual .fidelity to history. I had copied myself at the Museum^
and tinted neatly a figure of Sir Walter Raleigh in a frill and beard ;
and (my dear Theo giving some of her mother's best lace for the ruff)
we dressed Hagan accurately after this drawing, and no man could look
better. Miss Pritchard, as Pocahontas, I dressed too as a red Indian,
having seen enough of that costume in my own experience at home.
Will it be believed the house tittered when she first appeared ? They
got used to her, however, but just at the moment when she rushes into
the prisoner's arms, and a number of people were actually in tears, a
fellow in the pit bawls out, " Bedad ! Here's the Belle Savage kissing
the Saracen's Head ; " on wnicb an impertinent roar of laughter sprang
up in the pit, breaking out with fitful explosions during the remainder
of the performance. As the wag in Mr. Sheridan's amusing ''Critic"
admirably says about the morning guns, the play-wrights were not con-
tent with one of them, but must fire two or three ; so with this wretched
pot-house joke of the Belle Savage (the ignorant people not knowing
that Pocahontas herself was the very Belle Sauvage from whom the
tavern took its name !) My friend of the pit repeated it ad nauseam
during the performance, and as each new character appeared, saluted
him by the name of some tavern — for instance, the English governor
(with a long beard) he called the *' Goat and Boots ; " his lieutenant,
(Barker) whose face certainly was broad, the " Bull and Mouth," and
so on I And the curtain descended amidst a shrill storm of whistles and
hisses, which especially assailed poor Hagan every time he opened his
lips. Sampson saw Master Will in the green boxes, with some pretty
acquaintances of his, and has no doubt that the treacherous scoundrel
was one of the ringleaders in the conspiracy. ** I would have flung him
over into the pit," the faithful fellow said (and Sampson was man
enough to execute his threat), "but I saw a couple of Mr. IS^adab's
I followers prowling about the lobby, and was obliged to sheer off." And
eo the eggs we had counted on selling at market were broken, and our
poor hopes lay shattered before us !
I looked in at the house from the stage before the curtain was lifted,
and saw it pretty well filled, especially remarking Mr. Johnson in the
front boxes, in a laced waistcoat, having his friend Mr. Reynolds by
his side ; the latter could not hear, and the former could not see, and so
they came good naturedly d deux to form an opinion of my poor tragedy.
bU THE VIEGINIANS.
i could see Lady Maria (I knew the liood she wore) in the lower gallery,
where she once more had the opportunity of sitting and looking at her
beloved actor performing a principal character in a piece. As for Theo,
she fairly owned that, unless I ordered her, she had rather not be pre-
sent, nor had I any such command to give, for, if things went wrong,
I knew that to see her suffer would be intolerable pain to myself, and so
acquiesced in her desire to keep away.
Being of a pretty equanirnous disposition, and, as I flatter myself, able
to bear good or evil fortune without disturbaDce ; I myself, after taking
a light dinner at the Bedford, went to the theatre a short while before
the commencement of the play, and proposed to remain there, until the
defeat or victory was decided. I own now, I could not help seeing
which way the fate of the day was likely to turn. There was something
gloomy and disastrous in the general aspect of all things around. Miss
Pritchard had the headache : the barber who brought home Hagan's wig
had powdered it like a wretch : amongst the gentlemen and ladies in the
green-room, I saw none but doubtful faces : and the manager (a very
flippant not to say impertinent gentleman, in my opinion, and who him-
self on that night looked as dismal as a mute at a funeral) had the
insolence to say to me, " For Heaven's sake, Mr. Warrington, go and get
a glass of punch at the Bedford, and don't frighten us all here by your
dismal countenance ! " "Sir," says I, " I have a right, for five shillings,
to comment upon your face, but I never gave you any authority to make
remarks upon mice." *'Sir," says he in a pet, " I most heartily wish I
had never seen your face at all!" ** Yours, Sir!" said I, *' has often
amused me greatly ; and when painted for Abel Drugger is exceedingly
comic " — and indeed I have always done Mr. G. the justice to think that
in low comedy he was unrivalled.
I made him a bow, and walked off to the coffee-house, and for five
years after never spoke a word to the gentleman, when he apologised to
me, at a nobleman's house where we chanced to meet. I said 1 had ut-
terly forgotten the circumstance to which he alluded, and that, on the
first night of a play, no doubt author and manager were flurried alike.
And added, ** After all, there is no shame in not being made for the
theatre. Mr. Garrick — you were." A compliment with which he ap-
peared to be as well pleased as I intended he should.
Fidus Achates ran over to me at the end of the first act to say that all
things were going pretty well ; though he confessed to the titter in the
house upon Miss Pritchard's first appearance, dressed exactly like an
Indian Princess.
"I cannot help it, Sampson," said I (filling him a bumper of good
punch), '* if Indians are dressed so."
" Why," says he, " would you have had Caractacus painted blue
like an ancient Briton, or Bond uca with nothing but a cow-skin ? " —
And indeed it may be that the fidelity to history was the cause of the
ridicule cast on my tragedy, in which case I, for one, am not asham^i of
its defeat.
THE YIEGIXIAXS. f»75
After the second act, my aide-de-camp came from the field with dismal
news indeed. 1 don't know how it is that, nervous before action *, in
disaster I become pretty cool and cheerful. "Are things going ill ? "
says I. I call for my reckoning, put on my hat, and march to the
theatre as calmly as if I was going to dine at the Temple ; Jidus Achates
walking by my side, pressing my elbow, kicking the link-boys out of the
way, and crying, "By George, Mr. V/arrington, you are a man of spirit
— a Trojan, sir ! " So, there were men of spirit in Troy ; but alas ! fate
was too strong for them.
At any rate, no man can say that I did not bear my misfortune with
calmness : I could no more help the clamour and noise of the audience
than a captain can help the howling and hissing of the storm in which
his ship goes down. But I was determined that the rushing waves and
broken masts should impavidum ferient, and flatter myself that I bore
my calamity without flinching. " Not Regulus, my dear Madam, could
step into his barrel more coolly," Sampson said to my wife. 'Tis unjust
to say of men of the parasitic nature, that they are unfaithful in mis-
fortune. Whether I was prosperous or poor, the wild parson was equally
true and friendly, and shared our crust as eagerly as ever he had par-
taken of our better fortune.
I took my place on the stage, whence I could see the actors of my
poor piece, and a portion of the audience who condemned me. I sup-
pose the performers gave me a wide berth, out of pity for me. I must
say that I think I was as little moved as any spectator ; and that no
one would have judged from my mien that I was the unlucky hero of
the night.
But my dearest Theo, when I went home, looked so pale and white,
that I saw from the dear creature's countenance that the knowledge of
my disaster had preceded my return. Spencer, Sampson, Cousin Hagan,
and Lady Maria were to come after the play, and congratulate the
author, God wot ! (Poor Miss Pritchard was engaged to us likewise,
but sent word that I must understand that she was a great deal too
unwell to sup that night.) My friend the gardener of Bedford House
had given my wife his best flowers to decorate her little table.
There they were ; the poor little painted standards — and the battle
lost ! I had borne the defeat well enough, but as I looked at the sweet
pale face of the wife across the table, and those artless trophies of
welcome which she had set up for her hero, I confess my courage gave
way, and my heart felt a pang almost as keen as any that ever has
smitten it.
Our meal, it may be imagined, was dismal enough, nor was it rendered
much gayer by the talk we strove to carry on. Old Mrs. Hagan was,
luckily, very ill at this time ; and her disease, and the incidents connected
with it, a great blessing to us. Then we had his Majesty's approaching
* The writer seems to contradict himself here, having just boasted of possessing
a pretty equanimous disposition. He was probably mistaken in his own estimate oi
Vkimself, as other folks have been besides. —Ed.
676 THE VIRGINIANS.
marriage, about which there was a talk. (How well I rememher the
most futile incidents of the day : down to a tune which a carpenter was
whistling by my side at the playhouse, just before the dreary curtain
fell!) Then we talked about the death of good Mr. Eichardson, the
author of "Pamela" and "Clarissa," whose works we all admired
exceedingly. And as we talked about " Clarissa," my wife took on
herself to wipe her eyes once or twice, and say, faintly, "You know,
my love, Mamma and I could never help crying over that dear book.
my dearest, dearest mother" (she adds), " how I wish she could
be with me now ! " This was an occasion for more open tears, for of
course a young lady may naturally weep for her absent mother. And
then we mixed a gloomy bowl with Jamaica limes, and drank to the
health of his Excellency the Governor : and then, for a second toast,
1 filled a bumper, and with a smiling face, drank to " our better
fortune ! "
This was too much. The two women flung themselves into each
other's arms, and irrigated each other's neck-handkerchiefs with tears.
'*0 Maria! Is not — is not my George good and kind?" sobs Theo.
"Look at my Hagan — how great, how godlike he was in his part!"
gasps Maria. " It was a beastly cabal which threw him over — and I
could plunge this knife into Mr. Garrick's black heart — the odious little
wretch ! " and she grasps a weapon at her side. But throwing it pre-
sently down, the enthusiastic creature rushes up to her lord and master,
flings her arms round him, and embraces him in the presence of the little
company.
I am not sure whether some one else did not do likewise. We were
all in a state of extreme excitement and enthusiasm. In the midst
of grief. Love the consoler appears amongst us, and soothes us with
such fond blandishments and tender caresses, that one scarce wishes
the calamity away. Two or three days afterwards, on our birthday,
a letter was brought me in my study, which contained the following
lines :—
FROM POCAHONTAS.
Returning from the cruel fight
How pale and faint appears my knight !
He sees me anxious at his side ;
" Why seek, my love, your wounds to hide ?
Or deem your English girl afraid
To emulate the Indian maid ? "
Be mine my husband's grief to cheer.
In peril to be ever near ;
Whate'er of ill or woe betide.
To bear it clinging at his side ;
The poisoned stroke of fate to ward.
His bosom with my own tr guard ;
THE VIKGIXIANS. fff
Ah ! could it spare a pang to his,
it could not know a purer bliss I
'Twould gladden as it felt the smart,
Aud thank the hand that flung the dart!
I do not say the verses are very good, but that I like them as well
as if they were — and that the face of the writer (whose sweet young
voice I fancy I can hear as I hum the lines), when I went into her
drawing-room after getting the letter, and when I saw her blushing and
blessing me — seemed to me more beautiful than any I can fancy out of
heaven.
CHAPTER LXXXI.
EES ANGUSTA DOMI.
I HAVE already described my present feelings as an elderly gentleman,
regarding that rash jump into matrimony, which I persuaded my dear
partner to take with me when we were both scarce out of our teens.
As a man and a father — with a due sense of the necessity of mutton
chops, and the importance of paying the baker — with a pack of rash
children round about us who might be running off to Scotland to-morrow,
and pleading Papa's and Mamma's example for their impertinence, I
know that I ought to be very cautious in narrating this early part of the
married life of George Warrington, Esquire, and Theodosia his wife —
to call out mea cuIjm, and put on a demure air, and, sitting in my com-
fortable easy chair here, profess to be in a white sheet and on the stool
of repentance, offering myself up as a warning to imprudent and hot-
headed youth.
But, truth to say, that married life, regarding which my dear relativ^es
prophesied so gloomily, has disappointed all those prudent and respect-
able people. It has had its trials ; but I can remember them without
bitterness — its passionate griefs, of which time, by God's kind ordinance,
has been the benign consoler — its days of poverty, which we bore, who
endured it, to the wonder of our sympathising relatives looking on —
its precious rewards and blessings, so great that I scarce dare to whisper
them to this page ; to speak of them, save with awful respect and to
One Ear, to which are offered up the prayers and thanks of all men.
To marry without a competence is wrong and dangerous, no doubt, aud
a crime against our social codes ; but do not scores of thousands of our
fellow-beings commit the crime every year with no other trust but in
Heaven, health, and their labour ? Are young people entering into the
married life not to take hope into account, nor dare to begin their house-
keeping until the cottage is completely furnished, the cellar and larder
stocked, the cupboard full of plate, and the strong box of money ? The
P P
'7S TUE VIRGINIANS.
increase and multiplication of the world would stop, were the laws
which regulate the genteel part of it to be made universal. Our gentle-
folks tremble at the brink in their silk stockings and pumps, and wait
for whole years, until they find a bridge or a gilt barge to carry them
across ; our poor do not fear to wet their bare feet, plant them in the
t rook, and trust to fate and strength to bear them over. Who would
Kke to consign his daughter to poverty ? "Who would counsel his son to
undergo the countless risks of poor married life, to remove the beloved
girl from comfort and competence, and subject her to debt, misery,
privation, friendlessness, sickness, and the hundred gloomy consequences
of the res angusta domi f I look at my own wife and ask her pardon
for having imposed a task so fraught with pain and danger upon one so
gentle. I think of the trials she endured, and am thankful for them
and for that unfailing love and constancy with which God blessed her
and strengthened her to bear them all. On this question of marriage, I
am not a fair judge : my own was so imprudent and has been so happy,
that I must not dare to give j^oung people counsel. I have endured
poverty, but scarcely ever found it otherwise than tolerable : had I not
undergone it, I never could have known the kindness of friends, the
delight of gratitude, the surprising joys and consolations which some-
times accompany the scanty meal and narrow fire, and cheer the long
day's labour. This at least is certain, in respect of the lot of the decent
poor, that a great deal of superfluous pity is often thrown away upon it.
Good-natured fine folks, who sometimes stepped out of the sunshine of
their riches, into our narrow obscurity, were blinded as it were, whilst
we could see quite cheerfully and clearly : they stumbled over obstacles
which were none to us : they were surprised at the resignation with
which we drank small-beer, and that we could heartily say grace over
such very cold mutton.
The good General, my father-in-law, had married his Molly, when he
was a subaltern of a foot regiment, and had a purse scarce better filled
than my own. They had had their ups and downs of fortune. I think
(though my wife will never confess to this point) they had married, as
people could do in their young time, without previously asking Papa's
and Mamma's leave.* At all events, they were so well pleased with
their own good luck in matrimony, that they did not grudge their
children's, and were by no means frightened at the idea of any little
hardships which we in the course of our married life might be called
upon to undergo. And I suppose when I made my own pecuniary
statements to Mr. Lambert, I was anxious to deceive both of us.
Believing me to be master of a couple of thousand pounds, he went to
Jamaica quite easy in his mind as to his darling daughter's comfort and
maintenance, at least for some years to come. After paying the expenses
of his family's outfit, the worthy man went away not much richer than
* ThB editor has looked through Burn's Eegisters of Fleet Marriages without
finding the names of Martin Lambert and Mary Benson.
THE VIRGINIANS. 579
*ms son-in-law : and a few trinkets, ar.d some lace of Aunt Lambert's,
with twenty new guineas iu a purse which her mothsr and sisters made
for her, were my Theo's marriage portion. But in valuing my stock, I
chose to count as a good debt a sum which my honoured mother never
could be got to acknowledge up to the day when the resolute old lady
was called to pay the last debt of all. The sums I had disbursed for
her, she urged, were spent for the improvement and maintenance of the
estate which was to be mine at her decease. What money she could
spare was to be for my poor brother, who had nothing, who would never
have spent his own means had he not imagined himself to be sole heir of
the Virginian Property, as he would have been — the good lady took care
to emphasise this point in many of her letters — but for a half-hour's
accident of birth. He was now distinguishing himself in the service of
his king and country. To purchase his promotion was his mother's, she
should suppose his brother's duty ! When I had finished my bar-studies
and my dramatic amusements, Madam Esmond informed me that I was
welcome to return home and take that place in our colony to which my
birth entitled me. This statement, she communicated to me more than
once through Mountain, and before the news of my marriage had
reached her.
There is no need to recall her expressions of maternal indignation
when she was informed of the step I had taken. On the pacification of
Canada, my dear Harry asked for leave of absence, and dutifully paid a
visit to Virginia. He wrote, describing his reception at home, and the
splendid entertainments which my mother made in honour of her son.
Castlewood, which she had not inhabited since our departure for Europe,
was thrown open again to our friends of the colony ; and the friend of
Wolfe, and the soldier of Quebec, was received by all our acquaintance
with every becoming honour. Some dismal quarrels, to be sure, ensued,
because my brother persisted in maintaining his friendship with Colonel
Washington, of Mount Vernon, whose praises Harry never was tired of
singing. Indeed I allow the gentleman every virtue; and in the
struggles which terminated so fatally for England a few years since, I
can admire as well as his warmest fidends. General Washington's
glorious constancy and success.
If these battles between Harry and our mother were frequent, as, in
his letters, he described them to be, I wondered, for my part, why he
should continue at home ? One reason naturally suggested itself to my
mind, which I scarcely liked to communicate to Mrs. Warrington ; for
we had both talked over our dear little Hetty's romantic attachment for
my brother, and wondered that he had never discovered it. I need not
say I suppose that my gentleman had found some young lady at home
more to his taste than our dear Hester, and hence accounted for his pro-
longed stay in Virginia.
Presently there came, in a letter from him, not a fuU. confession out
an admission of this interesting fact. A person was described, not
named — a Being all beauty and perfection, like other young Lacaea
p P 2
6S0 THE VIRGINIANS.
under similar circumstances. My wife asked to see the letter : I conld
not help showing it, and handed it to her, with a very sad face. To
my surprise she read it, without exhibiting any corresponding sorrow
of her own.
*' I have thought of this before, my love," I said. " I feel with you
for your disappointment regarding poor Hetty."
<' Ah ! poor Hetty," says Theo, looking down at the carpet.
*' It would never have done," says I.
" No — they would not have been happy," sighs Theo.
*' How strange he never should have found out her secret!" I
continued.
She looked me full in the face with an odd expression.
** Pra3% what does that look mean ? " I asked.
** Nothing, my dear — nothing ! only I am not surprised ! " says Theo,
blushing.
*' What," I ask, ** can there be another ? "
*' I am sure I never said so, George," says the lady hurriedly. " But
if Hetty has overcome her childish folly, ought we not all to be glad ?
Do you gentlemen suppose that you only are to fall in love and grow
tired, indeed ? "
"What," I say, with a strange commotion of my mind, **Do you
mean to tell me, Theo, that you ever cared for any one but me ? "
"0 George!" she whimpers, ** When I was at school, there was —
there was one of the boys of Doctor Backhouse's school, who sate in the
loft next to us ; and I thought he had lovely eyes, and I was so shocked
when I recognised him behind the counter at Mr. Grigg's, the mercer's,
when I went to buy a cloak for baby, and I wanted to tell you, my dear,
and I didn't know how ! "
I went to see this creature with the lovely eyes, having made my wife
describe the fellow's dress to me, and I saw a little bandy-legged wretch
in a blue camlet coat, with his red hair tied with a dirty ribbon, about
whom I forebore generously even to reproach my wife ; nor will she
ever know that I have looked at the fellow, until she reads the confes-
sion in this page. If our wives saw us as we are, I thought, would
they love us as they do ? Are we as much mistaken in them, as they
in us ? I look into one candid face at least, and think it never has
deceived me.
Lest I should encourage my young people to an imitation of ray own
imprudence, I will not tell them with how small a capital Mrs. Theo
and I commenced life. The unfortunate tragedy brought us nothing :
though the reviewers, since its publication of late, have spoken not
unfavourably as to its merits, and Mr. Kemble himself has done me the
honour to commend it. Our kind friend Lord Wrothara, was for having
the piece published by subscription, and sent me a bank note, with a
request that I would let him have a hundred copies for his friends ; but
I was always averse to that method of levying money, and, preferring
my poverty sine dote^ locked up my manuscript, with my poor girl'«
THE VIRGINIANS. 581
verses inserted at the first page. I know not why the piece should have
given such offence at court, except for the fact that an actor' who had
ran off with an earl's daughter, performed a principal part in the play ;
hut I was told that sentiments, which I had put into the mouths of some
of the Indian characters (who were made to declaim against ambition,
the British desire of rule, and so forth), were pronounced dangerous and
unconstitutional ; so that the little hope of royal favour, which I might
have had, was quite taken away from me.
What was to be done ? A few months after the failure of the tragedy,
as I counted up the remains of my fortune (the calculation was not long
or difficult), I came to the conclusion, that I must beat a retreat out of
my pretty apartments in Bloomsbury, and so gave warning to our good
landlady, informing her that my wife's health required that we should
have lodgings in the country. But we went no farther than Lambeth,
our faithful Gumbo and Molly following us ; and here, though as poor
as might be, we were waited on by a maid and a lackey in livery, like
any folks of condition. You may be sure kind relatives cried out
against our extravagance ; indeed, are they not the people who find our
faults out for us, and proclaim them to the rest of the world ?
Returning home from London one day, whither I had been on a visit
to some booksellers, I recognised the family arms and livery on a grand
gilt chariot which stood before a public-house near to our lodgings. A
few loitering inhabitants were gathered round the splendid vehicle, and
looking with awe at the footmen, resplendent in the sun, and quaffing
blazing pots of beer. I found my Lady Castlewood sitting opposite to
my wife in our little apartment (whence we had a very bright pleasant
prospect of the river, covered with barges and wherries, and the ancient
towers and trees of the Archbishop's palace and garden), and Mrs.
Theo, who has a very droll way of describing persons and scenes,
narrated to me all the particulars of her ladyship's conversation, when
she took her leave.
*' I have been here this ever- so-long," says the Countess, ''gossiping
with Cousin Theo, while you have been away at the coffee-house, I
dare say, making merry with your friends, and drinking your punch
and coffee. Guess she must find it rather lonely here, with nothing to
do but work them little caps and hem them frocks. Never mind, dear ;
reckon you'll soon have a companion who will amuse you when Cousin
George is away at his coffee-house! What a nice lodging you have
got here, I do declare ! Our new house which we have took is twenty
times as big, and covered with gold from top to bottom : but I like this
quite as well. Bless you ! being rich is no better than being poor.
When we lived to Albany, and I did most all the work myself, scoured
the rooms, biled the kettle, helped the wash, and all, I was just as
happy as I am now. We only had one old negro to keep the store.
Why don't you sell Gumbo, Cousin George ? He ain't no use here
idling and dawdling about, and making love to the servant girl,
Foghl guess they aia't particular, these English people!" So she
THE VIRGIXIAXS.
talked, rattling on with perfect good humour, until her hour for
departure ^ame ; when she produced a fine repeating watch, and said it
was time for her to pay a call upon her Majesty at Buckingham House.
*'And mind you come to us, Greorge," says her ladyship, waving a
little parting hand out of the gilt coach, " Theo and I have settled all
about it."
''Here, at least," said I, when the laced footman had clambered up
behind the carriage, and our magnificent little patroness had left us ; —
*'here is one who is not afraid of our poverty, nor ashamed to remember
her own."
" Ashamed ! " said Theo, resuming her lilliputian needlework. '' To
do her justite, she would make herself at home in any kitehin or
palace in the world. She has given me and Molly twenty lessons in
house-keeping. She says, when she was at home to Albany, she
roasted, baked, swept the house, and milked the cow." (Madam Theo
pronounced the word cow archly in our American way, and imitated her
ladyship's accent very divertingly.)
" And she has no pride," I added. "It was good-natured of her to
ask us to dine with her and my lord. When will Uncle "Warrington
ever think of ofiering us a crust again, or a glass of his famous beer ? "
" Yes, it was not ill-natured to invite us," says Theo, slyly. " But,
my dear, you don't know all the conditions! " And then my wife, still
imitating the Countess's manner, laughingly informed me what these
conditions were. "She took out her pocket-book, and told me," says
Theo, ''what days she was engaged abroad and at homo. On Monday
she received a Duke and a Duchess, with several other members of my
lord's house, and their ladies. On Tuesday came more earls, two
bishops, and an ambassador ; ' of course you won't come on them days? '
says the Countess ; ' now you are so poor, you know, that fine company
ain't no good for you. Lord bless you ! father never dines on our com-
pany days ! he don't like it ; he takes a bit of cold meat anyways.'
On which," says Theo laughing, " I told her that Mr. Warrington did
not care for any but the best of company, and proposed that she should
ask us on some day when the Archbishop of Canterbury dined with her,
and his Grace must give us a lift home in his coach to Lambeth. And she
is an economical little person, too," continues Theo, " I thought of bring-
ing with me some of my baby's caps and things, which his lordship has
outgrown 'em, but they may be wanted again, you know, my dear.'
And so we lose that addition to our wardrobe," says Theo smiling, " and
Molly and I must do our best without her ladyship's charity. ' When
j^eople are poor, they are poor,' tlie Countess said, with her usual out-
spokenness, ' and must get on the best they can. What we shall do for
that poor Maria, goodness only knows ! we can't ask her to see us as we
can you, though you are so poor : but an earl's daughter to marry a
play-actor ! la, my dear, it's dreadful ; his Majesty and the Princess
have both spoken of it ! Every other noble family in this kingdom as
has ever heard of it pities us ; though I have a plan for helping those
THE VIRGINIANS. 5S3
poor unhappy people, and have sent down Simons, my groom of the
chambers, to tell them on it.' This plan was, that Hagan, who had
kept almost all his terms at Dublin College, should return thither and
take his degree, and enter into holy orders, * when we will provide him
with a chaplaincy at home, you know,' Lady Castlewood added." And
I may mention here, that this benevolent plan was executed a score of
months later ; when I was enabled myself to be of service to Mr. Hagan,
who was one of the kindest and best of our friends during our own time
of want and distress. Castlewood then executed his promise loyally
enough, got orders and a colonial appointment for Hagan, who dis-
tinguished himself both as soldier and preacher, as we shall presently
hear ; but not a guinea did his lordship spare to aid either his sister or
his kinsman in their trouble. 1 never asked him, thank Heaven, to
assist me in my own ; though, to do him justice, no man could express
himself more amiably, and with a joy which I believe was quite
genuine, when my days of poverty were ended.
As for my Uncle "Warrington, and his virtuous wife and daughters,
let me do them justice likewise, and declare that throughout my period
of trial, their sorrow at my poverty was consistent and unvarying. I
still had a few acquaintances who saw them, and of course (as friends
will) brought me a report of their opinions and conversation ; and I
never could hear that my relatives had uttered one single good word
about me or my wife. They spoke even of my tragedy as a crime — I
was accustomed to hear that sufficiently maligned — of the author as a
miserable reprobate, for ever reeling about Grub Street, in rags and
squalor. They held me out no hand of help. My poor wife might cry
in her pain, but they had no twopence to bestow upon her. They went
to church a half dozen times in the week. They subscribed to many
public charities. Their tribe was known eighteen hundred years ago,
and will flourish as long as men endure. They will still thank Heaven
that they are not as other folks are ; and leave the wounded and miser-
able to other succour.
1 don't care to recall the dreadful doubts and anxieties which began
to beset me ; the plan after plan which I tried, and in which I failed,
for procuring work and adding to our dwindling stock of money. I
bethought me of my friend Mr. Johnson, and when I think of the eager
kindness with which he received me, am ashamed of some pert speeches
which I own to have made regarding his manners and behaviour. I
told my story and difficulties to him, the circumstance of my marriage,
and the prospects before me. He would not for a moment admit they
were gloomy, or, si male nunc, that they would continue to be so — I
had before me the chances, certainly very slender, of a place in England ;
the inheritance which must be mine in the course of nature, or at any
rate would fall to the heir I was expecting. I had a small stock oi
money for present actual necessity — a possibility, "though, to be free
with you, sir" (says he), ''after the performance of your tragedy, 1
doubt whether nature has endowed you with those peculiar qualities
584 THE VIRGINIANS.
which are necessary for achieving a remarkable literary success" — and
finally a submission to the maternal rule, and a return to Virginia,
where plenty and a home were always ready for me. " Why, sir ! "
he cried, ** such a sum as you mention would have been a fortune to
me when I began the world, and my friend Mr. Goldsmith would set
up a coach and six on it. "With youth, hope, to-day, and a couple of
hundred pounds in cash — no young fellow need despair. Think, sir,
you have a year at least before me, and who knows what may chance
between now and then. Why, sir, your relatives here may provide for
you, or you may succeed to your Virginian property, or you may come
into a fortune I " I did not in the course of that year, but he did.
My Lord Bute gave Mr. Johnson a pension, which set all Grub Street
in a fury against the recipient, who, to be sure, had published his own-
not very flattering opinion upon pensions and pensioners.
Nevertheless, he did not altogether discourage my literary projects,^
promised to procure me work from the booksellers, and faithfully per-
formed that kind promise. "But," says he, **sir, you must not appear
amongst them in forma pauperis. Have you never a friend's coach in
which we can ride to see them ? You must put on your best laced hat
and waistcoat ; and we must appear, sir, as if you were doing them a.
favour." This stratagem answered, and procured me respect enough,
at the first visit or two : but when the booksellers knew that I wanted
to be paid for my work, their backs refused to bend any more, and they
treated me with a familiarity which I could ill stomach. I overheard
one of them, who had been a footman, say — " 0, it's Pocahontas, is it?
let him wait." And he told his boy to say as much to me. " Wait,
sir ! " says I, fuming with rage and putting my head into his parlour,
** I'm not accustomed to waiting, but I have heard you are." And I
strode out of the shop into Pall Mall in a mighty fluster.
And yet Mr. D. was in the right. I came to him, if not to ask a
favour, at any rate to propose a bargain, and surely it was my business
to wait his time and convenience. In more fortunate days I asked the
gentleman's pardon, and the kind author of the Muse in Livery was
instantly appeased.
I was more prudent, or Mr. Johnson more fortunate, in an application
elsewhere, and Mr. Johnson procured me a little work from the book-
sellers in translating from foreign languages, of which I happen to
know two or three. By a hard day's labour I could earn a few shil-
lings ; so few that a week's work would hardly bring me a guinea : and
that was flung to me with insolent patronage by the low hucksters,
who employed me. I can put my finger upon two or three magazine-
articles written at this period,* and paid for with a few ^vretohed
* Mr. George Warrington, of the Upper Temple, saj^s he remembers a book, con-
taining his grandfather's book-plate, in which were pasted various extracts from
reviews and newspapers in an old type, and lettered outside Les Chaines de VEscla-
vage. These were no doubt the contributions above mentioned ; but the volume has
not been found, eitber in the town-house or in the library at Warrington Manor.
The editor, by the way, is not answerable for a certain inconsistency, which nay b©-
THE VIRGINIANS. 585
shillings, which papers as I read them awaken in me the keenest pangs
of bitter remembrance. I recall the doubts and fears which agitated
me, see the dear wife nursing her infant and looking up into my face
with hypocritical smiles that vainly try to mask her alarm : the
struggles of pride are fought over again : the wounds under which I
smarted, re-open. There are some acts of injustice committed against
me which I don't know how to forgive ; and which, whenever I think
of them, awaken in me the same feelings of revolt and indignation.
The gloom and darkness gather over me — till they are relieved by a
reminiscence of that love and tenderness which through all gloom and
darkness have been my light and consolation.
CHAPTER LXXXII.
miles' S MOIDORE.
Little Miles made his appearance in this world within a few days of
the gracious Prince who commands his regiment. Illuminations and
cannonading saluted the royal George's birth, multitudes were admitted
to see him as he lay behind a gilt railing at the Palace with noble nurses
watching over him. Few nurses guarded the cradle of our little Prince :
no courtiers, no faithful retainers saluted it, except our trusty Gumbo
and kind Molly, who to be sure loved and admired the little heir of my
poverty as loyally as our hearts could desire. Why was our boy
not named George like the other paragon just mentioned, and like his
father ? I gave him the name of a little scapegrace of my family,.
a name which many generations of Warringtons had borne like-
wise ; but my poor little Miles's love and kindness touched me at a time
when kindness and love were rare from those of my own blood, and Theo
and I agreed that our child should be called after that single little friend
of my paternal race.
"We wrote to acquaint our royal parents with the auspicious event,
and bravely inserted the child's birth in the " Daily Advertiser," and
the place. Church Street, Lambeth, where he was born. " My dear,""
says Aunt Bernstein, writing tome in reply to my announcement, "how
could you point out to all the world that you live in such a trou as that
in which you have buried yourself? I kiss the little Mamma, and send
a remembrance for the child." This remembrance was a fine silk cover-
lid, with a lace edging fit for a prince. It was not very useful : the
price of the lace would have served us much better, but Theo and Molly
remarked in the narrative. The writer says, p. 265, that he speaks "without
bitterness" of past times, and presently falls into a fury with them. The same-
manner of forgiving uur enemies is not uncommon in the present century.
586 THE VIRGINIANS.
were delighted with the present, and my eldest son's cradle had a cover
as fine as any nobleman's.
Good Dr. Heberden came over several times to visit my wife, and see
that all things went well. He knew and recommended to us a surgeon
in the vicinage, who took charge of her : luckily, my dear patient needed
little care, beyond that which our landlady and her own trusty attendant
could readily afford her. Again our humble precinct was adorned with
the gilded apparition of Lady Castlewood's chariot wheels ; she brought
a pot of jelly, which she thought Theo might like, and which, no doubt,
had been served at one of her ladyship's banquets on a previous day.
And she told us of all the ceremonies at Court, and of the splendour and
festivities attending the birth of the august heir to the crown. Our
good Mr. Johnson happened to pay me a visit on one of those days when
my lady Countess's carriage flamed up to our little gate. He was not a
little struck by her magnificence, and made her some bows, which were
more respectful than graceful. She called me cousin very affably, and
helped to transfer the present of jelly from her silver dish into our
crockery pan with much benignity. The Doctor tasted the sweetmeat,
and pronounced it to be excellent. *' The great, sir," says he, "are
fortunate in every way. They can engage the most skilful practitioners
of the culinary art, as they can assemble tlie most amiable wits round
their table. If, as you think, sir, and, from the appearance of the dish
your suggestion at least is plausible, this sweetmeat may have appeared
already at his Lordship's table, it has been there in good company. It
has quivered under the eyes of celebrated beauties, it has been tasted by
ruby lips, it has divided the attention of the distinguished company,
with fruits, tarts, and creams, which I make no doubt were like itself
delicious." And so saying, the good Doctor absorbed a considerable
portion of Lady Castlewood's benefaction ; though as regards the epithet
delicious I am bound to say, that my poor wife, after tasting the jelly,
put it away from her as not to her liking ; and Molly, flinging up her
head, declared it was mouldy.
