THACKERAY'S i HENRY ESMOND THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND, Esq. A COLONEL IN THE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY QUEEN ANNE WRITTEN BY HIMSELF fHacmtllan'si ^otM American anti lEnslislj Classics A Series of English Texts, edited for use in Elementary and Secondary Schools, with Critical Introductions, Notes, etc. i6mo Cloth 25 cents each Addison's Sir Roger de Coverley. Andersen's Fairy Tales. Arabian Nights' Entertainments. Arnold's Sohrab and Rustunn. Austen's Pride and Prejudice. Bacon's Essays. Baker s Out of the North Land. Bible (Menr.oiable Passages from). Blackmore's Lorna Doone. Boswell's Life of Johnson. Browning's Shorter Poems. Browning, Mrs., Poems (Selected). Bryant's Thanatopsis, etc. Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii. Bunyan's The Pilgrim's Progress. Burke's Speech on Conciliation. Burns' Poems (Selections from). Byron's Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. Byron's Shorter Poems. Carlyle's Essay on Burns. Carlyle's Heroes and Hero Worship. 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Tennyson's In Memoriam. Tennyson's The Princess. Tennyson's Shorter Poems. Thackeray's English Humourists. Thackeray's Henry Esmond. Thoreau's 'Walden. Virgil's /Eneid. ■Washington's Farewell Address, and Webster's First Bunker Hill Oration. Whittier's Snow-Bound and Other Early Poems. Woolman's Journal. Wordsworth's Shorter Poems. 2222546 ''ti^y^?<§^' WILLIAM MAKEl'EACE THACKERAY. THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND, ESQ. COLONEL IN THE SERVICE OF HER MAJESTY QUEEN ANNE WRITTEN BY HIMSELF BY / WILLIAM MAKEPEACE 'THACKERAY EDITED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES BY JOHN BELL HENNEMAN PBOFI880B OF ENGLISH IN THE UNIVERSITY OF THE bOUTH 8EWANEE, TENNESSEE . . . servetur ad imum Qnalis ab incepto processerit, et sibi constet. THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO. Ltd. 1916 AU rigiiU reserved Copyright, 1906, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1906k Reprinted August, 1907 ; April, 1908; August, 1909; August, 1910 : April, 1911; July, 1912 ; July, 1913; March, 1914; February, 1915; February, July, 1916. Nortoooti iPreag J. 8. CushinK Co. — Uervvick & Smith Oo. Norwood, MaHH., U.S.A. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION Life and Works of Thackeray HENRY ESMOND Preface. The Esmonds of Virginia .... xxiii BOOK I The Early Youth of Henry Esmond, up to the time of HIS leaving Trinity College, in Cambridge CHAPTER I. An Account of the Family of Esmond of Castle- wood Hall 4 n. Relates how Francis, Fourth Viscouiv^, arrives at Castlewood 10 III. Whither in the Time of Thomas, Third Viscount, I had preceded him, as Page to Isabella . . 18 IV. I am placed under a Popish Priest, and bred to that Religion — Viscountess Castlewood ... 29 V. My Superiors are engaged in Plots for the Restora- tion of King James II. 36 VI. The Issue of the Plots — The Death of Thomas, Third Viscount of Castlewood : and the Im- prisonment of his Viscountess .... 48 VI CONTENTS CHAPTER VII. I am left at Castlewood an Orphan, and find most kind Protectors tliere VIII. After Good Fortune comes Evil ... IX. I liave tlie Small-pox, and prepare to leave Castle wood X. I go to Cambridge, and do but little good there XI. I come Home for a Holiday to Castlewood, and find a Skeleton in the House .... XII. My Lord Mohun comes among us for no good XIII. My Lord leaves us and his evil behind him XIV. We ride after him to London .... 63 72 82 102 109 123 133 147 BOOK II Contains Mr. Esmond's Military Life and other Mat- ters APPERTAINING TO THE ESMOND FaMILY I. I am in Prison, and visited, but not consoled there 167 II. I come to the end of my Captivity, but not of my Trouble 177 III. I take the Queen's Pay in Quin's Regiment . . 186 IV, Recapitulations 196 V, I go on the Vigo Bay Expedition, taste Salt "Water and smell Powder 203 VI. The 29th December 214 VII. I am made welcome at Walcote .... 222 VIII. Family Talk 232 IX. I make the Campaign of 1704 239 X. :An Old Story about a Fool and a Woman , . 249 XI. The famous Mr. Joseph Addison .... 259 CONTENTS vii CnAPTEK PAGE XII. I get a Company in the Campaign of 1706 . . 271 XIII. I meet an Old Acquaintance in Flanders, and find my Mother's Grave and my own Cradle there . 276 XIV. The Campaign of 1707-1708 289 XV. General Webb wins the Battle of Wynendael . . 297 BOOK III Containing the end of Mr. Esmond's Adventures in England I. I come to an end of my Battles and Bruises . . 329 II. I go home, and harp on the old string . . . 343 III. A Paper out of the Spectator 358 IV. Beatrix's New Suitor 378 V. Mohun appears for the last time in this History . 389 VI. Poor Beatrix 404 VII. I visit Castlewood once more ..... 410 VIIL I travel to France, and bring home a Portrait of Rigaud 421 IX. The Original of the Portrait comes to England , 431 X. We entertain a very distinguished Guest at Ken= sington 446 XI. Our Guest quits us as not being hospitable enough . 461 XII. A Great Scheme, and who baulked it . . . 472 XIII. August 1, 1714 478 NOTES . 495 INTRODUCTION William Makepeace Thackeray was born in Calcutta, July 18, 1811, the son of Richmond Thackeray, who was a judge and collector of revenues in the British service in India. The father died in 1816 when the boy was scarcely five, and a year later the child was sent to England to get his education. The mother married again, after six years, in 1822, her second husband being Major Henry Carmichael-Smyth, an officer in the army and a gentleman who was always kindly to his step-son. In this same year, 1822, Thackeray entered the Charterhouse, the famous school of Steele ancl Addison, named in these pages and delightfully described in .Thack- eray's "Xewcomes/' and remained there six years. He went to Trinity College, Cambridge, in February, 1829, in his eighteenth year, but remained at the University only a little more than a year. He seems to haA^e \dsited Paris in the Easter vacation; at any rate, by the end of the summer of 1830 he was settled in Weimar, Germany. In another year, the autumn of 1831, we find him entered as a student of law in the Middle Temple, London. The habit of writing, scribbling, and sketching, begun in liis school and college days, grew on him, and he spent more time in filling pages with drawings and verses than in writii.'g briefs. Coming of age, Juh^, 1832, he came also into his inheritance, and proceeded at once to Paris, bent on applying himself to literature and practising his drawing. He became interested with his step-father in a newspaper venture. The National Standard, which ran from January 5, 1833, to February 1, 1834, when a crash came. This check in a literary career gave him further impulse tovv'ards art, and for the next two years he passed the life of an art student in Paris. Then hopes again revived, he became married in August, 1836, and in September he and his step-father once more tried their fortunes in a newspaper enterprise, The ix X INTRODUCTION Constitutional and Public Ledger. After ten months thia Collapsed even more disastrously than the former venture for the purses of its backers, Thackeray, a young man of twenty-six with a family to support, was then thrown upon his own resources. He began to write for any paper or periodical he could find that would take his "stuff," and for some years supplied drawings and sketches, and ground out reviews, art criticisms, foreign cor- respondence, poems, stories, what not, under various names or no name at all so as to sell better. In the midst of this bitter struggle, after four years of married life, his wife's health broke down, her mind gave \yay, and it was found necessary to remove her to a private hospital, where she remained confined the rest of her long life, outliving the novehst many years. Fortunately, he formed a happy con- nection with Fraser's Magazine, continued through many years, and later one with Punch, shortly after that periodical was started in 1841 ; slowly his reputation grew until he found himself famous with the pubhcation of "Vanity Fair" in 