! PifW M il WW I l il ll iii i ! « 1 ^1 ■a "-T '« . .T" i t T :^ !! rt ;•.* ''IT ! rt /^^. ii: Pie. Al I&B9 CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Prof. Iv'illcox Date Due :r ^ JAiH-^SS^Pl wrmr-ngyrgf"^ Cornell University Library The original of tiiis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013562636 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION THE WORKS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTIONS BY HIS DAUGHTER, ANNE RITCHIE IN THIRTEEN VOLUMES Volume X. THE VIRGINIANS f-X--L/ J /''>_A<_-'-A-£y\_,sc^ : .77r'jr/7^ ^.^ /,■ ^w-r -^--z^^. ibhshedhiyHarpG: izBrorLei ^.NewYnzl THE VIRGINIANS a TTale of tbe OLast Centura WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON 1899 THE BIOGRAPHICAL EDITION OF W. M. THACKERAY'S COMPLETE WORKS Edited by Mrs. Anne Thackeray Ritchie The volumes are issued as far as possihle in order of origitutl p:d)licaiion I VANITY FAIR 2. PENDENNIS 3. YELLOWFLUSH PAPERS, Etc 4. BARRY LYNDON, Etc. 5. SKETCH BOOKS 6. CONTRIBUTIONS TO "PUNCH," Etc. 7. HENRY ESMOND, Etc. 8. THE NtWCOMES Q. CHRISTMAS BOOKS, Etc. 10. THE VIRGINIANS 11. PHILIP, Etc. 12. DENIS DUVAL, Etc. 13. MISCELLANIES Illustrated. Crown 8vo, Cloth, Ornamental, Uncut Edges and Gilt Tops, %\ 75 per volume HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK AND LOND'ON A C^ Copyright, 1899, by Harfbr & Brothers All r-t£hts rejcf-v€d TO SIR HENRY DAVISON CHIEF JUSTICE OF MADRAS C:bt6 JSooft (g lliisciibeo BY AN AFFECTIONATE OLD FRIEND LONDdN : September 7, rSgg CONTENTS PAQE INTRODUCTION . , . . XV CHAP. I. IN WHICH ONE OP THE VIRGINIANS VISITS HOME . 1 II. IN WHICH HAEEY HAS TO PAY FOR HIS SUPPER 10 III. THE ESMONDS IN VIRGINIA : 21 lY. IN WHICH HAERY FINDS A NEW RELATIVE 28 V. FAMILY JARS . . .34 VI. THE VIRGINIANS BEGIN TO SEE THE WORLD . 46 VII. PREPARATIONS FOE WAR . 53 VIII. IN WHICH GEORGE SUFFERS FROM A* COMMON DISEASE 62 IX. HOSPITALITIES . . 68 X. A HOT AFTERNOON . . 79 XI. WHEREIN THE TWO GEORGES PREPARE FOR BLOOD 90 XII. NEWS FROM THE CAMP XIII. PROFITLESS QUEST ..... XIV. HARRY IN ENGLAND . l . . .113 XV. A SUNDAY AT CASTLEWOOD . . . . 119 XVI. IN WHICH GUMBO SHOWS SKILL WITH THE OLD ENGLISH WEAPON XVII. ON THE SCENT , XVIII. AN OLD STORY , .... XIX. CONTAINING BOTH LOVE AND LUCK XX. FACILIS DESCENSUS , , . . . XXI. SAMARITANS ..... 96 104 128 138 146 154 160 172 CONTENTS CHAP. XXII. IN HOSPITAL . . ... XXIII. HOLIDAYS XXrV. FROM OAKHl'RST TO TUNBEIDIlli, \\V. NEW AOQUAINT.VNi.'ES XXVI. IN WHICH we are at a vei;y cheat dis- T\N<'I'; FKOM OAKIIUKf^T XXVII. PLENUM OPUS ALE.K XXVIII. THE WAY OF THE WORLD XXIX. IN WHICH HARRY CONTINUES io EN,JOY OTIUM SINE DIGNITATE XXX. CONTAINS A LETTER Ti > VIROIMA XX.VI. THE BEAR AND THE LEADER . XXXII. IN WHICH A FAMILY < 'OACPI IS 5RDERE0 XXXIII. CONTAINS A SOLILOQUY BY PIESTER XXXIV. IN WHICH MR. WAKKINCTON TREATS THE i.OJI- PANY WITH TEA AND A BALL XXXV. ENTANGLEMENTS XXXVI. WHICH SEEMS TO MEAN MISCHIEF . XXXVII. IN WHICH VARIOUS i\IA'l'CHES ARE FOU(;HT XXXVIII. SAMPSON AND THE PHILISTINES XXXIX. HARRY TO THE RESCUE XL. IN WHICH HARRY PAYS OFF AN OLD DEBT, AND INCURS SOME NEW ONES . XLI. R.^KE's PROGRESS XLII. FOETUNATUS NIMIUM XLIII. IN WHICH HARRY FLIES HIGH XLIV. CONTAINS WHAT MIGHT PERHAPS HAVE BEEN EXPECTED .... XLV. IN WHICH HARRY FINDS TWO UNCLES XLVI. CHAINS AND SLAVERY PAGE 180 190 197 306 214 225 232 240 244 25." 265 275 282 292 301 310 317 326 334 344 353 359 367 378 384 CONTENTS xi CHAP. PAGE XLVII. VISITOKS IN TROUBLE .... 397 XLVIII. AN APPARITION .... 404 XLIX. FEIENDS IN NEED . . 409 L. CONTAINS A GREAT UKAL OF THE MNEST MORALITY . 415 LI. CONTICUEEE OMNES . . 425 LII. INTENTIQUE OKA TENEBANT 436 LIU. "WHERE "WE REMAIN AT THE COURT END OP THE TOWN . . 443 LIV. DURING "WHICH HARRY SITS SMOKING HIS PIPE AT HOME . 449 LV. BETWEEN BROTHERS 458 LVI. ARIADNE . 464 LVII. IN "WHICH MR. HARRY's NOSE CONTINUES TO BE PUT OUT OF JOINT 476 LVIII. "WHERE "WE DO "WHAT CATS MAY DO 482 LTX. IN "WHICH WB ARE TREATED TO A PLAY 489 LX. WHICH TREATS OP MACBETH, A SUPPER, AND A PRETTY KETTLE OP FISH 501 LXI. IN WHICH THE PRINCE MARCHES UP THE HILL AND DOWN AGAIN 510 LXII. ARMA VIRUMQUB . 516 LXIII. MELPOMENE . 532 LXIV. IN WHICH HARRY LIVES TO EIGHT ANOTHER DAY . . 544 LXV. soldier's RETURN . 552 LXVI. IN WHICH WE GO A-COUETING 557 LXVII. IN WHICH A TRAGEDY IS ACTED, AND TWO MORE ARE BEGUN . . 564 LXVIII. IN WHICH HARRY GOES WESTWARD , . .577 xii CONTENTS CHAP. LXIX. A LITTLE INNOCENT . • • ' LXX. IX WHICH CUPID PLAYS A COISrSIDEEABLE PAET LXXI. WHITE FAVOURS LXXII. (fEOM the WAEKINGTON MS.) IN WHICH MY LADY IS ON THE TOP OF THE LADDER LXXIII. WE KEEP CHRISTMAS AT CASTtEWOOD, 1759 . LXXIV. NEWS FROM CANADA LXXV. THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE . - ■ • LXXVI. INFORMS US HOW MR. WARRINGTON JUMPED INTO A LANDAU LXXVII. AND HOW EVERYBODY HOT OUT ACiAIN LXXVIII. PYRAMUS AND THISBE LXXIX. CONTAINING BOTH COMEDY AND TRAGEDY LXXX. POCAHONTAS LXXXI. RES ANGUSTA DOMI IXXXII. MILES'S MOIDORE LXX XIII. TROUBLES AND CONSOLATIONS LXXXIV. IN WHICH HARRY SUBMITS TO THE COMMON LOT LXXXV. INVENI PORTUM LXXXVI. AT HOME LX XXVII. THE LAST OF GOD SAVE THE KING LXXXVIII. YANKEE DOODLE COMES TO TOWN LXXXIX. A COLONEL WITHOUT A REGIMENT XC. IN WHICH WE BOTH FIGHT AND RUN AWAY . XCI. SATIS PUGN.E . . XCII. UNDER VINE AND FIG-TREE .... I'AGE 583 596 606 613 619 632 640 649 655 664 675 682 690 700 703 716 727 737 750 758 763 771 784 792 LI.ST OF ILLUSTRATIONS PORTEA.IT OF ^V. M. THACKEEAY NEGKO . CAET AND NIGGEE FIDDLING NEGEO BEOTHEES GUMBO . A FAMILY PAKTY LADY FLIETING CONFESSOR THE TUTOR IN TEOUBLE A STEPFATHER IS" PROSPECT . A DANCING LESSON GUMBO ASTONISHES THE SERVANTS' THE EULING PASSION PREACHING AND PRACTICE A EENCONTEE IN FLEET STREET BAD NEWS FROM TUNBEIDGE A PAIR OF OLD ACQUAINTANCES A YOUNG REPROBATE A PRISONER .... A PRESENTATION TO MADAM ESMOND 2 . Frontispiece . page XX )I xxiii )) xxiv XXXV ,, xxxvi To face J>a{}e, xxxvii page xxxviii )) XTXviii . To face ptage 42 78 116 ' HALL 132 232 272 306 314 380 418 ND 433 458 XIV GEORGE S FRIENDS BON JOUR, MON AMI BEHIND MONTACU HOUSE A GREAT LADY THE PATEON FLAT REBELLION . ARBITEIUM POPULAEIS AUE^ LIST OF ILLUSTRA-TIONS To /arc pdfiii 518 604 620 698 724 INTRODUCTION TO THE VIRGINIANS 1855-1859 Part I It will be seen how naturally the story of " The Virginians" follows upon niy father's_second cxpcricrti;_e_iiL America in 1855. He was no longer starting for a new world and for unknown experiences, but returning to friends and to familiar associations. He felt almost as much at home in Broadway, he says, as on the Brompton pavement, and the letters from his American cor- respondents show how cordially he was received and welcomed by them on his return. Before writing about " The Virginians," it may be as well to go back a little to the lecturing experiences in America. The first thoughts of lecturing on the Georges seem to have ^occurred to him as early as the summer of 1852, when he was travelling in Germany. " I had a notion of lectures on the Four Georges, and going to Hanover," he writes, " to look at the place whence that race came ; but if I hope for preferment hereafter, I mean Police- magistrateship or what not, I had best keep a civil tongue in my head ; and I should be sure to say something impudent if I got upon that subject ; and as I have no particular Heaven-sent mission to do this job, why, perhaps I had best look for another. And the malheur is, that because it is a needless job, and because I might just as well leave it alone, it is most likely I shall be at it." Three years later, in 1856, he says : " I am going to try in xvi THE VIRGINIANS the next six weeks to write four lectures for the great North American Republic, and deliver them after they are tired of the stale old Humourists." And so it came about that the Georges were written just before he returned to America ; George IV. was actually finished on the other side of j,he water. The change was good for him in every way. With all its discomforts, the journey was prosperous, and the return a happy one. His letters home were written in good spirits. The dol- lars flowed in. He was often ill indeed, tut he was able to en- joy the interest of it all — the welcome, the undoubted success of his expedition, which lasted from October 13, 1855, to June of the following year. Here are some extracts from the letters he wrote to us, almost as if he was talking to us at home from his arm-chair in the corner : — " Clarendon, New York, " November 1 3 (one month over already). " Now I need not have the partition-door shut, with Charles in the next room, because I feel ashamed-like that he should hear me spouting. Now I need not lock myself in, and send down my key to the bar, so that visitors may see it hanging on the hook and think I am out. Now I may look out for some sound sleep without being woke up by that confounded night- mare of George IV., and eat my dinner ill peace, and hear what people say to me. Now I am so nervous that don't you see my hand trembles, I hardly see the paper, and wouldn't write, only some folks will expect to hear. I have hardly made a visit yet — only to the good Baxters, and one or two more whose kind- ness is quite afiecting. So with the young men of the Associa- tion ; they write my business letters for me, chalk out my route, fetch me in coaches, go over to the suburbs. . . . Already I begin to dislike it, feel ashamed of myself, and want to bolt — but we mustn't, no, we mustn't, while health stands ; and now for the next six months I shall have hardly any writing to do, and the rest will be the best of all doctors. " I lectured at Brooklyn last night. Shows how much ner- vousness has to do with health ; found an immense, brilliantly- lighted room, thronged chock up to the ceiling, and two thou- sand five hundred people, I should think. Spoke the lecture as INTRODUCTION xvii well as before, and ended rather the better for having talked, Had good supper, a good sleep, woke early, actually dreaming that I was lecturing in London to three boys and three report- ers." . . . " In both visits to America I have found the effects of the air the same ; I have a difficulty in forming the letters as I write them down on the page, in answering questions, in finding the most simple words to form the answers. A gentleman asked me how long I had been in New York ; I hesitated, and then said a week ; I had arrived the day before. ... I hardly know what is said, am thinking of something else, nothing definite, with an irrepressible longing to be in motion ; I sleep three hours less than in England, making up, however, with a heavy long sleep every fourth night or so. Talking yesterday with a very clever man, T. Appleton of Boston, he says the effect upon him on his return from Europe is the same. There is some electric influence in the air and sun here which we don't experience on our side of the globe ; people can't sit still, people can't ruminate over their dinners, dawdle in their studies ; they must keep moving. I want to dash into the street now. At home after breakfast I want to read my paper leisurely and then get to my books and work. Yesterday, as some rain began to fall I felt a leaden cap taken off my brain-pan, and began to speak calmly and reasonably, and not to wish to quit my place." Among the people who impressed him, he writes of Mr. .King : " A gentleman of the old school, — President of Colum- bia College, — editor of ' the American ' newspaper, who was at school at Harrow with Peel and Byron, and spoke still in admiration of Byron's pluck. Harrow challenged Eton to a match at cricket. Eton refused Harrow, saying Eton only played matches with schools of Royal foundation." Mr. King also remembered Byron saying, " I am not good at cricket," al- luding to his foot, " but if you will get up an eleven to fight an Eton eleven, I should like to be one of yours." * " Peel was a lazy boy," Mr. King continued, " not mingling * Byron's account of the match in which he played in 1805 is to be found in one of his letters from Harrow. It begins, " We have played the Eton, and were most confoundedly beat." xviii THE VIRGINIANS in games at all ; very good-natured ; the boys would crowd round him before going into school, begging him to do their verses — Greek iambics, Latin hexameters. Nothing came amiss to him, and he would scribble off copy after copy of verses for the idler, or walk the fields solitary, with his pocket full of nice round stones, and if he saw a bird on a bough, fire at it — his skill was to bring down one bird in three. He would bring home strings of little birds with him. Byron would have been good-looking, but his complexion was tallowy, and his black hair had a greasy look." My father's letter goes on — " Haven't had time to take a walk in New York. There is pleasure at seeing again these friendly people, a great growth of reputation, a chance that the ensuing lectures will be as profitable as the last. The compli- ments somebody gets on all hands would please some ladies. One touched me yesterday. — Dr. Kane, the tremendous Arctic traveller, has just come back from the North, and he says that he saw one of his seamen in one of the holds crouched over a book for hours and hours, and behold it was ' Pendennis.' " I cannot refrain from quoting an adventure which befell him at New York, and which recalls some of Mr. Pickwick's expe- riences at Bath. "Had a very pleasant dinner with S. Ward and a party at Delmonico's ; came home late, and had an awful JtJscape — I tremble when I think of it. Took my key at the bar, entered my apartment, began straightway to pull ofl: boots, etc. etc., when a sweet female voice from the room within ex- claimed, ' Gorgie 1' I had gone into the second-floor room in- stead of the third. I gathered my raiment together and dashed out of the premises." " The lecturing is hard work at times — shall I ever go through with it ? Dominus Providehit ! the talking is no fatigue, and not so unwholesome as dining out, I dare say. " How kind the people were at Astor House, where I was taken ill with the shivers ! How they put me to bed and blan- keted me ! What a comfort it is to have^Charles with me ! . . . " George the Third is the lecture they have liked best, on account of the pathetic business. George the First the least. . . . The men here read surprisingly. One tells me — a busy man, keeping a great store in the city — that he does all his INTEODUCTION xix reading in the railway-cars, as he comes in and out from his country residence daily. Fancy an English city-grocer reading- Tennyson and Browning on his way from Brighton to Broad Street every day ! A look over the Times, a snooze for the rest of the journey, would be enough for him ! " Looking for my companion the other day, as we arrived from Boston, through a line of several cars, the cars set off in motion down the street, and I begged the driver to let me out. He began through his nose a shrill blast of curses quite curious