My boy enjoyed at least the privilege of having an earl's daughter for
his godmother ; for this office was performed by his cousin, our poor
Lady Maria, whose kindness and attention to the mother and the infant
were beyond all praise ; and who, having lost her own solitary chance
for maternal happiness, yearned over our child in a manner not a little
touching to behold. Captain Miles is a mighty fine gentleman, and his
uniforms of the Prince's Hussars, as splendid as any that ever bedizened
a soldier of fashion ; but he hath too good a heart, and is too true a gen-
tleman, let us trust, not to be thankful when he remembers that his own
infant limbs were dressed in some of the little garments which had been
prepared for the poor player's child. Sampson christened him in that
very chapel in Southwark where our marriage ceremony had been per~
formed. Never were the words of the Prayer-book more beautifully
and impressively read than by the celebrant of the service ; except at its
end, when his voice failed him, and he and the rest of the little congre-
THE VIRGINIANS. 687
gation were fain to wipe their eyes. " Mr. Garrick himself, sir," says
Hagan, "could not have read those words so nobly. I am sure little
innocent never entered the world accompanied by wishes and benedictions
more tender and sincere."
And now I have not told how it chanced that the captain came by his
name of Miles. A couple of days before his christening, when as yet,
I believe, it was intended that our first-born should bear his father's
name, a little patter of horse's hoofs comes galloping up to our gate ;
and who should pull at the bell but young Miles, our cousin? I fear
he had disobeyed his parents when he galloped away on that undutiful
journey.
**You know," says he, "Cousin Harry gave me my little horse:
and I can't help liking you, because you are so like Harry, and because
they are always saying things of you at home, and it's a shame : and I
have brought my whistle and coral that my godmamma Lady Suckling
gave me, for your little boy ; and if you're so poor. Cousin George, here's
my gold moidore, and it's worth ever so much, and it's no use to me,
because I mayn't spend it, you know."
"We took the boy up to Theo in her room (he mounted the stair in his
little tramping boots, of which he was very proud) ; and Theo kissed
him, and thanked him ; and his moidore has been in her purse from
that day.
My mother, writing through her ambassador as usual, informed me
of her royal surprise and displeasure on learning that my son had been
christened Miles — a name not known, at least in the Esmond family.
I did not care to tell the reason at the time ; but when, in after years,
I told Madam Esmond how my boy come by his name, I saw a tear
roll down her wrinkled cheek, and I heard afterwards that she had
asked Gumbo many questions about the boy who gave his name to our
Miles : our Miles Gioriosus of Pall Mall, Yalencienncs, Almack's,
Brighton.
CHAPTER LXXXIII.
TKOTJBLES AND CONSOLATIONS.
In our early days at home, when Harry and I used to be so undutiful
to our tutor, who would have thought that Mr. Esmond Warrington of
Yirginia would turn Bearleader himself? My mother (when we came
together again) never could be got to speak directly of this period of my
life ; but would allude to it as * that terrible time, my love, which I
can't bear to think of,' * those dreadful years when there was difference
between us,' and so forth, and though my pupil, a worthy and grateful
\Qan, sent me out to Jamestown several barrels of that liquor by which
688 THE VIRGINIANS.
his great fortune was made, Madame Esmond spoke of him as * your
friend in England,' *your wealthy Lambeth friend,' &e., but never by
his name ; nor did she ever taste a drop of his beer. "We brew our own
too at Warrington Manor, but our good Mr. Foker never fails to ship to
Ipswich every year a couple of butts of his entire. His son is a young
sprig of fashion, and has married an earl's daughter, the father is a very
worthy and kind gentleman, and it is to the luck of making his acquaint-
ance that I owe the receipt of some of the most welcome guineas that
ever I received in my life.
It was not so much the sum, as the occupation and hope given me by
the office of Governor, which I took on myself, which were then so
precious to me. Mr. F.'s Brewery (the site has since been changed)
then stood near to Pedlar's Acre in Lambeth: and the surgeon who
attended my wife in her confinement, likewise took care of the wealthy
brewer's family. He was a Bavarian, originally named Voelker. Mr.
Lance the surgeon, I suppose, made him acquainted with my name and
history. The worthy Doctor would smoke many a pipe of Virginia in
iiiy garden, and had conceived an attachment for me and my family.
He brought his patron to my house : and when Mr. F. found that I had
a smattering of his language, and could sing * Prinz Eugen the noble
Ritter ' (a song that my grandfather had brought home from the
Marlborough Wars), the German conceived a great friendship for me :
his lady put her chair and her chariot at Mrs. Warrington's service;
his little daughter took a prodigious fancy to our baby (and to do
him justice, the Captain, who is as ugly a fellow now as ever wore
a queue,* was beautiful as an infant) : and his son and heir. Master
Foker, being much maltreated at Westminster School because of his
father's profession of brewer, the parents asked if I would take charge
of him ; and paid me a not insufficient sum for superintending his
education.
Mr. F. was a shrewd man of business, and as he and his family really-
interested themselves in me and mine, I laid all my pecuniary affairs
pretty imreservedly before him ; and my statement, he was pleased to
say, augmented the respect and regard which he felt for me. He laughed
at our stories of the aid which my noble relatives had given me — my
aunt's coverlid, my Lady Castle wood's mouldy jelly. Lady Warrington's
contemptuous treatment of us. But he wept many tears over the story
of little Miles's moidore ; and as for Sampson and Hagan, **I wow,"
says he, *' dey shall have so much beer als ever dey can drink." He
sent his wife to call upon Lady Maria, and treated her with the utmost
respect and obsequiousness whenever she came to visit him. It was with
Mr. Foker that Lady Maria stayed when Hagan went to Dublin to com-
plete his college terms ; and the good brewer's purse also ministered to
our friend's wants and supplied his outfit.
• The very image of the Squire at 30, everybody says so. M.W. {Note in th»
MS.)
THE YIRGIXIAXS. 589
"When Mr. Foker came fully to know my own affairs and position, he
was pleased to speak of me with terms of enthusiasm, and as if my con-
duct showed some extraordinary virtue. I have said how my mother
saved money for Harry, and how the two were in my debt. But when
Harry spent money, he spent it fancying it to be his ; Madam Esmond
never could be made to understand she was dealing hardly with me —
the money was paid and gone, and there was an end of it, Now, at the
end of '62, I remember Harry sent over a considerable remittance for
the purchase of his promotion, begging me at the same time to remember
that he was in my debt, and to draw on his agents if I had any need.
He did not know how great the need was, or how my little capital had
been swallowed.
"Well, to take my brother's money would delay his promotion, and I
naturally did not draw on him, though I own I was tempted; nor, know-
ing my dear General Lambert's small means, did I care to impoverish
him by asking for supplies. These simple acts of forbearance my worthy
brewer must choose to consider as instances of exalted virtue. And what
does my gentleman do but write privately to my brother in America,
lauding me and my wife as the most admirable of human beings, and
call upon Madame de Bernstein, who never told me of his visit indeed,
but who, I perceived about this time, treated us with singular respect and
gentleness, that surprised me in one whom I could not but consider as
seltish and worldly. In after days I remember asking him how he had
gained admission to the Baroness ? He laughed ; " De Baroness! " says
he, *'I knew de Baron when he was a icalet at Munich, and I was a
brewer-apprentice." I think our family had best not be too curious about
our uncle the Baron.
Thus, the part of my life which ought to have been most melancholy
was in truth made pleasant by many friends, happy circumstances, and
strokes of lucky fortune. The bear I led was a docile little cub, and
danced to my piping very readily. Better to lead him about, than to
hang round booksellers' doors, or wait the pleasure or caprice of mana-
gers ! My wife and I, during our exile, as we may call it, spent
very many pleasant evenings with these kind friends and bene-
factors. Nor were we without intellectual enjoyments ; Mrs. Foker
and Mrs. AYarrington sang finely together ; and, sometimes when I
was in the mood, I read my own play of Pocahontas to this friendly
audience, in a manner better than Hagan's own, Mr. Foker was pleased
to say.
After that little escapade of Miles "Warrington, junior, I saw nothing
of him, and heard of my paternal relatives but rarely. Sir Miles was
assiduous at Court (as I believe he would have been at Nero's), and I
laughed one day when Mr. Foker told me that he had heard on 'Change
•'that they were going to make my uncle a Beer." — *' A Beer?"
says I in wonder. *' Can't you understand de vort, ven I say it," says
the testy old gentleman. " Yell, veil, a Lort ! " Sir Miles indeed was
the obedient humble servant of the minister, whoever he might be. I
THE YIKGINIAKS.
am surprised he did not speak English with a Scotch accent during the
first favourite's brief reign. I saw him and his wife coming from
court, when Mrs. Claypool was presented to her Majesty on her
marriage. I had my little boy on my shoulder. My uncle and aunt
stared resolutely at me from their gilt coach window. The footmen
looked blank over their nosegays. Had I worn the Fairy's cap, and been
invisible, my father's brother could not have passed me with less notice.
We did not avail ourselves much, or often, of that queer invitation ol
Lady Castlewood, to go and drink tea and sup with her ladyship, when
there was no other company. Old Yan den Bosch, however shrewd his
intellect and great his skill in making a fortune, was not amusing in
conversation, except to his daughter, who talked household and city
matters, bulling and bearing, raising and selling, farming stock, and so
forth, quite as keenly and shrewdly as her father. Nor was my Lord
Castlewood often at home, or much missed by his wife when absent, or
very much at ease in the old father's company. The Countess told all
this to my wife in her simple way, ** Guess," says she, " my lord and
father don't pull well together nohow. Guess my lord is always wanting
money, and father keeps the key of the box : and quite right, too. If
he could have the fingering of all our money, my lord would soon make
away with it, and then what's to become of our noble family ? We pay
everything, my dear, except play debts, and them we won't have nohow.
We pay cooks, horses, wine merchants, tailors, and everybody — and lucky
for them too — reckon my lord wouldn't pay'em ! And we always take care
that he has a guinea in his pocket, and goes out like a real nobleman.
What that man do owe to us : what he did before we come— gracious
goodness only knows ! Me and father does our best to make him respect-
able : but it's no easy job, my dear. Law ! he'd melt the plate, only
father keeps the key of the strong room ; and when we go to Castle-
wood my father travels with me, and papa is armed too, as well as the
people."
** Gracious heavens ! " cries my wife, *' your ladyship does not mean
to say, you suspect your own husband of a desire to . . ."
"To what? — no, nothing, of course! And I would trust our brother
Will with untold money, wouldn't I ? As much as I'd trust the cat with
the cream pan ! I tell you, my dear, it's not all pleasure being a woman
of rank and fashion : and if I have bought a countess's coronet, I have
paid a good price for it— that I have ! "
And so had my Lord Castlewood paid a large price for having his
estate freed from incumbrances, his houses and stables furnished, and his
debts discharged. He was the slave of the little wife and her father.
No wonder the old man's society was not pleasant to the poor victim, and
that he gladly slunk away from his own fine house, to feast at the club
when he had money, or at least to any society save that whicli he found
at home. To lead a hear, as I did, was no very pleasant business to be
sure: to wait in a bookseller's ante-room until it should please his honour
to finish his dinner and give me audience, was sometimes a hard task for
i
THE VIRGINIANS. 591
a man of my name and with my pride ; but would I have exchanged my
poverty against Castlewood's ignominy, or preferred his miserable depend-
ence to my own ? At least I earned my wage, such as it was ; and no
man can say that I ever flattered my patrons or was servile to them ; or
indeed, in my dealings with them, was otherwise than sulky, overbearing,
and, in a word, intolerable.
Now there was a certain person with whom Fate had thrown me into a
life-partnership, who bore Aer poverty with such a smiling sweetness and
easy grace, that niggard Fortune relented before her, and, like some
savage Ogre in the fairy tales, melted at the constant goodness and
cheerfulness of that uncomplaining, artless, innocent creature. How-
ever poor she was, all who knew her saw that here was a fine lady ;
and the little tradesmen and humble folks round about us treated her
with as much respect as the richest of our neighbours. *'I think, my
dear," says good-natured Mrs. Foker, when they rode out in the latter's
chariot, "you look like the mistress of the carriage, and I only as your
maid." Our landladies adored her ; the tradesfolk executed her little
orders as eagerly as if a duchess gave them, or they were to make a
fortune by waiting on her. I have thought often of the lady in Comus,
and how, through all the rout and rabble, she moves, entirely serene
and pure.
Several times, as often as we chose indeed, the good-natured parents
of my young bear lent us their chariot to drive abroad or to call on the
few friends we had. If I must tell the truth, we drove once to the
* Protestant Hero ' and had a syllabub in the garden there : and the
hostess would insist upon calling my wife her ladyship during the whole
afternoon. "We also visited Mr. Johnson, and took tea with him (the
ingenious Mr. Goldsmith was of the company) ; the Doctor waited upon
my wife to her coach. But our most frequent visits were to Aunt
Bernstein, and I promise you I was not at all jealous because my aunt
presently professed to have a wonderful liking for Theo.
This liking grew so that she would have her most days in the week,
or to stay altogether with her, and thought that Theo's child and
husband were only plagues to be sure, and hated us in the most
amusing way for keeping her favourite from her. Not that my wife
was unworthy of anybody's favour; but her many forced absences, and
the constant difficulty of intercourse with her, raised my aunt's liking
for a while to a sort of passion. She poured in notes like love-letters ;
and her people were ever about our kitchen. If my wife did not go to
her, she wrote heart-rending appeals, and scolded me severely when I
saw her ; and, the child being ill once (it hath pleased Fate to spare our
Captain to be a prodigious trouble to us, and a wholesome trial for our
tempers), Madame Bernstein came three days running to Lambeth;
TOwed there was nothing the matter with the baby ; —nothing at all ;—
and that we only pretended his illness, in order to vex her.
The reigning Countess of Castle wood was just as easy and affable
with her old aunt, as with other folks great and small. *' What air
592 THE VIRGIXIANS.
you all about, scraping and bowing to that old woman, I can't tell, no
ways!" her ladyship would say. " She a fine lady ! Nonsense! She
ain't no more fine than any other lady : and I guess I'm as good as any
of 'em with their high heels and their grand airs I She a beauty once !
Take away her wig, and her rouge, and her teeth ; and what becomes of
your beauty, I'd like to know ? Guess you'd put it all in a band-box,
and there would be nothing left but a shrivelled old woman ! " And
indeed the little homilist only spoke too truly. All beauty must at last
come to this complexion ; and decay, either under ground or on the tree.
Here was old age, I fear, without reverence. Here were grey hairs, that
were hidden, or painted. The world was still here, and she tottering on
it, and clinging to it with her crutch. For fourscore years she had
moved on it, and eaten of the tree, forbidden and permitted. She had
had beauty, pleasure, flattery : but what secret rages, disappointments,
defeats, humiliations ! what thorns under the roses ! what stinging bees
in the fruit! " You are not a beauty, my dear," she would say to my
wife :" "and may thank your stars that you are not." (If she contra-
dicted herself in her talk, I suppose the rest of us occasionally do the
like.) " Don't tell me that your husband is pleased with your face, and
you want no one else's admiration ! We all do. Every woman would
rather be beautiful, than be anything else in the world — ever so rich, or
«ver so good, or have all the gifts of the fairies ! Look at that picture,
though 1 know 'tis but a bad one, and that stupid vapouring Kneller
could not paint my eyes, nor my air, nor my complexion. What a
«hape I had then — and look at me now, and this wrinkled old neck !
Why have we such a short time of our beauty ? I remember Made-
moiselle de I'Enclos at a much greater age than mine, quite fresh and
well conserved. We can't hide our ages. They are wrote in Mr.
€ollins's books for us. I was born in the last year of King James's
reign. I am not old yet. I am but seventy-six. But what a wreck,
my dear : and isn't it cruel that our time should be so short ? "
Here my wife has to state the incontrovertible proposition, that the
time of all of us is short here below.
" Ha ! " cries the Baroness, " Did not Adam live near a thousand
years, and was not Eve beautiful all the time ? I used to perplex Mr.
T.usher with that — poor creature! What have we done since, that our
lives are so much lessened, I say ? "
'* Has your life been so happy that you would prolong it ever so much
more ?" asks the Baroness's auditor. " Have you, who love wit, never
read Dean Swift's famous description of the deathless people in * Gul-
liver'? My Papa and my husband say 'tis one of the finest and most
awful sermons ever wrote. It were better not to live at all, than to live
without love ; and I'm sure," says my wife, putting her handkerchief
to her eyes, "should anything happen to my dearest George, I would
wish to go to heaven that moment."
*' Who loves me in heaven ? I am quite alone, child — that is why I
had rather stay here," says the Baroness, in a frightened and rather
THE VIRGINIANS. t.93
piteous tone. " You are kind to me, God bless your sweet face I
Though I scold, and have a frightful temper, my servants will do
anything to make me comfortable, and get up at any hour of the night,
and never say a cross word in answer. I like my cards still. Indeed,
life would be a blank without 'em. Almost everything is gone except
that. I can't eat my dinner now, since I lost those last two teeth.
Everything goes away from us in old age. But I still have my cards —
thank Heaven, I still have my cards ! " And here she would begin to
doze ; waking up, however, if my wife stirred or rose, and imagining
that Theo was about to leave her. " Don't go away, I can't bear to be
alone. I don't want you to talk. But I like to see your face, my dear !
It is much pleasanter than that horrid old Brett's, that I have had
scowling about my bed-room these ever so long years."
" Well, Baroness ! still at your cribbage ? " (We may fancy a noble
Countess interrupting a game at cards between Theo and Aunt Bern-
stein.) "Me and my lord Esmond have come to see you! Go and
shake hands with Grand-aunt, Esmond ! and tell her ladyship that your
lordship's a good boy ! "
*' My lordship's a good boy," says the child. (Madam Theo used to
act these scenes for me in a very lively way.)
" And if he is, I guess he don't take after hia father," shrieks out
Lady Castlewood. She chose to fancy that Aunt Bernstein was deaf,
and always bawled at the old lady.
" Your ladyship chose my nephew for better or for worse," says Aunt
Bernstein, who was now always very much Hurried in the presence of
the young Countess.
" But he is a precious deal worse than ever I thought he was. I am
speaking of your Pa, Ezzy. If it wasn't for your mother, my son, Lord
knows what would become of you ! We are a-going to see his little
royal Highness. Sorry to see your ladyship not looking quite so well
to-day. We can't always remain young : and law, how we do chango
as we grow old ! Go up and kiss that lady, Ezzy. She has got a little
bo}', too. Why, bless us! Have you got the child down stairs?"
Indeed, Master Miles was down below, for special reasons accompanying
his mother on her visits to Aunt Bernstein sometimes ; and our Aunt
desired the mother's company so much, that she was actually fain to
put up with the child. *' So you have got the child here ? O, you sly-
boots!" says the Countess. "Guess you come after the old lady's
money ! Law bless you ! Don't look so frightened. She can't hear a
single word I say. Come, Ezzy. Good bye. Aunt ! " And my lady
Countess rustles out of the room.
Did Aunt Bernstein hear her or not ? Where was the wit for which
the old lady had been long famous ? and was that fire put out, as well
as the brilliancy of her eyes ? With other people she was still ready
enough, and unsparing of her sarcasms. When the Dowager of Castle-
wood and Lady Fanny visited her (these exalted ladies treated my wife
with perfect indifference and charming good breeding)— the Baroness, in
Q Q
694 THE VIRGINIANS.
their society, was stately, easy, and even commanding. She would
mischievously caress Mrs. "Warrington before them; in her absence,
vaunt my wife's good breeding ; say that her nephew had made a foolish,
match perhaps, but that I certainly had taken a charming wife. " In a
word, I praise you so to them, my dear," says she, " that I think they
would like to tear your eyes out." But, before the little American, 'tis
certain that she was uneasy and trembled. She was so afraid, tbat she
actually did not dare to deny her door ; and, the Countess's back turned,
did not even abuse her. However much they might dislike ber, my
ladies did not tear out Theo's eyes. Once they drove to our cottage at
Lambeth, where my wife happened to be sitting at the open window,
holding her child on her knee, and in full view of her visitors. A
gigantic footman strutted through our little garden, and delivered their
ladyships' visiting tickets at our door. Their hatred hurt us no more
tban their visit pleased us. When next we had the loan of our friend
the Brewer's carriage, Mrs. "Warrington drove to Kensington, and
Gumbo handed over to the giant our cards in return for those which his ,
noble mistresses had bestowed on us.
The Baroness had a coach, but seldom thought of giving it to us :
and would let Theo and her maid and baby start from Clarges Street in
the rain, with a faint excuse that she was afraid to ask her coachman to
take his horses out. But, twice on her return home, my wife was
frightened by rude fellows on the other side of "Westminster Bridge ;
and I fairly told my aunt that I should forbid Mrs. Warrington to go to
her, unless she could be brought home in safety ; so grumbling Jehu
had to drive his horses through the darkness. He grumbled at my
shillings: he did not know how few I had. Our poverty wore a pretty
decent face. My relatives never thought of relieving it, nor I of com-
plaining before them. I don't know how Sampson got a windfall of
guineas ; but, I remember, he brought me six once ; and they were
more welcome than any money I ever had in my life. He had been
looking into Mr. Miles's crib, as the child lay asleep ; and, when the
parson went away, I found the money in the baby's little rosy hand.
Yes, Love is best of all. I have many such benefactions registered in
my heart— precious welcome fountains springing up in desert places,
kind friendly lights cheering our despondency and gloom.
This worthy divine was willing enough to give as much of his
company as she chose to Madam de Bernstein, whether for cards or
Theology. Having known her ladyship for many years now, Sampson
could see, and averred to us that she was breaking fast ; and as he
spoke of her evidently increasing infirmities, and of the probability of
their fatal termination, Mr. S. would discourse to us in a very feeling
manner of the necessitj-- for preparing for a future world ; of the vanities
of this, and of the hope that in another there might be happiness for all
repentant sinners.
"I have been a sinner for one," says the Chaplain, bowing his head,
«' God kuoweth, and I pray Him to pardon mo. I fear, sir, your aunt>
THE VmOINIANS. 595
the Lady Baroness, is not in sueli a state of mind as will fit her very
well for the change which is imminent, x- 1 am but a poor weak wretch,
and no prisoner in Newgate could confess that more humbly and heartily.
Once or twice of late, I have sought to speak on this matter with her
ladyship, but she has received me very roughly. * Parson,' says she,
* if you come for cards, 'tis mighty well, but I will thank you to spare
me your sermons.' What can I do, sir ? I have called more than once
of late, and Mr. Case hath told me his lady was unable to see me ; in
fact Madame Bernstein told my wife, whom she never refused, as I said,
that the poor Chaplain's ton was unendurable, and as for his Theology,
* Haven't I been a Bishop's wife'? says she, 'and do I want this
creature to teach me ?' "
The old lady was as impatient of doctors as of divines ; pretending
that my wife was ailing, and that it was more convenient for our good
Doctor Heberden to visit her in Clarges Street than to travel all the
way to our Lambeth lodgings, we got Dr. H. to see Theo at our aunt's
house, and prayed him if possible to offer his advice to the Baroness :
we made Mrs. Brett, her woman, describe her ailments, and the Doctor
confirmed our opinion that they were most serious, and might speedily end.
She would rally briskly enougl# of some evenings, and entertain a little
company ; but of late she scarcely went abroad at all. A somnolence
which we had remarked in her, was attributable in part to opiates
which she was in the habit of taking ; and she used these narcotics to
smother habitual pain. One night, as we two sat with her (Mr. Miles
was weaned by this time, and his mother could leave him to the charge
of our faithful Molly), she fell asleep over her cards. We hushed the
servants who came to lay out the supper table (she would alwavs have
this luxurious, nor could any injunction of ours or the Doctor s teach
her abstinence), and we sat a while as we had often done before, wait-
ing in silence till she should arouse from her doze.
When she awoke she looked fixedly at me for a while, fumbled with
the cards, and . dropt them again in her lap, and said, *' Henry, have I
been long asleep?" I thought at first that it was for my brother she
mistook me ; but she went on quickly, and with eyes fixed as upon some
very far distant object, and said, *' My dear, 'tis of no use, I am no
good enough for you. I love cards, and play and court ; and oh, Harry,
you don't know all ! " Here her voice changed, and she flung her head
up. *' His father married Anne Hyde, and sure the Esmond blood is as
good as any that's not royal. Mamma, you must please to treat me with
more respect. Yos sermons me fatiguent ; entendez-vous ? — faites place
h. mon Altesse royal : mesdames, me connaissez-vous ? je suis la ."
Here she broke out into frightful hysterical shrieks and laughter, and
as we ran up to her alarmed, " Oui, Henri," she says, *'Ha juiede
m'6pouser et les princes tiennent parole — n'est-ce pas ? Oh ! oui, ils
tiennent parole ; si non, tu le tueras, cousin ; tu le ah ! que je suis
f jlle ! " and the pitiful shrieks and laughter recommenced — ere her
I'rightened people had come up to her summons, the poor thing had
Q Q 2
THE VIRGINIANS.
passed out of this mood into another ; but always labouring under the
same delusion — that I was the Henry of past times, who had loved her
and had been forsaken by her, whose bones were lying far away by the
banks of the Potomac.
My wife and the women put the poor lady to bed as I ran myself for
medical aid. She rambled, still talking wildly, through the nighty
with her nurses and the surgeon sitting by her. Then she fell into a
sleep, brought on by more opiate. When she awoke, her mind did not
actually wander ; but her speech was changed, and one arm and side
were paralysed.
'Tis needless to relate the progress and termination of her malady, op
watch that expiring flame of life as it gasps and flickers. Her senses
would remain with her for a while (and then she was never satisfied
unless Theo was by her bedside) or again her mind would wander, and
the poor decrepit creature, lying upon her bed, would imagine herself
young again, and speak incoherently of the scenes and incidents of her
early days. Then she would address me as Henry again ; and caU
upon me to revenge some insult or slight, of which (whatever my suspi-
cions might be) the only record lay in her insane memory. " They have
always been so," she would murmur, "tjiey never loved man or woman
but they forsook them. Je me vengerai, oui, je me vengerai ! I
know them all : I know them all : and I will go to my Lord Stair with
the list. Don't tell me ! His religion can't be the right one. I will
go back to my mother's, though she does not love me. She never did.
Why don't you, mother ? Is it because I am too wicked? Ah ! Pitie,
Piti6, mon pfere ! I will make my confession" — and here the unhappy
paralysed lady made as if she would move in her bed.
Let us draw the curtain round it. I think with awe still, of those
rapid words, uttered in the shadow of the canopy, as my pallid wife sits
by, her Prayer-book on her knee ; as the attendants move to and fro
noiselessly ; as the clock ticks without, and strikes the fleeting hours ;
as the sun falls upon the Kneller picture of Beatrix in her beauty, with
the blushing cheeks, the smiling lips, the waving auburn tresses, and
the eyes which seem to look towards the dim figure moaning in the bed.
I could not for a while understand why our aunt's attendants were so
anxious that we should quit it. But towards evening, a servant stole
in, and whispered her woman ; and then Brett, looking rather disturbed,
begged ns to go down stairs, as the — as the Doctor was come to visit the
Baroness. I did not tell my wife at the time, who " the Doctor" was ;
but as the gentleman slid by us, and passed up stairs, I saw at once
that he was a Catholic Ecclesiastic. When Theo next saw our poor
lady, she was speechless ; she never recognised any one about her, and
so passed unconsciously out of life. During her illness her relatives had
called assiduously enough, though she would see none of them save
us. But when she was gone, and we descended to the lower rooms
after all was over, we found Castlewood with his white face, and my
lady from Kensington, and Mr. Will, already assembled in the
THE VmGIXIAXS. 597
parlour. They looked greedily at us as we appeared. They were
hungry for the prey.
When our aunt's will was opened, we found it was dated five years
back, and everything she had was left to her dear nephew, Henry
Esmond Warrington of Castle wood in Virginia, " in affectionate love
and remembrance of the name which he bore." The property was not
^reat. Her revenue had been, derived from pensions from the Crown as
it appeared (for what services I cannot say), but the pension of course
died with her, and there were only a few hundred pounds, besides
jewels, trinkets, and the furniture of the house in Clarges Street, of
which all London came to the sale. Mr. Walpole bid for her portrait,
but I made free with Harry's money so far as to buy the picture in :
and it now hangs over the mantel-piece of the chamber in which I
write. What with je\^els, laces, trinkets, and old china which she had
gathered— Harry became possessed of more than four thousand pounds
by his aunt's legacy. I made so free as to lay my hand upon a
hundred, which came, just as my stock was reduced to twenty pounds;
^nd I procured bills for the remainder, which I forwarded to Captain
Henry Esmond in Yirginia. Nor should I have scrupled to take more
(for my brother was indebted to me in a much greater sum), but he
wrote me there was another wonderful opportunity for buying an estate
and negroes in our neighbourhood at home ; and Theo and I were only
too glad to forego our little claim, so as to establish our brother's
fortune. As to mine, poor Harry at this time did not know the state of
it. My mother had never informed him that she had ceased remitting
to me. She helped him with a considerable sum, the result of her
savings, for the purchase of his new estate ; and Theo and I were most
heartily thankful at his prosperity.
And how strange ours was ! By what curious good fortune, as our
purse was emptied, was it filled again ! 1 had actually come to the end
of our stock, when poor Sampson brought me his six pieces — and with
these I was enabled to carry on, until my half-year's salary, as young
Mr. Foker's Governor, was due : then Harry's hundred, on which I
laid main basse, helped us over three months (we were behind-hand
with our rent, or the money would have lasted six good weeks longer) :
and when this was pretty near expended, what should arrive but a bill
of exchange for a couple of hundred pounds from Jamaica, with ten
thousand blessings from the dear friends there, and fond scolding from
the General that we had not sooner told him of our necessity— of which
he had only heard through our friend Mr. Foker, who spoke in such
terms of Theo and myself as to make our parents more than ever proud
of their children. Was my quarrel with my mother irreparable 't Let
me go to Jamaica. There was plenty there for all, and employment
which his Excellency as Governor would immediately procure for me.
THE VIRGINIANS.
** Come to us ! " writes Hetty. *' Come to us ! " writes Aunt Lambert.
** Have my children been suflfering poverty, and we rolling in our
Excellency's coach, with guards to turn out whenever we pass ? Has
Charley been home to you for ever so many holidays, from the Chart-
reux, and had ever so many of my poor George's half-crowns in his
pocket, I dare say" (this was indeed the truth, for where was he to go
for holidays but to his sister ? and was there any use in telling the
child how scarce half-crowns were with us ?) ** And you always treat-
ing him with such goodness, as his letters tell me, which are brim-full
of love for George and little Miles ! Oh, how we long to see Miles I '^
wrote Hetty and her mother ; " and as for his godfather'^ (writes Het)^
*' who has been good to my dearest and her child, I promise him a kiss
whenever I see him I "
Our young benefactor was never to hear of our family's love and
gratitude to him. That glimpse of his bright face over the railings
before our house at Lambeth, as he rode away on his little horse, was
the last we ever were to have of him. At Christmas a basket comes tO'
us, containing a great turkey, and three brace of partridges, with a
card, and '■^ shot hy M. PF." wrote on one of them. And on receipt
of this present, we wrote to thank the child, and gave him our sister'a
To this letter, there came a reply from Lady "Warrington, who said
she was bound to inform me, that in visiting me her child had been
guilty of disobedience, and that she learned his visit to me now for the
first time. Knowing my views regarding duty to my parents (which I
had exemplified in my marriage), she could not wish her son to adopt
them. And fervently hoping that I might be brought to see the errors
of my present course, she took leave of this most unpleasant suhjecty
subscribing herself, &c., &c. And we got this pretty missive as sauce-
for poor Miles's turkey, which was our family feast for New Tear's<
Day. My Lady Warrington's letter choked our meal, though Sampson
and Charley rejoiced over it.
Ah me ! Ere the month was over, our little friend was gone from
amongst us. Going out shooting, and dragging his gun through a
hedge after him, the trigger caught in a bush, and the poor little man
was brought home to his father's house, only to live a few days and
expire in pain and torture. Under the yew-trees yonder, I can see the
vault which covers him, and where my bones one day no doubt will be
laid. And over our pew at church, my children have often wistfully
spelt the touching epitaph in which Miles's heart-broken father has
inscribed Ms grief and love for his only son.
THE VIRGINIANS.
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
IS WHICH HAEEY STJBIIITS TO THE COZvIMOX Lv/f.
Habd times were now over with me, and I had to battle with poverty
no more. My little kinsman's death made a vast ditierenee in my worldly
prospects. I became next heir to a good estate. My uncle and his wiio
were not likely to have more children. *' The woman is capable of com-
mitting any crime to disappoint you," Sampson vowed ; but, in truth,
my Lady Warrington was guilty of no such treachery. Cruelly smitten
by the stroke which fell upon them. Lady Warrington was taught by her
religious advisers to consider it as a chastisement of Heaven, and submit
to the Divine Will. "Whilst your son lived, your heart was turned
away from the better world " (her clergyman told her), " and your lady-
ship thought too much of this. For your son's advantage you desired
rank and title. You asked and might have obtained an earthly coronet.
Of what avail is it now, to one who has but a few years to pass upon
earth — of what importance compared to the heavenly crown, for which
you are an assured candidate 1 " The accident caused no little sensation.
In the chapels of that enthusiastic sect, towards which, after her son's
death, she now more than ever inclined ; many sermons were preached
bearing reference to the event. Far be it from me to question the course
which the bereaved mother pursued, or to regard with other than respect
and sympathy any unhappy soul seeking that refuge whither sin and
grief and disappointment fly for consolation. Lady Warriugton even
tried a reconciliation with myself. A year after her loss, being in Lon-
don, she signilied that she would see me, and I waited on her ; and she
gave me, in her usual didactic way, a homily upon my position and her
own. She marvelled at the decree of Heaven, which had permitted, and
how dreadfully punished ! her poor child's disobedience to her — a dis-
obedience by which I was to profit. (It appeared my poor little man had
disobeyed orders, and gone out with his gun, unknown to his mother.)