1847-1848. Thackeray's principal works in point of publication are: "The Yellowplush Correspondence" (in Fraser's Magazine, 1838); "Catherine" (in Fraser's, 1839-1840); "The Paris 8ketch-Book," 1840 (containing some new papers and some which had appeared in Fraser's and other publications) ; "A Shabby-Genteel Story" (in Fraser's, 1840) ; "The History of Samuel Titmarsh and the Great Hoggarty Diamond" (in Fraser's, 1841) ; "Fitz-Boodle's Confessions" (in Fraser's, 1842-1843); "Miss Tickletoby's Lectures on English His- tory" (in Punch, 1842) ; "The Irish Sketch-I^.ook," 1843 (the result of a visit to Ireland and first published in book form) ; "The Luck of Barry Lyndon" (in Fraser's, 1844); "Little Travels and Roadside Sketches" (in Fraser's, 1844-1845); "Punch in the East" (in Punch, 1845) ; "Notes of a Journey from Cornhill to Cairo," 1846 (first published in book form); "The Sno})s of lOngland" (in Punch, 1846-1847) ; "Mrs. Per- kins's liall" (Christmas Book for 1846); "Punch's Prize Novelists" (in Punch, 1847); "Vanity Fair," 1847-1848 (in twenty monthly instalments); "Our Street" (Christmas INTRODUCTION XI Book for 1847) ; " Doctor Birch and his Young Friends " (Christmas Book for 1848); ''The History of Pendennis," 1848-1850 (in twenty instalments); "Mr. Brown ^s Letters to a Young Man about Town" (in Punch, 1849) ; "Rebecca and Rowena" (Christmas Book for 1849); "The Proser" (in Punch, 1850) ; " The Kickleburys on the Rhine " (Christmas Book for 1850); Lectures on "The EngHsh Humourists of the Eighteenth Century," deUvered in 1851 (published in book form in 1853); "The History of Henry Esmond, Esq. A Colonel in Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne. Written by Himself," 1852 (first pubUshed as three volumes); "The Newcomes, " 1853-1855 (in twenty-four monthly instal- ments); "The Rose and the Ring" (Christmas Book for 1854); the first collected edition of the "Ballads," 1855; Lectures on "The Four Georges" dehvered in the United States in 1855 (published in The CornhiU Magazine, 1860, and in book form in 1861) ; "The Virginians. A tale of the Last Century," 1857-1859 (in twenty-four monthly instalments) ; "Lovel the Widower" (in The CornhiU Magazine, 1860); "The Roundabout Papers" (editorial papers in The CornhiU Magazine, 1860-1863); "The Adventures of Phihp" (in The CornhiU Magazine, 1861-1862) ; "Denis Duval" (left in- complete and published in The CornhiU Magazine, 1864). In January, 1860, Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co., w^ho had remained Thackeray's publishers since the appearance of "Esmond," started a new monthly magazine, The CornhiU^ and persuaded Thackeray to become its editor. He per- formed these duties for a little more than two years, but felt them worrying, and resigned in March, 1862, though con- tinuing his dehghtful editorial "Roundabout" papers till within a few weeks of his death. He had not been well for some time, but the end came suddenly during the early morning hours of December 24, 1863, when he was found dead in his bed. He was buried on December 30 in the cemetery at Kensal Green. After writing for many years miscellaneous papers, sketches, and even stories, chieflv for Eraser's Magazine (apparently as early as 1831 or 1832 to 1846), and for Punch from 1842 on, Thackeray, as said, achieved his first great success at Xll INTRODUCTION the age of thirty-five to thirty-seven with the pubh cation of "Vanity Fair." This story appeared in monthly instal- ments from January, 1847, to July, 1848, and dealt realisti- cally with the London and English life of his own century, though placed for reasons of expediency in the time of a generation before. Encouraged by this success and this method of publication, which suited well with the author's leisurely habits, the absence of rapid narrative, and the tendency for slow development and revelation of char- acter in his work, he began at once a new novel of English hfe of his century, ''The History of Pendennis." This again ran in monthly instalments from November, 1848, to De- cember, 1850, with the exception of the last three months of 1849, when the author was nearly at death's door. This accounts, too, for the feeling that the latter portion of that story does not always sustain the promise of its splendid beginning. With the opening of the new year, 1851, Thackeray felt himself fairly before the public. The two successes he had won encouraged him to other work, and the spell of sickness made him anxious about the future of his two girls. While shrinking from the publicity of the undertaking, yet believing it would bring money to the children of the successful author of " Vanity Fair" and " Pendennis, " he began in 1851 a series of public readings or lectures on "The English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century." The lectures were six in number: I, Swift; II, Congreve and Addison; III, Steele; IV, Prior, Gay, and Pope; V, Hogarth, Smollett, and Fielding; VI, Sterne and Goldsmith. There we find the real genesis of ''Henry Esmond." Read the works of these authors as Thackeray did in preparing for his lectures, — Swift's "Journal to Stella," Congreve's comedies, Addison's and Steele's Taller s and Specta- tors, Prior's society verse. Gay's "Trivia, or the Art of Walking the London Streets" and "The Beggar's Opera," Pope's "Rape of the Lock," — then add the spirit of Ho- garth's "Rake's Progress "and Fielding's method of treating character and life in his novels (I believe that he owes scarce anything to Smollett), with some admixture of Sterne's INTRODUCTION xiii sentiment and eccentric humor and Goldsmith's grace and charm, and you have the ingredients out of which Thackeray's genius made " Esmond." Many seemingly obscure references Hght up from a point in Swift's ''Journal" or a passage in the Taller or Spectator. The "town" of Esmond" is the town of the Taller and Spectator, the town of Gay's "Trivia" and Congreve's "Old Bachelor" and "Way of the World." For the historical portions Thackeray also took Coxe's "Memoirs of Marlborough," and we may remember, too, that the early volumes of Macaulay's "History of England" had appeared in 1848 with the vivid and picturesque Third Chapter which Thackeray must both have admired and envied. Above all, it was Thackeray's individual spirit and native genius that knew how to make its own use of this material. For be it remembered, the work is not theirs, — they merely offered the suggestion, — it is his. In Thackeray's correspondence there are many references to his writing "Esmond." He was then Hving at 13 Young Street, Kensington, which evokes so many memories of the story. He loved the village, it was a home for his girls, and no wonder it took so great a hold on the plot. It was where the Dowager Viscountess lived, where Lady Castlewood took up her abode to be near the Court, where the Stuart Prince paid his visit to her house, and where the troops of the Duke of Argyle marched into the Square. Thackeray him- self must have taken some of those walks with Esmond from London to Kensington across the fields and meadows, and it was from his back window, w^here he wrote, that one could "look over the fields to Chelsea." The historical setting seems sometimes to have tired him. He Vv'as going from place to place lecturing; and at the same time he was working, reading and writing for his new story. To be true to history he had to follow up this thread and look up that point, find a name here and an occurrence there. One day he was on the train going to a distant point, another day at the Club, and a third in the British Museum with a pile of books about him. Little wonder that his" references are sometimes loose and at times even contradictory. Dur- ing the several months in which he delivered the^ lectures Xiv INTRODUCTION and was working on " Esmond," he was living in his thoughts in the past. *'I fancy myself/' he writes, "almost as fa- miliar with one [the last century] as with the other [the present age] and Oxford and Bolingbroke interest me as much as Russell and Palmerston — more, very likely/' He felt that the work had its