to hear; he was only squealing the steam off. ' Thar ! Now ! Jorap farrerd,' says he not unkindly, and I jumped and ran back to the station." The account of a visit to Washington Irving is dated New York, December .3, 1855 : — " One day I went out to Yonkers, fifteen miles from here, on the Hudson River, and spent the pleasanfest day I have had in the States ; drove from the pretty village, a busy, bustling new place lying on the river banks, thrice as broad as the Rhine, and as picturesque, to Irvington, nine miles, where good old Washington Irving lives with two nieces, who tend him most affectionately, in a funny little in-and-out .cottage surrounded by a little domain of lawns not so smooth as ours, and woods rather small and scrubby ; — in little bits of small parlours, where we were served with cakes and wine, — with a little study not much bigger than my back room, with old dogs trotting about the premises, with flocks of ducks sailing on the ponds, — a very pleasant, patriarchal life. He is finishing the second volume of a Life of Washington ; he has other two to write ; it's a bold undertaking for a man of seventy-four. I don't know whether the book is good or not ; the man is, and one of the pleasantest things I have noted in American manners is the general respect and affection in which this good old man is held. — He described, however, how a few days or weeks since a stranger came out and introduced himsfelf, woke up good old Irving from a snooze in his arm-chair, sat and talked for half- an-hour, and a few days after appears a long account in the Herald of Sunnyside and Mr. Irving, apd how he slept and looked, and what he talked about, etc. etc. — Isn't it pleasant ? "I only wish I had two stomachs, for it is the liabit here to XX THE VIRGINIANS sup and dine too, and parties are made for one meal and the other. I had a very pleasant little party-kin last night at Cam- bridge, at Longfellow's, where there was a mad-cap fiddler, Ole Bull, who played most wonderfully on his instrument, and charmed me still more by his oddities and character. Quite a character for a book. Longfellow lived in a house which Mr. Washington occupied when he was in command outside of Bos- ton, a fine old solemn stately house. He is a kindly, pleasant gentleman, has pretty children ; I liked him." "Philadelphia, January 6, 1856. " Had I not better go and read the ' Life and Letters of Cicero' upstairs in No. 56^ I read the ' Holly-Tree Inn ' this morning, which is in Dick- ens's best manner — and I am very glad to think that his girls and mine are friends. And I have read Prescott's ' Philip II.,' more amusing than most romances, and long for Macaulay, of which I saw a nice English copy yester- day, and was going to buy it but for the size of the book. We have cast off our book baggage — first the desk-full at the first journey, now the black trunk ; and I shall have to do the reading all over again if ever I bring out those volumes of Georges which I talked about. But g?£=;. isgj it will be pleasant work for winter evenings, and we'll ne(;ro. 'is.ve just such a gas-lamp as that I am writing under here — a pooty little gas-lamp, growing out of the chandelier. " I've been trying to draw the old negro who waited at din- ner yesterday — first drawing I've tried since who knows when ? INTRODUCTION xxi And now shan't I go upstairs and read Cicero's Letters ? God bless my women ! And good-night to them." " Now it is Baltimore, January 11, and I have given two lect- ures here already, and they have been very much liked, and they have been very thinly attended, and there is a great travel- ling opera company of a hundred people, who have chosen my very two nights for their performances ; and my manager here is exceedingly wroth with the fiddlers and singers for coming at this season — but they are a hundred, wanting bread many of them ; shall we be angry that they take away a little of the but- ter oflE ours ? It is so diabolically cold here that I scarce go out, lie abed most part of the forenoon, and pass the time in very comfortable quiet with Macaulay to read— a sixteen-shilling vol- ume published here very decently bound for three francs. He is not so fiery, strong, and picturesque as the other Macaulays. I don't think I have read it with so much pleasure as Prescott's History. When we have made a little fortune, it will be pleasant some day to write a nice little history book. But where is the memory of the astounding Macaulay ?" " Charlestown. " I am glad M. is going to turn tragic actress. . . . How fond you would both be of the little blackies — they are the dearest little imps. I have been watching them all day, about pumps, crawling in gutters, playing in sunshine. I think I shall buy one and bring it home. Happy they unquestionably are — but — but I remember telling you of a pretty, little child scratching my elbow and holding up a plate to me at dinner when I was here before, and now — now my friend has tired of Charlestown and his beautiful luxurious house, garden and establishment, and has sold his house and his wines ; — and I don't like to ask about the ebony child whom he tickled and nursed and brought up in luxury, and who, I fear, may be sold too. Whilst I have been writing this I have been out to pay a visit to my last love, a sweet blonde with blue eyes. She crows upon my floor and she is seven months old — and I think Granny and I and you have all got the love of children famously developed." " Macon, Georgia, Feb. 22. " Although I have but ten minutes, I think it will be nice beginning. I am 200 miles from jolly, little, friendly Savan- xxii THE VIRGINIANS nail. I am in a great big rambling, shambling village, whicb they call a city here. Charles is taking the tickets at the door of, let us trust, a crowded lecture-room. One hundred and twenty-five girls from the Methodist Seminary — think of that ! — are coming, and going to pay too, I believe ; the blind school has begged to come gratis ; and isn't dress-coat, and waistcoat, and lecture there on the bed waiting for me I" "New Orleans, Manh llh-lOth. " I have already begun another letter on a paper with a pict- ure of New Orleans at the top, and all the rest of the paper nicely ruled ; but it is such an immense sheet that I felt as if I could not speak upon it in my natural voice, and I don't choose to talk in any other to my daughters. That's why they get so little instruction from me (which I haven't got), or wit, which perhaps I might fetch up with a little trouble ; but what man ought to be witty to his family ? I left Mobile on Tuesday — this is Friday. I found kind folks and pleasant company in Mobile, though we did not make a mint of money there. What little I have seen of this 1 like perhaps better than any other town in the Union. There are pictures on the quays ; there are old French houses ; there are streets which look for all the world like Havre ; the sweet kind French tongue is spoken in the shops, and I felt quite a liking for the negro who drove me from the station for calling out in good French to a brother driver. There is capital ordinaire claret for dinner ; the faces are not Yankee faces, with their keen, eager, narrow eyes ; there are many fat people : these are interesting facts, and the most interesting that as we turn from this we shall be going Home. O mong Jew ! come quickly, I say, thou end of May ! We had a famous lecture-room full of people last night. " March 8. — All yesterday was rain, raifi, to-day biyou skeeye, hot weather, grass beginning to spring, musquitoes to bite. Have been walking a t^ood bit. Well, it's a comfort to see the jolly spring — only at New York it is still snow-storms, and bar- ricades of ice in the streets ; that poor Pacific lost, I fear. It is supposed she broke up in a field of ice ; 'the Persia went right through an iceberg, which, had she not been of iron, must have smashed her. So the Fates will spare some and call for others ! INTRODUCTION xxiii " Have I told you about the river steamers ? where there's no deck to walk upon, only galleries, where one may cock legs up and smoke, where the men all wash in a common room, and a black hair-brush hangs ready for the whole dirty company ? where the men all stand up at table till the ladies are seated, and then — oh yes ! I remember I made the pictures of the fellows eating. Now this is Sunday, 9th, and such a sweltering hot day. I have bought a soft, broad - brimmed hat, at which Charles grinned when I put it on. But the hat is so comfort- able that I can't abide the stiS British headpiece ; afterwards came upstairs to change it (having put on the British tile for Sunday and parade), and fall to scribbling to my girls. " The papers here are very civil egsept one, a Hirish paper, which I am told whips me severely ; but I don't read it, and don't mind it or any abuse from poor dear old Ireland. CART AND NIGGER. " Monday. — It is very hard that this letter can't go from New York for ten days. It will be crossing the ocean whilst I am working up the Mississippi. It will be half-way across by the time I reach St. Louis. My business there will be over, let us hope, just about the time when you are getting this at Paris. Then I shall be in a civilised world again, with scores of thou- xxiy THE VIRGINIANS sands of miles of railway to carry rae whithersoever the dollars call me. "What did I do yesterday? Yesterday we took the horse- railway, then crossed the Mississippi in the steam ferry-boat to a little Dutch-built town on the other side, then walked along the river by swamps, by plantations, by ruined wooden houses, by groups of negroes, by kind German folks walking in their FIDDLING NEGRO. Sunday clothes, by enormous steamers, by lines of ships moored along the vast river- banks under the sweetest blue sky to another ferry opposite Canal Street, and here we landed at a great plain covered with millions of bales of cotton, which, Sunday as it was, the enormous steamers were busy discharging INTRODUCTION xxv into the arms of scores of big fellows, who roll them away to the ships which carry them to England. We met a black preacher walking with a friend, and swaggering with a most delightful majesty ; we heard another black gentleman reading prayers out of a great book, and saw him swagger out of the hut when his devotions were over ; as for the little black chil- dren, they ruin me in five cent pieces. A man came up to me in the street and asked me if I could sign him any one who wanted to buy a field hand. It was because I looked like a Kentucky farmer, my friends tell me, that this obliging ofier was made to me. If one of these imps would remain little, I think I would buy him and put him into buttons as a page for the young ladies. No, we won't buy a black imp, but we'll be home in June, please God." One of the last letters is dated New York, April 8, 1856, " written from ever so much nearer home. Oh, how weary, weary I am of this lecturing. I shall do no more of it, I think. What dreary journeys I have had. Forty hours from Cincin- nati without stopping, and actually at a place called Dunkirk, on Lake Erie, we came into the snow again. How sparkling the lake looked, how pretty the country was, albeit still wintry, coming to N. Y. But Europe is a prettier country stUl for me, and I long for it." We came over from France to meet him in Onslow Square on his return. He soon started again to deliver the Lectures in various parts of the kingdom. Some of the letters he wrote to us from the North are among the most interesting : — " November 23, 1856. " I have been to Glasgow, lectured to 2000 people, come back again, and go to Glasgow again to-morrow, and lecture every night next week ; so you need none of you spare yourselves anything — not carriages, horses, fires, comforts of any kind. " I have been reading Walter Scott's Life all day, the end of it, and how at sixty odd he sat down to pay ofE a debt of £30,000 with his pen. What a courage ! . . . And now it's time to dress and go to dinner to Hill Head, pronounced here xxvi THE VIRGINIANS Tlull Hud, not HiU Heed, as I heard it yesterday from another sort, 1 don't know what, of Scot. . . ." " QnjiEN's Hotel, Glasgow, "November 25. "I had to sit and be called the greatest satirist of the age before 1200 people last night, and then went to Mrs. T. and her nice little sisters, and was adored during the evening — T. ador- ing too, who is one of the greatest philosophers now alive. What does all this mean ? Don't I know I am a miserable sinner? Yes, but my dear women's affectionate father always." " Inverness, November 30. " This is such a remote and ancient city that I suspect my letter will scarcely reach you before Thursday noon, and after that let it be hoped there won't be many more letters written by your poor dear papa to his absent family. This is a jolly little city. I was pained for the honest squires and country gentle- men, with noble old-fashioned notions about Church and King, who thronged to the pretty little lecture-room last night, and had to listen to a sceptical Londoner's sneering at loyalty, courts, and king-worship. " I was very sulky and disgusted at the prospect of yester- day's journey, and a fierce storm of snow and sleet coming on as we were about ten miles on the railroad from Aberdeen, I had serious thoughts of turning back and not trying the coach ride from Keith to Nairn, but I am very glad I did my duty. Honest folks came in many miles with cloaks, furs, gig-lamps, and smoking post-horses to hear that dreary scepticism about George I. I should have caused many disappointments, and sent trusty people angry home, and the Coach journey, though a little cold, turned out very pleasant. To hear the horns sing as we rattled into the little towns, and see the horses walk away towards their stables with quivering tails as their fresh succes- sors took their places, to see a bluff, jolly guard and coachman once more, was like being young again. You young folks never saw a bluff, jolly guard and coachman. " The coach journey was very pretty, quaint and pleasant, a sort of pathetic country. We drove through little low villao-es, threat broad rushing streams, hills covered with firs as poor INTRODUCTION xxvii folks put coarse mittens and woollen wrappers round their chil- dren, whilst the rich have sables, silk waddings, and warm doublets ; the Scotch hills are the poor, you see, the firs the cheap worsteds ; oaks, elms, I take to be the adornments of wealthy lands and rich soils." " HuLr,, Deeembei- 3, 185G. " Mes Filles, — I have only written niae letters this morning- land calculate my present correspondence at 4000 letters a year), and now for a little bit to my gals and their granny. First and foremost, I am wonderfully well ; my waistcoat is getting tight again ; in spite of the absence of his family, your heartless father is cheerful and jolly. The snow covers the ground, but we don't mind ; we are taking our ease in a