She hoped that, should I ever succeed to the property, though the War-
ringtons were, thank Heaven, a long-lived family, except in my own
father's case, whose life had been curtailed by the excesses of a very ill-
regulated youth, — but should I ever succeed to the family estate and
honours, she hoped, she prayed, that my present course of life might be
altered ; that I should part from my unworthy associates ; that I should
discontinue all connection with the horrid theatre and its licentious fre-
quenters ; that I should turn to that quarter where only peace was to be
had ; and to those sacred duties which she feared — she very much feared
— that I had neglected. She filled her exhortation with Scripture lan-
guage, which I do not care to imitate. When I took my leave she gave
me a packet of sermons for Mrs. Warrington, and a little book of hymns
600 THE VIEGINIANS.
by Miss Dora, who has been eminent in that society of which she and her
mother became avowed professors subsequently, and who, after the dow-
ager's death, at Bath, three years since, married young Mr. Juffles, a
celebrated preacher. The poor lady forgaye me then, but she could not
bear the sight of our boy. AYe lost our second child, and then my aunt
and her daughter came eagerly enough to the poor suffering mother, and
even invited us hither. But my uncle was now almost every day in our
house. He would sit for hours looking at our boy. He brought him
endless toys and sweetmeats. He begged that the child might call him
Godpapa. When we felt our own grief (which at times still, and after
the lapse of five-and-twenty years, strikes me as keenly as on the
day when we first lost our little one) — when I felt my own grief, I
knew how to commiserate his. But my wife could pity him before
she knew what it was to lose a child of her own. The mother's
anxious heart had already divined the pang which was felt by the
sorrow-stricken father ; mine, more selfish, has only learned pity from
experience, and I was reconciled to my uncle by my little babv's coffin.
The poor man sent his coach to follow the humble funeral, and after-
wards took out little Miles, who prattled to him unceasingly, and forgot
any grief he might have felt in the delights of his new black clothes,
and the pleasures of the airing. How the innocent talk of the child
stabbed the mother's heart ! Would we ever wish that it should heal of
that wound ? I know her face so well that, to this day, I can tell when,
sometimes, she is thinking of the loss of that little one. It is not a
grief for a parting so long ago ; it is a communion with a soul we love in
Heaven.
We came back to our bright lodgings in Bloomsbury soon afterwards,
and my young bear, whom I could no longer lead, and who had taken
a prodigious friendship for Charley, went to the Chartreux School,
where his friend took care that he had no more beating than was good
for him, and where (in consequence of the excellence of his private
tutor, no doubt) he took and kept a good place. And he liked the school
so much, that he says, if ever he has a son, he shall be sent to that
seminary.
Now, I could no longer lead my bear, for this reason, that I had other
business to follow. Being fully reconciled to us, I do believe, for Mr.
Miles's sake, my uncle (who was such an obsequious supporter of go-
vernment, that I wonder the minister ever gave him anything, being
perfectly sure of his vote) used his influence in behalf of his nephew and
heir ; and I had the honour to be gazetted as one of his Majesty's Com-
missioners for licensing hackney-coaches, a post I filled, I trust, with
credit, until a quarrel with the minister (to be mentioned in its proper
place) deprived me of that one. I took mj'' degree also at the Temple,
and appeared in Westminster Hall in my gown and wig. And, this
year, my good friend, Mr. Foker, having business at Paris, 1 had the
pleasure of accompanying him thither, where I was received a bras
cuverts by my dear American preserver, Monsieur de Florae, who iutro-
THE VIRGCrlANS. 601
duced me to his noble family, and to even more of the polite society
of the capital than I had leisure to frequent ; for I had too much
spirit to desert my kind patron, Foker, -whose acquaintance lay
chiefly amongst the bourgeoisie, especially with Monsieur Santerre, a
great brewer of Paris, a scoundrel who hath since distinguished himself
in blood and not beer. Mr. F. had need of my services as interpreter,
and I was too glad that he should command them, and to be able to pay
back some of the kindness which he had rendered to me. Our ladies,
meanwhile, were residing at Mr. Foker's new villa at Wimbledon, and
were pleased to say that they were amused with the ** Parisian letters "
which I sent to them, through my distinguished friend Mr. Hume, then
of the Embassy, and which subsequently have been published in a neat
volume.
Whilst I was tranquilly discharging my small oificial duties in Lon-
don, those troubles were commencing which were to end in the great
separation between our colonies and the mother country. When Mr.
Orenville proposed his stamp duties, I said to my wife that the bill
would create a mighty discontent at home, for we were ever anxious to
get as much as we could from England, and pay back as little ; but
assuredly I never anticipated the prodigious anger which the scheme
created. It was with us as with families or individuals. A pretext is
given for a quarrel : the real cause lies in long bickerings and previous
animosities. Many foolish exactions and petty tyrannies, the habitual
insolence of Englishmen towards all foreigners, all colonists, all folk
who dare to think their rivers as good as our Abana and Pharpar ; the
natural spirit of men outraged by our imperious domineering spirit, set
Britain and her colonies to quarrel ; and the astonishing blunders of the
system adopted in England brought the quarrel to an issue, which I, for
one, am not going to deplore. Had I been in Virginia instead of Lon-
don, 'tis very possible I should have taken the provincial side, if out
of mere opposition to that resolute mistress of Castle wood, who might
have driven me into revolt, as England did the colonies. Was the
Stamp Act the cause of the revolution? — a tax no greater than that
cheerfully paid in England. Ten years earlier, when the French were
within our territory, and we were imploring succour from home, would
the colonies have rebelled at the payment of this tax ? Do not most
people consider the tax-gatherer the natural enemy ? Against the
British in America there were arrayed thousands and thousands of the
high-spirited and brave, but there were thousands more who found their
profit in the quarrel, or had their private reasons for engaging in it. I
protest I don't know now whether mine were selfish or patriotic, or which
side was in the right, or whether both were not ? I am Sure we in
England had nothing to do but to fight the battle out; and, having lost
the game, I do vow and believe that, after the first natural soreness, the
loser felt no rancour.
What made brother Hal write home from Virginia, which he seemed
exceedingly loth to quit, such flaming patriotic letters ? My kind best
602 THE VIRGXrrrANS.
brother was always led by somebody ; by me when we were together (he
had such an idea of my wit and wisdom, that if I said the day was
fine, he would ponder over the observation as though it was one of the
sayings of the Seven Sages), by some other wiseacre when I was away.
"Who inspired these flaming letters, this boisterous patriotism, which he
sent to us in London ? *' He is rebelling against Madam Esmond," said
I. ** He is led by some colonial person — by that lady, perhaps," hinted
my wife. "Who "that lady" was Hal never had told us ; and, indeed,
besought me never to allude to the delicate subject in my letters to him ;
"for Madam wishes to see 'em all, and I wish to say nothing about you
know what until the proper moment," he wrote. No affection could be
greater than that which his letters showed. When he heard (from the
informant whom I have mentioned) that in the midst of my own
extreme straits I had retained no more than a hundred pounds out of
his aunt's legacy, he was for mortgaging the estate which he had just
bought ; and had more than one quarrel with his mother in my behalf,
and spoke his mind with a great deal more franicness than I should
ever have ventured to show. Until her angry recriminations (when
she charged him with ingratitude, after having toiled and saved so
much and so long for him), the poor fellow did not know that our mother
had cut off my supplies to advance his interests ; and by the time this
news came to him his bargains were made, and I was fortunately quite
out of want.
Every scrap of paper which we ever wrote, our thrifty parent at
Castlewood taped and docketed and put away. We boys were more
careless about our letters to one another: I especially, who perhaps
chose rather to look down upon my younger brother's literary perform-
ances; but my wife is not so supercilious, and hath kept no small number
of Harry's letters, as well as those of the angelic being whom we were
presently to call sister.
" To think whom he has chosen, and whom he might have had !
'tis cruel ! " cries my wife, when we got that notable letter in which
Harry first made us acquainted with the name of his charmer.
" She was a very pretty little maid when I left home, she may be a
perfect beauty now," I remarked, as I read over the longest letter
Harry ever wrote on private affairs.
" But is she to compare to my Hetty ? " says Mrs. Warrington.
"We agreed that Hetty and Harry were not to be happy together,
my love," say I.
Theo gives her husband a kiss. "My dear, I wish they had tried,"
she says with a sigh. " I was afraid lest — lest Hetty should have led
him, you "Bee : and I think she hath the better head. But, from read-
ing this, it appears that the new lady has taken command of poor
Harry," and she hands me the letter.
" My dearest George hath been prepared by previous letters to under-
stand how a certain lady has made a conquest of my heart, which I
have given away in exchange for something infinitely more valuable.
THE VIKGlKIAls^S.
nat7ielj/f her oivn. She is at my side as I "write this letter, and if there
is no bad spelling such as you often used to laugh at, 'tis because I
have my pretty dictionary at hand, which makes no fault in the longest
word, nor in anything else I know of: being of opinion that she is
perfection.
" As Madam Esmond saw all your letters, I writ you not to give any
hint of a certain delicate matter — but now His no secret^ and is known
to all the country. Mr. George is not the only one of our family who
has made a secret marriage, and been scolded by his mother. As a
dutiful younger brother I have followed his example ; and now I may
tell you how this mighty event came about.
** I had not been at home long before I saw my fate was accomplisht,
I will not tell you how beautiful Miss Fanny Mountain had grown since
I had been away in Europe. She saith, * You never will think so,^ and
I am glad, as she is the only thing in life I would grudge to my dearest
brother.
*'That neither Madam Esmond nor my other mother (as Mountain is
now) should have seen our mutual attachment, is a wonder — only to be
accounted for by supposing that love makes other folks blind. Mine for
my Fanny was increased by seeing what the treatment was she had from
Madam Esmond, who indeed was very rough and haughty with her,
which my love bore with a sweetness perfectly angelic (this I will say,
though she will order me not to write any such nonsense). She was
scarce better treated than a servant of the house — indeed our negroes
can talk much more free before Madam Esmond than ever my Fanny
could.
*' And yet my Fanny says she doth not regret Madam's unkindness,
as without it I possibly never should have been what I am to her. 0,
dear brother ! when I remember how great your goodness hath been,
how, in my own want, you paid my debts, and rescued me out of
prison ; how you have been living in poverty which never need have
occurred but for my fault ; how you might have paid yourself back my
just debt to you and would not, preferring my advantage to your own
comfort, indeed I am lost at the thought of such goodness ; and ought I
not to be thankful to Heaven that hath given me such a wife and such
a brother !
"When I writ to you requesting you to send me my aunt's legacy
money, for which indeed I had the most profitable and urgent occasion,
I had no idea that you were yourself suffering poverty. That you, the
head of our family, should condescend to be governor to a brewer's son !
— that you should have to write for booksellers (except in so far as
your own genius might prompt you) never once entered my mind, until
Mr. Foker's letter came to us, and this would never have been shown —
for Madam kept it secret — had it not been for the difference which
sprang up between us.
" Poor Tom Biggie's estate and negroes being for sale, owing to
Tom's losses and extravagance at play, and his father's debts before him
604 THE VIRGINIANS.
— Madam Esmond saw here was a great opportunity of making a pro-
vision for me, and that with six thousand pounds for the farm and
stock, I should be put in possession of as pretty a property as falls to
most younger sons in this country. It lies handy enough to llichmond,
between Kent and Hanover Court House — the mansion nothing for
elegance compared to ours at Castlewood, but the land excellent and the
people extraordinary healthy.
*' Here was a second opportunity, Madam Esmond said, such as never
might again befal. By the sale of my commissions and her own savings
I might pay more than half of the price of the property, and get the
rest of the money on mortgage ; though here, where money is scarce to
procure, it would have been difficult and dear. At this juncture, with
our new relative, Mr. Van den Bosch, bidding against us (his agent is
wild that we should have bought the property over him), my aunt's
legacy most opportunely fell in. And now I am owner of a good house
and negroes in my native country, shall be called, no doubt, to our
House of Burgesses, and hope to see my dearest brother and family
under my own roof-tree. To sit at my own fireside, to ride my own
horses to my own hounds, is better than going a-soldiering, now war is
over, and there are no French to fight. Indeed, Madam Esmond made
a condition that I should leave the army, and live at home, when she
brought me her £1750 of savings. She had lost one son, she said, who
ohose to write play-books, and live in England— let the other stay with
, her at home.
"But, after the purchase of the estate was made, and my papers for
selling out were sent home, my mother would have had me marry a
person of her choosing, but by no means of mine. You remember Miss
Betsy Pitts at Williamsburgh ? She is in no wise improved by having
had her face dreadfully scarred with small-pock, and though Madam
Esmond saith the young lady hath every virtue, I own her virtues did
not suit me. Her eyes do not look straight ; she hath one leg shorter
than another ; and, 0, brother ! didst thou never remark Fanny's ankles
when we were boys ? Neater I never saw at the Opera.
" Now, when 'twas agreed that I should leave the army, a certain
dear girl (canst thou guess her name ?) one day, when we were private,
burst into tears of such happiness, that I could not but feel immensely
touched by her sympathy.
'* ' Ah ! ' says she, * do you think, sir, that the idea of the son of my
revered benefactress going to battle doth not inspire me with terror ?
Ah, Mr. Henry ! do you imagine I have no heart ? When Mr, George
was with Braddock, do you fancy we did not pray for him ? And when
you were with Mr. Wolfe— I '
'* Here the dear creature hid her eyes in her handkerchief, and had
hard work to prevent her mamma, who came in, from seeing that she
was crying. But my dear Mountain declares that, though she might
have fancied, might have prayed in secret for such a thing (she owns to
that now), she never imagined it for one moment. Nor, indeed, did Tjy
THE VIRGINIANS. 605
good mother, who supposed that Sam Lintot, the apothecary's lad at
Kichmond, was Eanny's flame — an absurd fellow that I near kicked into
James River.
*' But when the commission was sold, and the estate bought, what
does Fanny do but fall into a deep melancholy ? I found her crying,
one day, in her mother's room, where the two ladies had been at work
trimming hats for my negroes.
"'What! crying, miss?' says I. * Has my mother been scolding
you?'
"'No,' says the dear creature. 'Madam Esmond has been kind
to-day.'
" And her tears drop down on a cockade which she is sewing on to a
hat for Sady, who is to be head-groom.
" * Then why, miss, are those dear eyes so red ?' say I.
" * Because I have the toothache,' she says, * or because — because I
am a fool.' Here she fairly bursts out. * 0, Mr. Harry ! 0, Mr. War-
rington ! You are going to leave us, and 'tis as well. You will take
your place in your country, as becomes you. You will leave us poor
women in our solitude and dependence. You will come to visit us from
time to time. And when you are happy, and honoured, and among
your gay companions, you will remember your . . . .'
" Here she could say no more, and hid her face with one hand as I,
I confess, seized the other.
"* Dearest, sweetest Miss Mountain!' says I. * 0, could I think
that the parting from me has brought tears to those lovely eyes!
Indeed, I fear, I should be almost happy! Let them look upon
your . . . .*
*' * O, sir ! * cries my charmer ; * 0, Mr. Warrington ! consider who I
am, sir, and who you are! Remember the difference between us!
Release my hand, sir ! What would Madam Esmond say if — if . , . .'
If what, I don't know, for here our mother was in the room.
"'What would Madam Esmond say?' she cries out. * She would
say that you are an ungrateful, artful, false, little . . . .'
jm. ** ' Madam ! * says I.
W ** ' Yes, an ungrateful, artful, false, little wretch I * cries out my
mother. * For shame, miss ! What would Mr. Lintot say if he saw
you making eyes at the captain ? And for you, Harry, I will have
you bring none of your garrison-manners hither. This is a Christian
family, sir, and you will please to know that my house is not intended
for captains and their misses ! '
" * Misses ! mother, ' says I. * Gracious powers, do you ever venture
I for to call Miss Mountain by such a name ? Miss Mountain, the purest
' of her sex ! '
" ' The purest of her sex ! Can I trust my own ears ? ' asks Madam,
• turning very pale.
I mean that if a man would question her honour, I would Hing
him out of window,' says I.
606 THE YIRGINIANS.
** * You mean that you — your mother's son — are actually paying
honourable attentions to this young person ?'
*' * He would never dare to oiler any other ! ' cries my Fanny ; * nor
any woman but you, madam, to think so ! '
"*0! I didn't know, miss!' says mother, dropping her a fine
curtsey, * I didn't know the honour you were doing our family ! You
propose to marry with us, do you ? Do I understand Captain AVarring-
ton aright, that he intends to offer me Miss Mountain as a daughter-
in-law?'
*' * 'Tis to be seen, madam, that I have no protector, or you would not
insult me so ! ' cries my poor victim.
** * I should think the apothecary protection sufficient ! * says our
mother.
*' * J don't, mother!' I bawl out, for I was very angry; * and if
Lintot offers her any liberty, I'll brain him with his own pestle ! *
** ' ! if Lintot has withdrawn, sir, I suppose I must be silent. But
I did not know of the circumstance. He came hither, as I supposed,
to pay court to Miss ; and we all thought the match equal, and I
encouraged it.'
*''He came because I had the toothache!' cries my darling (and
indeed she had a dreadful had tooth. * And he took it out for her, and
there is no end to the suspicions and calumnies of women' ).
** * "What more natural than that he should marry my housekeeper's
daughter — 'twas a very suitable match!' continues madam, taking
snuff. 'But I confess,' she adds, going on, * I was not aware that you
intended to jilt the apothecary for my son ! '
'' * Peace, for Heaven's sake, peace, Mr. Warrington ! " cries my
angel.
<* < Pray, sir, before you fully make up your mind, had you not better
look round the rest of my family ? ' says madam. * Dinah is a fine tall
girl, and not very black; Cleopatra is promised to Ajax the Blacksmith,
to be sure ; but then we could break the marriage, you know. If with
an apothecary, why not with a blacksmith ? Martha's •husband has run
away, and — '
*'*Here, dear brother, I own I broke out a-swearing. I can't help
it ; but at times, when a man is angry, it do relieve him immensely.
I'm blest but I should have gone wild, if it hadn't been for them
oaths.
*< * Curses, blasphemy, ingratitude, disobedience !' says mother, leaning
now on her tortoiseshell stick, and then waving it — something like a
queen in a play. * These are my rewards ! ' says she. ' 0, Heaven,
what have I done, that I should merit this awful punishment ? and does
it please you to visit the sins of my fathers upon me r Where do my
children inherit their pride ? When I was young, had I any ? When
my papa bade me marry, did I refuse ? Did I ever think of disobeying ?
Ko, sir. My fault hath been, and I own it, that my love was centred
upon you, perhaps to the neglect of your elder brother.* (Indeed,
THE VIRGINIANS. 607
brother, there was some truth in. what madam said.) * I turned from
Esau, and I clung to Jacob. And now I have my reward, I have my
reward ! I fixed my vain thoughts on this world, and its distinctions.
To see my son advanced in worldly rank was my ambition. I toiled,
and spared, that I might bring him worldly wealth. I took unjustly
from my eldest son's portion, that my younger might profit. And that
I should live to see him seducing the daughter of my own housekeeper
under my own roof, and replying to my just anger with oaths and blas-
phemies ! '
** * I try to seduce no one, Madam,' I cried out. ' If I utter oaths and
blasphemies, I beg your pardon ; but you are enough to provoke a Saint
to speak 'em. I won't have this young lady's character assailed— no,
not by my own mother nor any mortal alive. No, dear Miss Mountain !
If Madam Esmond chooses to say that my designs on you are dishonour-
able, — let this undeceive her ! ' And, as I spoke, I went down on my
knees, seizing my adorable Fanny's hand. * And if you will accept this
heart and hand. Miss,' says I, * they are yours for ever.'
" * YoUf at least, I knew, sir,' says Fanny with a noble curtsey, 'never
said a word that was disrespectful to me, or entertained any doubt of my
honour. And I trust it is only Madam Esmond, in the world, who can
have such an opinion of me. After what your ladyship hath saad of me,
of course I can stay no longer in your house.'
*' *0f course. Madam, I never intended you should; and the sooner
you leave it the better,' cries our mother.
" ' If you are driven from my mother's house, mine. Miss, is at your
service,' says I, making her a low bow. * It is nearly ready now. If
you will take it and stay in it for ever, it is yours ! And as Madam
Esmond insulted your honour, at least let me do all in my power to
make a reparation I ' I don't know what more I exactly said, for you
may fancy I was not a Uttle flustered and excited by the scene. But
here Mountain came in, and my dearest Fanny, flinging herself into her
mother's arms, wept upon her shoulder ; whilst Madam Esmond, sitting
down in her chair, looked at us as pale as a stone. Whilst I was telling
my story to Mountain (who, poor thing, had not the least idea, not she,
that Miss Fanny and I had the slightest inclination for one another), I
could hear our mother once or twice still saying, * I am punished for my
crime ! '
"Now, what our mother meant by her crime I did not know at first, or
indeed take much heed of what she said ; for you knov/ her way, and
how, when she is angry, she always talks sermons. But Mountain told
me afterwards, when we had some talk together, as we did at the Tavern,
whither the ladies presently removed with their bag and baggage — for
not only would they not stay at Madam's house after the language she
used, but my mother determined to go away likewise. She called her
servants together, and announced her intention of going home instantly
to Castlewood ; and I own to you 'twas with a horrible pain I saw the
faxniij'-coach roll by, with six horses, and ever so many of the servants
608 THE VIRGINIANS.
on mules and on horseback, as I and Fanny loooked through the blind's
of the Tavern.
** After the words Madam used to my spotless Fanny, 'twas impossible
that the poor child or her motber should remain in our house : and in-
deed M. said that she would go back to her relations in England : and, a
ship bound homewards lying in James Eiver, she went and bargained
with the captain about a passage, so bent was she upon quitting the
country, and so little did she think of making a match between me
and my angel. But the cabin was mercifully engaged by a North
Carolina gentleman and his- family, and before the next ship sailed
(which bears this letter to my dearest George) they have agreed to
stop with me. Almost all the ladies in this neighbourhood have
waited on them. When the marriage takes place, I hope Madam
Esmond will be reconciled. My Fanny's father was a British officer;
and, sure, ours was no more. Some day, please Heaven, we shall
visit Europe : and the places where my wild oats were sown, and
where I committed so many extravagances from which my dear brother
rescued me.
" The ladies send you their affection and duty, and to my sister. We
hear his Excellency General Lambert is much beloved in Jamaica : and
I shall write to our dear friends there announcing my happiness. My
dearest brother will participate in it, and I am ever his grateful and
affectionate, ♦* H. E. W.
<<p.S. — Till Mountain told me, I had no more notion than the dferf
that Madam E. had actially stopt your allowances ; besides making you
pay for ever so much — near upon £1000 Mountain says — for goods, &c.,
provided for the Virginian proparty. Then there was all the charges
of me out of prison, which, I. 0, TJ. with all my hart» Draw upon
me, please, dearest brother — to any a^noMw^— addressing me to care of
Messrs. Horn and Sandon, Williamsburg, privit ; who remitt by present
occasion a bill for £225, payable by their London agents on demand.
Please donH aeknolledge this in answering : as there's no good in
hotharing women with accounts : and with the extra £5 by a capp ot
what she likes for my dear sister, and a toy for my nephew from
Uncle HaV
The conclusion to which we came on the perusal of this document
was, that the ladies had superintended the style and spelling of my
poor Hal's letter, but that the postscript was added without their know-
ledge. And I am afraid we argued' that the Virginian Squire was under
female domination — as Hercules, Samson, and /or^e* multi had been
before him.
THE VIRGINIANS. 6^;
CHAPTEE LXXXy.
XNVENI POETUiti
When my mother heard of my acceptance of a place at home, I think
she was scarcely well pleased. She may have withdrawn her supplies
in order to starve me into a surrender, and force me to return with my
family to Virginia, and to dependence under her. We never, up to her
dying day, had any explanation on the pecuniary dispute between us.
She cut off my allowances: I uttered not a word ; but managed to live
without her aid. I never heard that she repented of her injustice, or ac-
knowledged it, except from Harry's private communication to me. In after
days, when we met, by a great gentleness in her behaviour, and an un-
common respect and affection shown to my wife, Madam Esmond may
liave intended I should understand her tacit admission that she had been
wrong ; but she made no apology, nor did I ask one. Harry being pro-
vided for (whose welfare I could not grudge), all my mother's savings
and economical schemes went to my advantage, who was her heir. Time
was when a few guineas would have been more useful to me than hun-
dreds which might come to me when I had no need ; but when Madam
Esmond and I met, the period of necessity was long passed away ; I had
no need to scheme ignoble savings, or to grudge the doctor his fee : I
had plenty, and she could but bring me more. No doubt she suffered in
her own mind to think that my children had been hungry, and she had
offered them no food ; and that strangers had relieved the necessity
from which her proud heart had caused her to turn aside. Proud? Was
she prouder than I ? A soft word of explanation between us might
have brought about a reconciliation years before it came : but I would
never speak, nor did she. When I commit a wrong, and know it sub-
sequently, I love to ask pardon ; but 'tis as a satisfaction to my own
\)ride, and to myself I am apologising for having been wanting to myself,
^nd hence, I think (out of regard to that personage of ego), I scarce
ever could degrade myself to do a meanness. How do men feel whose
whole lives (and many men's lives are) are lies, schemes, and subter-
fuges ? What sort of company do they keep, when they are alone ?
Daily in life I watch men whose every smile is an artifice, and every
wink is an hypocrisy. Doth such a fellow wear a mask in his own pri-
vacy, and to his own conscience ? If I choose to pass over an injury, I
fear 'tis not from a Christian and forgiving spirit : 'tis because I can
afford to remit the debt, and disdain to ask a settlement of it. One or
two sweet souls I have known in my life (and perhaps tried) to whom
forgiveness is no trouble, — a plant that grows naturally, as it were, in the
soil. I know how to remit, I say, not forgive. I wonder are we proud
men proud of being proud ?
B B
510 THE VIRGIMANS.
So I showed not the least sign of submission towards my parent in
Virginia yonder, and we continued for years to live in estrangement,
with occasionally a brief word or two (such as the announcement of the
birth of a child, or what not), passing between my wife and her. After
our first troubles in America about the Stamp Act, troubles fell on me
in London likewise. Though I have been on the Tory side in our
quarrel (as indeed upon the losing side in most controversies), having no
doubt that the Imperial government had a full right to levy taxes in the
colonies, yet at the time of the dispute I must publish a pert letter to a
member of the House of Burgesses in Yirginia, in which the question
of the habitual insolence of the mother country to the colonies was so
freely handled, and sentiments were uttered so disagreeable to persons
in power, that I was deprived of my place as hackney-coach licenser, to
the terror and horror of my uncle, who never could be brought to love
people in disgrace. He had grown to have an extreme affection for my
wife as well as my little boy ; but towards myself, personally, enter-
tained a kind of pitying contempt which always infinitely amused me.
He had a natural scorn and dislike for poverty, and a corresponding
love for success and good fortune. Any opinion departing at all from
the regular track shocked and frightened him, and all truth-telling
made him turn pale. He must have had originally some warmth of
heart and genuine love of kindred : for, spite of the dreadful shocks I
gave him, he continued to see Theo and the child (and me too, giving
me a mournful recognition when we met) ; and though broken-hearted
by my free-spokenness, he did not refuse to speak to me as he had done
at the time of our first differences, but looked upon me as a melancholy
lost creature, who was past all worldly help or hope. Never mind, I
must cast about for some new scheme of life ; and the repayment of
Harry's debt to me at this juncture enabled me to live at least for some
months even, or years to come. strange fatuity of youth ! I often
say. How was it that we dared to be so poor and so little cast down ?
At this time his Majesty's royal uncle of Cumberland fell down and
perished in a fit ; and, strange to say, his death occasioned a remarkable
change in my fortune. My poor Sir Miles Warrington never missed
any court ceremony to which he could introduce himself. He was at
all the drawing-rooms, christenings, balls, funerals of the court. If
ever a prince or princess was ailing, his coach was at their door :
Leicester Fields, Carlton House, Gunnersbury, were all the same to
him, and nothing must satisfy him now but going to the stout duke's
funeral. He caught a great cold and an inflammation of the throat
from standing bare-headed at this funeral in the rain : and one morning,
before almost I had heard of his illness, a lawyer waits upon me at my
lodgings in Bloomsbury, and salutes me by the name of Sir George
Warrington.
Poverty and fear of the future were over now. We laid the poor
gentleman by the side of his little son, in the family churchyard whero
so many of his race repose. Little Miles and I were the chief mourners.
THE VIEGIXIAXS. 611
An obsequious tenantry bowed and curtsied before us, and did their
utmost to conciliate my honour and my worship. The dowager and her
daughter withdrew to Bath presently; and I and my family took
possession of the house, of which I have been master for thirty years.
Be not too eager, 0, my son ! Have but a little patience, and I too
shall sleep under yonder yew-trees, and the people will be to^ng up
their caps for Sir Miles.
The records of a prosperous country life are easily and briefly told.
The steward's books show what rents were paid and forgiven, what crops
were raised, and in what rotation. What visitors came to us, and how
long they stayed : what pensioners my wife had, and how they were
doctored and relieved, and how they died : what year I was sheriff, and
how often the hounds met near us : all these are narrated in our house-
journals, "which any of my heirs may read who choose to take the
trouble. "We could not afford the fine mansion in Hill Street, which
my predecessor had occupied ; but we took a smaller house, in which,
however, "we spent more money. We made not half the show (with
liveries, equipages, and plate) for which my uncle had been famous;
but our beer was stronger, and my wife's charities were perhaps mere
costly than those of the Dowager Lady Warrington. No doubt she
thought there was no harm in spoiling the Philistines ; for she made us
pay unconscionably for the goods she left behind her in our country
house, and I submitted to most of her extortions with unutterable good
humour. What a value she imagined the potted plants in her green-
houses bore ! What a price she set upon that horrible old spinet she left
in her drawing-room! And the framed pieces of worsted- work, per-
formed by the accomplished Dora and the lovely Flora, had they been
masterpieces of Titian or Vandyck, to be sure my lady dowager could
hardly have valued them at a higher price. But though we paid so
generously, though we were, I may say without boast, far kinder to our
poor than ever she had been, for a while we had the very worst reputa-
tion in the county, where all sorts of stories had been told to my
discredit. I thought I might perhaps succeed to my uncle's seat in
Parliament, as well as to his landed property ; but I found, I knew not
how, that I was voted to be a person of very dangerous opinions. I
would not bribe. I would not coerce my own tenants to vote for me in
the election of '68. A gentleman came down from Whitehall with a
pocket-book full of bank notes ; and I found that I had no chance
against my competitor.
Bon Dieu! ISTow that we were at ease in respect of worldly means, —
now that obedient tenants bowed and curtsied as we went to chureli ;
that we drove to visit our friends, or to the neighbouring towns, in the
great family coach with the four fat horses ; did we not often regret
poverty, and the dear little cottage at Lambeth, where Want was ever
prowling at the door ? Did I not long to be bear-leading again, and
vow that translating for booksellers was not such very hard drudgery r
When we went to London, we made sentimental pilgrimages lo an our
p. R 2
61:1: THE YIIlGHsIAKS.
old haunts. I dare say my wife embraced all her landladies. You may
be sure we asked all the friends of those old times to share the comforts
of our new home with us. The Reverend Mr. Hagan and his lady
visited us more than once. His appearance in the pulpit at B
(where he preached very finely, as we thought) caused an awful scandal
there. Sampson came too, another unlucky Levite, and was welcome as
long as he would stay among us. Mr. Johnson talked of coming, but
he put us ojff once or twice. I suppose our house was dull. I know
that I myself would be silent for days, and fear that my moodiuesa
must often have tried the sweetest tempered woman in the world who
lived with me. I did not care for field sports. The killing one part-
ridge was so like killing another, that I wondered how men could pass
days after days in the pursuit of that kind of slaughter. Their fox-
hunting stories would begin at four o'clock, when the tablecloth was
removed, and last till supper- time. I sate silent, and listened: day
after day I fell asleep : no wonder I was not popular with my company.
"What admission is this I am making ? Here was the storm over, the
rocks avoided, the ship in port and the sailor not over-contented ?
Was Susan I had been sighing for during the voyage, not the beauty I
expected to find her ? In the first place, Susan and all the family can
look in her William's log-book, and so, Madam, I am not going to put
my secrets down there. No, Susan, Jpiiever had secrets from thee. I
never cared for another woman. I have seen more beautiful, but none
that suited me as well as your ladyship. I have met Mrs. Carter and
Miss Mulso, and Mrs, Thrale and Madam Kaufmann, and the angelical
Gunnings, and her Grace of Devonshire, and a host of beauties who
were not angelic, by any means ; and I was not dazzled by them. Nay,
young folks, I may have led your mother a weary life, and been a very
Bluebeard over her, but then I had no other heads in the closet. Only,
the first pleasure of taking possession of our kingdom over, I own I
began to be quickly tired of the crown. When the captain wears it,
his Majesty will be a very different Prince. He can ride a-hunting five
days in the week, and find the sport amusing. I believe he would hear
the same sermon at church fifty times, and not yawn more than I do at
the first delivery. But sweet Joan, beloved Baucis ! being thy faithful
husband and true lover always, thy Darby is rather ashamed of having
been testy so often ; and, being arrived at the consummation of
happiness, Philemon asks pardon for falling asleep so frequently after
dinner. There came a period of my life, when having reached the
summit of felicity I was quite tired of the prospect I had there: I
yawned in Eden, and said, " Is this all ? What, no lions to bite ? no
rain to fall ? no thorns to prick you in the rose-bush when you sit
down ?— only Eve, for ever sweet and tender, and figs for breakfast,
dinner, supper, from week's end to week's end ! " Shall I make my con-
fessions ? Hearken I Well, then, if I must make a clean breast of it.