heavy side, was at times rather serious and sombre, and that parts were written in too low a key; yet its very dignity and stateliness make it what it is. It never becomes too familiar, it never bends to a low tone. At one time he pronounced it "dull, stupid"; yet in the same breath he declared it was "well written," and was proud of the pains he had expended upon it. He was doubtful of its popularity, for it was a new sort of work, — and many, like George Eliot and Charlotte Bronte, were either disapproving or faint-hearted in their praise. But he remained conscious of the hard labor he had put upon it and the real results he had obtained. "Here is the very best I can do," he said, presenting a copy to the historian Prescott in Boston, "I stand by this book." And his pub- lishers, Messrs. Smith, Elder, & Co., with whom he was to remain the rest of his life, paid him £250 in excess of their agreement. The method adopted by Thackeray in this work was some- thing new. Hitherto he had seemed somehow to be domi- nated by the influence of Dickens^ so great and so different in his genius. However far apart in individual treatment, yet "Pickwick" had preceded "Vanity Fair"; Dickens wrote Christmas Books and Thackeray wrote Christmas l^ooks; "David Coppcrfield" and "Pendennis, " containing intimate biographical material of each author, were api)earing in the same years ; Dickens lectured and Thackeray lectured ; Dickens had visited America and given offence by his "Amer- ican Notes," Thackeray wished to go to America and later emphasize the brotherhood of the two nations by his story of "The Virginians"; afterwards, in 1859, Dickens became editor of All the Year Round, another year, 1860, and Thack- eray edited The Cornhill. But in writing " Esmond" there is no such close comparison and suggestion. Thackeray chose a subject in a new field INTRODUCTION XV and adopted a new manner. It was an historical novel ; but it was a novel and not a romance, as the historical fiction before this was inclined to be, as Scott's had been, as Dumas's were, as Dickens's later attempt, "A Tale of Two Cities," proved to be. It was not a story of stirring adventures on the part of the hero and heroine, calling forth feelings of wonder and thrills of astonishment ; it was a serious attempt to portray life and manners, and reveal truth of character, even though in a time and century historically past. Herein lies the essential difference of Thackeray's produc- tion from others; and this is the reason why the English world, believing that Thackeray has succeeded in producing these large effects, — whatever minor faults may be pointed out, — ranks the work as one of the masterpieces of fiction. A writer of fiction had arisen, a portrayer of character and painter of manners, who applied the same method to Queen Anne's day that he had done to the early years of Victoria's. He was not seeking to portray the wonderful enchantment of a past age, but was endeavoring to realize the fife of its day. The change is only in time and century, not in method nor in principle. Thackeray had been interested in this period his whole life long. As a schoolboy at the Charter- house, — Steele and Addison's Charterhouse, — at the University, — even if not their University, — he had cared for this same period and for these same WTiters, for their portrayal of actual London fife. The novel of life and manners, which developed under Richardson and Fielding, had found its prototype and beginnings in the Taller and Speclalor sketches and descriptions by Steele and Addison. Thackeray went back for his models in novel-writing, not to Scott and his followers in the nineteenth century, but to the freer eighteenth-century writers. A member of the Garrick and the Athen^pum Clubs in Victoria's reign changed neither his method nor his interests in realizing \Mlls's and Lockit's and the Rose in the reign of William and ]\Iary and of Anne. It argues how strong was the hold of Fielding on Thack- eray that he went to Fielding's century so as to be able to do as Fielding had done. It is amid the scenes of the eighteenth century that Thackeray first discovered his method and recog- X VI INTROD UC now nized his genius. Did Thackeray write "Ehzabeth Brown- rigge" in 1832? It was a satire on Bulwer's ''Eugene Aram"; and "Ehzabeth Brownrigge" prepared for "Cath- erine," and "Catherine" prepared for "Barry Lyndon," and "Barry Lyndon" in many ways for "Esmond," and "Es- mond" for "The Virginians." "Catherine" in 1839 had been a forestudy of "Barry Lyndon" in 1844; and "Barry Lyndon, " too clever and different from the current manner to be rightly understood by a literal-minded generation, in the light of Fielding's "Jonathan Wild" is now regarded as a masterpiece of ironical portrayal, deserving to rank in the highest class of the author's compositions. Indeed, there are not even wanting those who prefer "Barry Lyndon" and "Henry Esmond" to "Vanity Fair," "Pendennis, " and "The Newcomes." The old pictures show our author the dress and accom- paniments, — the wigs, the doublets, the swords, the horses, the dogs, the monkey, the parrots, the black boy attendant, the sedan-chairs, the assemblies and routs and balls, the quarrels of the men, the jealousies of the women, their card- playing (gambling is but referred to and is largely suppressed, to reappear in the story of Esmond's grandson in "The Vir- ginians"), their drinking, and their duelhng. These give the background, just as one or two old-fashioned spellings, not always consistent, suggest the literary manner and con- versation. But even these are not the real thing — for it is against these that the critics usually aim th?ir lances. It is the portrayal of the men and women who are flesh and blood and exist for us in definitely drawn hnes, that gives the work its significance. A word or two, an action, — representing what is human so far as it goes, and, even if it be not the whole truth, bearing truth and consistency in itself — never loses its value, whatever technical mistakes in details and facts may be pointed out. Beatrix is fair and — l^eatrix. One thinks of her instinc- tively in naming the novel ; and she stands by the side of Becky Sharp and Colonel Newcome as one of three great characters in fiction Thackeray has (Teated. It was a stroke of genius to represent mother and daughter as INTRODUCTION XVU rivals in the affections of the liero. Lady Castlewood, with all her charm and beautv of disposition, is not a piece of heavenly perfection; she can be cruel and unjust to Esmond, she is jealous of her daughter, and she is severe. The author himself declared that Henry Esmond was "a prig" and that he was "writing a book of cutthroat melancholy suitable to ray state." Esmond is nicknamed "Don Dismallo" and "Killjoy"; but it is Esmond who is telling his Memoirs, and it is more pardonable to represent himself, who was to become the husband of her who had been his ''goddess surely" and then "dear mother," as serious and sombre and thoughtful and wise. It was as consistent to put an Esmond, a Beatrix, and a Lady Castlewooa in Queen Anne's day, as a Becky Sharp, a Rawdon Crawley, and a Lord Ste5^ne at the time of the battle of Waterloo. There was one other reason for the singular hold of "Es- mond" on the English reading world. The work did not come out in instalments hke the pre\aous efforts, with almost necessary deflections in purpose and consequent weakness in plot, but it was handed over to the publisher in three books or volumes, as was then the mode of publication. The author thus knew both the beginning and the end together, put more pains upon the construction, could attain better proportion and a clearer plot and achieve a greater art. It was begun late in 1851 and progressed all winter and spring, was fairly under way by summer, the introduction was written Octo- ber 18, and the last proof-sheet looked over ; and as the author, impatient to start for America on his lecturing tour in that country, was standing on the wharf ready to take the boat, October 30, 1852, tlie three volumes were placed in his