most splendid, com- fortable hotel, and oh, how glad we are we didn't accept the invitation to go stay whilst residing here with our friend. We dined with him yesterday ; we carved the turkey ; we have Carved twenty turkeys this month, always being by the lady of the house, and between her and that other stupid old lady who comes next in order. What a bad dinner it was yesterday, and didn't the waiter spill a glass of port down my sleeve ? But the company was kind and pleasant — Hull merchants, the Mayor of Hull, fat, with a blue coat and blue waistcoat with brass but- tons, two gentlemen from the country, one of whom reminded me of his brother, a schoolfellow of mine, who is dead now, whom I remember a pretty boy, and one of whose songs I can sing at this minute, and I spent the whole day royally by my roaring fire enjoying the quiet after the month's turmoil, and only writing twelve letters in the forenoon. It is a hideous town. The great docks are all covered with snow, the houses of brick with a dissenting look, a statue of William Wilberforce powdered with snow. A poor old gentleman slipped down and broke his thigh on a slide coming from my lecture. These are the last news of Hull, pronounced Ool by the lower class of natives. And are my women quite warm and snug by the fire ?" " December 4, 1856. " Mr LITTLE Dears, — How cold it is, and, O Lor' ! how snug and comfortable I am ! There is good company here. I went last night very much against the grain to tea after lecture, and xxviii THE VIEGINIA.NS I found a very nice Danish lady and her daughter and two very nice parsons — one a feeble, kindly parson, sserving three churches on a Sunday for £150 a year, and for the same amount of labour exactly I am getting the same amount of money in a vfeek. The other was a smart, lively, brave, honest, energetic little par- son, a great cricketer, a great mathematician, not having the tone of good society you understand, but something better, if anything can be better than Mayfair manners ; — I liked him for saying, ' If 1 had a school of boys and found they were not good at their batting or underhand bowling, I would practise them so as to have them a match for any school in England.' I shall get some new types by going about in this way, I could not understand the Americans nor the Scotch well, but I can sympathise with these people, and write about them." In this part of the country the lectures are remembered to this day. A gentleman at Redcar, who, as a stripling, had heard the one on George IV. at Newcastle, told me not long ago that lie could still recall my father's tones as he read Reginald Heber's touch- ing faithful verses written from India to his wife at home ; and that after all the long lapse of years he could remember the im- pression made upon him by the description of Collingwood, the true gentleman, so gentle in heart, so chivalrous in war. It is of the same lecture that Miss Horace Smith of Brighton remembers hearing my father say how much relieved he was when he found he was not to lecture on George IV. in the Pavilion. "I didn't like to abuse a man in his own house," he said. "W. M. T. to Mrs. Carmichael-Smyth. " 36 Onslow Sqcare, S.W., "January 23, 1857. "Before bowling off to Brighton, I think I ought to write a scrap to my dearest old mother, with th§ usual announcement that there's nothing to say. Immense quantities of the same to do — endless letters, constant moving from place to place — not particklar good health, but it can't be helped. To-morrow I lecture in Brighton at two, in London at eight. The town is at present placarded with uiy name in enormous type, announcing INTRODUCTION xxix my lectures at the Surrey Zoological. The bigwigs and great folks are furious. The halls of splendour are shut to me, and having pretty nearly enough of the halls of splendour, I shall be quite resigned to a quiet life without them. " Shall I ever write a book again ? Some day, please G-od, when these astonishing Georges have put a few thousands more into ray pocket. And now comes Charles ! Pack up the bag, and let's be off to Loudon-super-Mare." No wonder, is it, that the idea of a change of work had at- tractions for him, as the following letter to his mother will show : — "Bath, February, 1857. " This is begun in the beautiful city where Miss Ann Becher first danced with Captain GP. It is only four hours from Lon- don now by the slow train. It was dark when I arrived ; I had to go to dinner, and directly afterwards to my lecture-room. The.room was crammed with 400 genteel folks and 350 of the wulgar. The genteel could not understand what 1 was talking about. I looked into their genteel blank faces, and saw they were dullards ; the vulgar took the jokes, understood the points, laughed and cheered at the right places. Among the polite were many parsons. They rule here and tyrannise, as all par- sonic bodies do. A man who has been with me about more lectures this morning told me that for taking a walk of a Sun- day evening after church where his clergyman had seen him he was rebuked by his reverence, who said, ' You had better have remained at home.' Between our side and theirs ought there not to be war ? " To-day I get invitations from Ireland, declined with thanks ; from Devonshire, from Bath again, and Bristol ; from Yorkshire for the summer. Where is this going to stop ? What I said about a great career is not swagger, but a fair look at Chances in the face. Just when the novel-writing faculty is pretty well used up, here is Independence, a place in Parliament, and who knows what afterwards ? Upon my word, I don't seem much to care, and Fate carries me along in a stream somehow. Shall I float with it or jump on shore ? I shan't be happy in politics, and they'll interfere with my digestion ; but with the game XXX THE VIRGINIANS there, it seems faint-hearted not to play it. ' Retire and paint pooty little pictures,' says Ease ; perhaps Conscience, ' Retire and work at literature, at history.' " Did I tell you about the Whig whipper-in sending to me a seat in Parliament ? . . ." It was not long before another opportunity offered itself. Part II The episode of the Oxford election occurred in the summer of 1857. It was a very stirring time, and we all threw ourselves into the spirit of the hour. The whole thing only lasted for a day or two. The following extract from the manifesto which my father published to the electors of Oxford, is dated Mitre, July 9. 1857: "With no feeling but that of goodwill towards these leading aristocratic families who are administering the chief offices of the State, I believe that it could be benefited by the skill and talents of persons less aristocratic, and thai the coun- try thinks so likewise. I think that to secure the due freedom of representation, and to defend the poor's votes from the chance of intimidation, the ballot is the best safeguard we know of, and would vote most hopefully for that measure. I would have the suffrage amended in nature as well as in numbers, and hope to see many educated classes represented who have now no voice in elections." Here is part of his first speech from the hustings : — "Any man who has wandered through your beautiful city, as I have done within these last few days, cannot but be struck with the difference between the ancient splendour, the academic grandeur that prevailed in this place — the processions of dons, doctors, and proctors—and your new city, which is not pictur- esque or beautiful at all, but which contains a number of streets, peopled by thousands of hard-working, honest, rough- handed men. These men have grown up of late years, and have asserted their determination to have a Representative of their own. Such a representative they found three months ago, and INTRODUCTION xxxi such a representative they returned to Parliament in the person of my friend Mr. Neate. But such a representative was turned out of that Parliament by a sentence which I cannot call unjust, because he himself is too magnanimous and generous to say so, but which I will call iniquitous. " He was found guilty of a twopenny-worth of bribery which he never committed ; and a Parliament which has swallowed so many camels strained at that little gnat,^ and my friend, your representative, the very best man you could find to represent you, was turned back, and you were le'ft without a man. I cannot hope, 1 never thought to equal him; I only came forward at a moment when I felt it necessary that some one professing his principles, and possessing your confidence, shall be ready to step into the gap which he had made. ... I only hope, if you elect me to Parliament, I shall be able to- obviate the little diffi- culty which has been placarded against me — that I could not speak. I cannot spin out glib sentences by the yard, as some people can ; but if I have got anything in my mind, if I feel strongly on any question, I believe I have got brains enough to express it. When you send a man to the House of Commons, you do not want him to be always talking ; he goes there to conduct the business of the country ; he has to prepare himself on the question on which he proposes to speak before six hun- dred and fifty-six members, who would be bored if every man were to deliver his opinion. If every one in the House of Com- mons talked all he thought upon everything, good God ! what a Babel it would be. You would not get on at all." My sister and I received the following letter relating to this eventful time : — "Oxford, My 11, ISSV. " My dearest little womeD, aa far as I can see, The independent Woters is all along with me, But nevertheless I own it, with not a little funk, The more respectable classes they go with Wiscount Moncli ;* But tt fight without a tussle it is not worth a pin, And so St. George for England, and may the best man win." On his return he told us a charming little speech made by * At the last moment, Lord Monck retired to make way for Mr. Cardwell. xxxii THE VIRGINIANS Lord Monck, which gave him great pleasure at the time, and which shall be recorded here. A sort of catchword, " May the best man win," was the constant refrain just then. My father meeting Lord Monck in the street, shook hands with him, had a little talk over the situation, and took leave of him with the doggerel, " May the best man win." " I hope not" said Lord Monck very cordially, with a kind little bow. Any disappointment we may have felt at home was dispelled at the very first look of cheerful excitejnent and relief with which my father walked into the room after it was all over. " It was all very good fun," he said ; " I never should have stood against Cardwell if I had known he was coming down." * The following quotation is from my father's speech at the hustings after being defeated : " It matters very little whether I am in the House of Commons or not, to prate a little more ; but you have shown a great spirit, a great resolution, and great independence, and I trust at some future day, when you know * lu a diary I used to keep iu those days, I find apage about the election : — "Juli/ 12, 1857. "Papa came home, beaten, in capital spirits. The first of the Intelligence was not at all agreeable. About five o'clock Amy ' and I thought we would walk off and try and get some news in town. We met Mr. Helps on the way, who came part of the road with us. He said that though Papa denies it, he really does speak very well. . . " When we reached Bolton's news-sliop we asked for the evening paper ; a scornful young shopman dived into the sheet when we asked the state of the poll, and told us it wasn't decided. . , It was the greatest relief when the final telegram came at last ; and now Papa has come home so cheerful and well, that it has all ceased to be a sorrow. He aays he will never go can- vassing again, it is too humiliating. ' Are you Mr. Neate's friend ? My Meaater's aout, — he said I were to say he would vote for yeow ' — that is what the ladies in the shops used to say. — As for the men, they stopped voting when they saw the Thackeray-ites were going to fail. He has been telling us about an auctioneer who would call him ' Thackeray.' He says if the poll had been put off one single other day, he would have been obliged to kick him." "Papa himself is a Cardwellite, he aays, only he can't proclaim it. My politics are filial politics." 1 Amy Orowe was an aUopteii daughter of tUe liouso, and afterward.? married our cousin, Edward Thackeray, INTRODUCTIOJSI xxxill me better than you do now,* you will be able to carry your cause to a more successful issue. " You have fought the battle gallantly against great influ- ences, against an immense strength which has been brought against you, and in favour of that honoured and respected man, Mr. Cardwell (hisses). Stop ; don't hiss. When Lord Monck came down here and addressed the electors, he -was good enough to say a kind word in favour of me. Now, that being the case, don't let me be outdone in courtesy and gener- osity. . . . Perhaps I thought my name was better known than it is. You, the electors of Oxford, know whether I have acted "honestly towards you. ... (A cry of ' Bribery !') Don't cry out bribery : if you know it, prove it ; but as I am innocent of bribery myself, I do not choose to fancy that other men are not equally loyal and honest. ... I will retire and take my place with my pen and ink at my desk, and leave to Mr. Cardwell a business which I am sure he understands better than I do." My father kept his word when he said, =" I will retire and take my place with my pen and ink at my desk." The first number of " The Virginians " came out in Novem- ber 1857. Part III We have shown that in the same way that "Esmond" came out of my father's work for the " Humourists," the history of "The Virginians" belongs to that later *time which interested him so much, when George III. was king in England, and when America, throwing ofE kings altogether, preferred to elect Presi- dents in their place. It seems almost a natural consequence that my father's impressions at this time •should take some such shape as that of the story of the two brothers which was begun * Charles Dickens wrote of this time after ray father's death: "He de- spatched his agent to nie from Oxford with a droll note (to which he after- wards added a verba) postscript), urging me to come down and make a speech, and tell them wlio he was, for he doubted whether more than two of the electors had ever heard of him, and he thought there might be as many as six or eight who had heard of me." xxxiv THE VIRGINIANS soon after his return from America in 1856. I can remember him speaking of his book. " 1 have found a very pretty title," he said; "I am going to call it 'The \''irginians.' " It must have been then, or about then, that he sent for a Court Guide, and sitting down in an armchair, began turning over the pages. He was looking not for an address, but for a name. Finally he found one to suit him. " Lambert," he