THE VIRGINIANS. 613
Here three pages are torn out of Sir George "Warrington's MS. book,
for which the editor is sincerely sorry.
I know the theory and practice of the Roman Church ; but, being
bred of another persuasion (and sceptical and heterodox regarding that),
I can't help doubting the other, too, and wondering whether Catholics,
in their confessions, confess all ? Do we Protestants ever do so ; and
has education rendered those other fellow-men so different from us ? At
least, amongst us, we are not accustomed to suppose Catholic priests or
laymen more frank and open than ourselves. Which brings me back to
my question, — does any man confess all ? Does yonder dear creature
know all my life, who has been the partner of it for thirty years ; who,
whenever I have told her a sorrow, has been ready with the best of her
gentle power to soothe it ; who has watched when I did not speak, and
when I was silent has been silent herself, or with the charming hypocrisy
of woman has worn smiles and an easy appearance so as to make me
imagine she felt no care, or would not even ask to disturb her lord's
secret when he seemed to indicate a desire to keep it private ? 0, the
dear hypocrite ! Have I not watched her hiding the boys' peccadilloes
from papa's anger ? Have I not known her cheat out of her house-
keeping to pay off their little extravagancies ; and talk to me with an
artless face, as if she did not know that our revered captain had had
dealings with the gentlemen of Duke's Place, and our learned collegian,
at the end of his terms, had verypressing reasons for sporting his oak
(as the phrase is) against some of the University tradesmen ? Why,
from the very earliest days, thou wise woman, thou wert for ever con-
cealing something from me, — this one stealing jam from the cupboard;
that one getting into disgrace at school ; that naughty r.ebel (put on the
caps, young folks, according to the fit) flinging an inkstand at mamma
in a rage, whilst I was told the gown and the carpet were spoiled by
accident. We all hide from one another. We have all secrets. We
are all alone. . We sin by ourselves, and, let us trust, repent too.
Yonder dear woman would give her foot to spare mine a twinge of the
gout ; but, when I have the fit, the pain is in my slipper. At the end
of the novel or the play, the hero and heroine marry or die, and so there
is an end of them as far as the poet is concerned, who huzzas for his
young couple till the post-chaise turns the corner ; or fetches the hearse
and plumes, and shovels them underground. But when Mr. Eandom
and Mr. Thomas Jones are'laarried, is all over ? Are there no quarrels
at home ? Are there no Lady Bellastons abroad ? are there no constables
to be outrun ? no temptations to conquej?^ us, or be conquered by us ?
The Syrens sang after Ulysses long after his marriage, and the suitors
whispered in Penelope's ear, and he and she had many a weary day of
doubt and care, and so have we all. As regards money I was put out
of trouble by the inheritance I made : but does not Atra Cur a sit
behind baronets as well as eqiiites ? My friends in London used to con-
gratulate me on my happiness. Who would not like to be master of a
614 THE VIEGINIANS.
good house and a good estate ? But can Gumbo shut the hall-door upou
blue devils, or lay them always iti a red sea of claret ? Does a man
sleep the better who has four- and- twenty hours to doze in ? Do his
intellects brighten after a sermon from the dull old vicar ; a ten minutes'
caclde and flattery from the village apothecary ; or the conversation of
Sir John and Sir Thomas with their ladies, who come ten moonlight
muddy miles to eat a haunch, and play a rubber ? 'Tis all very well to
have tradesmen bowing to your carriage door, room made for you at
quarter-sessions, and my lady wife taken down the second or the third
to dinner : but these pleasures fade, nay have their inconveniences. In
our part of the country, for seven years after we came to "Warrington
manor, our two wdiat they called best neighbours were my Lord Tutbury
and Sir John Mudbrook. We are of an older date than the Mudbrooks,
consequently when we dined together my Lady Tutbury always fell to
my lot, who was deaf and fell asleep after dinner ; or if I had Lady
Mudbrook, she chattered with a folly so incessant and intense, that even
my wife could hardly keep her complacency (consummate hypocrite as
her ladyship is), knowing the rage with which I was fuming at the
other's clatter. I come to London. I show my tongue to Dr. Heberden.
I pour out my catalogue of complaints. ** Psha, my dear Sir George ! '*
says the unfeeling physician. " Headaches, languor, bad sleep, bad
temper" ("not bad temper, Sir George has the sweetest temper in the
w^orld, only he is sometimes a little melancholy !" says my wife). *' Bad
sleep, bad temper," continues the implacable doctor. " My dear lady,
his inheritance has been his ruin, and a little poverty and a great deal
of occupation would do him all the good in life."
No, my brother Harry ought to have been the squire, with remainder
to my son Miles, of course. Harry's letters were full of gaiety and good
spirits. His estate prospered ; his negroes multiplied ; his crops were
large ; he was a member of our House of Burgesses ; he adoied his
wife ; could he but have a child his happiness would be complete. Had
Hal been master of Warrington Manor-house, in my place, he would
have been beloved through the whole country ; he would have been
steward at all the races, the gayest of all the jolly huntsmen, the bien
venu at all the mansions round about, where people scarce cared to per-
form the ceremony of welcome at sight of my glum face. As for my
wife, all the world liked her, and agreed in pitying her. I don't know,
how the report got abroad, but 'twas generally agreed that I treated
her with awful cruelty, and that for jeali&usy I was a perfect Blue-
beard. Ah me ! And so it is true that I have had many dark hours ;
that I pass days in long silence ; that the conversation of fools and
whipper-snappers makes me rebellious and peevish, and that, when I
feel contempt, I sometimes don't know how to conceal it, or I should
say did not. I hope as I grow older I grow more charitable. Because
I do not love bawling and galloping after a fox, like the captain yonder,
I am not his superior ; but, in this respect, humbly own that he is mine.
He has perceptions which are denied me ; enjoyments which I cannot
THE YIEGINIAXS. 615
understand. Because I am blind the world is not dark. I try now and
listen with respect when Squire Codgers talks of the day's run. I do
my best to laugh when Captain Kattleton tells his garrison stories. I
step up to the harpsichord with old Miss Humby (our neighbour from
Beccles) and try and listen as she warbles her ancient ditties. I play
whist laboriously. Am I not trying to do the duties of life? and I
have a right to be garrulous and egotistical, because I have been reading
Montaigne all the morning.
I was not surprised, knowing by what influences my brother was led,
to find his name in the list of Virginia burgesses who declarsd that the
sole right of imposing taxes on the inhabitants of this colony is now,
and ever hath been, legally and constitutionally vested in the House of
Burgesses, and called upon the other colonies to pray for the Royal
interposition in favour of the violated rights of America. And it was
now, after we had been some three years settled in our English home,
that a correspondence between us and Madam Esmond began to take
place. It was my wife who (upon some pretext such as women always
know how to find) re-established the relations between us. Mr. Miles
must need have the small-pox, from which he miraculously recovered
without losing any portion of his beauty; and on this recovery the
mother writes her prettiest little wheedling letter to the grandmother
of the fortunate babe. She coaxes her with all sorts of modest phrases
and humble ofierings of respect and good-will. She narrates anecdotes
of the precocious genius of the lad (what hath subsequently happened, I
wonder, to step the growth of that gallant young officer's brains?), and
she Eiust have sent over to his grandmother a lock of the darling boy's
hair, for the old lady, in her reply, acknowledged the receipt of some
such present. I wonder, as it came from England, they allowed it to
pass our custom-house at Williamsburg. In return for these peace-
offerings and smuggled tokens of submission, comes a tolerably gracious
letter from my Lady of Castlewood. She inveighs against the dangerous
spirit pervading the colony : she laments to think that her unhappy son
is consorting with people who, she fears, will be no better than rebels
and traitors. She does not wonder, considering tcho his friends and
advisers are. How can a wife taken from an almost menial situation be
expected to sympathise with persons of rank and dignity who have the
honour of the Crown at heart ? If evil times were coming for the
monarchy (for the folks in America appeared to be disinclined to pay
taxes, and required that everything should be done for them without
cost), she remembered how to monarchs in misfortune, the Esmonds —
her father, the marquis, especially — had ever been faithful. She knew
not what opinions (though she might judge from my new-fangled Lord
Chatham) were in fashion in England. She prayed, at least, she might
hear that one of her sons was not on the side of rebellion. When we
came, in after-days, to look over old family papers in Virginia, we found
** Letters from my daughter Lady Warrington," neatly tied up with a
ribbon. My lady Theo insisted I should not open them ; and the truth,
616 THE YIRGINIANS.
I believe is, that they were so full of praises of her husband that she
thought my vanity would suffer from reading them.
When Madam began to write, she gave us brief notices of Harry and
his wife. " The two women," she wrote, *' still govern everything with
my poor boy at Fannystown (as he chooses to call his house). They
must save money there, for I hear but a shahhy account of their manner
of entertaining. The Mount Vernon gentleman continues to be his
great friend, and he votes in the House of Burgesses very much as his
guide advises him. Why he should be so sparing of his money I
cannot understand : I heard, of five negroes who went with his equi-
pages to my Lord Bottetourt's, only two had shoes to their feet. I had
reasons to save, having sons for whom I wished to provide, but he hath
no children, wherein he certainly is spared from much grief, though, no
doubt, Heaven in its wisdom means our good by the trials which,
through our children, it causes us to endure. His mother-in-law," she
added in one of her letters, ** has been ailing. Ever since his marriage,
my poor Henry has been the creature of these two artful women, and
they rule him entirely. Nothing, my dear daughter, is more contrary
to common sense and to Holy Scripture than this. Are we not told,
WiveSy he obedient to your husbands ? Had Mr, Warrington lived, I
should have endeavoured to follow up that sacred precept, holding that
nothing so becomes a woman as humility and obedience.^'
Presently we had a letter sealed with black, and announcing the
death of our dear good Mountain, for whom I had a hearty regret and
affection, remembering her sincere love for us as children. Harry
deplored the event in his honest way, and with tears which actually
blotted his paper. And Madam Esmond, alluding to the circumstance,
said: "My late housekeeper, Mrs. Mountain, as soon as she found her
illness was fatal, sent to me requesting a last interview on her death-
bed, intending, doubtless, to pray my forgiveness for her treachery
towards me. I sent her word that I could forgive her as a Christian,
and heartily hope (though I confess T doubt it) that she had a due sense
of her crime towards me. But our meeting, I considered, was of no
use, and could only occasion unpleasantness between us. If she
repented, though at the eleventh hour, it was not too late, and I sincerely
trusted that she was now doing so. And, would you believe her
lamentable and hardened condition, she sent me word through Dinah,
my woman, whom I dispatched to her with medicines for her soul's and
her body''s health, that she had nothing to repent of as far as regarded
her conduct to me, and she wanted to be left alone ! Poor Dinah dis-
tributed the medicine to my negroes, and our people took it eagerly —
whilst Mrs. Mountain, left to herself, succumbed to the fever. 0, the
perversity of human kind ! This poor creature was too proud to take
my remedies, and is now beyond the reach of cure and physicians. You
tell me your little Miles is subject to fits of colic. My remedy, and I
will beg you to let me know if effectual, is &c., &c." — and here followed
the prescription, which thou didst not take, my son, my heir, and my
THE VIRGINIANS. 617
pride ! because thy fond mother had her mother's favourite powder, on
which in his infantine troubles our first-born was dutifully nurtured.
Did words not exactly consonant with truth pass between the ladies in
their correspondence ? I fear my Lady Theo was not altogether candid :
else how to account for a phrase in one of Madam Esmond's letters, who
said: "I am glad to hear the powders have done the dear child good.
They are, if not on a first, on a second or third application, almost
infallible, and have been the blessed means of relieving many persons
round me, both infants and adults, white and coloured, I send mv
grandson an Indian bow and arrows. Shall these old eyes never behold
him at Castlewood, I wonder, and is Sir George so busy with his books
and his politics that he can't afi'ord a few months to his mother in
Virginia? I am much alone now. My son's chamber is just as he left
it : the same books are in the presses : his little hanger and fowling-
piece over the bed, and my father's picture over the mantel-piece. I
never allow anything to be altered in his room or his brother's. I fancy
the children playing near me sometimes, and that I can see my dear
father's head as he dozes in his chair. Mine is growing almost as white
as my father's. Am I never to behold my children ere I go hence ?
The Lord's will be done."
\
CHAPTEH LXXXYI.
AT HOME.
Such an appeal as this of our mother would have softened hearts much
less obdurate than ours ; and we talked of a speedy visit to Virginia,
and of hiring all the Young Eachel's cabin accommodation. But our
child must fall ill, for whom the voyage would be dangerous, and from
whom the mother of course could not part ; and the Young Rachel made her
voyage without us that year. Another year there was another diflSculty,
in my worship's first attack of the gout (which occupied me a good deal,
and afterwards certainly cleared my wits and enlivened my spirits) ;
and now came another much sadder cause for delay in the sad news we
received from Jamaica. Some two years after our establishment at the
Manor, our dear General returned from his government, a little richer
in the world's goods than when he went away, but having undergone a
loss for which no wealth could console him, and after which, indeed, he
did not care to remain in the West Indies. My Theo's poor mother —
the most tender and afiectionate friend (save one) I have ever had — died
abroad of the fever. Her last regret was that she should not be allowed
to live to see our children and ourselves in prosperity.
** She sees us, though we do not see her ; and she thanks you,
George, for having been good to her children," her husband said.
618 THE VIRGINIANS.
He, we thought, would not be long ere he joined her. His love for her
had been the happiness and business of his whole life. To be away
from her seemed living no more. It was pitiable to watch the good man
as he sate with us. My wife, in her air and in many tones and gestures,
constantly recalled her mother to the bereaved widower's heart. "What
cheer we could give him in his calamity we offered ; but, especially,
little Hetty was now, under Heaven, his chief support and consolation.
She had refused more than one advantageous match in the Island, the
General told us ; and on her return to England, my Lord Wrotham's
heir laid himself at her feet. But she loved best to stay with her
father, Hetty said. As long as he was not tired of her she cared for no
husband.
" Nay," said we, when this last great match was proposed, *'let the
General stay six months with us at the Manor here, and you can have
him at Oakhurst for the other six."
But Hetty declared her father never could bear Oakhurst again now
that her mother was gone ; and she would marry no man for his coronet
and money — not she ! The General, when we talked this matter over,
said gravely that the child had no desire for marrying, owing possibly
to some disappointment in early life, of which she never spoke ; and we,
respecting her feelings, were for our parts equally silent. My brother
Lambert had by this time a college living near to Winchester, and a wife
of course to adorn his parsonage. We professed but a moderate degree of
liking for this lady, though we made her welcome when she came to us.
Her idea regarding our poor Hetty's determined celibacy was different
to that which I had. This Mrs. Jack was a chatterbox of a woman, in
the habit of speaking her mind very freely, and of priding herself
excessively on her skill in giving pain to her friends. •
** My dear Sir George," she was pleased to say, " I have often and
often told our dear Theo that I wouldn't have a pretty sister in my
house to make tea for Jack when I was upstairs, and always to be at
hand when I was wanted in the kitchen or nursery, and always to be
dressed neat and in her best when I was very likely making pies or
puddings or looking to the children. I have every confidence in Jack,
of course. I should like to see him look at another woman, indeed!
And so I have in Jemima : but they don't come together in my house
when Pm upstairs — that I promise you! And so I told my sister
Warrington."
"Am I to understand," says the General, "that you have done my
Lady Warrington the favour to warn her against her sister, my daughter
Miss Hester ?"
*' Yes, pa, of course I have. A duty is a duty, and a woman is a
woman, and a man's a man, as I know very well. Don't tell me 1 He
is a man. Every man is a man, with all his sanctified airs I "
"You yourself have a married sister, with whom you were staying
when my son Jack first had the happiness of making your acquaint-
ance ?" remarks the General.
THE VIEGIXIAKS. 619
*' Yes, of course, I have a married sister ; every one knows that : and
1 have been as good as a mother to her children, that I have !"
" And am I to gather from your conversation that your attractions
proved a powerful temptation for your sister's husband ?"
" Law, General ! I don't know how you can go for to say I ever said
any such a thing ! " cries Mrs. Jack, red and voluble.
"Don't you perceive, my dear madam, that it is you who have
insinuated as much, not only regarding yourself, but regarding my own
two daughters ?"
"Never, never, never, as I'm a Christian woman! And it's most
cruel of you to say so, sir. And I do say a sister is best out of the
house, that I do ! And as Theo's time is coming, I warn her, that's
all."
" Have you discovered, my good madam, whether my poor Hetty
has stolen any of the spoons ? When I caoGie to breakfast this morning,
my daughter was alone, and there must have been a score of pieces of
silver on the table."
" Law, sir ! who ever said a word about spoons ? Did J ever accuse
the poor dear ? If I did, may I drop down dead at this moment on this
hearth-rug ! And I ain't used to be spoke to in this way. And me
and Jack have both remarked it ; and I've done my duty, that I have."
And here Mrs. Jack flounces out of the room, in tears.
" And has the woman had the impudence to tell you this, my
child ?" asks the General, when Theo (who is a little delicate) comes to
the tea-table.
" She has told me every day since she has been here. She comes
into my dressing-room to tell me. She comes to my nursery, and
says, ' Ah, I wouldn't have a sister prowling about my nursery, that
I wouldn't.' Ah, how pleasant it is to have amiable and well-bred
relatives, say I."
" Thy poor mother has been spared this woman," groans the General.
" Our mother would have made her better. Papa," says Theo, kissing
him.
" Yes, dear." And I see that both of them are at their prayers.
But this must be owned, that to love one's relatives is not always an
easy task; to live with one's neighbours is sometimes not amusing.
From Jack Lambert's demeanour next day, I could see that his wife had
given him her version of the conversation. Jack was sulky, but not
dignified. He was angry, but his anger did not prevent his appetite.
He preached a sermon for us which was entirely stupid. And little
Miles, once more in sables, sate at his grandfather's side, his little hand
placed in that of the kind old man.
Would he stay and keep house for us during our Virginian trip?
The housekeeper should be put under the full domination of Hetty.
The butler's keys should be handed over to him; for Gumbo, not I
thought with an over good grace, was to come with us to Virginia :
having, it must be premised, united himself with Mrs. Molly in the
THE VIRGINIANS.
bonds of matrimony, and peopled a cottage in my park with sundry
tawny Gumbos. Under the care of our good General and his daughter
we left our house then ; we travelled to London, and thence to Bristol,
and our obsequious agent there had the opportunity of declaring that
he should offer up prayers for our prosperity, and of vowing that'
children so beautiful as ours (we had an infant by this time to accom-
pany Miles) were never seen on any ship before. We made a voyage
without accident. How strange the feeling was as we landed from our
boat at Richmond! A coach and a host of negroes were there in
waiting to receive us ; and hard by a gentleman on horseback, with
negroes in our livery, too, who sprang from his horse and rushed up to
embrace us. Not a little charmed were both of us to see our dearest
Hal. He rode with us to our mother's door. Yonder she stood on the
steps to welcome us : and Theo knelt down to ask her blessing.
Harry rode in the coach with us as far as our mother's house ; but
would not, as he said, spoil sport by entering with us. " She sees me,"
he owned, " and we are pretty good friends ; but Fanny and she are
best apart ; and there is no love lost between 'em, I can promise you.
Come over to me at the Tavern, George, when thou art free. And to-
morrow I shall have the honour to present her sister to Theo. 'Twaa
only from happening to be in town yesterday that I heard the ship was
signalled, and waited to see you. I have sent a negro boy home to my
wife, and she'll be here to pay her respects to my Lady Warrington."
And Harry, after this brief greeting, jumped out of the carriage, and
left us to meet our mother alone.
Since I parted from her I had seen a great deal of fine company, and
Theo and I had paid our respects to the King and Q,ueen at St. James's ;
but we had seen no more stately person than this who welcomed us, and
raising my wife from her knee, embraced her and led her into the house.
'Twas a plain, wood-built place, with a gallery round, as our Virginian
houses are ; but if it had been a palace, with a little empress inside, our
reception could not have been more courteous. There was old Nathan,
still the major-domo, a score of kind black faces of blacks, grinning
welcome. Some wliose names I remembered as children were grown
out of remembrance, to be sure, to be buxom lads and lasses ; and some
I had left with black pates were grizzling now with snowy polls : and
some who were born since my time were peering at doorways with
their great eyes and little naked feet. It was, " I'm little Sip, Master
George !" and *' I'm Dinah, Sir George!" and " I'm Master Miles's boy !"
says a little chap in a new livery and boots of nature's blacking. Ere
the day was over the whole household had found a pretext for passing
before us, and^ grinning and bowing and making us welcome. I don't
know how many repasts were served to us. In the evening my Lady
Warrington had to receive all tlie gentry of the little town, which she
did with perfect grace and good humour, and I had to shake hands
with a few old acquaintances — old enemies I was going to say ; but I had
come into a fortune and was no longer a nar^hty prodigal. Why, a
THE YIRGINIA^S. 6^1
drove of fatted calves was killed in my honour ! My poor Hal was of
the entertainment, but gloomy and crest-fallen. His mother spoke to
him, but it was as a queen to a rebellious prince, her son, who was not
yet forgiven. We two slipped away from the company, and went up to
J[he rooms assigned to me : but there, as we began a free conversation,
our mother, taper in hand, appeared with her pale face. Did I want
anything ? Was everything quite as I wished it ? She had peeped in
at the dearest children, who were sleeping like cherubs. How she did
caress them, and delight over them ! How she was charmed with Miles's
dominating airs, and the little Theo's smiles and dimples I '* Supper is
just coming on the table, Sir George. If you like our cookery better
than the tavern, Henry, I beg you to stay." What a different wel-
come there was in the words and tone addressed to each of us ! Hal
hung down his head, and followed to the lower room. A clergyman
begged a blessing on the meal. He touched with not a little art
and eloquence upon our arrival at home, upon our safe passage across
the stormy waters, upon the love and forgiveness which awaited us
in the mansions of the Heavenly Parent when the storms of life
were over.
Here was a new clergyman, quite unlike some whom I remembered
about us in earlier days, and I praised him, hut Madam Esmond shook
her head. She was afraid his principles were very dangerous : she was
afraid others had adopted those dangerous principles. Had I not seen
the paper signed by the burgesses and merchants at Williamsburg the
year before — the Lees, Randolphs, Bassets, Washingtons, and the like,
and 0, my dear, that I should have to say it, our name, that is your
brother's (by what influence I do not like to say), and this unhappy Mr.
Belman's who begged a blessing last night.
If there had been quarrels in our little colonial society when I left
home, what were these to the feuds I found raging on my return ? We
had sent the Stamp Act to America, and been forced to repeal it. Then
we must try a new set of duties on glass, paper, and what not, and repeal
that Act too, with the exception of a duty on tea. From Boston to
Charleston the tea was confiscated. Even my mother, loyal as she was,
gave np her favourite drink ; and my poor wife would have had to forego
hers, but we had brought a quantity for our private drinking on bqard
ship, which had paid four times as much duty at home. Not that I for
my part would have hesitated about paying duty. The home govern-
ment must have some means of revenue, or its pretensions to authority
were idle. They say the colonies were tried and tyrannised over ; I say
the home government was tried and tyrannised over. ('Tis but an affair
of argument and history, now ; we tried the question, and were beat ;
and the matter is settled as completely as the conquest of Britain by the
Normans.) And all along, from conviction I trust, I own to have taken
the British side of the quarrel. In that brief and unfortunate experi-
ence of war which I had had in my early life, the universal cry of the
army and well-affected persons was, that Mr. Braddock's expedition had
622 THE YIEGINIANS.
failed, and defeat and disaster had fallen upon us in consequence of the
remissness, the selfishness, and the rapacity of many of the very people
for whose defence against the French arms had been taken up. The
colonists were for having all done for them, and for doing nothing. They
made extortionate bargains with the champions who came to defend them ;
they failed in contracts ; they furnished niggardly supplies ; they multi-
plied delays until the hour for beneficial action was past, and until the
catastrophe came which never need have occurred but for their ill will.
"What shouts of joy were there, and what ovations for the great British
minister who had devised and efi'ected the conquest of Canada ! Mon-
sieur de Yaudreuil said justly that that conquest was the signal for the
defection of the North American colonies from their allegiance to Great
Britain ; and my Lord Chatham, having done his best to achieve the first
part of the scheme, contributed more than any man in England towards
the completion of it. The colonies were insurgent, and he applauded
their rebellion. What scores of thousands of waverers must he have
encouraged into resistance ! It was a general who says to an army in
revolt, *' God save the king ! My men, you have a right to mutiny ! "
No wonder they set up his statue in this town, and his picture in t'other;
whilst here and there they hanged ministers and governors in effigy. To
our Virginian town of "Williamsburg, some wiseacres must subscribe to
bring over a portrait of my lord, in the habit of a Roman orator speaking
in the Forum, to be sure, and pointing to the palace of Whitehall, and
the special window out of which Charles I. was beheaded ! Here was a
neat allegory, and a pretty compliment to a British statesman ! I hear,
however, that my lord's head was painted from a bust, and so was taken
oft' without his knowledge.
Now my country is England, not America or Virginia : and I take, or
rather took, the English side of the dispute. My sympathies had always
been with home, where I was now a squire and a citizen : but had my
lot been to plant tobacco, and live on the banks of James Eiver or Poto-
mac, no doubt my opinions had been altered. When, for instance, I
visited my brother at his new house and plantation, I found him and his
wife as staunch Americans as we were British. We had some words
upon the matter in dispute, — who had not in those troublesome times ? —
but our argumant was carried on without rancour ; even my new sister
could not bring us to that, though she did her best when we were to-
gether, and in the curtain lectures which I have no doubt she inflicted
on her spouse, like a notable housewife as she was. But we trusted in
each other so entirely that even Harry's duty towards his wife would not
make him quarrel with his brother. He loved me from old time, when
my word was law with him ; he still protested that he and every Vir-
ginian gentleman of his side was loyal to the Crown. War was not
declared as yet, and gentlemen of different opinions were courteous
enough to one another. Nay, at our public dinners and festivals, the
health of the King was still ostentatiously drunk ; and the assembly of
every colony, though preparing for Congress, though resisting all
THE VIRGINIANS.
attempts at taxation on the part of the home authorities, was loud in its
expressions of regard for the King our Father, and pathetic in its appeals
to that paternal sovereign to put away evil counsellors from him, and
listen to the voice of moderation and reason. Up to the last, our Yir-r
ginian gentry were a grave, orderly, aristocratic folk, with the strongest
sense of their own dignity and station. In later days, and nearer home,
we have heard of fraternisation and equality. Amongst the great folks
of our Old World I have never seen a gentleman standing more on his
dignity and maintaining it better than Mr. Washington : no — not the
King against whom he took arms. In the eyes of all the gentry of the
French Court, who gaily joined in the crusade against us, and so took
their revenge for Canada, the great American chief always appeared as
anax andron, and they allowed that his better could not be seen in Yer-
Bailles itself. Though they were quarrelling with the Governor^ the
gentlemen of the House of Burgesses still maintained amicable relations
with him, and exchanged dignified courtesies. When my Lord Botte-
tourt arrived, and held his court at Williamsburg in no small splendour
and state, ^11 the gentry waited upon him, Madam Esmond included.
And at his death. Lord Dunmore, who succeeded him, and brought a
fine family with him, was treated with the utmost respect by our gentry
privately, though publicly the House of Assembly and the Governor
were at war.
Their quarrels are a matter of history, and concern me personally
only so far as this, that our burgesses being convened for the 1st of
March in the year after my arrival in Virginia, it was agreed that we
should all pay a visit to our capital, and our duty to the governor. Since
Harry's unfortunate marriage Madam Esmond had not performed this
duty, though always previously accustomed to pay it ; but now that her
eldest son was arrived in the colony, my mother opined that we must cer-
tainly wait upon his Excellency the Governor, nor were we sorry, perhaps,
to get away from our little Eichmond to enjoy the gaieties of the provin-
cial capital. Madam engaged, and at a great price, the best house to be
had at Kichmond for herself and her family. Now I was rich, her gene-
rosity was curious. I had more than once to interpose (her old servants
likewise wondering at her new way of life), and beg her not to be so
lavish. But she gently said, in former days she had occasion to save,
which now existed no more. Harry had enough, sure, with such a wife
as he had taken out of the housekeeper's room. If she chose to be a
little extravagant now, why should she hesitate ? She had not her
dearest daughter and grandchildren with her every day (she fell in love
•with all three of them, and spoiled them as much as they were capable
of being spoiled). Besides, in former days I certainly could not accusa
her of too much extravagance, and this I think was almost the only
allusion she made to the pecuniary differences between us. So she had
her people dressed in their best, and her best wines, plate, and furniture
from Castlewood by sea at no small charge, and her dress in which she
had been married in George II.'s reign, an;l we all flattered ourselves
624 THE VIRGINIANS.
that our coach made the greatest figure of any except his Excellency's,
and we engaged Signor^ormicalo, his Excellency's major-domo, to super-
intend the series of feasts that were given in my honour ; and more flesh-
pots were set a-stewing in our kitchens in one month, our servants said,
than had been known in the family since the young gentlemen went
away. So great was Theo's influence over my mother that she actually
persuaded her, that year, to receive our sister Fanny, Hal's wife, who
would have stayed upon the plantation rather than face Madam
Esmond. But, trusting to Theo's promise of amnesty, Fanny (to whose
house we had paid more than one visit) came up to town, and made her
curtsey to Madam Esmond, .and was forgiven. And rather than be for-
given in that way, I own, for my part, that I would prefer perdition or
utter persecution.
*' You know these, my dear? " says Madam Esmond, pointing to her
fine silver sconces. ' ' Fanny hath often cleaned them when she was
with me at Castlewood. And this dress, too, Fanny knows, I daresay ?
Her poor mother had the care of it. I always had the greatest confi-
dence in her."
Here there is wrath flashing from Fanny's eyes, which our mother,
who has forgiven her, does not perceive — not she !
** 0, she was a treasure to me ! " Madam resumes. " I never should
have nursed my boys through their illnesses but for your mother's admi-
rable care of them. Colonel Lee, permit me to present you to my
daughter, my Lady Warrington. Her ladyship is a neighbour of your
relatives the Bunburys at home. Here comes his Excellency. Welcome,
my lord !"
And our princess performs before his lordship one of those curtseys of
which she was not a little proud ; and I fancy I see some of the company
venturing to smile.
** By George! madam," says Mr. Lee, *' since Count Borulawski, I
have not seen a bow so elegant as your ladyship's."
" And pray, sir, who was Count Borulawski ?" asks madam.
<* He was a nobleman high in favour with his Polish Majesty," replies
Mr. Lee. " May I ask you,^madam, to present me to your distinguished
son ? "
*' This is Sir George Warrington," says my mother, pointing to me.
"Pardon me, madam. I meant Captain Warrington, who was by Mr.
Wolfe's side when he died. I had been contented to share his fate, so I
had been near him."
And the ardent Lee swaggers up to Harry, and takes his hand with
respect, and pays him a compliment or two, which makes me, at least,
pardon him for his late impertinence : for my dearest Hal walks gloomily
through his mother's rooms, in his old uniform of the famous corps which
he has quitted.
We had had many meetings, which the stern mother could not inter-
rupt, and in which that instinctive love which bound us to one another,
and which nothing could destroy, had opportunity to speak. Entirely
THE VIRGINIANS. 625
■unlike each other in our pursuits, our tastes, our opinions — his life being
one of eager exercise, active sport, and all the amusements of the field,
while miue is to dawdle over books and spend my time in languid self*
contemplation — we have, nevertheless, had such a sympathy as almost
passes the love of women. My poor Hal confessed as much to me, for
his part, in his artless manner, when we went away without wives or
womankind, except a few negroes left in the place, and passed a week at
Oastlewood together.
The Ladies did not love each other. I know enough of my lady
Theo, to see after a very few glances whether or not she takes a liking
to another of her amiable sex. All my powers of persuasion or com-
mand fail to change the stubborn creature's opinion. Had she ever said
a word against Mrs. This or Miss That ? Not she ! Has she been
otherwise than civil ? No, assuredly ! My lady Theo is polite to a
beggar-woman, treats her kitchen-maids like duchesses, aud murmurs
a compliment to the dentist for his elegant manner of pulling her tooth
out. She would black my boots, or clean the grate, if I ordained it;
(always looking like a duchess the while), but as soon as I say to her,
" My dear creature, be fond of this lady, or t'other!" all obedience
ceases ; she executes the most refined curtseys ; smiles and kisses even
to order ; but performs that mysterious undefinable free-masonic signal,
which passes between women, by which each knows that the other hates
her. So, with regard to Fanny, we had met at her house, and at others.
I remembered her afiectionately from old days, I fully credited poor
Hal's violent protests and tearful oaths, that, by George, it was our
mother's persecution which made him marry her. He couldn't stand by
and see a poor thing tortured as she was, without coming to her rescue ;
no, by heavens, he couldn't ! I say I believed all this ; and had for my
sister-in-law a genuine compassion, as well as an early regard ; and yet
I had no love to give her ; and, in reply to Hal's passionate outbreaks
in praise of her beauty and worth, and eager queries to me whether I
did not think her a perfect paragon, I could only answer with faint
compliments or vague- approval, feeling all the while that I was disap-
pointing my poor ardent fellow, and cursing inwardly that revolt against
flattery and falsehood into which I sometimes frantically rush. "Why
should I not say, " Yes, dear Hal, thy wife is a paragon ; her singing
is delightful, her hair and shape are beautiful ; " as I might have said
by a little common stretch of politeness ? Why could I not cajole this
or that stupid neighbour or relative, as I have heard Theo do a thousand
times, finding all sorts of lively prattle to amuse them,' whilst I sit
before them dumb and gloomy? I say it was a sin not to have more
words to say in praise of Fanny. "VVe ought to have praised her, we
ought to have liked her. My Lady "Warrington certainly ought to have
liked her, for she can play the hypocrite, and I cannot. And there was
this young creature— pretty, graceful, shaped like a nymph, with beau-
tiful black eyes — and we cared for them no more than for two goose-
berries ! At "Warrington my wife and I, when we pretended to compare
s s
626 THE ^T:RGINIAXS.
notes, elaborately complimented eacli otlier on our new sister's beauty.