hands. Thackeray was justly proud of it, he felt it was the most care- ful piece of work he had done, and while still lecturing on "The Humourists of the Eighteenth Century" before Ameri- can auchences, he could present it to a friend to be read as a complement and a sequel. But, for the moment to continue our historical develop- ment, other studies followed. There was a new story and a new set of lectures. "Esmond" and the visit to America were to produce other results. For the novelist of manners, xviii INTRODUCTION to deal ^vith Whig and Tory and Jacobite machinations in the days of William and of Anne was to follow it up by telling the story of "The Four Georges." The four lectures on these subjects were not only to be worked out, but they were to be first given to the American people. And later there was to be an American romance. Meanwhile the "Carthusian" — as all good "Charter- house" folk were called — who had loved to portray Steele and Addison in the pages of "Esmond" wished to centre another story of London and English life about the old school. The outcome was "The Newcomes," and the monthly instalments began after Thackeray's return from abroad and continued from October, 1853, to August, 1855. By that time "The Four Georges" were ready and Thack- eray returned to America. Then, with America fresh in mind and its kind hospitality a glowing remembrance, there came the desire to reconcile the two great divisions of the Endish -speaking race. Soon after getting back again, the instalments of the new novel, "The Virginians," began to appear, and continued for the next two years, from Novem- ber, 1857, to October, 1859. In "The Virginians" we have presented Henry Esmond's and Lady Castle wood's grand- children, the two sons of Rachel Esmond Warrington, the editor of Esmond's memoirs ; Beatrix appears again as the Dowager Baroness de Bernstein — for the Reverend Tom Tusher soon died; and while in plot and construction the novel breaks in two, the manners of George II's and George Ill's da3^s, the middle and latter half of the eighteenth cen- tury, the manners portrayed by Hogarth and Fielding, by Sterne and Goldsmith and Johnson, are given in a series of brilliant pictures. We have spokon of Thackeray's methods. What, it may be asked, of their results? Thackeray succeeds because of his ability to make his portrayals human. The furniture and dress, the one or two older spellings and uses of words, do not give the charm, though they may heighten the sug- gestion. "Henry Esmond" is a great novel, not on account of these characteristics, but at times in spite of them. Some- times Thackeray writes "writ," and sometimes he writes INTRODUCTION Xix "wrote." Words now ending in c are spelled ck] the spelling of "sat" is "sate"; "am come" and "am gone" are used for "have come" and "have gone"; and so forth. But an author can wiite in that way and write neither in the Queen Anne style nor successfully. Thackeray makes slips and positive blunders. He calls the notorious Lady Dorchester Tom Killigrew's daughter, when she was the daughter of another wit of the day, Sir Charles Sedley. He gives Mohun the name " Harry, " when his name w^as Charles. Follo\^ang history, he has Lords ^lohun and Hamilton quarrel over an inheritance and kill each other in a duel, but makes them brothers-in-law, when their wives had a common uncle, not a common father. The actress, Will Mountford's widow, then Miiie. Verbruggen, he designates "a veteran charmer of fifty," when she had died at the early age of thirty-two. He repeats details over and over again to make them clear and to hold them distinct before the reader's attention. Some- times he forgets and puts a thing one way on one page and then in another way a Uttle later. "Honest Lockwood," Esmond's attendant, is called "Job" in the early pages of the book, then becomes "John," later is made "Tom," and once more reverts to "John." Lady Castlewood's father, the Ex-Dean, is made to conform, — Lady Castlewood out of the joy of her heart at the reunion on the twenty-ninth of December tells Esmond, — yet a httle later he dies trium- phant, true to the old Jacobite cause. Our author cares little for strict chronology. Writings are referred to that did not appear until after the death of Queen Anne, when our story ends ; but it must be remembered that the Memoirs are sup- posed to be written after the migration to Virginia in Es- nond's old age. Even that can hardly excuse Beatrix and Esmond's alluding to the fairy Gawrie in Paltock's "Peter Wilkins" which was not published before 1750. And even though Rachel Warrington dates her Preface as late as 1778, she could hardly have known of Count Rochambeau's coming over to aid the Americans in 1780. But what of all these things and many more ? It is only the student that takes notes and studies the precise details, who sees the minute flecks and weather-stains here and there XX INTRODUCTION The reader gets interested in the big things, the make-believe and the truth, the splendid construction and fine portrayal, the big humanity, the great humanness, the large life, and the pleasing charm. And all these are there. "Esmond" is a great novel, because of its real truth and its noble senti- ment. It is seen in the contrasts between mother and daugh- ter, one a foil to the other and each alternately charming and winning us, as they both win Esmond. It is not Esmond's sombreness nor his perfections that we particularly admire, but his truth, the novelist's truth to the fundamental ideals of the English word "gentleman," can stir us. It is the same qualities that make the great characterizations and portrayals of Shakespeare and of Scott lasting. They have discerned and expressed the ideals of the English race and some of the fundamental conceptions of man. For the world loves ideals and strength and truth. It is willing to have its heroes and heroines expose their weaknesses, whether leading to tragedy or sharing in comedy; but it demands that certain dominating and fundamental conceptions should remain fixed, as it expects day to be day and night night, and the stars to remain in their courses. Thackeray's closeness to historical fact is in many ways remarkable, even though at the end he invents an expedient to introduce the Stuart Prince into England, which he takes pains to declare is Esmond's, i.e. Thackeray's, own. The wars and campaigns of Marlborough are given with remarkable — for the purposes of the story, with almost wearying — de- tail. The story of Webb, Cadogan, and Marlborough is also true to fact. The over-emphasis of Webb is explained by his being a connection of the author's. As to the truth of Thackeray's historical portrayals, some question may be raised. They are unrjuestionably true to themselves and to their conceptions, but are these concei)tions true to historical fact? The office of the novelist is not that of the judicial and interpretative historian. His purpose is to interpret his characters as he sees them. All these concreptions, whether true to actual fact or not, are true to definite traditions re- corded of them, and for the dramatic })urposes of a work of fi(;tion that is sufficient. It was Shakespeare's method in INTRODUCTION XXI his History Plays, and it is that of every dramatist and writer of fiction. Indeed, the author can even change the current opinion, pro\dded only that in his further portrayal he remain true in the psychological development of his conception. Marlborough's is a gi'eat portraiture, even though it may not be altogether just. It is meant to be given from one point of view — that of a rival and political opponent. General Webb. The figure of Swift as a burly, intimidating Irishman is un- deserved caricature. Steele's drunkenness is dwelt upon out of all proportion. Thackeray gives him to us, not drunk once or twice, but drunk always. In that state of mind one could not write such delightful and spirited Tatlers and /Spec- tators. Yet all these figures remain with us as lifelike in themselves, whether they represent the real men or not. The illusion of the Memoirs is kept up hazily. Ostensibly