said ; " Lambert will do very well," and he shut up the book. I dare say General Lam- bert had another name beside this one out of the Court Guide. Just as Sir Walter Scott is said to have described his own tastes and habits in Colonel Mannering, and to have been discovered to be the author of the book from the likeness between them, so one might recognise some very close links between the au- thor of " The Virginians " and General Lambert, who lived in the reign of Queen Anne, who loved Montaigne's " Essays " and Burton's " Anatomy,'' and who enjoyed a kindly dallying and gentle joking at life as it flowed by. I remember as a girl how I used sometimes to long for my father to talk his best and show ofi when people eame to see him from America and elsewhere. But he was always the same, and would never pose up to my aspirations, or be anything but his simple self. In his talking, as in his writing, he went his own natural way. The following extract from a letter ih his correspondence concerns the opening chapter of " The Vitginians " : — "Boston, Kovember 30, 185Y. " My dear Thackeray, — I was much pleased on seeing that you opened your now novel with a compliment to my two swords of Bunker's Hill memory and their unwoi'thy proprietor. It was very prettily done, and I take it very kind of you. I could not have wished anything better, nor certainly have pre- ferred any other pen to write it, among all the golden pens of history and romance. I am sure you will believe me." So wrote Mr. Prescott, the historian, by the hand of his amanuen- sis, he being almost blind at the time, and not able to write himself. It will be remembered that the paragraph alluded to runs as follows : — " On the library wall of one of the most famous I N T 11 D U C T I <:> N XXXV writers of America there hang two crossed swords, which his rehitives 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 ancestor's country and his own, where genius such as his has always peaceful welcome. . . ." " Tlie Virginians" was written between the years of ISSY and 1859, and came out in twenty-four monthly numbers. The first appeared in November 1857, the last in October 1859. On the yellow wrappers of the book there is the picture of the two flags, and of the two brothers who took opposite sides in the great War of Independence. They are standing with 1-df.ulX, Well Wltiijti ^A X X, INTRODUCTION xxxvii clasped hands, and with their standards crossed. It was the last of my father's books that he illustrated for himself, and we still have the designs and sketches he made, as well as the manuscript of the book itself. When Mr. Bain took the manuscript of " The Virginians " to bind not long ago, he showed us a little scrap which had fallen from among the pages, with the opening notes of the story jotted down : — " Madam Esmond tries to dominate. " Her idea that people are in love with her. " Her respect for her elder, " Her passionate love for her younger son. " Her heroism during the siege." In my father's note-book there are facts of every sort con- cerning the life in America in those early days, and the state of our armies there, such as : — "James Wolfe, Lieutenant of Kingsley's Twentieth, after- wards (April 21, 1758) Colonel of the second battalion, which became 75th regiment. Lord George Sackville, M.P. for Dover, Colonel of Carabineers or Third Kegiment of Horse at Quebec ; Kennedy, Anstruther, at Portsmouth, February 11. The squad- ron for America, under the command of Rear- Admiral Holmes," &c. &c. There are also some details of aggressions and dissensions, now happily impossible since the modern treaties of truce be- tween the great publishing houses. He wrote in 1858 to an American correspondent: "I am sorry to hear that the New York Tribune is printing ' The Vir- ginians,' and no doubt hurting the Messrs. Harper's issue, of the story, who pay^me a hundred dollars a month for early im- pressions. I can only express my regret that I don't see how, in this present instance, I can be of any service to a house which shows itself inclined to act in a kind and friendly manner to English literary men, but I do not know what good any re- monstrance of mine can effect." My father used to make notes for his work, not only in writ- incr, but with his brush and pencil. There were costumes from the British Museum, as well as dates and facts, uniforms, copies THE VIEGINIANS LADV KMRTINd. INTRODUCTION xxxix from Gilray and other caricaturists. The picture of " A Family Party " here given was designed to record the various fashions of 1780. Mr. Motley has recorded his remembrance of the author of " The Virginians " at work, which I cannot help quoting for its interest, and also for the writer's own sake, of whose friendship I have always felt so proud. "After breakfast I went down to the British Museum. I had been immersed half-an-hour in my MS., when happening to turn my head round I found seated next to me Thackeray, with a file of old newspapers before him, writing the ninth number of ' The Virginians.' He took ofE his spectacles to see who I was, then immediately mvited me to dinner the next day (as he seems always to do everybody he meets), which invitation I could not accept, and he then showed me the page he had been writing, a small, delicate, legible manuscript. After this we continued our studies. 1 can conceive nothing more harass- ing in the literary way of living than his from hand to mouth. " And again he told me that he hated the ' Book of Snobs,' and could not read a word of it. '"The Virginians," ' he said, ' was devilish stupid, but at the same time most admirable ; but that he intended to write a novel of the time of Henry V., which would be his capo cTopera, in which the ancestors of all his present characters — Warringtons, Pendennis's, and the rest — should be introduced. It would be a most magnificent per- formance,' he said, ' and nobody would read it." ' Mr. Motley's description of my father's reading is also very interesting, as is his mention of the house where the lecture was given. One sometimes thinks, remembering the mistress of that house, and her generous, high-hearted traditions, that some of the many mansions for help and loving comfort are to be found on earth as well as in heaven's courts. "... At five o'clock," Mr. Motley writes, " I met Thacke- ray by appointment at the Athena3um Club, and we went to- gether to Lady Stanley's, The lecture was in the back draw- ing-room of a very large and elegant house, and the company, not more than fifty or sixty in number, were all comfortably seated. It was on George III., one of the set of the four Georges, first delivered in America, and which have often been xl THE VIRGINIANS read in England, but have never been printed. I was mucli im- pressed with the quiet, graceful ease with which be read — just a few notes above the conversational leviel— but never rising into the declamatory. The light-in-hand-manner suits well the delicate, hovering rather than superficial, style of the composi- tion. He skims over the surface of the long epoch, throwing out a sketch here, exhibiting a characteristic trait there, and sprink- ling about a few anecdotes, portraits and historical allusions running along from grave to gay, from lively to severe, moving and mocking the sensibilities in a breath, in a way which I should say was the perfection of lecturing to high-bred audiences. They seemed to enjoy it. and to laugh heartily at all the points without wincing. If he had shown up democracy or southern chivalry thus, before an assemblage of the* free and enlightened, he would have been tarred and feathered on the spot." Another American friend of my father's was following the fortunes of " The Virginians,'' and wrote to him from "North Shore, Staten Island, ''June, 17, 1838. "(This day. eighty -three years ago, we had a tussle on Bunker's Hill.) " My dear Thackeray, — I have receiv.ed all your kind mes- sages, and we have a hundred times conceived a round robin to you, which flew away before we caught it — and oh ! there's no end of reasons why I haven't written to a man I love dearly. Then I've been fighting for you in papers, tfec, for of course you know how you've been abused by us for The Virginians,' and especially the Washington. It is curious that I have seen a copy of a MS. letter from Edmund Mason to Routledge (t think) after the Lee difficulty at the battle of Monmouth, out of which, it was thought by the indiscreet, personal difliculty might grow, in which Mason says, ' Have no fear, I have known W. from boyhood, and he never had but one opinion of the duels,' &c. (fee. It has been the most tempestuous teapot you ever heard. Meanwhile I have been as happy as a king, with my queen and my prince imperial under the trees here on the INTKODTJCTION xli island. We are all well, and you would not think it was all van- ity, this writing, if you could see the eager circle of children and old men and maidens, to whom I read the monthly ' Virginians,' with shouts of merriment and sometimes even a tear. We wonder if you will ever come back again, or if we are hence- forth to shake hands with you at this long stretch ; but your kindest memory does not go away. I am a sinner never to have sent you a solitary line before now. I give it an edge by two extracts — the one from Philadelphia, the other from New Or- leans. — Good-bye. Think of us sometimes who think of you. — Yours afiectionately, " George W, Curtis." We went abroad in the summer of 1858, and stayed some time at Heidelberg, where my father was engaged on No. 11. It was lovely weather, and music was in the air ; the students used to sing at night as they marched along the streets. Some of the students were the sons of certain good Scotch friends ; they used to come and smoke with him and talk with him : Scots, Germans, Britons, all seemed to be enjoying the sunshine and the pleasant season. He must have gone abroad again later 'in the year. " W. M. T, to Dr. John Beown. " Hotel des Deux Mondes, Rue d'Antin, " Paris, November 4, 1858. "Mr DEAR Dr. John, — Your kind n6te has followed me hither. I have many a time thought of yoii, and of writing to you, but it's the old story — work, dinners, spasms, and da capo. I have nothing specially cheerful to say about myself, and don't like ' The Virginians ' half so much as you do. Very good writing, but it ought to have been at its present stage of the story at No. 10. I dawdled fatally between 5 and 10. I send no condolements about the departure of your good old father. He was ready, I suppose, and his passport made out for his journey. Next comes our little turn to pack up and depart. To stay is well enough, but shall we be very sorry to go ? What more is there in life that we haven't tried ? What that xlii THE VIRGINIANS we have tried is so very much woi'th repetition or endurance ? I have just come from a beef-steak and potatoes (one franc), a bottle of claret (five francs), both excellent of their kind, but vpe can part from them without a very sore pang, and note that we shall get no greater pleasure than these from this time to the end of our days. What is a greater pleasure ? Gratified ambi- tion, accumulation of money — what? Fruition of some sort of desire, perhaps ? When one is twenty, yes; but at forty-seven 1 Here I am snarling away at the old poco-curante theme. How good-natured you are not to be tired of me ! " . . .Oh how cold my back is, how cold the weather is, how stupid this letter is, how much better it would be sitting by the fire reading that stupid book than writing this stupid note. From the tone of this note, don't you think I had better take a grain of blue pill to-night. Good-night Doctor, good -night madam, good-night children. " P.S. — My mother goes on remarkably well, so well that I think I may soon go home." In " Haud Immemor," that book of remembrance published after my father's death by the Hon. W. B. Reed, some time American Minister to China, and to the last a warm and faith- ful friend, there is a notice of " The Virginians," dated Shanghai. " In one of his letters to me long ago, Thackeray, when he was projecting ' The Virginians,' told me he should use ' Esther de Berdt ' (an ancestress of whom Mr. Reted had written a little memoir), and now I see his heroines are Hetty and Theodosia, from the same rank of life — almost the only pure one then — to which my ' Hetty ' belonged. But what beautiful, heart-stirring things one meets in his books ; I can't help copying one of them. . . . " You will think I have very little to do or record to have time to make so long extracts, but the magic words touched me." "On my appointment to China," Mr. Reed continues, " Thackeray was among the first to congratulate me, at the same time begging me, as he seemed to take for granted that INTRODUCTION xliii my I'oute to the East would be wlial bs)- nn old misnomer is called Overland, to stop with him in London. It was not till my return in the spring of '59 that we met again. From Malta I wrote to ask him, having due regard to economy and to the odour of official station which still hung round me, to get mc suitable lodgings in London." " Macrigt's HnxEi., 1 Regent Street, "Waterloo Place, April 2, 1859. " My dear Reed, — This is the best place for you, I think — two bishops already in the house : country gentlefolks and American envoys especially affect it. Mr. Maurigy says you may come for a day at the rate of ten guineas a week, with rooms very clean and nice, which I have just gone over, and go away at the day's end if you disapprove. " The enclosed note is about the Athenaium, where you may like to look in. I wrote to Lord Stanhope, who is on the com- mittee, to put you up. I won't bore you by asking you to din- ner until we see how matters are. Of course you will consort with bigger wigs than yours always, " W. M. Thackeray." A. I. R. THE YIEGINIANS CHAPTER I IN WHICH ONE OF THE VIRGINIAN'S 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 mus 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 Eevolutionary War, the subjects of this story, natives of America, and children of the Old Dominion, found themselves engaged on different 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 the wainscoted parlour of the Warringtons, in England, where a deacenilant 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 distinguish them from other personages of that respectable race, these effigies have always gone by the name of " The Virginians " ; by which name their memoirs 'are christened. They both of them passed much time in Europe. They lived just on the 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 person- ages of whom we read only in books, who seem alive, as I read in the Virginians' letters regarding them, whose voices I almost fancy 10 A 2 THE VIEGINIANS I hear, as I read the yellow pages ■written scores of years since, blotted with the boyish tears of disappointed passion, dutifully despatched