What lovely eyes ! — yes ! What a sweet little dimple on her chin !
— Ahj oui! What wonderful little feet! — Perfectly Chinese! where
shoT^ld we in London get slippers small enough for her ? And, these
compliments exhausted, we knew that we did not like Fanny the value
of one penny-piece ; we knew that we disliked her ; we knew that we
ha . , . Well, what hypocrites women are ! We heard from many
quarters how eagerly my brother had taken up the new anti-English,
opinion, and what a champion he was of so-called American rights and
freedom. *'It is her doing, ray dear," says I to my wife. **If I had
said so much, I am sure you would have scolded me," says uiy Lady
Warrington, laughing : and I did straightway begin to scold her, and
say it was most cruel of her to suspect her new sister ; and what earthly
right had we to do so ? But I say again, I know Madam Theo so well,
that when once she has got a prej udice against a person in her little
head, not all the king's horses nor all the king's men will get it out
again. I vow nothing would induce her to believe that Harry was not
hen-pecked — nothing.
Well, we went to Castle wood together without the women, and stayed
at the dreary, dear old place, where we had been so happy, and I, at
least, so gloomy. It was winter, and duck time, and Harry went away
to the river, and shot dozens and scores and bushels of canvas-backs,
whilst 1 remained in my grandfather's library amongst the old moul-
dering books which I loved in my childhood — which I see in a dim
vision still resting on a little boy's lap, as he sits by an old white-
headed gentleman's knee. I read my books ; I slept in my own bed and
room — religiously kept, as my mother told me, and left as on the day
when I went to Europe. Hal's cheery voice would wake me, as of old.
Like all men who love to go a-field, he was an early riser : he would
come and wake me, and sit on the foot of the bed and perfume the air
with his morning pipe, as the house negroes laid great logs on the
fire. It was a happy time ! Old Nathan had told me of cunning
crypts where ancestral rum and claret were deposited. We had had
cares, struggles, battles, bitter griefs, and disappointments ; we were
boys again as we sat there together. I am a boy now even, as I think
of the time.
That unlucky tea-tax, which, alone of the taxes lately imposed upon
the colonies, the home government was determined to retain, was met
with defiance throughout America. 'Tis true we paid a shilling in the
pound at home, and asked only threepence from Boston or Charleston ;
but as a question of principle, the impost was refused by the provinces,
which indeed ever showed a most spirited determination to pay as little
as they could help. In Charleston, the tea-ships were unloaded, and
the cargoes stored in cellars. From New York and Piiiladelphia, the
vessels were turned back to London. In Boston (where there was
an armed force, whom the inhabitants were perpetually mobbing),
certain patriots, painted and disguised as Indians, boarded the ships,
Tlllil VIRGINIANS 62?
and flung the obnoxious cargoes into the water. The wrath of our
white Father was kindled against the city of Mohocks in masquerade.
The notable Boston Port Bill was brought forward in the British House
of Commons ; the port was closed, and the Custom House removed to
Salem. The Massachusetts Charter was annulled ; and, — in just appre-
hension that riots might ensue, in dealing with the perpetrators of which
the colonial courts might be led to act partially, — Parliament decreed
that persons indicted for acts of violence and armed resistance, might
be sent home, or to another colony, for trial. If such acts set all
America in a flame, they certainly drove all well-wishers of our country
into a fury. I might have sentenced Master Miles "Warrington, at live
years old, to a whipping, and he would have cried, taken down his little
small-clothes and submitted ; but suppose I ofi'ered (and he richly
deserving it), to chastise Captain Miles of the Prince's Dragoons "r* He
would whirl my paternal cane out of my hand, box my hair-powder out
of my ears. Lord a-mercy ! I tremble at the very idea of the contro-
versy ! He would assert his independence in a word; and if, I say, I
think the home Parliament had a right to levy taxes in the colonies, I
own that we took means most captious, most insolent, most irritating,
and, above all, most impotent, to assert our claim.
My Lord Dunmore, our Grovernor of Yirginia, upon Lord Bottetourt's
death, received me into some intimacy soon after my arrival in the
colony, being willing to live on good terms with all our gentry. My
mother's severe loyalty was no secret to him; indeed, she waved the
king's banner in all companies, and talked so loudly and resolutely,
that Randolph, and Patrick Henry himself, were struck dumb before
her. It was Madam Esmond's celebrated reputation for loyalty (his
Excellency laughingly told me) which induced him to receive her eldest
son to grace.
** I have had the worst character of you from home," his lordship said.
" Little birds whisper to me. Sir George, that you are a man of the most
dangerous principles. You are a friend of Mr. Wilkes and Alderman
Beckford. I am not sure you have not been at Medenham Abbey. You
have lived with players, poets, and all sorts of wild people. I have been,
warned against you, sir, and I flnd you "
''Not so black as I have been painted," I interrupted his lordship
with a smile.
*'Eaith," says my lord, ** if I tell Sir George Warrington that he
seems to me a very harmless quiet gentleman, and that 'tis a great
relief to me to talk to him amidst these loud politicians ; these lawyers
with their perpetual noise about Greece and Rome; these Yirgiuian
squires who are for ever professing their loyalty and respect, whilst
they are shaking their fists in my face — I hope nobody overhears us,'*
says my lord, with, an arch smile," and nobody will carry my opinions
home."
His lordship's ill opinion having been removed by a better knowledge
of me, our acquaintance daily grew more intimate; and, especially
s s 2
628 THE VIRGINIANS.
between the ladies of his family and my own, a close friendship arose
— between them and my wife at least. Hal's wife, received kindly at
the little provincial court, as all ladies were, made herself by no means
popular there by the hot and eager political tone which she adopted.
She assailed all the Government measures with indiscriminating acri-
mony. Were they lenient ? She said the perfidious British Govern-
ment was only preparing a snare, and biding its time until it could
forge heavier chains for unhappy America. Were they angry ? Why
did not every American citizen rise, assert his rights as a freeman, and
serve every British governor, officer, soldier, as they 'had treated the
East India Company's tea ? My mother, on the other hand, was pleased
to express her opinions with equal frankness, and, indeed, to press her
advice upon his Excellency with a volubility which may have fatigued
that representative of the Sovereign. Call out the militia ; send for
fresh troops from New York, from home, from anywhere ; lock up the
Capitol ! (this advice was followed it must be owned) and send every one
of the ringleaders amongst those wicked burgesses to prison ! was Madam
Esmond's daily counsel to the Governor by word and letter. And if not
only the burgesses but the burgesses' wives could have been led off to
punishment and captivity, I think this Brutus of a woman would scarce
have appealed against the sentence.
CHAPTEE LXXXVII.
THE LAST OP GOD SAVE THE KING.
What perverse law of Fate is it, that ever places me in a minority ?
Should a law be proposed to hand over this realm to the Pretender of
Rome, or the Grand Turk, and submit it to the new sovereign's religion,
it might pass, as I should certainly be voting against it. At home in
Virginia, I found myself disagreeing with everybody as usual. By the
Patriots I was voted (as indeed I professed myself to be) a Tory ; by the
Tories I was presently declared to be a dangerous Republican. The
time was utterly out of joint. cursed spite ! Ere I had been a year
Id Virginia, how I wished myself back by the banks of Waveney I But
the aspect of affairs was so troublous, that I could not leave my mother,
a lone lady, to face possible war and disaster, nor would she quit the
country at such a juncture, nor should a man of spirit leave it. At his
Excellency's table, and over his Excellency's plentiful claret, that point
was agreed on by numbers of the well affected, that vow was vowed
over countless brimming bumpers. No : it was statue signum, signifer !
We Cavaliers would all rally round it : and at these times, our Governor
talked like the bravest of the brave.
Now, I will say, of all my Virginian acquaintance, Madam Esmond
THE VIRGIXIANS. 629
was the most consistent. Our gentlefolks had come in numbers to
Williamsburg ; and a great number of them proposed to treat her
Excellency, the Governor's lady, to a ball, when the news reached us
of the Boston Port Bill. Straightway the House of Burgesses adopts an
indignant protest against this measure of the British Parliament, and
decrees a solemn day of fast and humiliation throughout the country,
and of solemn prayer to Heaven to avert the calamity of Civil War.
Meanwhile, the invitation to my Lady Dunmore having been already
given and accepted, the gentlemen agreed that their ball should take
place on the appointed evening, and then sackcloth and ashes should be
assumed some days afterwards.
*' A ball ! " says Madam Esmond. *' 1 go to a ball whieli is given
by a set of rebels who are going publicly to insult His Majesty a week
afterwards ! I will die sooner ! " And she wrote to the gentlemen
who were stewards for the occasion to say, that viewing the dangerous
state of the country, she, for her part, could not think of attending
a ball.
What was her surprise then, the next time she went abroad in her
chair, to be cheered by a hundred persons, white and black, and shouts
of ** Huzzah, Madam!" ''Heaven bless your ladyship!" They
evidently thought her patriotism had caused her determination not to
go to the ball.
Madam, that there should be no mistake, puts her head out of the
chair, and cries out God save the King, as loud as she can. The people
cried God save the King, too. Everybody cried God save the King in
those days. On the night of that entertainment, my poor Harry, as a
Burgess of the House, and one of the givers of the feast, donned his
uniform red coat of Wolfe's (which he so soon was to exchange for
another colour) and went off with Madam Fanny to the ball. My
Lady Warrington and her humble servant, as being strangers in the
country, and English people as it were, were permitted by Madam to
attend the assembly from which she of course absented herself. I had
the honour to dance a country dance with the lady of Mount Yernon,
whom I found a most lively, pretty, and amiable partner ; but am
bound to say that my wife's praises of her were received with a very
grim acceptance by my mother, when Lady Warrington came to re-
count the events of the evening. Could not Sir George Warrington
have danced with my Lady Dunmore or her daughters, or with anybody
but Mrs. Washington ; to be sure the Colonel thought so well of himself
and his wife, that no doubt he considered her the grandest lady in the
room ; and she who remembered him a road surveyor at a guinea a day !
Well, indeed ! there was no measuring the pride of these provincial
upstarts ; and as for this gentleman, my Lord Dunmore's partiality for
him had evidently turned his head. I do not know about Mr. Wash-
ington's pride, I know that my good mother never could be got to love
him or anything that was his.
She was no better pleased with him for going to the ball, than with
630 THE VIKGINIANS.
his conduct three days afterwards, — when the day of fast and humilia-
tion was appointed, and when he attended the service which our new
clergyman performed. She invited Mr. Belman to dinner that day, and
sundry colonial authorities. The clergyman excused himself. Madam
Esmond tossed up her head, and said he might do as he liked. She
made a parade of a dinner ; she lighted her house up at night, when all
the rest of the city was in darkness and gloom ; she begged Mr. Hardy,
one of his Excellency's aides-de-camp, to sing *' God save the King,"
to which the people in the street outside listened, thinking that it might
be a part of some religious service which Madam was celebrating ; but
then she called for "Britons, strike home!" which the simple young
gentleman just from Europe began to perform, when a great yell
arose in the street, and a large stone, flung from some rebellious hand^
plumped into the punch-bowl before me, and scattered it and its con-
tents about our dining-room.
My mother went to the window nothing daunted. I can see her rigid
little figure now, as she stands with a tossed-up head, outstretched
frilled arms, and the twinkling stars for a background, and sings in
chorus, *' Britons, strike home ! strike home!" The crowd in front of
the palings shout and roar, "Silence! for shame! go back!" but she
will not go back, not she. "Fling more stones, if you dare!" says
the brave little lady ; and more might have come, but some gentlemen
issuing out of the Raleigh Tavern interpose with the crowd. * * You
mustn't insult a lady," says a voice I think I know. Huzza, Colonel !
Hurrah, Captain ! " God bless your honour ! " says the people in the
street. And thus the enemies are pacified.
My mother protesting that the whole disturbance was over, would
have had Mr. Hardy sing another song, but he gave a sickly grin, and
said, " he really did not like to sing to such accompaniments," and the
concert for that evening was ended ; though I am bound to say that
some scoundrels returned at night, frightened my poor wife almost out
of wits, and broke every single window in the front of our tenement.
" Britons, strike home ! " was a little too much, Madam should have
contented herself with " God save the King." Militia was drilled,
bullets were cast, supplies of ammunition got ready, cunning plans for
disappointing the royal ordinances devised and carried out ; but, to be
sure, " God save the King" was the cry everywhere, and in reply to my
objections to the gentlemen-patriots, " Why, you are scheming for a
oeparation ; you are bringing down upon you the inevitable wrath of
the greatest power in the world ! " — the answer to me always was, " We
mean no separation at all ; we yield to no men in loyalty ; we glory in
the name of Britons," and so forth, and so forth. The powder barrels
^vere heaped in the cellar, the train was laid, but Mr. Fawkes was per-
sistent in his dutiful petitions to King and Parliament and meant no
harm, not he! 'Tis true when I spoke of the power of our country, I
imagined she would exert it, that she would not expect to overcome
three millions of fellow Britons on their own soil with a few battalions,
THE VIRGINIAXS. 631
a half-dozen generals from Bond Street, and a few thousand bravos
hired out of Germany. As if we wanted to insult the thirteen colonies
as well as to subdue them, we must set upon them these hordes of
Hessians, and the murderers out of the Indian wigwams. Was our
great quarrel not to be fought without taliauxilio and istis defensoribusf
Ah ! 'tis easy, now we are worsted, to look over the map of the great
empire wrested from us, and show how we ought not to have lost it.
Long Island ought to have exterminated Washington's army ; he ought
never to have come out of Valley Forge except as a prisoner. The
South was ours after the battle of Camden, but for the inconceivable
meddling of the Commander-in-Chief at New York, who paralysed the
exertions of the only capable British General who appeared during the
war, and sent him into that miserable cul-de-sac at York Town, wlience
he could only issue defeated and a prisoner. for a week more ! a day
more, an hour more of darkness or light ! In reading over our American
campaigns from their unhappy commencement to their inglorious end,
now that we are able to see the enemy's movements and condition as
well as our own, I fancy we can see how an advance, a march, might
have put enemies into our power who had no means to withstand it,
and changed the entire issue of the struggle. But it was ordained by
Heaven, and for the good, as we can now have no doubt, of both
empires, that the great AVestern Republic should separate from us : and
the gallant soldiers who fought on her side, their indomitable Chief
above all, had the glory of facing and overcoming, not only veterans
amply provided and inured to war, but wretchedness, cold, hunger, dis-
sensions, treason within their own camp, where all must h^ve gone to
rack, but for the pure unquenchable flame of patriotism that was for
ever burning in the bosom of the heroic leader. What a constancy,
what a magnanimity, what a surprising persistence against fortune!
Washington before the enemy was no better nor braver than hundreds
that fought with him or against him (who has not heard the repeated
sneers against " Fabius" in which his factious captains were accus-
tomed to indulge?) but Washington the Chief of a nation in arms,
doing battle with distracted parties ; calm in the midst of conspiracy ;
serene against the open foe before him and the darker enemies at his
back ; Washington inspiring order and spirit into troops hungry and in
rags ; stung by ingratitude, but betraying no anger, and ever ready to
forgive ; in defeat invincible, magnanimous in conquest, and never so
sublime as on that day when he laid down his victorious sword and
sought his noble retirement : — here indeed is a character to admire and
revere ; a life without a stain, a fame without a flaw. Quando invenies
parem ? In that more extensive work, which I have planned and
partly written on the subject of this great war, I hope I have done
justice to the character of its greatest leader.* And this from the sheer
* And I trust that in the opinions I have recorded regarding him, I have shown
that I also can be just and magnanimous towards those who view me personally with
632 THE VIEGINIANS.
force of respect -which his eminent virtues extorted. With the young
Mr. AYashington of my own early days I had not the honour to enjoy
much sympathy: though my brother, whose character is much more
frank and affectionate than mine, was always his fast friend in early
times, when they were equals, as in latter days when the General, as I
do own and think, was all mankind's superior.
I have mentioned that contrariety in my disposition, and, perhaps, in
my brother's, which somehow placed us on wrong sides in the quarrel
which ensued, and which from this time forth raged for five years, until
the mother-country was fain to acknowledge her defeat. Harry should
have been the Tory, and I the Whig. Theoretically my opinions were
very much more liberal than those of my brother, who, especially after
his marriage, became what our Indian nabobs call a Bahadoor — a person
ceremonious, stately, and exacting respect. When my Lord Dunmore,
for instance, talked about liberating the negroes, so as to induce them
to join the king's standard, Hal was for hanging the Governor and the
Black Guards (as he called them) whom his Excellency had crimped.
"If you gentlemen are fighting for freedom," says I, *' sure the negroes
may fight, too." On which Harry roars out, shaking his fist, '' Infernal
villains, if I meet any of 'em, they shall die by this hand ! " And my
mother agreed that this idea of a negro insurrection was the most
abominable and parricidal notion which had ever sprung up in her
unhappy country. She at least was more consistent than Brother Hal.
She would have black and white obedient to the powers that be:
whereas Hal only could admit that freedom was the right of the latter
colour. ^
As a proof of her argument, Madam Esmond and Harry too would
point to an instance in our own family in the person of Mr. Gumbo.
Having got his freedom from me, as a reward for his admirable love and
fidelity to me when times were hard. Gumbo, on his return to "Virginia,
was scarce a welcome guest in his old quarters, amongst my mother's
servants. He was free, and they were not : he was, as it were, a centre
of insurrection. He gave himself no small airs of protection and con-
sequence amongst them ; bragging of his friends in Europe, (" at home,"
as he called it) and his doings there ; and for a while bringing the
household round about him to listen to him and admire hira, like the
monkey who had seen the world. Now, Sady, Hal's boy, who went to
America of his own desire, was not free. Hence jealousies between
him and Mr. Gum ; and battles, in which they both practised the noble
art of boxing and butting, which they had learned at Marybone
Gardens and Hockley-in-the-Hole. Nor was Sady the only jealous
no favour. For my brother Hal being at Mount Vernon, and always eager to bring
me and his beloved Chief on good terms, showed his Excellency some of the early
sheets of my Historj^. General Washington (who read but few books, and had not
the slightest pretensions to literary taste) remarked, " If you ivill have my opinion,
my dear General, I think Sir George's projected work, from the specimen I have of
it, is certain to offend both pai'ties." — G. E. W.
THE VIRGINIANS. 633
person : almost all my mother's servants hated Siguor Gumbo for the
airs which he gave himself; and I am sorry to say, that our faithful
Molly, his wife, was as jealous as his old fellow- servants. The blacks
could not pardon her for having demeaned herself so far as to marry one
of their kind. She met with no respect, could exercise no authority,
came to her mistress with ceaseless complaints of the idleness, knavery,
lies, stealing of the black people ; and finally with a story of jealousy
against a certain Dinah, or Diana, who I heartily trust was as innocent
as her namesake, the moonlight visitant of Endymion. Now, on the
article of morality, Madam Esmond was a very Draconess ; and a person
accused was a person guilty. She made charges against Mr. Gumbo to
which he replied with asperity. Forgetting that he was a free gentle-
man, my mother now ordered Gumbo to be whipped, on which Molly
flew at her ladyship, all her wrath at her husband's infidelity vanishing
at the idea of the indignity put upon him ; there was a rebellion in our
house at Castlewood. A quarrel took place between me and my mother,
as I took my man's side. Hal and Fanny sided with her, on the con-
trary ; and in so far the difi'erence did good, as it brought about some
little intimacy between Madam and her younger children. This little
difierence was speedily healed ; but it was clear that the Standard of
Insurrection must be removed out of our house ; and we determined
that Mr. Gumbo and his lady should return to Europe.
My wife and I would willingly have gone with them, God wot, for
our boy sickened and lost his strength, and caught the fever in our
swampy country ; but at this time she was expecting to lie in (of our
son Henry), and she knew, too, that I had promised to stay in Yirginia.
It was agreed that we should send the two back ; but when I offered
Theo to go, she said her place was with her husband ; — her father and
Hetty at home would take care of our children ; and she scarce would
allow me to see a tear in her eyes whilst she was making her prepara-
tions for the departure of her little ones. Dost thou remember the
time. Madam, and the silence round the work-tables, as the piles of
little shirts are made ready for the voyage ? and the stealthy visits to
the children's chambers whilst they are asleep and yet with you ? and
the terrible time of parting, as our barge with the servants and children
rows to the ship, and you stand on the shore ? Had the Prince of Wales
been going on that voyage, he could not have been better provided
Where, sirrah, is the Tompion watch your grandmother gave you?
and how did you survive the boxes of cakes which the good lady stowed
away in your cabin 1
The ship which took out my poor Theo's children, returned with the
Reverend Mr. Hagan and my lady Maria on board, who meekly chose
to resign her rank, and was known in the colony (which was not to be
a colony very long) only as Mrs. Hagan. At the time when I was in
favour with my Lord Dunmore, a living falling vacant in Westmoreland
county, he gave it to our kinsman, who arrived in Virginia time enough
to christen our boy Henry, and to preach some sermons on the then
634 THE VIRGINIANS.
gloomy state of affairs, whicli Madam Esmond pronounced to be pra
digious fine. I think my lady Maria won Madam's heart by insistin*}
on going out of the room after her. '' My father, your brother, was an
earl, 'tis true," says she, " but you know your ladyship is a marquis's
daughter, and I never can think of taking precedence of you ! " So
fond did Madam become of her niece, that she even allowed Hagan to
read plays — my own humble compositions amongst others — and was
fairly forced to own that there was merit in the tragedy of Pocahontas,
which our parson delivered with uncommon energy and fire.
Hal and his wife came but rarely to Castlewood and Richmond when
the chaplain and his lady were with us. Fanny was very curt and rude
with Maria, used to giggle and laugh strangely in her company, and
repeatedly remind her of her age, to our mother's astonishment, who
would often ask, was there any cause of quarrel between her niece and
her daughter-in-law ? I kept my own counsel on these occasions, and
was often not a little touched by the meekness with which the elder
lady bore her persecutions. Fanny loved to torture her in her husband's
presence (who, poor fellow, was also in a happy ignorance about his
wife's early history), and the other bore her agony, wincing as little as
might be. I sometimes would remonstrate with Madam Harry, and ask
her was she a red Indian, that she tortured her victims so? '* Have
not I had torture enough in my time ? " says the young lady, and
looked as though she was determined to pay back the inj uries inflicted
on her.
** Nay," says I, *' you were bred in our wigwam, and I don't remem-
ber anything but kindness ! "
" Kindness ! " cries she. ** N"o slave was ever treated as I was. The
blows which wound most, often are those which never are aimed. The
people who hate us are not those we have injured."
I thought of little Fanny in our early days, silent, smiling, willing
to run and do all our biddings for us, and I grieved for my poor brother,
who had taken this sly creature into his bosom.
CHAPTEE LXXXVIII.
YAITKEE DOODLE COMES TO TOWN.
One of the uses to which we put America in the days of our British
dominion was to make it a refuge for our sinners. Besides convicts and
assigned servants whom we transported to our colonies, we discharged
on- their shores scapegraces and younger sons, for whom dissipation,
despair, and bailiffs made the old country uninhabitable. And as Mr.
Cook, in his voyages, made his newly-discovered islanders presents of
English animals (and other specimens of European civilisation), we
THE VIRGINIANS. 63«
used to take care to send samples of our hlach sheep over to the colonies,
there to browse as best they might, and propagate their precious breed.
I myself was perhaps a little guilty in this matter, in busying myseli
to find a living in America for the worthy Hagan, husband of my kins-
woman, — at least was guilty in so far as this, that as we could get him
no employment in England, we were glad to ship him to Virginia, and
give him a colonial pulpit-cushion to thump. He demeaned himself
there as a brave honest gentleman, to be sure; he did his duty
thoroughly by his congregation, and his king too ; and in so far did
credit to my small patronage. Madam Theo used to urge this when I
confided to her my scruples of conscience on this subject, and show, aa
her custom was and is, that my conduct in this, as in all other matters,
was dictated by the highest principles of morality and honour. But
would I have given Hagan our living at home, and selected him and his
wife to minister to our parish ? I fear not. I never had a doubt of
our cousin's sincere repentance ; but I think I was secretly glad when
she went to work it out in the wilderness. And I say this, acknow-
ledging my pride and my error. Twice, when I wanted them most,
this kind Maria aided me with her sympathy and friendship. She bore
her own distresses courageously, and soothed those of others with
admirable affection and devotion. And yet I, and some of mine (not
Theo), would look down upon her. Oh, for shame, for shame on our
pride !
My poor Lady Maria was not the only one of our family who was to
be sent out of the way to American wildernesses. Having borrowed,
stolen, cheated at home, until he could cheat, borrow, and steal no more,
the Honourable William Esmond, Esquire, was accommodated with a
place at New York ; and his noble brother and royal master heartily
desired that they might see him no more. When the troubles began,
we heard of the fellow and his doings in his new habitation. Lies and
mischief were his avant courriers wherever he travelled. My Lord
Dunmore informed me that Mr. Will declared publicly, that our estate
of Castlewood was only ours during his brother's pleasure; that his
father, out of consideration for Madam Esmond, his lordship's half-
sister, had given her the place for life, and that he, William, was in
negotiation with his brother, the present Lord Castlewood, for the pur-
chase of the reversion of the estate ! We had the deed of gift in our
strong room at Castlewood, and it was furthermore registered in due
form at Williamsburg ; so that we were easy on that score. But the
intention was everything ; and Hal and I promised, as soon as ever we
met Mr. William, to get from him a confirmation of this pretty story.
What Madam Esmond's feelings and expressions were when she heard
it, I need scarcely here particularise. " What ! my father, the Marquis
of Esmond, was a liar, and I am a cheat, am I?" cries my mother.
" He will take my son's property at my death, will he ?" And she was
for writing, not only to Lord Castlewood in England, but to His Majesty
himself at St. James's, and was only prevented by my assurances that
THE YIHGINIANS.
Mr. Will's lies were notorious amongst all his acquaintance, and tliat
we could not expect, in our own case, that he should be so inconsistent
as to tell the truth. We heard of him presently as one of the loudest
amongst the Loyalists in New York, as Captain, and presently Major of
a corps of volunteers who were sending their addresses to the well-
disposed in all the other colonies, and announcing their perfect readiness
to die for the mother-country.
We could not lie in a house without a whole window, and closing the
shutters of that unlucky mansion we had hired at Williamsburg, Madam
Esmond left our little capital, and my family returned to Richmond,
which also was deserted by the members of the (dissolved) Assembly.
Captain Hal and his wife returned pretty early to their plantation ; and
I, not a little annoyed at the course which events were taking, divided
my time pretty much between my own family and that of our Governor,
who professed himself very eager to have my advice and company.
There were the strongest political differences, but as yet no actual per-
sonal quarrel. Even after the dissolution of our House of Assembly
(the members of which adjourned to a tavern, and there held that
famous meeting where, I believe, the idea of a congress of all the colonies
was first proposed), the gentlemen who were strongest in opposition
remained good friends with his Excellency, partook of his hospitality,
and joined him in excursions of pleasure. The session over, the gentry
went home and had meetings in their respective counties; and the
Assemblies in most of the other provinces having been also abruptly dis-
solved, it was agreed everywhere that a general congress should be held.
Philadelphia, as the largest and most important city on our continent,
was selected as the place of meeting ; and those celebrated conferences
began, which were but the angry preface of war. We were still at God
save the King ; we were still presenting our humble petitions to the
throne ; but when I went to visit by brother Harry at Fanny's Mount
(his new plantation lay not far from ours, but with Rappahannock
between us, and towards Mattaponey River), he rode out on business
one morning, and I in the afternoon happened to ride too, and was told
6y one of the grooms that Master was gone towards Willis's Ordinary ;
in which direction, thinking no harm, I followed. And upon a clear
place not far from Willis's, as I advance out of the wood, I come ou
Captain Hal on horseback, with three-or-four-and-thirty countrymen
round about him, armed with every sort of weapon, pike, scythe, fowling-
piece, and musket ; and the Captain, with two or three likely young fellows
as oflSicers under him, was putting the men through their exercise. As
I rode up a queer expression comes over Hal's face, " Present arms I "
says he (and the army tries to perform the salute as well as they could),
*^ Captain Cade, this is my brother. Sir George Warrington."
"As a relation of yours, Colonel,^' says the individual addressed
as captain, ** the gentleman is welcome," and he holds out a hand
accordingly.
" And— and a true friend to Virginia," says Hal, with a reddening face.
THE VIRGINIANS. 6;^
*' Yes, please God ! gentlemen," say I, on which the regiment gives
a hearty huzzay for the Colonel and his hrother. The drill over, the
officers, and the men too, were for adjourning to Willis's and taking some
refreshment, hut Colonel Hal said he could not drink with them that
afternoon, and we trotted homewards together,
" So, Hal, the cat's out of the bag ! " I said.
He gave me a hard look. *' I guess there's wilder cats in it.
It must come to this, George. I say, you musn't tell Madam," he
adds.
*' Good God ! " I cried, " do you mean that, with fellows such as those
I saw yonder, you and your friends are going to make fight against the
greatest nation and the best army in the world ?"
*' I guess we shall get an awful whipping," says Hal, *' and that's the
fact. But then, George," he added, with his sweet kind smile, '* we are
young, and a whipping or two may do us good. Won't it do us good,
Dolly, you old slut ?" and he gives a playful touch with his whip to an
old dog of all trades, that was running by him.
I did not try to urge upon him (I had done so in vain many times
previously) our British side of the question, the side which appears to
me to be the best. He was accustomed to put off my reasons by saying,
*' All mighty well, brother, you speak as an Englishman, and have cast
in your lot with your country, as I have with mine." To this argument
I own there is no answer, and all that remains for the disputants is to
fight the matter out, when the strongest is in the right. Which had
the right in the wars of the last century ? The king or the parliament ?
The side that was uppermost was the right, and on the whole much
more humane in their victory than the Cavaliers would have been had
they won. J^ay, suppose we Tories had won the day in America ; how
frightful and bloody that triumph would have been ! What ropes and
scaffolds one imagines, what noble heads laid low ! A strange feeling
this, I own ; I was on the Loyalist side, and yet wanted the Whigs to
win. My brother Hal, on the other hand, who distinguished himself
greatly with his regiment, never allowed a word of disrespect against
the enemy whom he opposed. " The officers of the British army,"
he used to say, "are gentlemen: at least, I have not heard that they
are very much changed since my time. There may be scoundrels
and ruffians amongst the enemy's troops ; I daresay we could find some
such amongst our own. Our business is to beat His Majesty's forces^
not call them names ; — any rascal can do that." And from a name
which Mr. Lee gave my brother, and many of his rough horsemen
did not understand, Harry was often called '* Chevalier Baird" in the
Continental army. He was a knight, indeed, without fear and without
reproach.
As for the argument, " What could such people as those you were
drilling do against the British army ?" Hal had as confident answer.
**Thoy can beat them," says he, **Mr. George, that's what they
can do."
€.8 THE VIRGINIANS.
" Great heavens I " I cry, " do you mean with your company of
"Wolfe's you would hesitate to attack five hundred such ?"
" With my company of the 67th, I would go anywhere. And, agreed
with you, that at this present moment I know more of soldiering than
they ; —but place me on that open ground where you found us, armea
as you please, and half-a-dozen of my friends, with rifles, in the woods
round about me ; which would get the better ? You know best, Mr.
Braddock's aide-de-camp ! "
There was no arguing with such a determination as this. ** Thou
knowest my way of thinking, Hal," I said; " and having surprised you
at your work, I must tell my lord what I have seen."
*' Tell, him, of course. You have seen our county militia exercising.
You will see as much in every colony from here to the Saint Lawrence
or Georgia. As I am an old soldier, they have elected me colonel.
What more natural ? Come, brother, let us trot on ; dinner will be
ready, and Mrs. Fan does not like me to keep it waiting." And so we
made for his house, which was open like all the houses of our Virginian
gentlemen, and where not only every friend and neighbour, but every
stranger and traveller, was sure to find a welcome.
" So, Mrs. Fan," I said, " I have found out what game my brother
has been playing."
"I trust the Colonel will have plenty of sport ere long," says she,
with a toss of her head.
My wife thought Harry had been hunting, and I did not care to
undeceive her, though what I had seen and he had told me, made me
naturally very anxious.
CHAPTEE LXXXIX.
A COLO:JfEL WITHOUT A EEGIMENT,
When my visit to my brother was concluded, and my wife and young
child had returned to our maternal house at Richmond, I made it my
Susiness to go over to our Governor, then at his country house, near
Williamsburg, and confer with him regarding these open preparations
for war, which were being made not only in our own province, but in
every one of the colonies as far as we could learn. Gentlemen, with
whose names history has since made all the world familiar, were ap-
pointed from Virginia as Delegates to the General Congress about to be
held in Philadelphia. In Massachusetts the people and the Koyal troops
were facing each other almost in open hostility : in Maryland and Penn-
Bylvania we flattered ourselves that a much more loyal spirit was preva-
lent: in the Carolinas and Georgia the mother country could reckon
THE VIEGINIaXS. 639
upon staunch adherents, and a great majority of the inhabitants: and it
never was to be supposed that our own Virginia would forego its ancient
loyalty. We had but few troops in the province, but its gentry were
proud of their descent from the Cavaliers of the old times : and round
about our Governor were swarms of loud and confident Loyalists who
were only eager for the moment when they might draw the sword, and
scatter the rascally rebels before them. Of course, in these meetings I
was forced to hear many a hard word against my poor Harry. His wife,
all agreed (and not without good reason, perhaps), had led him to adopt
these extreme anti-British opinions which he had of late declared j and
he was infatuated by his attachment to the gentleman of Mount Yernon,
it was farther said, whose opinions my brother always followed, and who,
day by day, was committing himself farther in the dreadful and despe-
rate course of resistance. "This is your friend," the people about his
Excellency said, ** this is the man you favoured, who has had your special
confidence, and who has repeatedly shared your hospitality ! " It could
not but be owned much of this was true : though what some of our
eager Loyalists called treachery, was indeed rather a proof of the longing
desire Mr. Washington and other gentlemen had, not to withdraw from
their allegiance to the Crown, but to remain faithful, and exhaust the
very last chance of reconciliation, before they risked the other terrible
alternative of revolt and separation. Let traitors arm, and villains draw
the parricidal sword! We at least would remain faithful ; the uncon-
querable power of England would be exerted, and the misguided and
ungrateful provinces punished and brought back to their obedience.