wi'itten in the first person, the book is really written in the third person, \\dth only now and then an occasional first per- son slipped in to remind the reader not to forget the fiction of j\Iemoirs. For the same purpose alternations are made more or less illogically between present and past tenses. Towards the close, in the third book, mere subterfuges for the same end occur in apparent notes from Hemy Esmond, the author, and Rachel Esmond Warrington, the editor, of the Memoirs. Thackeray enjoyed these, as we do; but they are mere excrescences and do not make the story. Enough of the author's old habits remained ; he could not forget them. His morahzings on situations of his characters are frequent even in a seeming historical work of fiction. Sometimes these moralizings are under the guise of Esmond's character, where they are more justified; but as frequently they are undisguised Thackerayan apart from any connection whatever with Esmond. The author forgets Esmond is supposed to be WTiting; the deus ex machina descends and directs the puppets, and comments even on Esmond's own imbecilit^^ in a way that would have hurt that young gentle- man very much, and in words which he never could have thought himself, and never would have permitted another to say. Thackeray's insistent democracy breaks out once or xxii INTRODUCTIOIT twice but is checked ; and once there is a blemish in Thack« eray's coming out openly to ridicule the methods of romance. In neither of these mental attitudes would the reputed writer of these Memoirs, Mr. Esmond, have understood the author, Mr. Thackeray. The discussion of Church relations and the re\ival of ritual- ism, something belonging of itself to the close of the seven- teenth century, was increased by the ritualistic movement at Oxford in the nineteenth century, a movement of which Thackeray could not have been a wholly disinterested witness. The skill with which the conservative and unpopular side is purposely taken and made attractive, with a view, in the end, to show with still greater conviction the mistakes of the premises, is little short of magical. References are made in "Esmond'' to the Crawleys and to the Warringtons, just sufficiently to connect it with its two predecessors, "Vanity Fair" and "Pendennis." There are many dramatic scenes, and in so far the art is true to the traditional ideals of historical and of all fiction. Lord Mohun becomes the villain of the story. The same man slays in duels both Beatrix's father and Beatrix's lover; and both times Esmond must suffer a natural injustice. The im- pression made by Beatrix descending the stairs — an index of her character as well as of her loveliness — is used twice, upon Esmond at his return and upon the Stuart Prince. The reconciliation in the Cathedral combines, with the Psalter for the day — it should be the twenty-seventh of December — and the spirit of the Cathedral service, to produce an impression of almost lyrical ecstasy. The break- ing of the swords at the close is the breaking of the Eng- lish nation with the Stuart past — it is the best in England scorning the base and the low, preferring personal honor to personal advantage, cherishing the ideals of the individual and holding the faith of the race pure and true. Looking at details, it is easy for us to pick flaws and point out anachronisms and discern technical faults; but if we regard it as a whole from the impression it cannot fail to make, "Henry Esmond" is not only one of Thackeray's best works, it is one of the great novels of the world. HENRY ESMOND AUTHOR'S PREFACE THE ESMONDS OF VIRGINIA The estate of Castlewood, in Virginia, which was given to our° ancestors by King Charles the First, as some return for the sacrifices made in His jMajesty's cause by the Esmond family, hes in Westmoreland" county, between the rivers Potomac and Rappahannoc, and was once as great as an 5 English Principahty, though in the early times its revenues were but small. Indeed for near eighty years after our forefathers possessed them, our plantations were in the hands of factors, who enriched themselves one after another, though a few scores of hogsheads of tobacco were all the 10 produce that, for long after the Restoration, our family received from their Virginian estates. My dear and honoured father, Colonel Henry Esmond, whose history, wi'itten by himself, is contained in the accom- panying volumes, came to Virginia in the year 1718, built 15 his house of Castlewood, and here permanently settled. After a long stormy life in England, he passed the'remainder of his many years in peace and honour in this country ; how beloved and respected by all his fellow-citizens, how in- expressibly dear to his family, I need not say. His whole 2a life was a benefit to all who were connected with him. He gave the best example, the best advice, the most bounteous hospitality to his friends ; the tenderest care to his depend- ants; and bestowed on those of his immediate family such a blessing of fatherly love and protection, as can never be 25 thought of, by us at least, without veneration and thank- fulness; and my sons' children, whether established here in our Republick° or at home, in the always beloved mother Xxiv ■ PREFACE country, from which our late quarrel hath separated us, may surely be proud to be descended from one, who in all ways was so truly noble. My dear mother died in 1736, soon after our return from 5 England, whither my parents took me for my education ; and where I made the acquaintance of Mr. Warrington, whom my children never saw. When it pleased Heaven, in the bloom of his youth, and after but a few months of a most happy union, to remove him from me, I owed my lo recovery from the grief which that calamity caused me, mainly to my dearest father's tenderness, and then to the blessing vouchsafed to me in the birth of my two beloved boys. I know the fatal differences which separated them in politicks never disunited their hearts; and, as I can love 15 them both, whether wearing the King's colours or the Re- publick's, I am sure that they love me, and one another, and him above all, my father and theirs, the dearest friend of their childhood; the noble gentleman, who bred them from their infancy in the practice and knowledge of Truth, 20 and Love, and Honour. My children will never forget the appearance and figure of their revered grandfather ; and I wish I possessed the art of drawing (which my papa had in perfection), so that I could leave to our descendants a portrait of one who was so good 25 and so respected. My father was of a dark complexion, with a very great forehead and dark hazel eyes, overhung by eye-brows which remained black long after his hair was white. His nose was aquiline, his smile extraordinary sweet. How well I remember it, and how little any de- 30 scription I can write can recall his image ! He was of rather low stature, not being above five feet seven inches in height; ^-^e used to laugh at my sons, whom he called his crutches, and say they were grown too tall for him to lean upon, liut small as he was he had a perfect grace and majesty of 35 dc^portmont, such as I have never seen in this country, excei)t perhaps in our friend, Mr. Washington; and com- manded respect wherever he appeared. In all bodily exercises he excelled, and showed an extra- ordinary quickness and agility. Of fencing he was especially PREFACE XXV fond, and made my two boys proficient in that art ; so much so, that when the French came to this country with Mon- sieur Rochambeau,° not one of his officers was superior to my Henry, and he was not the equal of my poor George, who had taken the King's side in our lamentable but glorious 5 war of independence. Neither my father nor my mother ever wore powder in their hair; both their heads were as white as silver, as I can remember them. My dear mother possessed to the last an extraordinary brightness and freshness of complexion ; la nor would people believe that she did not wear rouge. At sixty years of age, she still looked young, and was quite agile. It was not until after that dreadful siege of our