after famous balls and ceremonies of the grand Old World, scribbled by camp-fires, or out of prison : nay, there is one that has a bullet through it, and of which a greater portion of the text is blotted out with the blood of the bearer. These letters had probably never been preserred, 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 grand- father's house of Castlewood, in Virginia, and thanks his grandpapa fur a horse which he rides with hfs 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 *as burned down during the war ; and was called Madam Esmond ever after that event ; never caring much for the name or family of ^Varriugton, which she held in very slight estimation as coraparfed to her own. The letters of the Virginians, as tlie 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 liave drawn the figu7-es as I fancied they were ; set down conversations as I think 1 might have heard them ; and so, to the best of (ny ability, enileavoured 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 17"jG, and in the reign of his Majesty King George the Second, the Yomui Rachel, Virginian ship, Edward Franks master, came up the Avon river on her happy return from 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 t)oat and came up her side. The owner of the Young liacktl, 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 con- THE VIEGINIAKS 3 gratulated the Captain upon the speedy and fortunate voyage ■which he had made. And remarking that we ought to be thankful to Heaven for its mercies, he proceeded 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 negro boy, who is fetching the trunks, and a passenger who has the state cabin to himself." Mr. Trail looked as if he would have preferred more mercies from Heaven. " Confound you, Franks, and your luck ! The Duke William, wliich 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 1 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 woidd never be done, and 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 hero gentleman is Mr. Trail, sir, whose name you have a-heerd of " " It's pretty well known in Bristolj sir," says Mr. Trail majestically. " And this is Mr. Warrington, Madame Esmond Warrington's son, of Castlewood," continued the Captain. The British merchant's hat was instantly olf his head, and the owner of the beaver was making a prodigious number of bows, as if a crown prince were before hiin. " Gracious powers, Mr. Warrington ! This is a delight indeed ! What a crowning mercy that your voyage should have been so prosperous ! 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. 4 THE VIRGINIANS Esmond Warrington, whose name is known and honourod on Bristol 'Change, I warrant you. Isn't it, Franks 1 '[ " There's no sweeter tobacco comes from Virginia, and no better brand than the Three Castles," saya Mr. Franks, drawing a great brass tobacco-box from his pocket, and thrusting a quid into liis jolly mouth. " You don't know what a comfort it is, sir ; you'll take to it, bless you, as you grow older. A\'oQ't he, Mr. Trail ? I wish you had ten shiploads of it instead of one. You might have ten shiploads : I've told Madam Esmond so ; I've rode over her plantation ; she treats me like ^ lord vhen I go to the house ; she don't grudge me the best of wine, or keep me cooling my heels in the counting-room, as some folks does " (with a look at Hr. Trail). " She is a real-born lady, she is ; and might have a thousand hogsheads as easy as her hundreds, if there were but hands enough." " I have lately engaged in the Guinea trade, and could supply her Ladyship 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. " Jly 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 purchase 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 ps^lm-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 con- tinued in his low tone : " Business is business, my dear yuung 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 minel No, my* dear Mr. George." " My name is not George ; my name is Henry," said the young man as he turned his head away, and his eyes filled with tears. THE VIRGINIANS 5 " 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 joung lacgarded more than that of any living person. So that, year after year, when Captain Franks would 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 j'ear more. And when suitors came to Madam ^Varrington, as come they would, she would receive their compliments and attentions kindly enough, and asked more than one of thesa -lovers whether it was Mrs. Mountain he came after ? 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 dependant 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 Queen 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 1 So the little Virginian Princess had her favourites, and accepted their flatteries, and grew tired of them, and was cruel or kind to theni as suited her wayward imperial humour. There was no amount of compliment which she woidd not graciously receive and take as her due. Her little foible was so well known that the wags used to practise upon it. Rattling 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 knight- hood, 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 juvenile 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 cock-fighting, and enjoyed all the fun of the country. One winter, after their first tutor had Ijeen dismissed. Madam Esmond took them to Williamsburg, for such education as the schools and college there afi'orded, and there, it was the fortune of THE VIRGINIANS 37 the family to listen to the preaching of tbg famous Mr. Whitfield, who had come into Virginia, where the habits and preaching of tlie established clergy were not very edifying. Unlike many of the neighbouring provinces, Virginia was a Church of England colony ; the clergymen were j)aid hy the State and had glebes allotted to them ; and, there being no Clmrch 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, of the very best or most eloc^uent kind of pastors. Noblemen's hangers-on, insolvent parsons who had quarrelled with justice or the bailiff, 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. Broadbent, the Williamsburg 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 experi- ences to one another, and were on the daily and nightly look-out for the sacred " call," in the 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 con gregation of Williamsburg. His mission was to enligliten the whole benighted people of the Church ; anti 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 England, 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 Castlewood flock that Mr. Ward somehow had the most influence. These woolly lamblings were immensely aff'ected 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 •\\ould 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 controversy with a clergyman Imt upon backgauunou. Where money was wanted for charitable purposes no man was more ready, 38 THE VIRGINIANS 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 daresay, satisfied her as much as Mr. Whitfield's. Of course it cannot be the case at the jiresent 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 excellences in the object of their admiration. For weeks, nay, months, Madam Esmoiid was never tired of hearing Mr. Ward's great glib voice and voluble commonplaces : and, according to her wont, she insisted that her neighbours should come and listen to him, ami ordered them to be converted. Her young favourite, Mr. Washington, she was especially anxious to influence ; and again and again pressed him to come and stay at Castlewood and benefit by the spiritual advantages there to be obtained. But that young gentleman found he had particular 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 exorcises. And what boys are jilst towards their peda- gogue's — 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 Bladam Esmond were forced to laugh, and little Fanny Mountain would crow with delight. Madam Esmond would have found the fellow out for a vulgar quack but for her sons' opposition, which she, on her part, opposed with 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 y(jur knees in your chamber and pray to be corrected of that dreadful fault." Ward's dis- course 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 THE VIEGINIAHS 39 undoubted waters of Jordan, and that the unhappy conceited boys must go to perdition unless they came to hijn. 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 obstinate 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, wli.o was delicate, and as yet almost childlike in stature and appearance. The bacuUne method was a quite common mode of argument in those days. Sergeants, 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 young gentlemen at Castle- wood had been allowed to have their 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 counsel of Mr. Ward. That athletic young "pedagogue could easily find chapter and verse to warrant the course which he wished to pursue, — in fact, there was no doubt about the wholesomeness of the practice in those days. He had begun by flattering the 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 thoufiht unjustly treated by his mother, warned the lads to be prudent, and that some con- spiracy 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 40 THE VIRGINIANS the other day, when I came into the room, I don't like that Major Washington, you know I don't. Don't say, ' Mounty ! ' Master Harry. You always stand up for your friends, you do. The Major is very handsome and tall, and he may be very good, but he is much too old a young man for me. Bless you, my dears, the quantity of wild oats your father sowed and my own poor Mountain when they were ensigns in Kingsley's, would fill sacks full ! Show me Mr. Washington's wild oats, I say — not a grain ! Well, I happened 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 very words he used to me," cries Harry. " He told me that he did not like to meddle with other folks' affairs, 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 rnine," says George very haughtily. And the caution, far from benefiting 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 he should speak upon this business to Madam Esmond. When the family met at dinner, Mr. Ward requested her Ladyship to stay, and, temperately enough, laid the subject of dispute before her. 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 THE VIEGINIANS 41 have witli your proud heart, other means must be found to bring you to obedience. I punish you now, rebellious boy, to guard )'ou from greater punishment hereafter. The discipline of this family must be maintained. There can be but one command in a house, and I must be the mistress of mine. You wjll 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 affairs, and passionately calling for its interference in your family quarrels and difficulties — to be so famihar '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 impetuous 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 the 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 ! " crie§ Harry. " That's right, George ! That's enough, isn't it 1 " " 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. " I know that he who spares the rod spoils the child, ungrateful boy ! " says Madam Esmond, with more references of the same nature, which 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?" 42 THE VIRGINIANS — 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. Washington, madam, I will thank him for the advice which he gave you." " I say, do your duty, sir ! " cried Mrs. Esmond, stamping her little 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. For 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 behiud 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 fellow strike my brother ; and, as he lifted his hand, I flung the great ruler at him. I couldn't help it. I won't bear it ; and if one lifts a hand 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 THE TUTOR IN TROmr.E THE VIEGINIANS 43 during the few minutes of the boys' absence ; and the stripes which she imagined had been inflicted on tlie elder had smitten her own heart. She longed to take both boys to it. She was not angry now. Very likely she was dehghtcd with the thought of the younger's prowess and generosity. " You are a very naughty, dis- obedient 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 1 Lay down that hanger, child. 'Twas General Webb gave it to my papa after the siege of Lille. Let ine bathe your wound, my good Mr. Ward, and thank Heaven it was no worse. Jlountain ! Go fetch me some court-plaster out of the middle drawer in the japan cabinet. Here conies George. Put on your coat and waistcoat, child ! You were going to take your punishment, sir, and tliat is sufficient. Ask pardon, Harry, of good Mr. Ward for your wicked rebellions spirit — I do, with all my heart, I am sure. And guard against your passionate nature, child — and pray to be forgiven. My son, oh, 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 your 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, graciously and condescendingly gave Hal his hand, and said, " Thank you, brother ! " as if he were a prince, and Harry a general who hacl helped him in a great battle. Then George went up to j\lr. 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." 44 THE VIRGINIANS " And pray, sir, who is to compensate me ? " says Mr. Ward ; " who is to repair the insult done to me ? " "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 he considered as a gentleman. We did not know." " A gentleman ! I am a Christian, sir ! " says Ward, glaring furiously, and clenching his great fists. " Well, well, if you won't fight, why don't you forgive ? " saya 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 re- awaken 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 headache, and would absent herself of an evening, bn 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 ques- tions, and straightway answering them with corresponding plati- tudes), " why are governors appointed, but that we should be governed 1 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 double meaning of the unlucky word he had uttered, and stammered and thumped the table with his fist. "Why, I say, are rulers " "■ liulers," says George, looking at Harry. THE VIKGINIANS 45 " Rulers ! " 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 ceremonies, crowed again, and clapped her 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 lie 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 VI THE VIRGINIANS 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 ne\ersou. All children are better for a father's superintendence, unit her two, I trust, irill Jind in me a temler friend and guardian." " Friend and guardian ! Curse him ! " shrieked out George, clenching his fists — and his brother read on : — "... The flattering offer which a enexal Braddock hatli made me, tuill, of course, oblige me to postpone this t7iatter until aftei' the campaign. When v;e have given the French a svffieient di'u-b- bing, I shall return to repyose under my own vine and fg-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-ire^ ; where I liope soon to present my dear brother to his neto sister-in-law. She has a pretty Scripture name, which is . . " — and here the document ended. " Which is Rachel," George went on bitterly. " Rachel is by no means weeping for her children, and .has every desire to be comforted. Now, Han-y ! Let us upstairs at once, kneel down as becomes us, and sav, ' Dear papa, welcome to your house of Castlewood.' " CHAPTER IX HOSPITALITIES HIS EXCELLENCY the Commander-in-Chief set forth to pay his visit to Madam 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 hira out of Williamsburg in the midst of an immense shouting and yelling of a loyal, and principally negro, population. The General rode in his own coach. Captain Tal- madge, his Excellency's Master of the Hotse, 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, sat in the front of the carriage -with the little postmaster from Philadelphia, Mr. Franklin, who, printer's boy as he had been, was^ 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 perstm of such humble origin should have acquired such a variety of learning and such a politeness of breeding too, Blr. Franklin ! " 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 fur as he might. 