With what cheers we drank his Majesty's health after our banquets !
We would die in defence of his rights ; we would have a Prince of his
Royal house to come and govern his ancient dominions ! In considera-
tion of my own and my excellent mother's loyalty, my brother's be-
nighted conduct should be forgiven. Was it yet too late to secure him
by oiiering him a good command ? Would I not intercede with him,
who, it was known, had a great influence over him ? la our Williams-
burg councils we were alternately in every state of exaltation and
triumph, of hope, of fury against the rebels, of anxious expectancy of
home succour, of doubt, distrust, and gloom.
I promised to intercede with my brother ; and wrote to him, I own,
with but little hope of success, repeating, and trying to strengthen the
arguments which I had many a time used in our conversations. My
mother, too, used her authority ; but from this, I own, I expected little
advantage. She assailed him, as her habit was, with such texts of Scrip-
ture as she thought bore out her own opinion, and threatened punishment
to him. She menaced him with the penalties which must fall upon those
who were disobedient to the powers that be. She pointed to his elder
brother's example ; and hinted, I fear, at his subjection to his wife, the
very worst argument she could use in such a controversy. She did not
show me her own letter to him ; possibly she knew I might find fault
with the energy of some of the expressions she thought proper to employ
THE VIEGINIAlilS.
but she showed me his answer, from which I gathered what the style and
tenor of her argument had been. And if Madam Esmond brought Scrip-
ture to her aid, Mr. Hal, to my surprise, brought scores of texts to bear
upon her in reply^nd addressed her in a very neat, temperate, and even
elegant composition, which I thought his wife herself was scarcely capa-
ble of penning. Indeed, I found he had enlisted the services of Mr.
Belman, the new E-ichmond clergyman, who had taken up strong opi-
nions on the Whig side, and who preached and printed sermons against
Hagan (who, as I have said, was of our faction), in which I fear Belman
had the best of the dispute.
My exhortations to Hal had no more success than our mother's. He
did not answer my letters. Being still farther pressed by the friends of
the Government, I wrote over most imprudently to say I would visit him
at the end of the week at Fanny's Mount ; but, on arriving, I only found
my sister, who received me with perfect cordiality, but informed me that
Hal was gone into the country, ever so far towards the Blue Mountains to
look at some horses, and was to be away — she did not know how long he
was to be away !
I knew then there was no hope. ** My dear," I said, *' as far as I can
judge from the signs of the times, the train that has been laid these years
must have a match put to it before long. Harry is riding away. God
knows to what end."
*• The Lord prosper the righteous cause. Sir George," says she.
" Amen, with all my heart. You and he speak as Americans ; I as
an Englishman. Tell him from me, that when any thing in the
course of nature shall happen to our mother, I have enough for me
and mine in England, and shall resign all our land here in Virginia
to him."
*'You don't mean that, George?" she cries with brightening eyes.
" Well, to be sure, it is but right and fair," she presently added.
'* Why should you, who are the eldest but by an hour, have every-
tliing ? a palace and lands in England — the plantation here — the title —
and children — and my poor Harry none ? But 'tis generous of you all
the same — leastways handsome and proper, and I didn't expect it of
you : and you don't take after your mother in this, Sir George, that
you don't, nohow. Give my love to sister Theo ! " And she offers
me a cheek to kiss, ere I ride away from her door. With such a woman
as Fanny to guide him, how could I hope to make a convert of my
Vother ?
Having met with this poor success in my enterprise, I rode back to
our Governor, with whom I agreed that it was time to arm in earnest,
and prepare ourselves against the shock that certainly was at hand. He
and his whole Court of Officials were not a little agitated and excited :
needlessly savage I thought, in their abuse of the wicked Whigs, and
loud in their shouts of Old England for ever ; but they were all eager
for the day when the contending parties could meet hand to hand, and
they could have an opportunity of riding those wicked Whigs down.
TKE YIRGINIANS. 641
And 1 left my lord, having received the thanks of His Excellency in
Council, and engaged to do ray best endeavours to raise a body of men
in defence of the Crown. Hence the corps, called afterwards the West-
moreland Defenders, had its rise, of which I had the honour to be ap-
pointed Colonel, and which I was to command when it appeared in the
field. And that fortunate event must straightway take place, so soon as
the county knew that a gentleman of my station and name would take
the command of the force. The announcement vras duly made in the
Government Gazette, and we filled in our officers readily enough ; but
the recruits, it must be owned, were slow to come in, and quick to disap-
pear. Nevertheless, friend Hagan eagerly came forward to ofier himself
as chaplain. Madam Esmond gave us our colours, and progressed about
the country engaging volunteers ; but the most eager recruiter of all was
jo^ good old tutor, little Mr. Dempster, who had been out as a boy on the
Jacobite side in Scotland, and who went specially into the Carolinas,
among the children of his banished old comrades, who had worn the white
cockade of Prince Charles, and who most of all showed themselves in this
contest still loyal to the Crown.
Hal's expedition in search of horses, led him not only so far as the
Blue Mountains in our colony, but thence on a long journey to Anna-
polis and Baltimore ; and from Baltimore to Philadelphia, to be sure ;
where a second General Congress was now sitting, attended by our Vir-
ginian gentlemen of the last year. Meanwhile, all the almanacs tell
what had happened. Lexington had happened, and the first shots were
tired in the war which was to end in the independence of my native
country. "We still protested of our loyalty to his Majesty; but we stated
our determination to die or be free ; and some twenty thousand of our
loyal petitioners assembled round about Boston with arms in their hands
and cannon, to which they had helped themselves out of the government
stores. Mr. Arnold had begun that career which was to end so bril-
liantly, by the daring and burglarious capture of two forts, of which he
forced the doors. Three generals from Bond Street, with a large rein-
forcement were on their way to help Mr. Gage out of his ugly position at
Boston. Presently the armies were actually engaged ; and our British
generals commenced their career of conquest and pacification in the colo-
nies by the glorious blunder of Breed's Hill. Here they fortified them-
selves, feeling themselves not strong enough for the moment to win any
more glorious victories over the rebels : and the two armies lay watching
each other whilst Congress was deliberating at Philadelphia who should
command the forces of the confederated colonies.
We all know on whom the most fortunate choice of the nation fell.
Of the Yirginian regiments which marched to join the new General-in-
Chief, one was commanded by Henry Esmond Warrington, Esq., late a
Captain in his Majesty's service ; and by his side rode his little wife, of
whose bravery we often subsequently heard. I was glad, for one, that
she had quitted Virginia ; for, had she remained after her husband's
denarture, our mother would infallibly have gone over to give her battle;
T T
642 THE YIEGINIANS.
aud 1 was thankful, at least, that that incident of civil war was spared
to our family and history.
The rush of our farmers and country-folk was almost all directed to-
wards the new northern army; and our people were not a little flattered at
the selection of a Yirginian gentleman for the principal command. With
a thrill of wrath and fury the provinces heard of the blood drawn at
Lexington; and men yelled denunciations against the cruelty and wan-
tonness of the bloody British invader. The invader was but doing his
duty, and was met and resisted by men in arms, who wished to prevent
him from helping himself to his own ; but people do not stay to weigh
their words when they mean to be angry ; the Colonists had taken their
side ; and with what I own to be a natural spirit and ardour, were deter-
mined to have a trial of strength with the braggart domineering mother
country. Breed's Hill became a mountain, as it were, which all men of
the American Continent might behold, with Liberty, Victory, Glory, on
its flaming summit. These dreaded troops could be withstood, then, by
farmers and ploughmen. These famous ofBcers could be out-generalled
by Doctors, Lawyers, and Civilians ! Granted that Britons could con-
quer all the world ; — here were their children who could match and con-
quer Britons ! Indeed, I don't know which of the two deserves the
palm, either for bravery or vainglory. We are in the habit of laughing
at our French neighbours for boasting, gasconading and so forth ; but
for a steady self-esteem, and indomitable confidence in our own courage,
greatness, magnanimity ; — who can compare with Britons, except their
children across the Atlantic ?
The people round about ns took the people's side for the most part iu
the struggle, and, truth to say. Sir George Warrington found his regi-
ment of Westmoreland Defenders but very thinly manned at the com-
mencement, and woefully diminished in numbers presently, not only
after the news of battle from the north, but in consequence of the
behaviour of my lord our Governor, whose conduct enraged no one
more than his own immediate partisans, and the loyal adherents of the
Crown throughout the colony. That he would plant the King's stan-
dard, and summon all loyal gentlemen to rally round it, had been a
measure agreed in countless meetings, and applauded over thousands of
bumpers. I have a pretty good memory, and could mention the name
of many a gentleman, now a smug officer of the United States Govern-
ment, whom I have heard hiccup out a prayer that he might be allowed
to perish under the folds of his country's flag ; or roar a challenge to
the bloody traitors absent with the rebel army. But let bygones be
bygones. This, however, is matter of public history, that his lordship,
our Governor, a peer of Scotland, the Sovereign's representative in his
Old Dominion, who so loudly invited all the lieges to join the King's
standard, was the first to put it in his pocket, and fly to his ships out of
reach of danger. He would not leave them, save as a pirate at mid-
night to burn and destroy. Meanwhile, we loyal gentry remained on
shore, committed to our cause, and only subject to greater danger in
THE VIRGINIANS. 64S
consequence ot the weakness and cruelty of him who ought to have
been our leader. It was the beginning of .Tune, our orchards and
gardens were all blooming with plenty and summer ; a week before I
had been over at Williamsburg, exchanging compliments with his
Excellency, devising plans for future movements by which we should
be able to make good head against rebellion, shaking hands heartily at
parting, and vincere aut mori the very last words upon all our lips.
Our little family was gathered at Richmond, talking over, as we did
daily, the prospect of affairs in the north, the quarrels between our own
Assembly and his Excellency, by whom they had been afresh convened,
when our ghostly Hagan rushes into our parlour, and asks, "Have wo
heard the news of the Grovernor ? "
** Has he dissolved the Assembly again, and put that scoundrel Patrick
Henry in irons ? " asks Madam Esmond.
"No such thing! His lordship, with his lady and family have left
their palace privately at night. They are on board a man-of-war off
York, whence my lord has sent a despatch to the Assembly, begging
them to continue their sitting, and announcing that he himself had
only quitted his Government House out of fear of the fury of the
people."
What was to become of the sheep, now the shepherd had run away ?
No entreaties could be more pathetic than those of the gentlemen of the
House of Assembly, who guaranteed their Governor security if he would
but land, and implored him to appear amongst them, if but to pass bills
and transact the necessary business. No : the man-of-war was hi-s seat
of Government, and my lord desired his House of Commons to wait upon
him there. This was erecting the King's standard with a vengeance.
Our Governor had left us ; our Assembly perforce ruled in his stead ; a
rabble of people followed the fugitive Viceroy on board his ships. A
mob of negroes deserted out of the plantations to join this other
deserter. He and his black allies landed here and there in darknesss,
and emulated the most lawless of our opponents in their alacrity at
seizing and burning. He not only invited run- away negroes, but he
sent an ambassador to Indians with entreaties to join his standard.
When he came on shore it was to burn and destroy : when the people
resisted as at Norfolk and Hampton, he retreated and betook himself to
his ships again.
Even my mother, after that miserable flight of our chief, was scared
at the aspect of affairs, and doubted of the speedy putting down of the
rebellion. The arming of the negroes was, in her opinion, the most
cowardly blow of all. The loyal gentry were ruined, and robbed, many
of them, of their only property. A score of our worst hands deserted
from Richmond and Castlewood, and fled to our courageous Governor's
fleet ; not all of them, though some of them, were slain, and a couple
hung by the enemy for plunder and robbery perpetrated whilst with his
lordship's precious army. Because her property was wantonly inj urecl ,
and His Majesty's chief officer an imbecilcj would ^.adam Esmond
T T 2
eU THE VIRGINLINS.
desert the cause of Royalty and Honour? My good mother was never
BO prodigiously dignified, and loudly and enthusiastically loyal, as after
she heard of our Governor's lamentable defection. The people round
about her, though most of them of quite a different way of thinking,
listened to her speeches without unldndness. Her oddities were known
far and wide through our province ; where, I am afraid, many of the
wags amongst our young men were accustomed to smoke her, as the
phrase then was, and draw out her stories about the Marquis her father,
about the splendour of her family, and so forth. But, along with her
oddities, her charities and kindness were remembered, and many a
rebel, as she called them, had a sneaking regard for the pompous little
Tory lady.
As for the Colonel of the Westmoreland Defenders, though that
gentleman's command dwindled utterly away after the outrageous con-
duct of his chief, yet I escaped from some very serious danger which
might have befallen me and mine in consequence of some disputes which
I was known to have had with my Lord Dunmore. Going on board his
ship after he had burnt the stores at Hampton, and issued the proclama-
tion calling the negroes to his standard, I made so free as to remon-
strate with him in regard to both measures ; I implored him to return
to Williamsburg, where hundreds of us, thousands I hoped, would be
ready to defend him to the last extremity ; and in my remonstrance
used terms so free, or rather, as I suspect, indicated my contempt for
his conduct so clearly by my behaviour, that his lordship flew into a
rage, said I was a rebel, like all the rest of them, and ordered me
under • arrest there on board his own ship. In my quftlity of militia
officer (since the breaking out of the troubles I commonly used a red
coat, to show that I wore the King's colour) I begged for a court-
martial immediately ; and turning round to two officers who had been
present during our altercation, desired them to remember all that had
passed between his lordship and me. These gentlemen were no doubt of
my way of thinking as to the chief's behaviour, and our interview
ended in my going ashore unaccompanied by a guard. The story got
wind amongst the Whig gentry, and was improved in the telling. I
had spoken out my mind manfully to the Governor ; no Whig could
have uttered sentiments more liberal. When riots took place in Rich-
mond, and many of the Loyalists remaining there were in peril of life
and betook themselves to the ships, my mother's property and house
were never endangered, nor her family insulted. We were still at tlie
Btage when a reconciliation was fondly thought possible. *' Ah ! if all
the Tories were like you," a distinguished Whig has said to me, " we
and the people at home should soon come together again." This of
course was before the famous fourth of July, and that declaration wliich
rendered reconcilement impossible. Afterwards, when parties grew
more rancorous, motives much less creditable were assigned for my
conduct, and it was said I chose to be a Liberal Tory because i was
a cunning fox, and wished to keep my estate whatever way things
THE VIEGEaANS. &4o
went. And this I am bound to say is the opinion regarding my
humble self which has obtained in very high quarters at home,
where a profound regard for my own interest has been supposed not
uncommonly to have occasioned my conduct during the late unhappy
troubles.
There were two or three persons in the world (for I had not told my
mother how I was resolved to cede to my brother all my life interest in
our American property) who knew that I had no mercenary motives in
regard to the conduct I pursued. It was not worth while to undeceive
others ; what were life worth, if a man were forced to put himself
a la piste of all the calumnies uttered against him ? And I do not
quite know to this present day, how it happened that my mother, that
notorious Loyalist, was left for several years quite undisturbed in her
house at Castlewood, a stray troop or company of Continentals being
occasionally quartered upon her. I do not know for certain, I say, how
this piece of good fortune happened, though I can give a pretty shrewd
guess as to the cause of it. Madam Fanny, after a campaign before
Boston, came back to Fanny's Mount, leaving her Colonel. My modest
Hal, until the conclusion of the war, would accept no higher rank,
believing that in command of a regiment he could be more useful than
in charge of a division. Madam Fanny, I say, came back, and it was
remarkable after her return how her old asperity towards my mother
seemed to be removed, and what an afiection she showed for her and all
the property. She was great friends with the Governor and some of the
most inliaential gentlemen of the new Assembly : — Madam Esmond was
harmless, and for her son's sake, who was bravely battling for his
country, her errors should be lightly visited : — I know not how it was,
but for years she remained unharmed, except in respect of heavy
government requisitions, which of course she had t^ pay, and it was
not until the red coats appeared about our house, that much serious evil
came to it.
CHAPTER XC.
IX WHICH WE BOTH FIGHT AND KFN AWAY.
What was the use of a Colonel without a regiment ? The Governor
and Council who had made such a parade of thanks in endowing me
with mine, were away out of sight, skulking on board ships, with an
occasional piracy and arson on shore. My Lord Dunmore's black allies
frightened away those of his own blood ; and besides these negroes whom
he had summoned round him in arms, we heard that he had sent an
envoy among the Indians of the South, and that they were to come down
in numbers and tomahawk our people into good behaviour, *' And these
C16 THE VIEGINIAI^S.
are to be our allies ! " I say to my mother, exchanging ominous looks
M'ith her, and remembering, with a ghastly distinctness, that savage
whose face glared over mine, and whose knife was at my throat when
Florae struck him down on Braddock's Field. "We put our house of
Oastlewood into as good a state of defence as we could devise ; but, in
truth, it was more of the red men and the blacks than of the rebels we
were afraid. I never saw my mother lose courage but once, and then
when she was recounting to us the particulars of our father's death in a
foray of Indians more than forty years ago. Seeing some figures one
night moving in front of our house, nothing could persuade the good
lady but that they were savages, and she sank on her knees crying out,
*' The Lord have mercy upon us ! The Indians — the Indians ! "
My Lord's negro allies vanished on board his ships, or where they
could find pay and plunder ; but the painted heroes from the South
never made their appearance, though I own to have looked at my
mother's grey head, my wife's brown hair, and our little one's golden
ringlets, with a horrible pang of doubt lest these should fall the victims
of ruffian war. And it was we who fought with such weapons, and
enlisted these allies ! But that I dare not (so to speak) be setting
myself up as interpreter of Providence, and pointing out the
special finger of Heaven (as many people are wont to do), I would
say our employment of these Indians, and of the German mercenaries,
brought their own retribution with them in this war. In the field,
where the mercenaries were attacked by the Provincials, they yielded,
and it was triumphing over them that so raised the spirit of the Conti-
nental army ; and the murder of one woman (Miss McCrea) by a half-
dozen drunken Indians, did more harm to the Eoyal cause than the loss
of a battle or the destruction of regiments.
Now, the Indi^an panic over, Madam Esmond's courage returned :
and she began to be seriously and not unjustly uneasy, at the danger
which I ran myself, and which I brought upon others, by remaining in
Virginia.
*' What harm can they do me," says she, ** a poor woman ? If I have
one son a colonel without a regiment, I have another with a couple of
hundred Continentals behind him in Mr. Washington's camp. If the
Eoyalists come, they will let me ofi' for your sake ; if the rebels appear,
I shall have Harry's passport. I don't wish, sir, I don't like that your
ilelicate wife, and this dear little baby should be here, and only increase
the risk of all of us ! We must have them away to Boston or New
York. Don't talk about defending me ! Who will think of hurting a
poor, harmless, old woman ? If the rebels come, I shall shelter behind
Mrs. Fanny's petticoats, and shall be much safer without you in the
liouse than in it." This she said in part, perhaps, because 'twas rea-
sonable ; more so because she would have me and my family out of the
danger ; and danger or not, for her part she was determined to remain
in the land where her father was buried, and she was born. She was
living backwards, so to speak. She had seen the new generation, and
THE VIEGINIANS. 647
and bade them farewell. She belonged to the past, and
old days and memories.
While we were debating about the Boston scheme, comes the news that
the British have evacuated that luckless city altogether, never having
ventured to attack Mr. Washington in his camp at Cambridge (though
he lay there for many months without powder at our mercy) ; but waiting
until he procured ammunition, and seized and fortihed Dorchester
heights, which commanded the town, out of which the whole British
army and colony was obliged to beat a retreat. That the King's troops
won the battle at Bunker's Hill, there is no more doubt than that they
beat the French at Blenheim ; but through the war their chiefs seem
constantly to have been afraid of assaulting entrenched Continentals
afterwards ; else why, from July to March, hesitate to strike an almost
defenceless enemy? Why the hesitation at Long Island, when the
Continental army was in our hand ? Why that astonishing timorous-
ness of Howe before Yalley Forge ; where the relics of a force starving,
sickening, and in rags, could scarcely man tho lines, which they held
before a great, victorious, and perfectly appointed army ?
As the hopes and fears of the contending parties rose and fell, it was
curious to mark the altered tone of the partisans of either. When the
news came to us in the country of the evacuation of Boston, every little
Whig in the neighbourhood made his bow to Madam, and advised her
to a speedy submission. She did not carry her loyalty quite so openly
as heretofore, and flaunt her flag in the faces of the public, but she
never swerved. Every night and morning in private poor Hagan prayed
for the Royal Family in our own household, and on Sundays any
neighbours were welcome to attend the service, where my mother acted
as a very emphatic clerk, and the prayer for the High Court of Parlia-
ment under our most religious and gracious King was very stoutly
delivered. The brave Hagan was a parson without a living, as I was a
Militia Colonel without a regiment. Hagan had continued to pray
stoutly for King George in Williamsburg, long after his Excellency
our Governor had run away : but on coming to church one Sunday to
perform his duty, he found a corporal's guard at the church-door, who
told him that the Committee of Safety had put another divine in his
place, and he was requested to keep a quiet tongue in his head. He
told the men to "lead him before their chiefs" (our honest friend
always loved tall words and tragic attitudes) ; and accordingly was
marched through the streets to the Capitol, with a chorus of white and
coloured blackguards at the skirts of his gown ; and had an interview
with Mr. Henry and the new State officers, and confronted the robbers,
as he said, in their den. Of course he was for making an heroic speech
before these gentlemen (and was one of many men who perhaps would
have no objection to be made martyrs, so that they might be roasted
coram 2^opulo, or tortured in a full house), but Mr. Henry was deter-
mined to give him no such chance. After keeping Hagan three or four
hours waiting in an ante-room in the company of negroes when the
648 THE VIKGINIANS.
"worthy divine entered the new chief magistrate's room with an undaunted
mien, and began a prepared speech with — '* Sir, by what authority am
I, a minister of the " *' Mr. Hagan," says the other, interrupting
him, " I am too busy to listen to speeches. And as for King George, he
has henceforth no more authority in this country than King Nebuchad-
nezzar. Mind you that, and hold your tongue, if you please ! Stick to
King John, sir, and King Macbeth ; and if you will send round your
benefit-tickets, all the Assembly shall come and hear you. Did you
ever see Mr. Hagan on the boards, when you was in London, General ? '*
And, so saying, Henry turns round upon Mr. AVashington's second in.
command, General Lee, who was now come into Virginia upon State
afiairs, and our shame-faced good Hagan was bustled out of the room,
reddening, and almost crying with shame. After this event we thought
that Hagan's ministrations were best confined to us in the country, and
removed the worthy pastor from his restive lambs in the city.
The selection of Virginians to the very highest civil and military
appointments of the new government bribed and flattered many of our
leading people, who, but for the outrageous conduct of our government,
might have remained faithful to the Crown, and made good head against
the rising rebellion. But, although we Loyalists were gagged and
muzzled, though the Capitol was in the hands of the Whigs, and our
vaunted levies of loyal recruits so many Falstaff's regiments for the
most part, the faithful still kept intelligences with one another in the
colony, and with our neighbours; and though we did not rise, and
though we ran away, and though in examination before committees,
justices, and so forth, some of our frightened people gave themselves
Republican airs, and vowed perdition to kings and nobles ; yet we knew
each other pretty well, and — according as the chances were more or less
favourable to us, the master more or less hard — we concealed our colours^,
showed our colours, half showed our colours, or downright apostatised
for the nonce, and cried, **Down with King George ! " Our negroes
bore about, from house to house, all sorts of messages and tokens^
Endless underhand plots and schemes were engaged in by those who
could not afford the light. The battle over, the neutrals come and join
the winning side, and shout as loudly as the patriots. The run-aways
are not counted. "Will any man tell me that the signers and ardent
well-wishers of the Declaration of Independence were not in a minority
of the nation, and that the minority did not win ? We knew that a
part of the defeated army of Massachusetts was about to make an
important expedition southward ; upon the success of which the very
greatest hopes were founded ; and I, for one, being anxious to make a
movement as soon as there was any chance of activity, had put himself
in communication with the ex- Governor Martin, of North Carolina^
whom I proposed to join, with three or four of our Virginian gentlemen,
officers of that notable corps of which we only wanted privates. We
made no particular mystery about our departure from Castlewood ; the
affairs of Congress were not going so well yet that the new government
THE VIRGINIANS. 649
could afford to lay any particular stress or tyranny upon persons of
a doubtful way of thinking. Gentlemen's houses were still open;
and in our southern fashion we would visit our friends for months at a
time. My wife and I, with our infant and a fitting suite of servants,
took leave of Madam Esmond on a visit to a neighbouring plantation.
We went thence to another friend's house, and then to another, till
finally we reached Wilmington, in North Carolina, which was the point
at which we expected to stretch a hand to the succours which were
coming to meet us.
Ere our arrival, our brother Carolinian Royalists had shown them-
selves in some force. Their encounters with the Whigs had been
unlucky. The poor Highlanders had been no more fortunate in their
present contest in favour of King George, than when they had drawa
their swords against him in their own country. We did not reach
Wilmington until the end of May, by which time we found Admiral
Parker's squadron there, with General Clinton and five British regi-
ments on board, whose object was a descent upon Charlestown.
The General, to whom I immediately made myself known, seeing
that my regiment consisted of Lady Warrington, our infant, whom she
was nursing, and three negro servants, received us at first with a very
grim welcome. But Captain Horner of the Sphinx frigate, who had
been on the Jamaica station, and received, like all the rest of the world,
many kindnesses from our dear governor there, when he heard that my
wife was General Lambert's daughter, eagerly received her on board,
and gave up his best cabin to our service ; and so we were refugees, too,
like my lord Dunmore, having waved our flag, to be sure, and pocketed
it, and slipped out at the back door. From Wilmington we bore away
quickly to Charlestown, and in the course of the voyage and our delay
in the river, previous to our assault on the place, I made some acquaint-
ance with Mr. Clinton, which increased to a further intimacy. It was
the King's birthday when we appeared in the river : we determined it
was a glorious day for commencement of the expedition.
It did not take place for some days after, and I leave out, purposely,
all descriptions of my Penelope parting from her Hector, going forth oa
this expedition. In the first place, Hector is perfectly well (though a
little gouty), nor has any rascal of a Pyrrhus made a prize of his widow:
and in times of war and commotion, are not such scenes of woe and
terror, and parting, occurring every hour ? I can see the gentle face
yet over the bulwark, as we descend the ship's side into the boats, and
the smile of the infant on her arm. What old stories, to be sure !
Captain Miles, having no natural taste for poetry, you have forgot the
verses, no doubt, in Mr. Pope's Homer, in which you are described as
parting with your heroic father ; but your mother often read them to
you as a boy, and keeps the gorget I wore on that day somewhere
amongst her dressing-boxes now.
My second venture at fighting was no more lucky than my first. We
came back to our ships that evening thoroughly beaten. The madcap
650 THE YIHGIXIAXS.
Lee, whom Clinton had faced at Boston, now met him at Chaiiestown.
Lee and the gallant garrison there, made a brilliant and most successful
resistance. The fort on Sullivan's Island, which we attacked, was a
nut we could not crack. The fire of all our frigates was not strong
enough to pound its shell ; the passage by which we moved up to the
assault of the place was not fordable, as those officers found — Sir Henry
at the head of them, who was always the first to charge — who attempted
to wade it. Death by shot, by drowning, by catching my death of cold,
I had braved before I returned to my wife ; and our frigate being
aground for a time and got ofi" with difficulty, was agreeably cannonaded
by the enemy until she got ofi" her bank.
A small incident in the midst of this unlucky struggle was the occa-
sion of a subsequent intimacy which arose between me and Sir Harry
Clinton, and bound me to that most gallant officer during the period in
which it w^as my fortune to follow the war. Of his qualifications as a
leader there may be many opinions, I fear to say : regarding a man I
heartily respect and admire, there ought only to be one. Of his per-
sonal bearing and his courage there can be no doubt ; he was always
eager to show it ; and whether at the final charge on Breed's Hill, when
at the head of the rallied troops he carried the Continental lines, or
here before Sullivan's Fort, or a year later at Fort AYashington, when,
standard in hand, he swept up the height, and entered the fort at the
head of the storming column, Clinton was always foremost in the race
of battle, and the King's service knew no more admirable soldier.
We were taking to the water from our boats, with the intention of
forcing a column to the fort, through a way which our own guns had
rendered practicable, when a shot struck a boat alongside of us, so well
aimed, as actually to put three-fourths of the boat's crew hors de
combat, and knock down the officer steering, and the flag behind him.
I could not help crying out, *' Bravo ! well aimed ! " for no ninepins
ever went down more helplessly than these poor fellows before the round
shot. Then the General, turning round to me, says rather grimly,
*'Sir, the behaviour of the enemy seems to please you!" ** I am
pleased, sir," says I, ''that my countrymen, yonder, should fight as
becomes our nation." We floundered on towards the fort in the midst
of the same amiable attentions from small arms and great, until we
found the water was up to our breasts and deepening at every step,
when we were fain to take to our boats again and pull out of harm's
way. Sir Henry waited upon my Lady "Warrington on board the
Sphinx after this, and was very gracious to her, and mighty facetious
regarding the character of the humble writer of the present memoir,
whom his Excellency always described as a rebel at heart. I pray my
children may live to see or engage in no great revolutions, — such as
that, for instance, raging in the country of our miserable French
neighbours. Save a very, very few indeed, the actors in those great
tragedies do not bear to be scanned too closely ; the chiefs are often no
better than ranting quacks ; the heroes ignoble puppets : the heroines
THE VlilUINlANS. 651
anything but pure. The prize is not always to the brave. In our
revolution it certainly did fall, for once and for a wonder, to the most
deserving : but who knows his enemies now ? His great and surpris-
ing triumphs were not in those rare engagements with the enemy
where he obtained a trifling mastery; but over Congress ; over hunger
and disease ; over lukewarm friends, or smiling foes in his own camp,
whom his great spirit had to meet, and master. "When the struggle
was over, and our impotent chiefs who had conducted it began to
squabble and accuse each other in their own defence before the nation,
— what charges and counter-charges were brought ; what pretexts of
delay were urged ; what piteous excuses were put forward that this
fleet arrived too late ; that that regiment mistook its orders ; that these
cannon-balls would not tit those guns : and so to the end of the chapter !
Here was a general who beat us with no s^ot at times ; and no powder ;
and no money ; and he never thought of a convention ; his courage
never capitulated ! Through all the doubt and darkness, the danger
and long tempest of the war, I think it was only the American leader's
indomitable soul that remained entirely steady. t
Of course our Charlestown expedition was made the most of, and
pronounced a prodigious victory by the enemy, who had learnt (from
their parents, perhaps) to cry victory if a corporal's guard were sur-
prised, as loud as if we had won a pitched-battle. Mr. Lee rushed
back to New York, the conqueror of conquerors, trumpeting his glory,
and by no man received with more eager delight than by the Com-
niander-in-Chief of the American army. It was my dear Lee and my
dear General between them, then ; and it hath always touched me in
the history of our early Revolution to note that simple confidence and
admiration with which the General-in-Chief was wont to regard officers
under him, who had happened previously to serve with the King's army.
So the Mexicans of old looked and wondered when they first saw an
armed Spanish horseman ! And this mad, flashy braggart (and another
Continental general, whose name and whose luck afterwards were suffi-
ciently notorious), you may be sure took advantage of the modesty of
the Commander-in-Chief, and advised, and blustered, and sneered, and
disobeyed orders; daily presenting fresh obstacles (as if he had not
enough otherwise !) in the path over which only Mr. Washington's
astonishing endurance could have enabled him to march.
Whilst we were awdiy on our South Carolina expedition, the famous
Fourth of July had taken place, and we and the thirteen United States
were parted for ever. My own native state of Virginia had also dis-
tinguished itself by announcing that all men are equally free ; that all
power is vested in the people, who have an inalienable right to alter,
T-form, or abolish their form of government at pleasure, and that the
i lea of an hereditary first magistrate is unnatural and absurd ! Our
General presented me with this document fresh from Williamsburg, as
we were sailing northward by the Virginia capes, and, amidst not a
liltle amusement and laughter, pointed out to me the faith to whioUi
652 THE VIRGINIANS.
from the Fourth inst., inclusive, I was bound. There was no help for
it ; I was a Virginian — my godfathers had promised and vowed, in my
name, that all men were equally free (including, of course, the race of
poor Gumbo), that the idea of a monarchy is absurd, and that I had
the right to alter my form of government at pleasure. I thought of
Madam Esmond at home, and how she would look when these articles of
faith were brought her to subscribe ; how would Hagan receive them ?
He demolished them in a sermon, in which all the logic was on bis side,
but the U. S. Government has not, somehow, been affected by the dis-
course ; and when he came to touch upon the point that all men being
free, therefore Gumbo and Sady, and Nathan, had assuredly a right to
go to Congress: "Tut, tut! my good Mr. Hagan," says my mother,
*' let us hear no more of this nonsense ; but leave such wickedness and
folly to the rebels ! "
By the middle of August we were before New York, whither Mr.