house by the Indian3,° which left me a widow ere I was a mother, that my dear mother's health broke. She never recovered her 15 terror and anxiety of those days, wdiich ended so fatally for me, then a bride scarce six months married, and died in my father's arms ere my own year of widowhood was over From that day, until the last of his dear and honoured 20 life, it was my delight and consolation to remain with him as his comforter and companion; and fiom those little notes, w^hich my mother hath made here and there in the volumes in which my father describes his adventures in Europe, I can well understand the extreme devotion with 25 which she regarded him; a devotion so passionate and exclusive as to prevent her I think from loving any other person except with an inferior regard, her whole thonghts being centred on this one object of affection and worship. I know that before her, my dear father did not show the love 30 which he had for his daughter: and in her last and most sacred moments, this dear and tender parent owned to me her repentance that she had not loved me enough; her jealousy even that my father should give his affection to any but herself: and in the most fond and beautiful words 35 of affection and admonition, she bade me never to leave him ; and to supply the place which she was quitting. With a clear conscience, and a heart inexpressibly thankful, I think I can say that I fulfilled those dying commands, and that xxvi PREFACE until his last hour, my dearest father never had to complain that his daughter's love and fidelity failed him. And it is since I knew him entirely, for during my mother's hfe he never quite opened himself to me, since I knew the 5 value and splendour of that affection, which he bestowed upon me, that I have come to understand and pardon what, I own, used to anger me in my mother's life-time, her jealousy respecting her husband's love. 'Twas a gift so precious, that no wonder she who had it, was for keeping it all, and could 10 part with none of it, even to her daughter. Though I never heard my father use a rough word, 'twas extraordinary with how much awe his people regarded him ; and the servants on our plantation, both those assigned from England and the purchased negroes, obeyed him with an 15 eagerness such as the most severe task-masters round about us could never get from their people. He was never familiar though perfectly simple and natural; he was the same with the meanest man as with the greatest, and as courteous to a black slave-girl as to the Governor's wife. No one ever 20 thought of taking a liberty with him (except once a tipsy gentleman from York,° and I am bound to own that my papa never forgave him) : he set the humblest people at once on their ease with him, and brought down the most arrogant by a grave satirick way, which made persons 25 exceedingly afraid of him. His courtesy was not put on like a Sunday suit, and laid by when the company went away; it was always the same, as he was always dressed the same whether for a dinner by ourselves or for a great entertainment. They say he liked to be the first in his 30 company; but what company was there in which he would not be first? When I went to l^^urope for my education, and we passed a winter at London, with my half-brother, my Lord Castlewood and his second Lady°, 1 saw at Her Majesty's Court some of the most famous gentlemen of those 35 days; and I thought to myself, none of these are better than my papa: and the famous Lord 13olingbroke,° who came to us from Dawley, said as much ; and that the men of that time were not like those of his youth: — "Were your father, madam," he said, "to go into the woods, the Lidians PREFACE XXVll would elect him Sachem°;" and his lordship was pleased to call me Pocahontas. ° I did not see our other relative, Bishop Tusher's Lady,° of whom so much is said in my papa's Memoirs — although my mamma went to ^dsit her in the country. I have no 5 pride (as I showed by complying with my mother's request, and marrying a gentleman who was but the younger son of a Suffolk Baronet), yet I own to a decent respect for my name, and wonder how one, who ever bore it, should change it for that of Mrs. Thomas Tusher. I pass over as odious la and unworthy of credit those reports (which I heard in Europe, and was then too young to understand), how this person, haxing left her family, and fled to Paris, ° out of jealousy of the Pretender betrayed his secrets to my Lord Stair, ° King George's Ambassador, and nearly caused the 15 Prince's death there; how she came to England and married this Mr. Tusher; and became a great favourite of King George the Second, by whom Mr. Tusher was made a Dean, and then a Bishop. I did not see the lady, who chose to remain at her palace, all the time we were in London; but after 20 visiting her, my poor mamma said, she had lost all her good looks, and warned me not to set too much store by any such gifts which nature had bestowed upon me. She grew ex- ceedingly stout, and I remember my brother's wife, Lady Castlewood, saying — "No wonder she became a favour- 25 ite, for the King likes them old and ugly, as his father did before him." On which papa said — "All women were alike; that there was never one so beautiful as that one; and that we could forgive her everything but her beauty." And hereupon my mamma looked vexed, and my Lord Castle- Z^ wood began to laugh ; and I, of course, being a young creature, could not understand what was the subject of their conversa- tion. After the circumstances narrated in the third book of these Memoirs, my father and mother both went abroad, being 35 advised by their friends to leave the country in consequence of the transactions which are recounted at the close of the third volume of the Memoirs. But my brother, hearing how the future Bishop's lady had quitted Castlewood and xxviii PREFACE joined the Pretender at Paris, pursued him, and would have killed him, Prince as he was, had not the Prince managed to make his escape. On his expedition to Scotland directly after, Castlewood was so enraged against him that he 5 asked leave to serve as a volunteer and join the Duke of Argyle's° army in Scotland, which the Pretender never had the courage to face; — and thenceforth my Lord was quite reconciled to the present reigning family, from whom he hath even received promotion. :o Mrs. Tusher was by this time as angry against the Pre- tender as any of her relations could be : and used to boast, as I have heard, that she not only brought back" my Lord to the Church of England, but procured the English peerage for him, which the junior branch of our family at present 15 enjoys. She was a great friend of Sir Robert Walpole,° and would not rest until her husband slept at Laml)oth,° my papa used laughing to say : however the Bishop died of apoplexy suddenly; and his wife erected a great monument over him : and the pair° sleep undc that stone with a canopy 20 of mar})le clouds and angels above them, the first Mrs. Tusher lying sixty miles off at Castlewood. But mv papa's genius and education are both greater than any a woman can be expected (o have, and his adven- tures in Europe far more exciting than his life in this country, 25 which was past in tiie tranquil offices of love and duty; and I shall say no more by way of introduction to his Me- moirs, noftkeep my children from the perusal of a story which is much more interesting than that of their affectionate old mother, Rachel Esmond Warrington. Castlewood, Viroinia, November 3, 1778. BOOK I THE EARLY YOUTH OF HENRY ESMOND, UP TO THE TIME OF HIS LEAVING TRINITY COLLEGE,^ IN CAJVIBRIDGE THE HISTORY OF HENRY ESMOND BOOK THE FIRST The actors in the old tragedies, ° as we read, piped their iambics to a tune, speaking from under a mask, and wearing stilts and a great head-dress. 