'As for education, he could not "boast much of that — his father being but in straitened circumstances, and the advantages small in his native country of New England : but he had done to the utmost of his power, and gathered what he could — ihe 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 THE VIRGINIANS 69 not the honour of serving under that noble commander — his Grace was before his time — but he thrashed the Erench soundly, although he was no scholar." Mr. Franklin said he ^^•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. F rank lin instantly withdrew the obnoxious or satirical wink in Eis~ eye, and looked into 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 matcTi 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 uncompromis- ing enemy of all beggarly red-shanked Scotch rebels and intriguing Romish Jesuits who would take our liberty from us, and our religion, by George ! His Royal Highness, my gracious master, is not a scholar neithej', 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, the 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. Frankhn, laughing. "You know I live in % Quaker city." " Of course they are out of your way, my good friend. Every man to his business. You, and gentlemen of yoirr class, to your books, and welcome. We don't forbid you ; we encourage you. We, to fight the enemy and govern the country. Hey, gentlemen 1 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. " He 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 oppor- tunities he has had. I should have thought he had the polish of Europe, by George, I should ! " 70 THE VIRGINIANS " He does his best," says Mr. Franklin, looking itmocentlj 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 wor4 ; ignorant on every point off parade, except the merits of a bottle and the looks of a womanj 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 witj 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 What-d'ye-call-'um last year, down by the Thingamy river. What's the name on't, Talmadge ? " "The Lord knows, sir," says Talmadge; "and I daresay the Postmaster, too, who is laughing at us both." " Oh, 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 1 " " That 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 Oastlewood ; Mr. Washington asking leave to gallop on ahead, 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 Broadbcnt, the jolly Williamsburg chaplain. These were presently joined by little Mr. Dempster, the young gentlemen's schoolmaster, in his great Ramillies 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 THE VIRGINIANS 71 mule. The procession looked so ludicrous, that Major Dauvers and ]M[r^ Fra nkli n espying it, laughed outright, though not so loud as to disturb his Exc(41ency, who was asleep by this time, and bade the whole of this queer rearguard move on, and leave the Commander- in-Chief aud his escort of dragoons to follow at their leisure. There 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 ; Nathan's sangaree he pronounced to be excellent, and had drunk largely of it on arriving before dinner. There was cider, 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 ponte(^cis cainis, said little Mr. Dempster, with a wink to Mr. Broadbent, the clergyman of the adjoining parish. Mr. Broadbent returned the jvink and nod, 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 Cinqbar's waiting-woman being Mr. B.'s mother — I daresay the modern readgr had best not be too particular regarding BIr. Broadbent's father's pedigree), had been of late sent out to a Church living in Virginia.- He and young Harry 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 Vernon. 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 Harry 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. 72 THE VIEGINIANS All the birds of the Virginia 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. Harry'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 terrapins 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. The negro women have a genius for cookery, and in Castlewood kitchens there were adepts in the art -brought up under the keen eye of the late and the present Madam Esmond. Certain of the dishes, and especially the sweets and flans, 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 whole some wine which gives no headaches. — Mr. Justice, you love woodcock 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 lighTpie^Vii'st," 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 ; THE VIRGINIANS 73 more dishes ; ten times as much meat as is needful for the comjiany. Mr. "Washington does not embarlc in tlie general conversation much, but he and Mr. Talmadge, and Major Daiivers, and the Postmaster, are deep in talli about roads, rivers, conveyances, sumpter-horses and artillery train ; and the provincial 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 regarding 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, where he says grace, returning to his seat and resuming his knife and fork when this work of devotion is over. And now tlie sweets and puddings are come, of which I can give you a list, if you like ; but wliat 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 1 Then, the table being cleared, Nathan, her chief 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 gracioiLS 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 curtseys at the door. The kind Mistress of Castlewood bore her part in the enter- tainment 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 tlian 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 74 THE VIRGINIASTS 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 Queen'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 daresay 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 one 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 province, and though their conversation sometimes was free, she was 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. Whilst the ladies were yet at their cards, Nathan 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 a|ipeared that the dozen bottles of particular claret had been already drunk up by the gentlemen, "besides ale, cider, 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. IMountain asked whether any of the gentlemen had had too much 1 Nathan thought Mister Broad- bent was tipsy — he always tipsy; he then thought the General gentle- man was tipsy ; and he thought Master George was a lilly drunk. THE VIRGINIANS 75 " 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 g'ood company, and pass the bottle along with his friends." And she trotted to the par- ticular Bordeaux cellar with only the more alacrity. The tone of freedom and almost impertinence wliich young .George Esmond had adopted of late days towards Mr. Washing- ton had very deeply vexed and annoyed that gentleman. There was scarce half-a-dozen years' dift'erence of age between him and the Castlewood twins ; but Mr. ^Vashington had always been re- marked 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 Vernon as their guide, director, friend — as, indeed, almost everybcjdy seemed to do who came in contact with the simple aiid upright young rnan. Himself of the most scrupulous gra\'ity 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 the date of 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 charg- ing an 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 fcw^ 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 thaii 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. 76 THE VIEGIKIANS 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 countenance as well as he could : it was impossible that he should explain to his hostess why and "ndth v. Ijom he was angry. " The gentlemen are long over their wiiie," she said; "gentle- men of the army are always fond of it." " If drinking makes good soldiero, some yonder are distinguish- ing themselves greatly, madam," said Mr. Washington. " And I daresay the General is at the head of his troops 1 " " No doubt, no doubt," answered the .Colonel, who always re- ceived this lady's remarks, playful or serious, with a peculiar soft- ness 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 ftian -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. Contrecceur has, and how we are to get at him. The General is for making the campaign in his coach, and makes light of it and the enemy. That we shall beat them, if we meet them, I trust there is no doubt." "How can there het" says the lady, whose father had served under Marlborough. " Mr. Franklin, though he is only from New England," con- tinued the gentleman, "spoke great good sense, and 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 what disciplined British troops can do. Had they not best hasten forwards and make turnpike roads and have comfortable inns ready THE VIRGINIANS 77 for his Excellency at the end of the day's niarcli ? — ' There's some sort of inns, I suppose,' says Mr. Danvers, ' not so comfortable as ■vre have in England, we can't expect that.' — 'No, you can't expect that,' says^^r. Fran klin, who seems a very. .ahrewd_„and facetious ppjaon. He drinks hi s water, and seems to laugh at the English- men, 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 1 I hope they are prudent t " 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 anything. George is always moderate. Why do you look so grave ? " " Indeed, to be frank with you, I do not know wliat 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 gentle- men in a way which scarcely became him. ^Ve are going the campaign together, and 'tis a pity we begin sucli 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 to 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 drink- ing, to pay much attention to their young host's behaviour. Mr. Braddook 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 War- rington, jumping up, ran towards the window, and then returned, and pulled his brother Harry by the sleere, who sat with his back towards the window. " What is it ? " says Harry, who, for his part, was charmed too with the song and chorus. 78 THE VIEGINIANS "Come," cried Genrge, with a stamp of his foot, and tlie younger followed obediently. " What is it ? " continued George, with .a,,bitt6r„Qath. " Don't you see what it is 1 They were billing and cooing this morning ; they are billing and cooing now before goipg to roost. Had we not better both go into the garden, and pay our duty to our mamma and papa i " and he pointed to Mr. Washington, who was taking the widow's hand very tenderly in his. A STEPFATHER IN PROSPECT CHAPTER X J HOT AFTERNOON GENERAL BRADDOCK and the other guests of Castlewood lieing duly consigned to theu' respective quarters, the hoys retired to their own room, aiid there poured out to one another their opinions respecting the great §vent 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, vidio had been bred up as a land-durveyor 1 C'astlewood, and the boys at nineteen years of age, handed over to the tender mercies of a stepfather of three-and-twenty !" Oh, it vras monstrous! Harry was for going straightway to his mother in her bedroom — where her black maidens were divesting lier 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, or 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 'qw-Pstio,' as Mr. Dempster used to say. Shall I send my boy with a challenge to Colonel George now 1 " "My dear Harry," the elder replied, thinking with some com- placency of his affair of honour at Quebec, " you are not accustomed to affairs of this sort." " No," owned Harry, with a sigh, looking with envy and admiration f)Ti his senior. "We can't insult a gentleman in our own house," continued George, with great majesty ; " the laws of honour forbid such inhospitable treatment. But, sir, we can ride out with bira, 80 THE VIEGINIANS 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 1 " This is my turn, brother," Harry pleaded. " If 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 1 " "Ah, George," interposed the more placable 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 teU you, brother, we must punish him." The grandsire's old Bordeaux had set George's ordinarily pale countenance into a flame. Harry, his brother's fondest worshipper, could not but admire George's haughty bearing and rapid declama- tion, and prepared himself, with his usual docility, to foUow his chief So the boys went to their beds, the elder conveying special injuncti(ms to his 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 de- scendants of Messrs. Talmadge and Danvers, aides-de-camp to his Excellency, might not care to hear how their ancestors were intoxi- cated 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 THE riRGIISriANS 81 gentlemen of the bouse, and speedily sleeping the sleep T^-hicb friendly Bacchus gives. The good lady of Oastlewood saw the con- dition of her guests without the least surprise or horror ; and was up early in the morning, providing coolihg drinks for their hot palates, wdiich 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 showing 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 pro- posed 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, Ijut 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 arj-angements 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 auiongst 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 hia 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 presented 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. The guard trumpeter blew a shrill blast, the negroes shouted " Huzzay," and " God sabe de King," as Mr. Braddock most graciously took leave 10 F 82 THE VIEGINIANS of his hospitable entertainers, and rolled awaiy 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 Washing- ton said : "With my life. You may 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. " With you, George, 'tis no adieu. We shall meet in three days at camp." 