Howe had brought his army that had betaken itself to Halifax after its
inglorious expulsion from Boston. The American Commander-in-Chief
was at New York, and a great battle inevitable ; and I looked forward
to it with an inexpressible feeling of doubt and anxiety, knowing that
my dearest brother and his regiment formed part of the troops whom
we must attack, and could not but overpower. Almost the whole of the
American army came over to fight on a small island, where every officer
on both sides knew that they were to be beaten, and whence they had
not a chance of escape. Two frigates, out of a hundred we had placed
so as to command the enemy's entrenched camp and point of retreat
across East river to New York, would have destroyed every bark in
which he sought to fly, and compelled him to lay down his arms on
shore. He fought : his hasty levies were utterly overthrown ; some of
his generals, his best troops, his artillery taken ; the remnant huddled
into their entrenched camp after their rout, the pursuers entering it
with them. The victors were called back ; the enemy was then pent up
in a corner of the island, and could not escape. " They are at our
mercy, and are ours to-morrow," says the gentle General. Not a sliip
was set to watch the American force ; not a sentinel of ours could see
a movement in their camp. A whole army crossed under our eyes in
one single night to the mainland without the loss of a single man ; and
General Howe was suffered to remain in command after this feat, and
to complete his glories of Long Island and Breed's Hill, at Philadelphia !
A friend, to be sure, crossed in the night to say the enemy's army was
being ferried over, but he fell upon a picket of Germans : they could
not understand him : their commander was boozing or asleep. In the
morning, when the spy was brought to some one who could comprehend
the American language, the whole Continental force had crossed the
East river, and our empire over thirteen colonies had slipped away.
The opinions I had about our chief were by no means uncommon in
the army ; though, perhaps, wisely kept secret by gentlemen under Mr.
Howe's immediate command. Am I more unlucky than other fulks, I
THE VIRGINIANS. 653
wonder ? or why are my imprudent sayings carried about more than my
neighbours' ? My rage that such a use was made of such a victory was
no greater than that of scores of gentlemen with the army. AVhy must
my name forsooth be given up to the Commander-in-Chief as that of
the most guilty of the grumblers ? Personally, General Howe was
perfectly brave, amiable, and good-humoured.
*'So, Sir George," says he, "you find fault with me as a military
man, because there was a fog after the battle on Long Island, and your
friends, the Continentals, gave me the slip ! Surely we took and killed
enough of them ; but there is no satisfying you gentlemen amateurs ! "
and he turned his back on me ; and shrugged his shoulders, and talked
to some one else. Amateur I might be, and he the most amiable of
men; but if King George had said to him, "Never more be officer of
mine," yonder agreeable and pleasant Cassio would most certainly have
had his dessert.
I soon found how our Chief had come in possession of his information
regarding myself. My admirable cousin, Mr. AVilliam Esmond, — who
of course had forsaken K'ew York and his post, when all the Royal
authorities fled out of the place, and Washington occupied it, — returned
along with our troops and fleets ; and, being a gentleman of good birth
and name, and well acquainted with the city, made himself agreeable to
the new-comers of the Royal army, the young bloods, merry fellows,
and macaronis, by introducing them to play-tables, taverns, and yet
worse places, with which the worthy gentleman continued to be familiar
in the New "World as in the Old. Cceluin non animimi. However Will
had changed his air, or whithersoever he transported his carcase, he
carried a rascal in his skin.
I had heard a dozen stories of his sayings regarding my family, and
was determined neither to avoid him nor seek him, but to call him to
account whensoever we met. I, chancing one day to be at a coffee-
house in a friend's company, my worthy kinsman swaggered in with a
couple of young lads of the army, whom he found it was his pleasure
and profit now to lead into every kind of dissipation. I happened to
know one of Mr. Will's young companions, an aide-de-camp of General
Clinton's who had been in my close company both at Charlestown,
before Sullivan's Island, and in the action of Brooklyn, where our
General gloriously led the right wing of the English army. They took
a box without noticing us at first, though I heard my name three or
four times mentioned by my brawling kinsman, who ended some
drunken speech he was making by slappiug his fist on the table, and
swearing, "By , I will do for him, and the bloody rebel, his
brother ! "
"Ah! Mr. Esmond," says I, coming forward with my hat on. (He
looked a little pale behind his punch-bowl.) " I have long wanted to
see you, to set some little matters right about which there has been a
difference between us."
" And what may those be, sir ? " says he, with a volley of oaths.
664 THE VIRGmiANS.
" You have chosen to cast a doubt upon my courage, and say that I
shirked a meeting with you when we were young men. Our relation-
ship and our age ought to prevent us from having recourse to such
murderous follies," (Mr. Will started up looking fierce and relieved)
"but I give you notice, that though I can afford to overlook lies
against myself, if I hear from you a word in disparagement of my
t3rother. Colonel Warrington, of the Continental Army, I will hold you
accountable."
** Indeed, gentlemen. Mighty fine, indeed. You take notice of Sir
George Warrington's words ! " cries Mr. Will over his punch-bowl.
"You have been pleased to say," I continued, growing angry as I
spoke, and being a fool therefore for my pains, "that the very estates
we hold in this country are not ours, but of right revert to your family ! "
" So they are ours ! By George, they're ours. I've heard my brother
Castle wood say so a score of times ! " swears Mr. Will.
"In that case, sir," says I, hotly, "your brother, my Lord Castle-
wood, tells no more truth than yourself. We have the titles at home
in Virginia. They are registered in the courts there ; and if ever I
hear one word more of this impertinence, I shall call you to account
where no constables will be at hand to interfere ! "
" I wonder," cries Will, in a choking voice, "that I don't cut him
into twenty thousand pieces as he stands there before me with his
confounded yellow face. It was my brother Castlewood won his
money — no, it was his brother ; d — you, which are you, the rebel or
the other? I hate the ugly faces of both of you, and, hick! — if you
are for the King, show you are for the King, and drink his health ! "
And he sank down into his box with a hiccup and a wild laugh, which
he repeated a dozen times, with a hundred more oaths and vociferous
outcries that I should drink the King's health.
To reason with a creature in this condition, or ask explanations or
apologies from him, was absurd. I left Mr. Will to reel to his lodgings
under the care of his young friends — who were surprised to find an old
toper so suddenly affected and so utterly prostrated by liquor — and
limped home to my wife, whom I found happy in possession of a
brief letter from Hal, which a countryman had brought in ; and who
said not a word about the affairs of the Continentals with whom he was
engaged, but wrote a couple of pages of rapturous eulogiums upon his
brother's behaviour in the field, which my dear Hal was pleased to
admire, as he admired everything I said and did.
I rather looked for a message from my amiable kinsman in conse-
quence of the speeches which had passed between us the night before,
and did not know but that I might be called by Will to make my words
good ; and when accordingly Mr. Lacy (our companion of the previous
evening) made his appearance at an early hour of the forenoon, I was
beckoning my Lady Warrington to leave us, when, with a laugh and
a cry of " dear no I " Mr. Lacy begged her ladyship not to disturb
herself.
THE YIRGINIANS. 653
" I have seen," says he, " a gentleman who begs to send you his
apologies if he uttered a word last night which could offend you."
" What apologies ? what words ? " asks the anxious wife.
I explained that roaring Will Esmond had met me in a coffee-house
on the previous evening, and quarrelled with me, as he had done with
Hundreds before. "It appears the fellow is constantly abusive, and
invariably pleads drunkenness, and apologises the next morning, unless
he is caned over-night," remarked Captain Lacy. And my lady, I
daresay, makes a little sermon, and asks why we gentlemen will go to
idle coffee-houses and run the risk of meeting roaring, roistering Will
Esmonds ?
Our sojourn in New York was enlivened by a project for burning the
city which some ardent patriots entertained and partially executed.
Several such schemes were laid in the course of the war, and each
one of the principal cities was doomed to fire ; though, in the interests
of peace and goodwill, I hope it will be remembered that these plans
never originated with the cruel government of a tyrant king, but were
always proposed by gentlemen on the Continental side, who vowed that,
rather than remain under the ignominious despotism of the ruffian of
Brunswick, the fairest towns of America should burn. I presume that
the sages who were for burning down Boston were not actual pro-
prietors in that place, and the New York burners might come from
other parts of the country — from Philadelphia, or what not. Howbeit,
the British spared you, gentlemen, and we pray you give us credit for
this act of moderation.
I had not the fortune to be present in the action on the White Plains,
being detained by the hurt which I had received at Long Island, and
which broke out again and again, and took some time in the healing.
The tenderest of nurses watched me through my tedious malady, and
was-eager for the day when I should doff my militia- coat and return
to the quiet English home where Hetty and our good General were
tending our children. Indeed I don't know that I have yet forgiven
myself for the pains and terrors that I must have caused my poor wife,
by keeping her separate from her young ones, and away from her home,
because, forsooth, I wished to see a little more of the war then going
on. Our grand tour in Europe had been all very well. We had beheld
St. Peter's at Eome, and the Bishop thereof; the Dauphiness of France
(alas, to think that glorious head should ever have been brought so low!)
at Paris ; and the rightful King of England at Florence. I had dipt my
gout in a half-dozen baths and spas, and played cards in a hundred
courts, as my " Travels in Europe" (which I propose to publish after my
completion of the History of the American War) will testify.* And,
during our peregrinations, my hypochondria diminished (which plagued
me wofuUy at home) ; and my health and spirits visibly improved,
* Neither of these tAvo projected works of Su: George Warrington were brought,
fia it appears, to a completion.
666 THE VIEGINIANS.
Perhaps it was because she saw the evident benefit T had from excite-
ment and change, that my wife was reconciled to my continuing to
enjoy them : and though secretly suffering pangs at being away from
her nursery and her eldest boy (for whom she ever has had an
absurd infatuation), the dear hypocrite scarce allowed a look of anxiety
to appear on her face ; encouraged me with smiles ; professed herself
eager to follow me ; asked why it should be a sin in me to covet honour ?
and, in a word, was ready to stay, to go, to smile, to be sad ; to scale
mountains, or to go down to the sea in ships ; to say that cold was
pleasant, heat tolerable, hunger good sport, dirty lodgings delightful;
though she is a wretched sailor, very delicate about the little she eats,
and an extreme sufferer both of cold and heat. Hence, as I willed to
stay on yet awhile on my native continent, she was certain nothing was
so good for me ; and when I was minded to return home — 0, how she
brightened, and kissed her infant, and told him how he should see the
beautiful gardens at home, and Aunt Theo, and grandpapa, and his
sister, and Miles. " Miles ! " cries the little parrot, mocking its mother
— and crowing ; as if there was any mighty privilege in seeing Mr.
Miles, forsooth, who was under Doctor Sumner's care at Harrow-on-the-
Hill, where, to do the gentleman justice, he showed that he could eat
more tarts than any boy in the school, and took most creditable prizes
at football and hare-and-hounds.
CHAPTER XCI.
SATIS PrGN-^.
It has always seemed to me (I speak under the correction of military
gentlemen) that the entrenchments of Breed's Hill served the Continental
army throughout the whole of our American war. The slaughter
inflicted upon us from behind those lines was so severe, and the behaviour
of the enemy so resolute, that the British chiefs respected the bar-
ricades of the Americans afterwards; and were they tiring from
behind a row of blankets, certain of our generals rather hesitated to
force them. In the affair of the White Plains, when, for a second time,
Mr. Washington's army was quite at the mercy of the victors, we sub-
sequently heard that our conquering troops were held back before a bar-
ricade actually composed of corn-stalks and straw. Another opportunity
was given us, and lasted during a whole winter, during which the
dwindling and dismayed troops of Congress lay starving and unarmed
under our grasp, and the magnanimous Mr. Howe left the famous camp
of Yalley Forge untouched, whilst his great, brave, and perfectly ap-
pointed army fiddled and gambled and feasted in Philadelphia. And,
by Btng's countrymen, triumphal arches were erected, tournaments
THE YIRGINIANS. 657
■were held in pleasant mockery of tlie middle ages, and wreaths and gar -
knds offered by beautiful ladies to this clement chief, with fantastical
mottoes and posies announcing that his laurels should be immortal!.
"Why have my ungrateful countrymen in America never erected statues
to this general ? They had not in all their army an officer who fought
their battles better ; who enabled them to retrieve their errors with such
adroitness ; who took care that their defeats should be so little hurtful to
themselves ; and when, in the course of events, the stronger force natu-
rally got the uppermost, who showed such an untiring tenderness,
patience, and complacency in helping the poor disabled opponent on to
his legs again. Ah ! think of eighteen years before and the fiery young
warrior whom England had sent out to fight her adversary on the Ame-
rican continent. Fancy him for ever pacing round the defences behind
which, the foe lies sheltered ; by night and by day alike sleepless and
eager ; consuming away in his fierce wrath and longing, and never
closing his eye, so intent is it in watching ; winding the track with
untiring scent that pants and hungers for blood and battle ; prowling
through midnight forests, or climbing silent over precipices before
dawn ; and watching till his great heart is almost worn out, until
the foe shows himself at last, when he springs on him and grapples
with him, and, dying, slays him ! Think of "Wolfe at Quebec, and
hearken to Howe's fiddles as he sits smiling amongst the dancers at
Philadelphia !
A favourite scheme with our ministers at home and some of our gene-
rals in America, was to establish a communication between Canada and
jS'ew York, by which means it was hoped New England might be cut off
from the neighbouring colonies, overpowered in detail, and forced into
submission. Burgoyne was entrusted with the conduct of the plan, and
he set forth from Quebec, confidently promising to bring it to a successful
issue. His march began in military state : the trumpets of his procla-
mations blew before him; he bade the colonists to remember the immense
power of England ; and summoned the misguided rebels to lay down their
arms. He brought with him a formidable English force, an army of
German veterans not less powerful, a dreadful band of Indian warriors,
and a brilliant train of artillery. It was supposed that the people round
his march would rally to the Eoyal cause and standards. The Conti-
nental force in front of him was small at first, and Washington's army
was weakened by the withdrawal of troops who were hurried forward to
meet this Canadian invasion. A British detachment from New York was
to force its way up the Hudson, sweeping away the enemy on the route,
and make a junction with Burgoyne at Albany. Then was the time,
when Washington's weakened army should have been struck too ; but a
greater Power willed otherwise : nor am I, for one, even going to regret
the termination of the war. As we look over the game now, how clear
seem the blunders which were made by the losing side ! From the
beginning to the end we were for ever arriving too late. Our supplies
and reinforcements from home were too late. Our troops were in diffi-
u u
C58 THE YIRGIXTAXS.
culty, and our succours readied them loo late. Our fleet appeared off
York Town just too late, after Cornwallis had surrendered. A way of
escape was opened to Burgoyne, but he resolved upon retreat too late. I
have heard discomfited officers in after days prove infallibly how a
different wind would have saved America to us ; how we must have
destroyed the French fleet but for a tempest or two ; how once, twice,
thrice, but for nightfall, Mr. Washington and his army were in our
power. Who has not speculated, in the course of his reading of history,
upon the ** Has been " and the " Might have been" in the world? I
Take my tattered old map-book from the shelf, and see the board on
which the great contest was played ; I wonder at the curious chances
wliich lost it : and, putting aside any idle talk about the respective bra-
very of the tjvo nations, can't but see that we had the best cards, and
that we lost the game.
I own the sport had a considerable fascination for me, and stirred up
my languid blood. My brother Hal, when settled on his plantation in
Virginia, was perfectly satisfied with the sports and occupations he found
there. The company of the country neighbours sufficed him ; he never
tired of looking after his crops and people, taking his fish, shooting his
ducks, hunting in his woods, or enjoying his rubber, and his supper.
Happy Hal, in his great barn of a house, under his roomy porches, his
dogs lying round his feet ; his friends, the Virginian Will Wimbles, at
free quarters in his mansion ; his negroes fat, lazy, and ragged ; his
shrewd little wife ruling over them and her husband, who always obeyed
her implicitly when living, and who was pretty speedily consoled when
she died ! I say happy, though his lot would have been intolerable to
me ; — wife, and friends, and plantation, and town life at llichmond
(Richmond succeeded to the honour of being the capital when our Pro-
vince became a State). How happy he whose foot fits the shoe which
fortune gives him ! My income was five times as great, my house in
England as large, and built of bricks and faced with freestone ; my
wife — would I have changed her for any other wife in the world ? My
children — well, I am contented with my Lady Warrington's opinion
about them. But with all these plums and peaches and rich fruits out of
Plenty's horn poured into my lap, I fear I have been but an ingrate ;
and Hodge, my gatekeeper, who shares his bread and scrap of bacon
with a family as large as his master's, seems to me to enjoy his meal as
much as I do, though Mrs. Molly prepares her best dishes and sweet-
meats, and Mr. Gumbo uncorks the choicest bottle from the cellar. Ah,
me; sweetmeats have lost their savour for me, however they may rejoice
my young ones from the nursery, and the perfume of claret palls upon
old noses ! Our parson has poured out his sermons many and many a
time to me, and perhaps I did not care for them much when he first
broached them. Dost thou remember, honest friend (sure he does, for
he has repeated the story over the bottle as many times as his sermons
almost, and my Lady Warrington pretends as if she had never lieard
it), — I say, Joe Blake, thou rememberest full well, and with advantages,
THE YIEGINIANS. 659
that October evening when we scrambled up an embrasure at Fort
Clinton, and a clubbed musket would dave dashed these valuable brains
out, had not Joe's sword whipped my rebellious countryman through the
gizzard. Joe wore a red coat in those days (the uniform of the brave
Sixty-third, whose leader, the bold Sill, fell pierced with many wounds
beside him). He exchanged his red for black and my pulpit. His
doctrines are sound, and his sermons short. "VVeread the papers together
over our wine. Not two months ago we read our old friend Howe's
glorious deed of the first of June. "We were told how the noble Rawdon,
who fought with us at Fort Clinton, had joined the Duke of York : and
to-day his Royal Highness is in full retreat before Pichegru : and he
and my son Miles have taken Valenciennes for nothing ! Ah, parson!
would you not like to put on your old Sixty-third coat ? (though I
doubt Mrs. Blake could never make the buttons and button-holes meet
again over your big body). The boys were acting a play with my
militia sword. that I were young again, Mr. Blake ! that I had
not the gout in my toe ; and I would saddle Rosinante and ride back
into the world, and feel the pulses beat again, and play a little of life's
glorious game !
The last ** hit^^ which I saw played, was gallantly won by our side ;
though 'tis true that even in this ^jar^e the Americans won the rubber —
our people gaining only the ground they stood on, and the guns, stores,
and ships which they captured and destroyed, whilst our efforts at rescue
were too late to prevent the catastrophe impending over Burgoyne's
unfortunate army. After one of those delays which always were hap-
pening to retard our plans and weaken the blows which our chiefs
intended to deliver, an expedition was got under weigh from New York
at the close of the month of September, '77 ; that, could it but have
advanced a fortnight earlier, might have saved the doomed force of Bur-
goyne. Sed Dis aliter visum. The delay here was not Sir Henry
Clinton's fault, who could not leave his city unprotected ; but the winds
and weather which delayed the arrival of reinforcements which we
had long awaited from England. The fleet which brought them,
brought us long and fond letters from home, with the very last news
of the children under the care of their good aunt Hetty and their
grandfather. The mother's heart yearned towards the absent young
ones. She made me no reproaches : but I could read her importunities
in her anxious eyes, her terrors for me, and her longing for her
children. " Why stay longer?" she seemed to say. " Yon who have
no calling to this war, or to draw the sword against your countrymen
— why continue to imperil your life and my happiness?" I under-
stood her appeal, j We were to enter upon no immediate service of
danger ; 1 told her Sir Henry was only going to accompany the expedition
for a part of the way. I would return with him, the reconnoissance
over, and Christmas, please Heaven, should see our family once more
united in England.
A force of three thousand men, including a couple of slender regiments
u u 2
660 THE VIRGINIANS.
of American Loyalists, and New York Militia (with which latter my
tlistinguished relative, Mr. Will Esmond, went as captain,) was em-
barked at New York, and our armament sailed up the noble Hudson.
river, that presents finer aspects than the Rhine in Europe to my mind ;
nor was any fire opened upon us from those beetling cliffs and precipitous
" palisades," as they are called, by which we sailed; the enemy, strange
to say, being for once unaware of the movement we contemplated. Our
first landing was on the Eastern bank, at a place called Yerplancks'
Point, whence the Congress troops withdrew after a slight resistance,,
their leader, the tough old Putnam (so famous during the war) supposing-
that our march was to be directed towards the Eastern Highlands, by
which we intended to penetrate to Burgoyne. Putnam fell back to-
occupy these passes, a small detachment of ours being sent forward as if
in pursuit, which he imagined was to be followed by the rest of our force.
Meanwhile, before day-light, two thousand men without artillery, were
carried over to Stoney Point on the Western shore, opposite Yerplanck's,
and under a great hill called the Dunderberg by the old Dutch lords of
the stream, and which hangs precipitously over it. A little stream at th&
northern base of this mountain intersects it from the opposite height on.
which Fort Clinton stood, named not after our general, but after one of
the two gentlemen of the same name, who were amongst the oldest and
most respected of the provincial gentry of New York, and who were at
this moment actually in command against Sir Henry. On the next height
to Clinton is Fort Montgomery ; and, behind them rises a hill called
Bear Hill ; whilst at the opposite side of the magnificent stream standa
*' Saint Antony's Nose," a prodigious peak indeed, which the Dutch had
quaintly christened.
The attacks on the two forts were almost simultaneous. Half our
men were detached for the assault on Fort Montgomery, under the brave
Campbell, who fell before the rampart. Sir Henry, who would never be
out of danger where he could find it, personally led the remainder ;
and hoped, he said, that we should have better luck than before the
SuUivain Island. A path led up to the Dunderberg, so narrow as
scarcely to admit three men abreast, and in utter silence our whole force
scaled it, wondering at every rugged step to meet with no opposition.
The enemy had not even kept a watch on it ; nor were we descried until
we were descending the height, at the base of which we easily dispersed
a small force sent hurriedly to oppose us. The firing which here took
place rendered all idea of a surprise impossible. The fort was before us.
With such arms as the troops had in their hands, they had to assault ;
and silently and swiftly, in the face of the artillery playing upon them,
the troops ascended the hill. The men had orders on no account to fire^
Taking the colours of the Sixty-third, and bearing them aloft, Sir Henry
mounted with the storraers. The place was so steep that the men pushed
each other over the wall and through the embrasures ; and it was there
that Lieutenant Joseph Blake, the father of a certain Joseph Clinton.
Blake, who looks with the eyes of affection on a certain young lady.
THE VIRGINIANS. 661
presented himself to the living of Warrington by saving the life of the
unworthy patron thereof.
Ahout a fourth part of the garrison, as we were told, escaped out .of
the fort, the rest being killed or wounded, or remaining our prisoners
within the works. Fort Montgomery was, in like manner, stormed and
taken by our people ; and, at night, as we looked down from the heights
where the king's standard had been just planted, we were treated to a
splendid illumination in the river below. Under Fort Montgomery, and
stretching over to that lofty prominence, called St. Antony's Ifose, a
boom and chain had been laid with a vast cost and labour, behind which
several American frigates and gallies were anchored. The fort being
taken, these ships attempted to get up the river in the darkness, out of
the reach of guns, which they knew must destroy them in the morning.
But the wind was unfavourable, and escape was found to be impossible.
The crews therefore took to the boats, and so landed, having previously
set the ships on fire, with all their sails set ; and we beheld these
magnificent pyramids of flame burning up to the heavens and reflected
in the waters below, until, in the midst of prodigious explosions, they
sank and disappeared.
On the next day a parlementaire came in from the enemy, to inquire
as to the state of his troops left wounded or prisoners in our hands, and
the continental officer brought me a note, which gave me a strange
shock, for it showed that in the struggle of the previous evening my
brother had been engaged. It was dated October 7, from Major-
General George Clinton's divisional head-quarters, and it stated briefly
that " Colonel H. Warrington, of the Virginia line, hopes that Sir
George Warrington escaped unhurt in the assault of last evening, from
which the Colonel himself was so fortunate as to retire without the least
injury." Never did I say my prayers more heartily and gratefully than
on that night, devoutly thanking Heaven that my dearest brother was
spared, and making a vow at the same time to withdraw out of the
fratricidal contest, into which I only had entered because Honour and
Duty seemed imperatively to call me.
I own I felt an inexpressible relief when I had come to the resolution,
to retire and betake myself to the peaceful shade of my own vines and
fif-trees at home. I longed, however, to see my brother ere I returned,
and asked, and easily obtained, an errand to the camp of the American
General Clinton from our own chief. The head-quarters of his division
were now some miles up the river, and a boat and a flag of truce quickly
brought me to the point where his out picquets received me on the shore.
My brother was very soon with me. He had only lately joined General
Clinton's divisioa with letters from head-quarters at Philadelphia, and
he chanced to hear after the attack on Fort Clinton that I had been pre-
sent during the affair. We passed a brief delightful night together ;
Mr. Sady, who always followed Hal to the war, cooking a feast in
honour of both his masters. There was but one bed of straw in the hut
where we had quarters, and Hal and I slept on it, side by side, as we
662 THE VIRGINIANS.
had done -vrhen we were boys. We had a hundred things to say regarding
past times and present. His kind heart gladdened when I told him of
my resolve to retire to my acres and to take oif the red coat which I
■wore : he flung his arms round it. " Praised be God ! " said he. " O
heavens, George ! think what might have happened had we met in the
affair two nights ago ! " And he turned quite pale at the thought. He
eased my mind with respect to our mother. She was a bitter Tory, to
be sure, but the Chief had given special injunctions regarding her safety.
<* And Fanny" (Hal's wife) " watches over her, and she is as good as a
company ! " cried the enthusiastic husband. " Isn't she clever ? Isn't
she handsome ? Isn't she good ? " cries Hal, never, fortunately, waiting
for a reply to these ardent queries. " And to think that I was nearly
marrying Maria once ! mercy ! what an escape I liad ! " he added.
** Hagan prays for the King, every morning and night at Castle wood,
but they bolt the doors, and nobody hears. Gracious powers! his
wife is sixty if she is a day ; and, George ! the quantity she drinks
is " But why tell the failings of our good cousin ? 1 am
pleased to think she lived to drink the health of King George long after
his Old Dominion had passed for ever from his sceptre.
The morning came when my brief mission to the camp was ended,
and the truest of friends and fondest of brothers accompanied me to my
boat, which lay waiting at the river-side. We exchanged an embrace
at parting, and his hand held mine yet for a moment ere 1 stepped into
the barge which bore me rapidly down the stream. ** Shall I see thee
once more, dearest and best companion of my youth?" I thought.
'' Amongst our cold Englishmen, can I ever hope to meet with a friend
like thee ? When hadst thou ever a thought that was not kindly and
generous ? When a wish, or a possession, but for me you would sacrifice
it ? How brave are you, and how modest ; how gentle, and how strong ;
how simple, unselfish, and humble ; how eager to see other's merit ; how
diffident of your own ! " He stood on the shore till his figure grew dim
before me. There was that in my eyes which prevented me from seeing
him longer.
Brilliant as Sir Henry's success had been, it was achieved, as usual,
too late ; and served but as a small set-off against the disaster of Bur-
goyne which ensued immediately, and which our advance was utterly
inadequate to relieve. More than one secret messenger was dispatched
to him who never reached him, and of whom we never learned the fate.
Of one wretch who offered to carry intelligence to him, and whom Sir
Henry dispatched with a letter of his own, we heard the miserable
doom. Falling in with some of the troops of General George Clinton,
who happened to be in red uniform (part of the prize of a British ship's
cargo, doubtless, which had been taken by American privateers), the
spy thought he was in the English army, and advanced towards the
sentries. He found his mistake too late. His letter was discovered
upon him, and he b,ad to die for bt^aring it. In ten days after the sue-
THE YIRGIXIAX5. e563
cess at the Forts occurred the great disaster at Saratoga, of which we
carried the dismal particulars in the fleet which bore us home. I am
afraid my wife was unable to mourn for it. She had her children, her
father, her sister to revisit, and daily and nightly thanks to pay to
heaven that had brought her husband safe out of danger.
CHAPTER XCII.
UNDER TINE AND FIG-TKEE.
Xeed I describe, young folks, the delights of the meeting at home,
and the mother's happiness with all her brood once more under her fond
wings ? It was wrote in her face, and acknowledged on her knees.
Our house was large enough for all, but Aunt Hetty would not stay in it.
She said, fairly, that to resign her motherhood over the elder children,
who had been hers for nearly three years, cost her too great a pang ;
and she could not bear for yet awhile to be with them, and to submit to
take only the second place. So she and her father went away to a house
at Bury St. Edmonds, not far from us, where they lived, and where she
spoiled her eldest nephew and niece in private. It was the year after
we came home that Mr. B , the Jamaica planter, died, who left her
the half of his fortune ; and then I heard, for the first time, how the
worthy gentleman had been greatly enamoured of her in Jamaica, and,
though she had refused him, had thus j-hown his constancy to her.
Heaven knows how much property of Aunt Hetty's Monsieur Miles hath
already devoured ! the price of his commission and outfit ; his gorgeous
uniforms ; his play-debts and little transactions in the Minories ; — do
you think, sirrah, I do not know what human nature is ; what is the
cost of Pall Mall taverns^ petits soupers, play — even in moderation^af-
the Cocoa- tree ; and that a gentleman cannot purchase all these enjoy-
ments with the five hundred a year which I allow him ? Aunt Hetty
declares she has made up her mind to be an old maid. " I made a
vow never to marry until I could find a man as good as my dear
father," she said ; " and I never did, Sir George. No, my dearest
Theo, not half as good ; and Sir George may put that in his pipe and
smoke it."
And yet when the good General died (calm, and full of years, and
glad to depart), I think it was my wife who shed the most tears. *' I
weep because I think I did not love him enough," said the tender
creature : whereas Hetty scarce departed from her calm, at lea t
outwardly and before any of us ; talks of him constantly still, as
though he were alive ; recalls his merry sayings, his gentle, kind ways
with his children (when she brightens up and looks herself quite a
664 THE VIRGmiANS.
girl again), and sits cheerfully looking up to the slab in church which
records his name and some of his virtues, and for once tells no lies.
I had fancied, sometimes, that my brother Hal, for whom Hetty had
a juvenile passion, always retained a hold of her heart ; and when he
came to see us, ten years ago, I told him of this childish romance of
Het's, with the hope, I own, that he would ask her to replace Mrs.
Fanny, who had been gathered to her fathers, and regarding whom my
wife (with her usual propensity to consider herself a miserable sinner)
always reproached herself, because, forsooth, she did not regret Fanny
enough. Hal, when he came to us, was plunged in grief about her
loss ; and vowed that the world did not contain such another woman.
Our dear old General, who was still in life then, took him in and housed
him, as he had done in the happy early days. The women plaj-ed him
the very same tunes which he had heard when a boy at Oakhurst.
Everybody's heart was very soft with old recollections, and Harry
never tired of pouring but his griefs and his recitals of his wife's
virtues to Het, and anon of talking fondly about his dear Aunt Lam-
bert, whom he loved with all his heart, and whose praises, you may be
sure, were welcome to the faithful old husband, out of whose thoughts
his wife's memory was never, I believe, absent for any three waking
minutes of the day.
General Hal went to Paris as an American General Officer in his blue
and yellow (which Mr. Fox and other gentlemen had brought into
fashion here likewise), and was made much of at Versailles, although
he was presented by Monsieur le Marquis de Lafayette to the most
Christian King and Queen, who did not love Monsieur le Marquis.
And I believe a Marquise took a fancy to the Virginian General, and
would have married him out of hand, had he not resisted, and fled back
to England and Warrington and Bury again, especially to the latter
place, where the folks would listen to him as he talked about his late
wife, with an endless patience and sympathy. As for us, who had
known the poor paragon, we were civil, but not quite so enthusiastic
regarding her, and rather puzzled sometimes to answer our children's
questions about Uncle Hal's angel wife.
The two Generals and myself, and Captain Miles, and Parson Blake
(who was knocked over at Monmouth, the year after I left America, and
came home to change his coat, and take my living), used to fight the
oattles of the Revolution over our bottle ; and the parson used to cry,
*' By Jupiter, General (he compounded for Jupiter, when he laid down
his military habit), you are the Tory, and Sir George is the Whig !
He is always finding fault with our leaders, and you are for ever stand-
ing up for them ; and when I prayed for the King last Sunday, I heard
you following me quite loud."
"And so I do, Blake, with all my heart; I can*t forget I wore his
coat," says Hal.
•' Ah, if Wolfe had been alive for twenty years more! " says Lambert.
"Ah, sir," cries Hal, " you should hear the General talk about him P*
THE VIRGINIANS. 665
*' What General ?" says I (to vex him).
"J/y General," says Hal, standing up, and filling a bumper, *<His
Excellency General George Washington ! "
" With all my heart," cry I; but the parson looks as if he did not
like the toast or the claret.
Hal never tired in speaking of his general ; and it was on some
such evening of friendly converse, that he told us how he had actually
been in disgrace with this general whom he loved so fondly. Their
difference seems to have been about Monsieur le Marquis de Lafayette
before mentioned, who played such a fine part in history of late, and
who hath so suddenly disappeared out of it. His previous rank in our
own service, and his acknowledged gallantry during the war, ought to
have secured Colonel Warrington's promotion in the Continental army,
where a whipper-snapper like M. de Lafayette had but to arrive and
straightway to be complimented by Congress with the rank of Major-
General. Hal, with the freedom of an old soldier, had expressed him-
self somewhat contemptuously regarding some of the appointments made
by Congress, with whom all sorts of miserable intrigues and cabals were
set to work by unscrupulous officers greedy of promotion. Mr. War-
rington, imitating perhaps in this the example of his now illustrious
friend, of Mount Yernon, affected to make the war en gentilhomme ;
took his pay, to be sure, but spent it upon comforts and clothing for his
men ; and as for rank, declared it was a matter of no earthly concern
to him, and that he would as soon serve as colonel as in any higher
grade. No doubt he added contemptuous remarks regarding certain.
General Officers of Congress army, their origin, and the causes of their
advancement : notably he was very angry about the sudden promotion
of the young French lad just named — the Marquis, as they loved to
call him — in the Republican army, and who, by the way, was a pro-
digious favourite of the Chief himself. There were not three officers in
the whole Continental force (after poor madcap Lee was taken prisoner
and disgraced) who could speak the Marquis's language, so that Hal
could judge the young Major-General more closely and familiarly than
other gentlemen, including the Commander-in-Chief himself. Mr.