'Twas thought the dignity of the Tragick Muse required these appurtenances and that she was not to move except to a measure and cadence. So 5 Queen IMedea slew her children to a slow musick : and King Agamemnon perished in a dying fall° (to use Mr. Dry den's words) : the Chorus standing by in a set attitude, and rhyth- mically and decorously bewailing the fates of those great crowned persons. The Muse of History hath encumbered ic herself with ceremony as well as her Sister of the Theatre. She too wears the mask and the cothurnus and speaks to m.easure. She too, in our age, busies herself with the affairs only of kings ; waiting on them, obsequiously and stately, as if she were but a mistress of Court ceremonies, and had noth- 15 ing to do with the regstering of the affairs of the common people. I have seen° in his very old age and decrepitude the old French King Lewis the Fourteenth, ° the type and model of kinghood — who never moved but to measure, who lived and died according to the laws of his Court-j\Iarshal, per- 20 sisting in enacting through life the ^part of Hero° ; and divested of poetry, this Vv^as but a little ^Tinkled old man, • pock-m^arked, and with a great perriwig and red heels to make him look tall, — a hero for a book if you like, or for a brass statue or a painted-ceiling, a god in a Roman shape, 25 but what more than a man for Madame Maintenon, or the barber who shaved him, or Monsieur Fagon, his surgeon? I wonder shall History ever pull ofl her perriwig and cease 2 HENRY ESMOND to be court-ridden? Shall we see something of France and England besides Versailles and Windsor°? I saw Queen Anne at the latter place tearing down the Park slopes after her stag-hounds, and driving her one-horse chaise — a hot, 5 red-faced woman, not in the least resembling that statue of her which turns its stone back upon Saint Paul's, ° and faces the coaches struggling up Ludgate Hill. She was neither better bred nor wiser than you and me, though we knelt to hand her a letter or a washhand-basin. Why 10 shall History go on kneeling to the end of time? I am for having her rise up off her knees, and take a natural posture : not to be for ever performing cringes and congces° like a Court-chamberlain, and shuffling backwards out of doors in the presence of the sovereign. In a word, I would have 15 History familiar rather than heroick: and think that I\Ir. Hogarth and Mr. Fielding° will give our children a much better idea of the manners of the present age in England, than the Court Gazette'^ and the newspapers which we get thence. 20 There was a German officer of Webb's,° with whom we used to joke, and of whom a story (whereof I myself was the Author) was got to be believed in the army, that he was eldest son of the hereditary Grand Bootjack of the Empire, and heir to that honour of which his ancestors had been 25 very proud, having been kicked for twenty generations by one imperial foot, as they drew the boot from the other. I have heard that the old Lord Castlewood, of part of whose family these present volumes are a chronicle, though he came of quite as good blood as the Stuarts whom he served 30 fand who as regards mere lineage are no better than a dozen r^iiglish and Scottish houses I could name), was i)rouder of his post about the Court than of his ancestral honours, and valued his dignity (as Wai'den of the J3utteries and Groom of the King's Posset) so highly, that he cheerfully ruined him- 35 self for the thankless and thriftless race who bestowed it. He pawned his plate for King Charles the First, ° mortgagcnl his property for the same cause, and lost the greater part of it by fines and secjuestration : stood a siege of his castle by Ireton,° wheie his brother Thomas capitulated (afterward HENRY ESMOND 3 making terms with the Commonwealth, for which the elder brother never forgave him), and where his second brother Edward, who had embraced the ecclesiastical profession, was slain on Castlewood tower, being engaged there both as preacher and artilleryman. This resolute old loyalist 5 who was with the King whilst his house was thus being bat- tered down, escaped abroad with his only son then a boy, to return and take a part in Worcester fight. ° On that fatal field Eustace Esmond was killed, and Castlewood fled from it once more into exile, and henceforward, and after la the Restoration, never was away from the Court of the monarch (for whose return we offer thanks in the Pi-ayer Book) who sold his country and who took bribes of the French king.° What spectacle is more august than that of a great king in 15 exile ? Who is more worthy of respect than a brave man in misfortune? Mr. Addison has painted such a figure in his noble piece of Cato° But suppose fugitive Cato fuddling himself at a tavern with a wench on each knee, a dozen faithful and tipsy comj^anions of defeat, and a landlord 20 calling out for his bill; and the dignity of misfortune is straightway lost. The Historical Muse turns away shame- faced from the. vulgar scene, and closes the door — on which the exile's unpaid drink is scored up — upon him and his pots and his })ipes, and the tavern-chorus which he and his -^s friends are singing. Such a man as Charles should have had an Ostade or Mieris° to paint him. Your Knellers and Le Bruns° only deal in clumsy and im.possible allegories : and it hath always seemed to me blasphemy to claim Olym- pus for such a wine-drabbled divinity as that. 30 x^bout the King's follower, the Viscount Castlewood — orphan of his son, ruined by his fidelit}^, bearing many wounds and marks of bravery, old and in exile, his kinsmen I suppose should be silent ; nor if this patriarch fell down in his cups, call fie upon him, and fetch passers-by to laugh 35 at his red face and white hairs. What ! does a stream rush out of a mountain free and pure, to roll through fair pastures, to feed and throw out bright tributaries, and to end in a village gutter? Lives that have noble commencements havp 4 HENRY ESMOND often no better endings ; it is not without a kind of awe and reverence that an observer should speculate upon such careers as he traces the course of them. I have seen too much of success in life to take off my hat and huzza to it, as it passes 5 in its gilt coach : and would do my little part with my neigh- bours on foot that they should not gape with too much wonder, nor applaud too loudly. Is it the Lord Mayor° going in state to mince-pies and the Mansion House ? Is it poor Jack of Newgate's procession, ° with the sheriff and to javelin-men, conducting him on his last journey to Tyburrx? I look into my heart and think I am as good as my Lord Mayor, and know I am as bad as Tyburn Jack. Give me a chain and red gown and a pudding before me, and I could play the part of Alderman very well, and sentence Jack 15 after dinner. Starve me, keep me from books and honest people, educate me to love dice, gin, and pleasure, and put me on Hounslow Heath, with a purse before me, and I will take it. "And I shall be deserv^edly hanged," say you, wishing to put an end to this prosing. I don't say no. I 20 can't but accept the world as I find ic, including a rope's end, as long as it is in fashion. CHAPTER I AN ACCOUlfIT OF THE FAMILY OF ESMOND OF CASTLEWOOD HALT. When Francis, fourth Viscount Castlewood, came to his title, and presently after to take possession of his house of Castlewood, county Hants,° in the year 1691,° almost the 25 only tenant of the place besides the domestics was a lad of twelve years of age, of whom no one seemed to take any note until my Lady Viscountess lighted upon him, going over the house with the housr^keeper on the day of her arrival. The boy was in the room known as the book-room, or yellow 30 gnll'iry, where the {portraits of the famiiy used to hang, that fine piece among others of Sir Antonio Van Dyck° of George, second ViScount, and that by Mr. l>obson° of my lord the thirri ^'^iscount, just deceased, which it seems his HENRY ESMOND 5 lady and widow did not think fit to carry away, when she sent for and carried off to her house at Chelsea° near to Lon- don, the picture of herself by Sir Peter Lely,° in which her ladyship was represented as a huntress of Diana's court. The new and fair lady of Castlewood found the sad lonely 5 little occupant of this gallery busy over his great book, which he laid down when he was aware that a stranger was at hand. And, knowing who that person must be, the lad stood up and bowed before her, performing a shy obeisance to the mistress of his house. 10 She stretched out her hand — indeed when was it that that hand would not stretch out to do an act of kindness, or to protect grief and ill-fortune? "And this is our kinsman,'' she said ; '' and what is your name, kinsman ? " "My name is Hemy Esmond," said the lad, looking up at 15 her in a sort of delight and wonder, for she had come upon him as a Dca certe° and appeared the most charming object he had ever looked on. Her golden hair was shining in the gold of the sun; her complexion was of a dazzhng bloom: her hps smiling, and her eyes beaming with a kindness 2c which made Harry Esmond's heart to beat with surprise. "His name is Henry Esmond, sure enough, my lady," says J\Irs. Worksop° the housekeeper (an old tyrant whom Henry Esmond plagued more than he hated), and the oid gentlewoman looked significantly towards the late lord's 25 picture, as it now is in the family, noble and severe-looking, with his hand on his sword, and his order on his cloak, which he had from the Emperor during the war on the Danube against the Turk.° Seeing the great and undeniable hkeness between this 30 portrait and tlie lad, the new Viscountess, who had still hold of the boy's hand as she looked at the picture, blushed and dropped the hand quickly, and walked down the gallery, followed by INIrs. Worksop. When the lady came back, Harry Esmond stood exactly 3f in the same spot, and with his hand as it had fallen when he dropped it on his black coat. Her heart melted I suppose (indeed she hath ° since owned as much) at the notion that she should do anything unkind 6 HENRY ESMOND to any mortal, great or small ; for when she returned, she haa sent awa}' the housekeeper upon an errand by the door at the farther end of the gallery ; and, coming back to the lad, with a look of infinite pity and tenderness in her eyes, she took 5 his hand again, placing her other fair hand on his head, and saying some words to him, which were so kind and said in a voice so sweet, that the boy, who had never looked upon so much beauty before, felt as if the touch of a superior being or angel smote him down to the ground, and kissed the fair 10 protecting hand as he knelt on one knee. To the very last hour of his life, Esmond remembered the lady as she then spoke and looked, the rings on her fair hands, the very scent of her robe, the beam of her eyes lighting up with surprise and kindness, her lips blooming in a smile, the sun making a 15 golden halo round her hair. As the boy was yet in this attitude of humility, enters behind him a portly gentleman, with a little girl of four years old in his hand. The gentleman burst into a great laugh at the lady and her adorer, with his little queer figure, his sallow 20 face, and long, black hair. The lady blushed, and seemed to deprecate his ridicule by a look of appeal to her husband, for it was my Lord Viscount who now arrived, and whom the lad knew, having once before seen him in the late lord's lifetime. 25 *'So this is the little priest°!" says my lord, looking down at the lad; "welcome, kinsman." "He is saying his prayers to mamma," says the little girl, who came up to her papa's knee; and my lord burst out into another great laugh at this, and kinsman Henry looked 30 very silly. He invented a half-dozen of si)eeches in reply, but 'twas months afterwards, when he thought of this adven- ture : as it was, he had never a word in answer. "Le pauvre enfant, il n'a que nous,°" says the lady, looking to her lord ; and the boy, who understood her, though doubt- 35 less she thought otherwise^, thanked her with all his heart for her kind speech. "And he shan't want for friends here," says my lord, in a kind voice, "shall he, little Trix?" The little girl, whose name was lieatrix, and whom her HENRY ESMOND 7 papa called by this diminutive, looked at Henry Esmond solemnly, with a pair of large eyes, and then a smile shone over her face, which was as beautiful as that of a cherub, and she came up and put out a little hand to him. A keen and delightful pang of gratitude, happiness, affection, filled 5 the orphan child's heart, as he received from the protectors, whom Heaven had sent to him, these touching words and tokens of friendliness and kindness. But an hour since he had felt quite alone in the world : wdien he heard the great peal of bells from Castlewood church ringing that morning to 10 welcome the arrival of the new lord and lady, it had rung only terror and anxiety to him, for he knew not how the new owner would deal with him ; and those to whom he formerly looked for protection were forgotten or dead. Pride and doubt too had kept him within doors, when the Vicar and the 15 people of the village, and the servants of the house, had gone out to welcome my Lord Castlewood — for Henry Esmond was no servant, though a dependent; no relative, though he bore the name and inherited the blood of the house ; and in the midst of the noise and acclamations attending the 20 arrival of the new lord (for whom you may be sure a feast was got ready, and guns were fired, and tenants and domes- ticks huzzaed when his carriage approached and rolled into the courtyard of the hall), no one ever took any notice of young Harry Esmond, who sate unobserved and alone in 25 the book-room, until the afternoon of that day, when his new friends found him. When my lord and lady were going awa}^ thence, the little girl, still holding her kinsman by the hand, bade him to come too. "Thou wilt always forsake an old friend for a 30 new one, Trix," says her father to her good-naturedly; and went into the gallery, giving an arm to his lady. They passed thence through the musick-gallery, long since dis- mantled, and Queen Elizabeth's roams° in the clock-tower, and out into the terrace, where was a fine prospect of sunset, 35 and the great darkling woods with a cloud of rooks return- ing; and the plain and river with Castlewood village beyond, and purple hills beautiful to look at — and the httle heir of Castlewood, a child of two years old, was already here on 8 HENRY ESMOND the terrace in his nurse's arms, from whom he ran across the grass instantly he perceived his mother, and carne to her. ''If thou canst not be happ}^ here," says my lord, looldng round at the scene, ''thou art hard to please, Rachel." 5 ''I am happy where you are," she said, "but we were hap- piest of all at Walcote Forest. °" Then my lord began to describe what was before them to his wife, and what indeed little Harry knew better than he — viz., the history° of the house : how by yonder gate the page ran away with the 10 heiress of Castlewood, by wdiich the estate came into the present family, how the Roundheads° attacked the clock- tower, which my lorcl'^ father was slain in defending. " I was but two years old then," says he, "but take forty-six from ninety, and how old shall I be, kinsman Harry ? " 15 "Thirty," says his wife, with a laugh. "A great deal too old for you, Rachel/' answers my lord, looking fondly down at her. Indeed she seemed to be a girl ; and was at that time scarce twent^^^ years old. "You know, Frank, I will do anything to please you," 20 says she, "and I promise you I will grow older every day." "You mustn't call papa Frank; you must call papa my lord, now," says Miss Beatrix, with a toss of her little head; at which the mother smiled, and the good-natured father laughed, and the little, trotting boy laughed, not knowmg 25 why — but because he was happy no doubt — as everyone seemed to be there. How those trivial incidents and words, the landscape and sunshine, and the grc-up of people smiling and talking, remain fixed on the memovy° ! As the sun was setting, the Uttle heir ^vac sent in the arms 30 of his nurse to bed, whither he went howling; but little Trix was promised to sit to supper that night — "and you will come too, kinsman, won't you?" she said. Harry Esmond blushed: "I — I have supi)er with Mrs. VVorks»)p," says he. 3; " 1) n it," says my lord, " thou siialt sup with us, Harry, to-night. Shan't refuse a lady, shall he, Trix?" — and they