Washington good-naturedly rated friend Hal for being jealous of the
beardless commander of Auvergne ; was himself not a little pleased
by the filial regard and profound veneration which the enthusiastic
young nobleman always showed for him ; and had, moreover, the
veiy best politic reasons for treating the Marquis with friendship and
favour.
Meanwhile, as it afterwards turned out, the Commander-in-Chief was
most urgently pressing Colonel Warrington's promotion upon Congress ;
and, as if his difficulties before the enemy were not enough, he being at
this hard time of winter entrenched at Valley Forge, commanding five
or six thousand men at the most, almost without fire, blankets, food, or
ammunition, in the face of Sir William Howe's army, 'svhieh was per-
fectly appointed, and three times as numero'is as his own ; ae if, I say,
THE VIRGINIANS.
tliis difficulty was not enough to try him, he had further to encounter
the cowardly distrust of Congress, and insubordination and conspiracy
amongst tiie officers in his own camp. During the awful winter of '77,
when one blow struck by the sluggard at the head of the British forces
might have ended the war, and all was doubt, confusion, despair in the
opposite camp (save in one indomitable breast alone), my brother had an
interview with the Chief, which he has subsequently described to me,
and of which Hal could never speak without giving way to deep
emotion. Mr. Washington had won no such triumph as that which the
dare-devil courage of Arnold and the elegant imbecility of Burgoyne
had procured for Gates and the northern army. Save in one or two
minor encounters, which proved how daring his bravery was, and how
unceasing his watchfulness. General Washington had met with defeat
after defeat from an enemy in all points his superior. The Congress
mistrusted him. Many an officer in his own camp hated him. Those
who had been disappointed in ambition, those who had been detected in
peculation, those whose selfishness or incapacity his honest eyes had
spied out, — were all more or less in league against him. Gates was the
Chief towards whom the malcontents turned. Mr. Gates was the only
genius fit to conduct the war ; and with a vain-gloriousness, which he
afterwards generously owned, he did not refuse the homage which was
paid him.
To show how dreadful were the troubles and anxieties with which
General Washington had to contend, I may mention what at this time
was called the " Conway Cabal." A certain Irishman — a Chevalier of
St. Louis, and an officer in the French service — arrived in America
early in the year '77 in quest of military employment. He was
speedily appointed to the rank of brigadier ; and could not be
contented, forsooth, without an immediate promotion to be major-
general.
Mr. C. had friends at Congress, who, as the General-in-Chief was
informed, had promised him his speedy promotion. General Wash-
ington remonstrated, representing the injustice of promoting to the
highest rank the youngest brigadier in the service ; and whilst the
matter was pending, was put in possession of a letter from Conway to
General Gates, whom he complimented, saying, that " Heaven had been
determined to save America, or a weak general and bad councillors
would have ruined it." The General enclosed the note to Mr. Conway,
without a word of comment ; and Conway oflfered his resignation, which
was refused by Congress, who appointed him Inspector-General of the
army, with the rank of Major- General.
**And it was at this time," says Harry (with many passionate
exclamations indicating his rage with himself and his admiration of
his leader), " when, by heavens, the glorious Chief was oppressed by
troubles enough to drive ten thousand men mad — that I must interfere
with my jealousies about the Frenchman ! I had not said much, only
Eome nonsense to Greene and Cadwalader about getting some frogs
THE VIEGIXIANS. 667
against the Frenchman came to dine with us, and having a hag full
of Marquises over from Paris, as we were not able to command our-
selves ; — but I should have known the Chief's troubles, and that
he had a better head than mine, and might have had the grace to
hold my tongue.
*' For a while the General said nothing, but I could remark, by the
coldness of his demeanour, that something had occurred to create a
schism between him and me. Mrs. TVashington, who had come to
camp, also saw that something was wrong. Women have artful ways
of soothing men and finding their secrets out. I am not sure that I
should have ever tried to learn the cause of the General's displeasure,
for I am as proud as he is, and besides" (says Hal) " when the Chief is
angry, it was not pleasant coming near him, I can promise you." My
brother was indeed subjugated by his old friend, and obeyed him and
bowed before him as a boy before a school-master.
" At last," Hal resumed, "Mrs. Washington found out the mystery.
* Speak to me after dinner. Colonel Hal,' says she. ' Come out to the
parade-ground, before the dining-house, and I will tell you all.' I left
a half-score of general officers and brigadiers drinking round the Gene-
ral's table, and found Mrs. Washington waiting for me. She then told
me it was the speech I had made about the box of Marquises, with
which the General was offended. * I should not have heeded it in
another,' he had said, * but I never thought Harry Warrington would
have joined against me.'
*' I had to wait on him for the word that night, and found him alone
at his table. * Can your Excellency give me five minutes' time ? ' I
said, with my heart in my mouth. * Yes, surely, sir,' says he, pointing
to the other chair, * will you please to be seated ? '
** ' It used not always to be Sir and Colonel Warrington, between me
and your Excellency,' I said.
** He said, calmly, ' The times are altered.'
" ' Et nos mutamur in illis,' says I. 'Times and people are both
changed.'
" ' You had some business with me ?' he asked.
*' * Am I speaking to the Commander-in-Chief or to my old friend ? '
I asked.
"He looked at me gravely. 'Well, — to both, sir,' he said. 'Pray
sit, Harry.'
" ' If to General Washington, I tell his Excellency that I, and many
officers of this army, are not well pleased to see a boy of twenty made a
major-general over us, because he is a Marquis, and because he can't
speak the English language. If I speak to my old friend, I have to
say that he has shown me very little of trust or friendship for the last
few weeks ; and that I have no desire to sit at your table, and have
impertinent remarks made by others there, of the way in which his
Excellency turns his back on me.'
" ' Yf hich charge shall I take first, Harry?' he asked, turning his
THE VIRGINIANS.
chair away from the table, and crossing his legs as if ready for a talk.
* You are jealous, as I gather, about the Marquis ? '
*' ' Jealous ! sir,' says I ; * An aide-de-camp of Mr. "Wolfe is not
jealous of a Jack-a-dandy who, five years ago, was being whipped at
school ! '
" * You yourself declined higher rank than that which you hold,*
eays the Chief, turning a little red.
** ' But I never bargained to have a Macaroni Marquis to command
me ! ' I cried ; * I will not, for one, carry the young gentleman's orders ;
and since Congress and your Excellency chooses to take your generals
out of the nursery, I shall humbly ask leave to resign, and retire to my
plantation.'
*' 'Do, Harry; that is true friendship!' says the Chief, with a
gentleness that surprised me. * Now that your old friend is in a diffi-
culty, 'tis surely the best time to leave him.'
** 'Sir '.'says I.
" ' Do as so many of the rest are doing, Mr. Warrington. Et tu,
Brute f as the play says. Well, well, Harry ! I did not think it of
you ; but, at least, you are in the fashion.'
** ' You asked which charge you should take first ? ' I said.
" * 0, the promotion of the Marquis ? 1 recommended the appoint-
ment to Congress, no doubt ; and you and other gentlemen disap-
prove it.'
** * I have spoken for myself, sir,' says I.
** * If you take me in that tone. Colonel Warrington, I have nothing
to answer ! ' says the Chief, rising up very fiercely ; * and presume that
I can recommend officers for promotion without asking your previous
sanction.'
*' ' Being on that tone, sir,' says I, * let me respectfully ofier my
resignation to your Excellency, founding my desire to resign upon the
fact, that Congress, at your Excellency's recommendation, offers its
highest commands to boys of twenty, who are scarcely even acquainted
with our language.' And I rise up and make his Excellency a bow.
" * Great Heavens, Harry ! ' he cries — (about this Marquis's appoint-
ment ; he was beaten, that was the fact, and he could not reply to me)
— ' Can't you believe that in this critical time of our affairs, there
are reasons why special favours should be shown to the first Frenchman
of distinction who comes amongst us ?'
" ' No doubt, sir. If your Excellency acknowledges that Monsieur
de Lafayette's merits have nothing to do with the question.'
" 'I acknowledge or deny nothing, sir!' says the General, with a
stamp of his foot, and looking as though he could be terribly angry if
he would. * Am I here to be catechised by you ? Stay. Hark, Harry !
I speak to you as a man of the world — nay, as an old friend. This
appointment humiliates you and others, you say ? Be it so ! Must we
not bear humiliation along with the other burthens and griefs for the
sake of our country? It is no more just perhaps that the Marquis
THE VIRGINIANS. 6^9
should be set over you gentlemen, than that your Prince Ferdinand or
your Prince of "Wales at home should have a command over veterans.
But if in appointing this young nobleman we please a whole nation, and
bring ourselves twenty millions of allies, will you and other gentlemen
sulk because we do him honour ? 'Tis easy to sneer at him (though,
believe me, the Marquis has many more merits than you allow him) ; to
my mind it were more generous as well as more polite of Harry War-
rington to welcome this stranger for the sake of the prodigious benefit
our country may draw from him — not to laugh at his peculiarities, but
to aid him and help his ignorance by your experience as an old soldier :
that is what I would do — that is the part I expected of thee — for it is
the generous and the manly one, Harry: but you choose to join my
enemies, and when I am in trouble you say you will leave me. That is
why I have been hurt : that is why I have been cold. I thought I
might count on your friendship— and — and you can tell whether I was
right or no. I relied on you as on a brother, and you come and tell me
you will resign. Be it so ! Being embarked in this contest, by Grod's
will I will see it to an end. You are not the first, Mr. Warrington, ha»
left me on the way.'
** He spoke with so much tenderness, and as he spoke his face wore
such a look of unhappiness, that an extreme remorse and pity seized
me, and I called out I know not what incoherent expressions regarding
old times, and vowed that if he would say the word, I never would leave
him. You never loved him, George," says my brother, turning to me,
*' but I did beyond all mortal men ; and, though I am not clever like
you, I think my instinct was in the right. He has a greatness not
approached by other men "
" I don't say no, brother," said I, ** now."
*' Greatness, Pooh ! " says the Parson growling over his wine.
**We walked into Mrs. Washington's tea-room arm-in-arm," Hal
resumed, " she looked up quite kind, and saw we were friends. ' Is it
all over. Colonel Harry ?' she whispered. ' I know he has applied ever
so often about your promotion '
*' 'I never will take it,' says I. 'And that is how I came to do
penance,^ says Harry, telling me the story, ' with Lafayette the next
winter.' (Hal could imitate the Frenchman very well.) * I will go
weez heem,^ says I. * I know the way to Quebec, and when we are not
in action with Sir Guy, I can hear his Excellency the Major-General
say his lesson.' There was no fight, you know : we could get no army
to act in Canada, and returned to head-quarters; and what do you
think disturbed the Frenchman most? The idea that people would
laugh at him, because his command had come to nothing. And so they
did laugh at him, and almost to his face too, and who could help it ?
If our chief had any weak point it was this Marquis.
*' After our little difierence we became as great friends as before — if
a man may be said to be friends with a Sovereign Prince, for as such I
somehow could not help regarding the General : and one night, when
670 THE VIRGINIANS.
we had sate the company out, we talked of old times, and the jolly days
of sport we had together both before and after Braddock's ; and that
pretty duel you were near having when we were boys. He laughed
about it, and said he never saw a man look more wicked and more bent
Dn killing than you did : * And to do Sir George justice, I think he has
hated me ever since,' says the Chief. * Ah ! ' he added, * an open enemy
I can face readily enough. 'Tis the secret foe who causes the doubt and
anguish ! We have sat with more than one at my table to-day to whom
I am obliged to show a face of civility, whose hands I must take when
they are oflfered, though I know they are stabbing my reputation, and
are eager to pull me down from my place. You spoke but lately of
being humiliated because a junior was set over you in command. What
humiliation is yours compared f.o mine, who have to play the farce of
welcome to these traitors ; wL. have to bear the neglect of Congress,
and see men who have insulted me promoted in my own army ? If I
consulted my own feelings as a man, would I continue in this command ?
You know whether my temper is naturally warm or not, and whether as
a private gentleman I should be likely to suffer such slights and outrages
as are put upon me daily ; but in the advancement of the sacred cause
in which we are engaged, we have to endure not only hardship and
danger, but calumny and wrong, and may God give us strength to do
our duty ! ' And then the General showed me the papers regarding the
affair of that fellow Conway, whom Congress promoted in spite of the
intrigue, and down whose black throat John Cadwalader sent the best
ball he ever fired in his life.
" And it was here," said Hal, concluding his story, " as I looked at
the Chief talking at night in the silence of the camp, and remembered
how lonely he was ; what an awful responsibility he carried ; how spies
and traitors were eating out of his dish, and an enemy lay in front of
him who might at any time overpower him, that I thought, ' Sure, this
is the greatest man now in the world ; and what a wretch I am to think
of my jealousies and annoyances, whilst he is walking serenely under
his immense cares ! ' "
" We talked but now of Wolfe," said I. *' Here, indeed, is a greater
than Wolfe. To endure is greater than to dare ; to tire out hostile
fortune ; to be daunted by no difficulty ; to keep heart when all have
lost it ; to go through intrigue spotless ; and to forego even ambition
when the end is gained. Who can say this is not greatness, or show
the other Englishman who has achieved so much ?"
" I wonder. Sir George, you did not take Mr. Washington's side, and
wear the blue and buff yourself," grumbles Parson Blake.
*' You and I thought scarlet most becoming to our complexion, Joe
Biake ! " says Sir George. '* And my wife thinks there would not have
been room for two such great men on one side."
** Well, at any rate, you were better than that odious, swearing,
crazy General Lee, who was second in command! " cries Lady AVar-
rington. ** And I am certain Mr. Washington never could write poetry
THE YIKGINIANS. 671
and tragedies as you can! What did the General say about George's
tragedies, Harry ? "
Harry burst into a roar of laughter (in which, of course, Mr. Miles
must join his uncle).
" AVell ! " says he, ** it's a fact that Hagan read one at my house to
the General and Mrs. Washington and several more, and they all fell
sound asleep ! "
*' He never liked my husband, that is the truth ! " says Theo, tossing
up her head, " and 'tis all the more magnanimous of Sir George to speak
so well of him."
And then Hal told how, his battles over, his country freed, his great
work of liberation complete, the General laid down his victorious sword,
and met his comrades of the army in a last adieu. The last British
soldier had quitted the shore of the Republic, and the Commander-in-
Chief proposed to leave New York for Annapolis, where Congress was
sitting, and there resign his commission. About noon, on the 4th
December, a barge was in waiting at Whitehall Ferry to convey him
across the Hudson. The chiefs of the army assembled at a tavern near
the ferry, and there the General joined them. Seldom as he showed his
emotion outwardly, on this day he could not disguise it. He filled a
glass of wine, and said, " I bid you farewell with a heart full of love
and gratitude, and wish your latter days may be as prosperous and
happy as those past have been glorious and honourable." Then he
drank to them. " I cannot come to each of you to take my leave," he
said, <'but shall be obliged if you will each come and shake me by the
hand."
General Knox, who was nearest, came forward, and the Chief, with
tears in his eyes, embraced him. The others came, one by one, to him,
and took their leave without a word. A line of infantry was formed
from the tavern to the ferry, and the General, with his oifieers following
him, walked silently to the water. He stood up in the barge, taking off
his hat, and waving a farewell. And his comrades remained bare-
headed on the shore till their leader's boat was out of view.
As Harry speaks very low, in the grey of evening, with sometimes a
break in his voice, we all sit touched and silent. Hetty goes up and
kisses her father.
" You tell us of others, General Harry," she says, passing a hand-
kerchief across her eyes, " of Marion and Sumpter, of Greene and
Wayne, and Rawdon and Cornwallis, too, but you never mention
Colonel Warrington !"
<' My dear, he will tell you his story in private !" whispers my wife,
clinging to her sister, ** and you can write it for him."
But it was not to be. My lady Theo and her husband too, I own,
matching the infection from her, never would let Harry rest, until we
had coaxed, wheedled, and ordered him to ask Hetty in marriage. He
obej'ed, and it was she who now declined. " She had always," she said,
** the truest regard for him from the dear old times when they had met
672 THE YIRGINIANS.
as almost children together. But she would never leave her father.
"When it pleased God to take him, she hoped she would be too old to
think of bearing any other name but her own. Harry should have her
love always as the best of brothers ; and as George and Theo have such
a nursery full of children," adds Hester, '' we must show our love to
<Aem, by saving for the young ones." She sent him her answer in
writing, leaving home on a visit to friends at a distance, as though she
would have him to understand that her decision was final. As such
Hal received it. He did not break his heart. Cupid's arrows, ladies,
don't hite very deep into the tough skins of gentlemen of our age ;
though, to be sure, at the time of which I write, my brother was still a
young man, being little more than fifty. Aunt Het is now a staid little
lady with a voice of which years have touched the sweet chords, and a
head which Time has powdered over with silver. There are days when
she looks surprisingly young and blooming. Ah me, my dear, it seems
but a little little while since the hair was golden brown, and the cheeks
as fresh as roses ! And then came the bitter blast of love unrequited
which withered them ; and that long loneliness of heart which, they say,
follows. Why should Theo and I have been so happy, and thou so
lonely ? "Why should my meal be garnished with love, and spread with
plenty, while yon solitary outcast shivers at my gate ? I bow my head
humbly before the Dispenser of pain and poverty, wealth and health ;
I feel sometimes as if, for the prizes which have fallen to the lot of me
unworthy, I did not dare to be grateful. But I hear the voices of my
children in their garden, or look up at their mother from my book, or
perhaps my sick-bed, and my heart fills with instinctive gratitude
towards the bountiful Heaven that has so blest me.
Since my accession to my uncle's title and estate my intercourse with
my good cousin Lord Castlewood had been very rare. I had always
supposed him to be a follower of the winning side in politics, and was
not a little astonished to hear of his sudden appearance in opposition.
A disappointment in respect to a place at Court, of which he pretended
to have had some promise, was partly the occasion of his rupture with
the Ministry. It is said that the most August Person in the realm had
flatly refused to receive into the E-y-1 Household a nobleman whose
character was so notoriously bad, and whose example (so the August
Objector was pleased to say) would ruin and corrupt any respectable
family. I heard of the Castlewoods during our travels in Europe, and
that the mania for play had again seized upon his lordship. His
impaired fortunes having been retrieved by the prudence of his wife and
father-in-law, he had again begun to dissipate his income at horabre and
lansquenet. There were tales of malpractices in which he had been dis-
covered, and even of chastisement inflicted upon hira by the victims of
his unscrupulous arts. His wife's beauty and freshness faded early ; we
met but once at Aix-la-Chapelle, where Lady Castlewood besought mv
wife to go and see her, and afflicted Lady Warrington's kind hea** by
TRK VIRGIXIAXS. 67»
Btories of tlie neglect and outrage of which her unfortunate husband
was guilty. We were willing to receive these as some excuse and
palliation for the unhappy lady's own conduct. A notorious adventurer,
gambler, and spadassin, calling himself the Chevalier de Barry, and
said to be a relative of the mistress of the French king, but afterwards
turning out to be an Irishman of low extraction, was in constant attend-
ance upon the earl and countess at this time, and conspicuous for the
audacity of his lies, the extravagance of his play, and somewhat merce-
nary gallantry towards the other sex, and a ferocious bravo courage,
which, however, failed him on one or two awkward occasions, if common
report said true. He subsequently married, and rendered miserable, a
lady of title and fortune in England. The poor little American lady's
interested union with Lord Castlewood was scarcely more happy.
I remember our little Miles's infantile envy being excited by learning
that Lord Castlewood's second son, a child a few months younger than
himself, was already an ensign on the Irish establishment, whose pay
the fond parents regularly drew. This piece of preferment my lord
must have got for his cadet whilst he was on good terms with the
minister, during which period of favour Will Esmond was also shifted
off to New York. Whilst I was in America myself, we read in an
English journal that Captain Charles Esmond had resigned his com-
mission in his Majesty's service, as not wishing to take up arms against
the countrymen of his mother, the Countess of Castlewood. ** It is the
doing of the old fox. Van den Bosch," Madam Esmond said; **he
wishes to keep his Virginian property safe, whatever side should win ! "
I may mention, with respect to this old worthy, that he continued to
reside in England for a while after the declaration of Independence,
not at all denying his sympathy with the American cause, but keeping
a pretty quiet tongue, and alleging that such a very old man as himself
was past the age of action or mischief, in which opinion the Government
concurred, no doubt, as he was left quite unmolested. But of a sudden
a warrant was out after him, when it was surprising with what agility
he stirred himself, and skipped off to France, whence he presently
embarked upon his return to Yirginia.
The old man bore the worst reputation amongst the Loyalists of our
colony ; and was nicknamed " Jack the Painter" amongst them, mucb
to his indignation, after a certain miscreant who was hung in England
for burning naval stores in our ports there. He professed to have lost
prodigious sums at home by the persecution of the Government, distin-
guished himself by the loudest patriotism and the most violent religious
outcries in Virginia ; where, nevertheless, he was not much more liked
t)y the Whigs than by the party who still remained faithful to the
Crown. He wondered that such an old Tory as Madam Esmond of
Oastlewood was suffered to go at large, and was for ever crying out against
her amongst the gentlemen of the new Assembly, the Governor,
and officers of the State. He and Fanny had high words in Kichmond
one day, when she told him he was an old swindler and traitor, and
X X
674 THE VIll(7i:NiA^S.
that the mother of Colonel Henry Warrington, the bosom friend of his
Excellency the Commander-in-Chief, was not to be insulted by such a
little smuggling slave-driver as him ! I think it was in the year 1780
an accident happened, when the old Register Office at Williamsburg
was burned down, in which was a copy of the formal assignment of the
Virginia property from Francis Lord Castlewood to my grandfather
Henry Esmond, Esquire. *' 0," says Fanny, " of course this is the
work of Jack the Painter ! " And Mr. Van den Bosch was for prose-
cuting her for libel, but that Fanny took to her bed at this juncture,
and died.
Yan den Bosch made contracts with the new Government, and sold
them bargains, as the phrase is. He supplied horses, meat, forage, all
of bad quality ; but when Arnold came into Virginia (in the King's ser-
vice) and burned right and left, Van den Bosch's stores and tobacco-
houses somehow were spared. Some secret Whigs now took their revenge
on the old rascal. A couple of his ships in James' River, his stores, and
a quantity of his cattle in their stalls were roasted amidst a hideous bel-
lowing ; and he got a note, as he was in Arnold's company, saying that
friends had served him, as he served others ; and containing *' Tom the
Glazier's compliments to brother Jack the Painter." Nobody pitied the
old man, though he went well-nigh mad at his loss. In Arnold's suite
came the Honourable Captain William Esmond, of the New York Loy-
alists, as Aide-de-Camp to the General. When Howe occupied Phila-
delphia, Will was said to have made some money keeping a gambling-
house with an officer of the dragoons of Anspach. I know not how he
lost it. He could not have had much when he consented to become an
aide-de-camp of Arnold.
Now the King's officers having reappeared in the province, Madam
Esmond thought fit to open her house at Castlewood and invite them
thither — and actually received Mr. Arnold and his suite, " It is not
for me," she said, ** to refuse my welcome to a man whom my Sovereign
has admitted to grace." And she threw her house open to him, and
treated him with great though frigid respect whilst he remained in the
district. The General gone, and his precious aide-de-camp with him,
some of the rascals who followed in their suite remained behind in the
house where they had received so much hospitality, insulted the old lady
in her hall, insulted her people, and finally set fire to the old mansion in
a frolic of drunken fury. Our house at Richmond was not burned,
luckily, though Mr. Arnold had fired the town ; and thither the un-
daunted old lady proceeded, surrounded by her people, and never swerving
in her loyalty in spite of her ill usage. "The Esmonds," she said, '"were
accustomed to Royal ingratitude."
And now Mr. Van den Bosch, in the name of his grandson and my
Lord Castlewood, in England, set up a claim to our property in Virginia.
He said it was not my lord's intention to disturb Madam Esmond in her
enjoyment of the estate during her life, but that his father, it had always
teen understood, had given his kinsman a life interest in the place, and
THE VIRGINIANS. 675
only continued it to his daughter out of generosity. Now my lord pro-
posed that his second son should inhabit Virginia, for which the young
gentleman had always shown the warmest sympathy. The outcry
against Van den Bosch was so great, that he would have been tarred
and feathered, had he remained in Virginia. He betook himself to
Congress, represented himself as a martyr ruined in the cause of
liberty, and prayed for compensation for himself and justice for his
grandson.
My mother lived long in dreadful apprehension, having in truth a
secret, which she did not like to disclose to any one. Her titles were
burned! the deed of assignment in her own house; the copy in the
Registry at Richmond had alike been destroyed — by chance ? by vil'
lany ? who could say ? She did not like to confide this trouble in writing
to me. She opened herself to Hal, after the surrender of York Town,
and he acquainted me with the fact in a letter by a British officer return-
ing home on his parole. Then I remembered the unlucky words I had
let slip before Will Esmond at the 005*06 House at New York ; and a
part of this iniquitous scheme broke upon me.
As for Mr. Will : there is a tablet in Castle wood Church, in Hamp-
shire, inscribed Dulce et decorum est 2Jro jjatrid mori, and announcing
that " This marble is placed by a mourning brother, to the memory of
the Honourable William Esmond, Esquire, who died in North America,
in the service of his King." But how ? When, towards the end of
1781, a revolt took place in the Philadelphia Line of the Congress Army,
and Sir Henry Clinton sent out agents to the mutineers, what became of
them ? The men took the spies prisoners, and proceeded to judge them,
and my brother (whom they knew and loved, and had often followed
under fire), who had been sent from camp to make terms with the troops,
recognised one of the spies, just as execution was about to be done upon
him — and the wretch, with horrid outcries, grovelling and kneeling at
Colonel Warrington's feet, besought him for mercy, and promised to
confess all to him. To confess what ? Harry turned away sick at heart.
Will's mother and sister never knew the truth. They always fancied it
was in action he was killed.
As for my lord Earl, whose noble son has been the intendant of an
illustrious Prince, and who has enriched himself at play with his Pv — 1
master : I went to see his lordship when I heard of this astounding
design against our property, and remonstrated with him on the matter.
For myself, as I showed him, I was not concerned, as I had determined
to cede my right to my brother. He received me with perfect courtesy ;
smiled when I spoke of my disinterestedness ; said he was sure of my
affectionate feelings towards my brother, but what must be his towards
his son ? He had always heard from his father : he would take his Bible
oath of that : that, at my mother's death, the property would return to
the head of the family. At the story of the title which Colonel Esmond
had ceded, he shrugged his shoulders, and treated it as a fable. *' On
ne fait pas de cesfolies Id J" says he, offering me snuff, " and your grand-
676 THE VIRGINIANS.
father was a man of esprit ! My little grandmother was eprise of him : and
my father, the most good-natured sonl alive, lent them the Virginian
property to get them out of the way ! Cetoit un scandale, mon cheVy
un joli petit scandale ! " 0, if my mother had but heard ^him ! I
might have been disposed to take a high tone : but he said, with the
utmost good nature, " My dear Knight, are you going to fight about
the character of our grandmother, allons do?ic ! Come, I will be fair
with you ! We will compromise, if you like, about this Virginian pro-
perty ! " and his lordship named a sum greater than the actual value of
the estate.
Amazed at the coolness of this worthy, I walked away to my coffee-
house, where, as it happened, an old friend was to dine with me, for
whom I have a sincere regard. I had felt a pang at not being able to
give this gentleman my living of Warrington-on-Waveney, but I could
not, as he himself confessed honestly. His life had been too loose, and
his example in my village could never have been edifying : besides, he
would have died of ennui there, after being accustomed to a town life ;
and he had a prospect finally, he told me, of settling himself most com-
fortably in London and the church.* My guest, I need not say, wag
my old friend Sampson, who never failed to dine with me when I came
to town, and I told him of my interview with his old patron.
I could not have lighted upon a better confidant. " Gracious powers ! "
says Sampson, " the man's roguery beats all belief! When I was secre-
tary and factotum at Castlewood, I can take my oath I saw more than
once a copy of the deed of assignment by the late lord to your grand-
father : * In consideration of the love I bear to my kinsman Henry
Esmond^ Esq.^ husband of my dear mother Rachel, Lady Viscountess
Dowager of Castleicood, /' &c. — so it ran. I know the place where 'tis
kept — let us go thither as fast as horses will carry us to-morrow. There
is somebody there — never mind whom, Sir George — who has an old
regard for me. The papers may be there to this very day, and Lord,
Lord, but I shall be thankful if I can in any way show my gratitude
to you and your glorious brother ! " His eyes filled with tears. He
was an altered man. At a certain period of the port wine Sampson
always alluded with compunction to his past life, and the change which
had taken place in his conduct since the awful death of his friend Doctor
Dodd.
Quick as we were, we did not arrive at Castlewood too 9^n. I was
looking at the fountain in the court, and listening to that sweet sad
music of its plashing, which my grandfather tells of in his Memoires,
and peopling the place with bygone figures, with Beatrix in her beauty ;
with my lord Francis in scarlet, calling to his dogs and mounting his
grey horse ; with the young page of old who won the castle and the
heiress — when Sampson comes running down to me with an old volume,
* He was the second Incumbent of Lady Whittlesea's Chapel. May Fair, and
married Elizabeth, relict of Hermann Voelcker, Esct-, the eminent brewer.
THE VIEGIXIANS. 677
in rough ealf bound, in his hand containing drafts of letters, copies of
agreements, and various writings, some by a secretary of my lord
Francis, some in the slim handwriting of his wife my grandmother,
some bearing the signature of the last lord ; and here was a copy of the
assignment sure enough, as it had been sent to my grandfather in
Virginia. "Victoria, Victoria!" cries Sampson, shaking my hand,
embracing everybody. *' Here is a guinea for thee, Betty. "We'll have
a bowl of punch at the Three Castles to-night ! " As we were talking,
the wheels of post-chaises were heard, and a couple of carriages drove
into the court containing my lord and a friend, and their servants in
the next vehicle. His lordship looked only a little paler than usual at
seeing me.
''What procures me the honour of Sir George "Warrington's visit,
and pray, Mr. Sampson, what do you do here ? " says my lord. I think
lie had forgotten the existence of this book, or had never seen it ; and
when he offered to take his Bible oath of what he had heard from hi
father, had simply volunteered a perjury.
I was shaking hands with his companion, a nobleman with whom 1
had had the honour to serve in America. "I came," I said, ** tO
convince myself of a fact, about which you were mistaken yesterday ;
and I find the proof in your lordship's own house. Your lordship
was pleased to take your lordship's Bible-oath, that there was no agree-
ment between your father and his mother, relative to some property
which I hold. "When Mr. Sampson was your lordship's secretary, he
perfectly remembered having seen a copy of such an assignment, and
here it is."
** And do you mean. Sir George "Warrington, that unknown to m<
j'ou have been visiting my papers ? " cries my lord.
" I doubted the correctness of your statement, though backed by your
lordship's Bible-oath," I said with a bow.
'' This, sir, is robbery ! Give the papers back ! " bawled my lord.
''Robbery is a rough word, my lord. Shall I tell the whole story to
LordEawdon?"
""What, is it about the Marquisate? Connu, connu, my dear Sir
George ! "We always called you the Marquis in New York. I don't
know who brought the story from Virginia."
I never had heard this absurd nickname before, and did not care
to notice it. ** My Lord Castlewood," I said, " not only doubted, but
yesterday laid a claim to my property, taking his Bible-oath that "
Castlewood gave a kind of gasp, and then said : "Great Heaven I
Do you mean, Sir George, that there actually is an agreement extant ?
Yes. Here it is— my father's hand-writing, sure enough ! Then the
question is clear. Upon my o — , well, upon my honour as a gentleman!
I never knew of such an agreement, and must have been mistaken in
what my father said. This paper clearly shows the property is yours :
and not being mine — why, I wish you joy of it I " and he held out his
hand with the blandest smile.
678 THE VIEGINIANS.
" And how thankful you will be to me, my lord, for having enabled
me to establish the right," says Sampson with a leer on his face.
"Thankful? No, confound you. Not in the least!" says my lord.
** I am a plain man ; I don't disguise from my cousin that I would
rather have had the property than he. Sir George, you will stay and
dine with us, a large party is coming down here shooting, "We ought to
have you one of us ! "
*' My lord," said I, buttoning the book under my coat, " I wiUgo and
get this document copied, and then return it to your lordship. As my
mother in Yirginia has had her papers burned, she will be put out of
much anxiety by having this assignment safely lodged."
"What, have Madam Esmond's papers been burned? When the
deuce was that? " asks my lord.
" My lord, I wish you a very good afternoon. Come, Sampson, you
and I will go and dine at the Three Castles." And I turned on my heel,
making a bow to Lord Eawdon, and from that day to this I have never
set my foot within the halls of my ancestors.
Shall I ever see the old mother again, I wonder ? She lives in Rich-
mond, never having rebuilt her house in the country. When Hal was in
England, we sent her pictures of both her sons, painted by the admirable
Sir Joshua Reynolds. We sate to him, the last year Mr. Johnson was
ali^e, I remember. And the Doctor peering about the studio, and seeing
the image of Hal in his uniform (the appearance of it caused no little
excitement in those days), asked who was this ? and was informed that
it was the famous American General — General Warrington, Sir George's
brother. " General TFAo.^" cries the Doctor, " General Where ? Pooh !
I don't know such a service ! " and he turned his back and walked out of
the premises. My worship is painted in scarlet, and we have replicas of
both performances at home. But the picture which Captain Miles and
the girls declare to be most like is a family sketch by my ingenious
neighbour, Mr. Bunbury, who has drawn me and my lady with Monsieur
Gumbo following us, and written under the piece, " Sie Geoege, my
Lady, and theik Mastee."
Here my master comes ; he has poked out all the house-fires, has looked
to all the bolts, has ordered the whole male and female crew to their
chambers; and begins to blow my candles out, and says, "Time, Sir
George, to go to bed ! Twelve o'clock ! "
" Bless me ! So indeed it is." And I close my book, and go to my
rest, with a blessing on those now around me asleep.
4
J
14 DAY USE
RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED
LOAN DEPT.
This book is due on the last date stamped below, or
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