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 inter- preted 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, George." 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 Warrington 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 iniJuence of the long friendship which bound him to the Esmond family, the tender adieux which had just passed between him and the mistress of Castlewood, inclined the Colonel to forget the unpleasantness of the past days, and made him more than usually friendly with his young companion. George w:is 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 campaign ; none of the three doubted its successful termination. Two thousand veteran British troops with their commander must THE VIRGINIAHS 83 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 the Second 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 his 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 supjiosed that his young friends would take leave of him. Whilst their horses were baited, they entered the public room, and found a rough meal prepared for such ^s were disposed to par- take. George Warrington entered the place with a particularly gay and lively air, whereas poor Harry's face was quite white and woeliegone. " One would think, Squire Harry, 'twas you who was going to leave 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 ray 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 cfaresay we 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 t " 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 campaign, you ought not to have everything — and there may be an explanation, George. We may be 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 Virginian toddy-bowl before them. " What are you conspiring, gentlemen 1 " cried one of them. " la it a drink ? " 84 THE VIRGINIANS 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. Benson ! 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 offensive, and resembled the manner lately adopted by him, and which had so much chafed Mr. AVashington. 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, ah officer can hardly say no. I 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 Halkett's, Captain Grace and Mr. Waring, both drank " The King." Harry Warrington drank " The King." Colonel Washing- ton, with glaring eyes, gulped, too, a slight draught 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 Grace, with rather a thick voice. " May be not, sir." "A British oflBcer,'' 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 1 You are drunk, sir ! " roared Colonel Washington, jumping up, and striking the table with his fist. " A cursed provincial officer say I'm drunk ! " shrieks out Captain Grace. " Waring, do you hear that 1 " THE VIKGINIANS 85 " / 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 emploj'ed towards my esteemed guest, Captain Waring." " Confound your impudence, you inferiial young jackanapes ! " bellowed out Colonel Washington. " You dare to insult me before British officers, and find fault with my language 1 For months past, I have borne with such impudence from you, that if I had not loved your mother — yes, sir, and your good grand- father 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, sirl" 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 1 " " I would put you across my knee and whip you, you snarling little puppy, that's what I would do ! " cried the Colonel, who ha, 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 judgment regarding his relatives in Hampshire. AU this, with many contrite expressions, he wrote in his second despatch to '\'irginia. And he q.dded, for it hath been hinted that the young gentleman did not spell at this early time with especial accuracy, "My cousin, the Lady Maria, is a perfect .^m^^g." isa THE VIRGINIANS "Tile prater omnes angulus ridet" muttered j 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 1 Coes 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 re- spected by very many of the domestic circle. Gumbo had a hundred accomplishments. He was famous as a fisherman, huntsman, black- smith. He could dress hair beautifully, and improved himself in the art under my Lord's own Swiss gentleman. He was great at cook- ing 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 in 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. AVarrington's negro was a universal favourite in all the Castlewood domain. Now it was not difiicult 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, GUMBO ASTONISHES THE SERTANTS' HALL THE VIRGINIANS 133 and believed him much more than they had any reason for doing, and because, I suppose, they liked to believe him. "Whatever might be his feelings of wonder and envy on first viewing the splendour and comforts of Giistlewood, Mr. Gumbo kept his sentiments to himself, and examined the plare, park, appointments, stables, very coolly. The horses, he said, were very well, what there were of them ; but at Castlewood in Viiginia 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 iny 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. Pineapples and peaches'! Pineapples 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 apiece. How much was a apiece of eight ■? Bigger than a guinea, a piece of eight was. Tink, IMndam Esmond have twenty thirty thousand guineas a year, — have whole rooms full of gold and plate. Come to England in one of her ships ; have ever so 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, — oh, 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 establi^ihrneuts are much more numerous than in ours ; and, like the houses of most !other Virginian landed 134 THE VIRGINIAN'S proprietors, Madam Esmond's mansion and stables swarmed with negroes. Mr. Gumbo's account of his mistress's wealtli 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 gentle- man in England is not the less liked because he is reputed to be the heir to vast wealth and possessions ; 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 1 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 Fanny walked in the gardens or the park, so sure would 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 Virginian relatives. 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 ilay." 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 Kappahannoo, abound- ing in all sorts of fish. And she wondered whether the climate •\vould agree with her, and whether her aunt would like herl And THE YIRGINIAX.S 13a 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 th'an 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 keepiug 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 him. More and more Mr. "Will betted with him, and wanted to sell him bargains. Harry's simple dress and equi- page 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 — Jwhat modesty ! When he went to London he would cut a better figure ? Of coui'se he would. Castlewood would introduce him t6 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 bis 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 neighbours 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, 136 THE VIRGINIANS widowed and unmarried, who winced under her scornful remarks, and bore them as they beat 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 W€re 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, wlio 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 1 " 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. " I wish I could be of any service to my aunt ! " said tlie 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 witli me : at least make the journey, and see me safe from high- waymen." "I'm sure, ma'am, I shall be glad to ride with you," said Mr. Will. " Oh, not you ! I don't want you, William,'' cried the young man's aunt. " Why do not you offer, and where are your American manners, you ungracious Harry Warringtoii 1 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 daresay 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, I\lr. Harry Warrington blushed, and hemmed and ha'd : and at length said, " I have promised my cousin Castlewood to go over to Hexton Petty Sessions with him to-morrow. He thinks I should see how the Courts here are conducted — 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, THE VIRGINIANS 137 whilst Lady Maria held her meek face downwards, and nimbly plied her needle. " You actually refuse to go with me to Tunbridge Wells 1 " called out Madam Bernstein, her eyes lightening, and her fate 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 but 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 tambouT-frame. CHAPTER XVII, OAT THE SCENT YOUNG Harry Warrington's act of revolt came so suddenly upon Madame de Bernstein, that she had no other way 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 without the least notice, and scarcely lifted up her head from her embroidery, to watch the aunt retreating, or the looks which mamma-iu-law and sister threw at one another. " So, in spite of all, you /tave, madam 1 " the maternal looks seemed to say. "Have what?" asked Lady Fanny's eyes. But wliat good in looking innocent ? She looked puzzled. Sh.e 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 put. But Lady Caatlewood 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, Yith 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 nut have it all idling and holiday. Let him mix up something usefid 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 THE YIRGINIANS 139 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 my family." It was then a thing convenue, that my Lord Castlewood had a laud- able desire to cultivate the domestic affections, and to educate, amuse, and improve his yoimg relative ; and that he had taken a great fancy to the lad, and wished that Harry should stay for some time near his Lordship. " What is Castlewood's game now 1 " 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 him. 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 itl" "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 ! Impossible ! " cries Lady Fanny, with some"^hat 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 shobld 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 140 THE VIRGINIANS certainly did not fall in love with him aftenvards," 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 Loudon 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 ! glad I dine at the palace, and not at home ! " said Mr. Will. (Mr. Will, through his aunt's interest -nath Count Puffendorf, Groom of the Royal (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 my own?" continued Lady Frances. "Many people are. I daresay they are even happy in America." " Yes ! with a mother-in-law who is a perfect Turk and Tartar, for all I hear — with Indian war-whoops howling all around 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 jroii. 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 Madam Bernstein, peeping in on her relatives from the tapestried door which led into the gallery where their (;onversation was held. Will told her that his mother and sister had been having a fight (which was not a novelty, as Madam Bernstein knew), because Fanny wanted to marry their cousin, the wild Indian, and my Lady Countess would not let her. Fanny protested against this state- ment. Since the very first day when her mother had told her not THE VIKGINIAlv[S 141 to speak to the youug 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 T' 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 kitclien.'' " A\'cll, 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 Madam Bernstein's mind, that this elderly Calypso might have captivated her young Telemachus. She called to mind half-a-dozen instances in her o-mi experience of young men who had been infatuated by old women. She remembered how frequent Harry Warrington'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 wa.s 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 cdnsiderahle personal experience in early days, suggested all these jiossibilities and chances to Madame de Bernstein, just as she was saying that they were impossible. "Impossible, ma'am! I don't know," Will continued. "My mother warned Fan off him." " Oh, your mother did warn Fanny oWI" " Certainly, my dear Baroness ! " "Didn't she? Didn't she pinch Fanny*s arm black and blue ? Didn't they fight about it ?" " Nonsense, WiUiam ! For shame, William ! " cr}- both the implicated ladies in a breath. "And now, since we have heard how ricli 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 'I " "William, how can you speak about Lady Suffolk to \ijur aunt?" 142 THE VIRGINIANS A grin passed over the countenance of the young gentleman. " Because Lady Suflblk was a special favdrurite at Court 1 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 he was 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. " Au 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, AVilliam, that old folks and young folks, too, should play the fool." " But I can't understand a young fellow being in love with Maria," continued Mr. William, "however be might be with you, 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 ! " " William ! " " And I daresay the Count remembers the bastinado Castlewood had given to him. A confounded French dancing-master calling himself a count, and daring to fall in love in our family ! When- ever I want to make myself uncommonly agreeable to old Maria, I just say a few words of parly voo to her. She knows What I mean." " Have you abused her to your cousin, Harry Warrington 1 " asked Madame de Bernstein. " Well — I know she is always abusing me — and I have said my mind about her," said Will. " you idiot ! " cried the old lady. " Who but a gaby ever spoke ill of a woman to her sweetheart ? He will tell her every- thing, and they both will hate you." " The very thing, ma'am ! " cried Will, bursting into a great laugh. " I had a sort of 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 1 She is always abusing me, ain't she, Fan 1 And your favourite turned as red as my plush waistcoat THE VIKGINIAXS 143 — 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 m*y Lord did the dancing- master 1 " cried Lady Castlewood, " Well, mother, — you see that at quarterstaflf there's two sticks used," replied Jlr. William ; " and my opinion is, that Harry War- rington can guard his own head uncommonly well. Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I did not offer to trp;it 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'^■e found Maria — the old fox ! " And the ingenuous youth here clapped his band to his mouth, and ga\e 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 inatters 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 serve to aggravate people in such cases. " I never was in danger but once, yoimg 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 we oppose him, the more eyitete'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, when 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 youtself, Fanny " " /want him, indeed ! " cries Lady Fanny, with a toss of her head. " Then why grudge him to Maria 1 I think Castlewood wants her to have him." " AVhy gnidge 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 1 His grandfather was the best friend your father ever had, and gave up this estate, this title, this very castle, in which you are conspiring against the friendless Vir- ginian lad, that you and yours might profit by it. And the reward for all this kindness is, that you all but sh(jt the door on the child 144 THE VIRGINIANS when he knocks at it, and talk of marrying hiiu to a silly elderly creature, who might be his mother ! He shan't marry her." " The very thing we were saying and thinking, my !ery rich. My cousin, my Lord Castlewood, told me so much about her, and I am sure / have found from her the greatest kindness and affection. " The (Dowiger) Countess Castlewood and my cousins Will and Lady Fanny have been described per last, that went by the Fal- mouth packet on the 20th ult. The ladies are not changed since then. Me and Cousin Will 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 sharp 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, without 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 hamms. He is most charatahle to the poor. His sister. Lady Maria, eq'oally so. She sits for hours reading good books 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 stni, 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. THE VIRGINIANS 1.53 gives her comfort. But though her Ladyship hath the sw(>etest voice, both in. speakitu/ and sinijeing (she iplays 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, llo^vever, and remembers when my honoured Grandmother Kachel Lady Castlewood lived here. She says, my Grandmother was the best wouiau 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 A'irginia. Having never been iU since, have had no use for the pills. Gumbo hath, eating and drinking a great deal too much in the Servants' HaU. The next angel to my Grandmother (N.R I think I spelt angel 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 Grandmama when they were in Europe, and she was a little girl. You know they have Grandpapa's jiicture here, and I live in the very rooms which he had, and which are to be called mine, my Lord Castlewood 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 Fanny, 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 EsMO.M) "\VAERI>fr;TON. " Have wrote and sent my duty to my Uncle Warrington in Norfolk. No 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'?" "I think 'tis by looking at you, cousin ;" saying which words, Sir. 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 do Bernstein's counte- ^ nance, and her behavionr to all the company, Harry included, was perfectly kind and cordial. She praised the cook this time, declared the fricassee was excellent, and that there were no eels anywhere like those in the Gastlewood nioata ; would not allow that the wine was corked, or hear of such extravagance as opening a fresh bottle for a useless old woman like her ; gave Madam Esmond Warrington, of Virginia, as her toast, when the new wine was brought, 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 1 The Baroness 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 Gastlewood and her two children held their peace whilst Madam Bernstein prattled. Harry was enraptured, and Maria surprised. Lord Gastle- wood 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. AVill, 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 everybody 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. THE VIRGINIANS 155 I used to try and coax my parents at night. I remember in this very room, at this very table — oh, ever so many hundred years ago ! — so coaxing my father, and mother, and your grandfather, Harry Esmond ; and there were eels for supper, as we have had them to- night, and it was that dish of collared eels whicli brought the cir- cumstance back to ray mind. I had been just as wayward that day, when I \\as 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 Esmond's ears : and all because he would not go ■n-ith 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 tijey all are. 'Twas I alone who was cross and peevish. Oh, it was cruel of me to treat them so ! Maria, I ask your pardon, my dear." " Sure, madam, you have done me no wrong," says Maria, to the humble suppliant. " Indeed, I have, a very great wrong, child ! Becau.se 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." " Nay, ma'am, if you were sick, and mv presence annovod you " " But it wiU not annoy me ! You wei-e most kind to say you would come. I do, of all things, beg, pray, entreat, implore, com- mand that you will come." My Lord filled himself a glass, and sipped it. Most utterly unconscious did his Lordship look. This, theu, was the meaning of the previous comedy. " Anything which can give my aunt pleasure, I am Sure, will delight me," said Maria, trying to look as happy as possible. " You must come and stay with me, my dear, and I promi.sc to be good and good-humoured. My dear Lotd, 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." ^^ hich sentence, being interpreted, no doubt meant, " Plague take the old woman ! She is taking Maria away in onjer to sejjarate her from this young Virginian." 156 THE VIRGINIANS " Oh, Tunbridge will be delightful ! " sighed Lady Maria. " Mr. Sampson will go and see Goody Jones for you," my Lord continued. Harry drew pictures with his finger on the table. What delights had he not been speculating on 1 What walks, what rides, what interminable conversations, what delicious shrubberies and sweet sequestered summer-houses, what poring over music-books, what moonlight, what billing and cooing, had he not imagined ! Yes, the day was coming. They were all departing — my Lady Castle- wood to her friends, Madam Bernstein to her waters — and he was to be left alone with his divine charmer — alone with her and un- utterable 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 ! '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 1 and keep us from the highwaymen 1 " 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 liis 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 1 You see, we have only indicated, we have not chosen to de- scribe, at length, Mr. Harry Warrington's condition, or that utter depth of imbecility iuto 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 thcTn 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 who committed suicide in consequence of his fatal passion for Mademoiselle Ninon de I'Enclos who turned out to be his gi'andmother 1 Suppose thou art making THE VIEGINIANS 1S7 an ass of thyself, young Harry Warrington, of Virginia ! 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-cardo- pha,gi : long-eared messmates, recognise a brother donkey ! " You will stay with us for a day or two at the Wells,'' Madam 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 AN'ells, I shall be able to present you," the lady graciously added. " Company ! ah ! I shan't need company," sighed out Harrj'. " I mean that I shall 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 Reverence, and Warrington should meet at the quarters of the latter and make up accounts, to which process, Harry, being a considerable winner in his play transactions with the two gentlemen, had no objection. Accordingly, when the ladies retired for tlie night, and my Lord withdi'ew — 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 Will'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 forbear- ance 1 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. Very likely he did not think about the cards at all. Very hkely he was thinking : — " At this moment, my beloved one is sitting with her beauteous golden locks outspread under the fingers of her maid. Happy maid ! Now she is qn 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. O bless, bless her!" "You double us aU round? I 158 THE VIRGINIANS 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-uus, and as you doubled us you owe me so and s'p." I imagine volleys of oaths from Mr. William, and brisk pattering of imprecations from his Reverence, at the young Virginian's luck. He 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. Will and the chaplain may have played against him, solicitous constantly to increase their stakes, and supposing 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 circumstances of his life mum from his lady mother), and had learned to play and pay. And as he prac- tised 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 1 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 niy riches into my face. I have enough for my wants and for my creditors." " Oh that we could all say as much," groaned the chaplain. " How happy we, and how happy the duns would be ! What have we got to play against our conqueror? There is my new gown, Mr. Warrington. Will you set me five pieces against if? I have but to preach in stuff if I lose. Stop ! I have a ' Chrysostom,' a ' Foxe's Martyrs,' a ' Baker's Chronicle,' and a cow and her calf. What shall we set against these 1 " " I will bet one of Cousin Will's notes for twenty pounds/' cried Mr. Warrington, producing one of those documents. " Or I have my black mare, and will back her not 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 black mare had both changed owners. THE VIRGINIANS \59 Cousin William swore more fiercely than ever. The parson dashed his wig to the ground, and emulated his pupil in the loudness of his objurgations. Jlr. Harry Warrington was quite eabn, and n(jt the least elated by his triumph. They had asked him to play, and he had played. He knew he should win. Oil beloved slumbering angel ! he thought, am I not sure of victory' when you are kind to me 1 He was looking out from his window towards the rasement 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. CHAPTER XX FACILIS DESCENSUS WHILST the good old Bishop of Gambray, in his romance lately mentioned, 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 pdysseus's own gentleman. The menials must have wept together ill the kitchen precincts whilst the master and mistress took a last wild embrace in the drawing-room ; they roust 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 ! any one 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 tlie salutation) to all engaged on thn,t voyage. But the point to be remembered is, that if Calypso ne pouvait se consoler, Calypso's maid ne pouvait se consoler n.on plus. They had to walk the same plank of grief, and feel the same pang of separation ; on their return home, they 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 Kngland as has obtained since among white-skinned people. Theirs was a condition not perhaps of equahty, but they had a sufferance and a certain grotesque sympathy from all; and from W9men, no doubt, a kind- THE VIKGINIANS l6l ness mucli more generous. When Ledyard and Park, in Black- mansland, ■^•ere persecuted "by the men, did they not find the black women pitiful and kind to them 1 Women are always kind towards our sex. What (mental) negroes do they not cherish'? what (moral) hunchbacks do they not adore 1 what lepers, what idiots, what dull drivellers, what misshapen monsters (I speak figuratively) do they not fondle and cuddle 1 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 see Jlolly, housemaid, stealing to the terrace-gaidens in the grey dawning 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 regum progenies, a descendant of Ashantee kings. In Caffraria, Connaught, and other places now inhabited by 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 Qe 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 ruffles, and to the swarm of female attendants. Castlewood was the home of the Baroness's youth, and as for 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 turn, 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 aU 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 to be. There was no one who came near him but had a share in his bounty. From the major-domo to the shoeblack, Mr. Harry had a peace-offering for them all. To the grim housekeeper in her still-room, to the feeble old porter in his lodge he distributed 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. He ingratiates himself with the maids ; he is bland with the butler ; he interests himself about the footman ; he 10 L 162 THE VIRGINIANS rims 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 otherwise; 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 wiclied 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 won as much of Harry's own as the lad could spare. Nevertheless, the lad, though a lover, was shrewd, 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 Castlewood. 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 vreek more. In the early morning poor Chaplain Sanipson 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 Madam Bernstein's carriages were ordered. TIH.E VIRGINIANS l63 So courteous was he to his aunt, or so grateful for her departure, that the master of the house even made his appear;uice at the morn- ing 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, however, 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. Will'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 iu 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 high- waymen. 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 this second carriage, under the maids' guardianship, and Mr. Gumbo proposed to ride by the window for the chief part of the journey. My Lord, with his stepmother and Lady Fannj', accompanied their kinswoman to the carriage steps, and bade her farewell with many dutiful embraces. The 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 huzzahed 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 Castlewood 1 " 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 forced me. As for the chaplain, it went to my heart to win from him, but he was as eager as my cousin." " I know — I know ! There is no blame to you, my boy. At Rome you can't help doing as Rome does ; and I am very glad that you have been able to give Will a lesson. He is mad about play — 164 THE VIRGINlAl^rS would gamble his coat oflF 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, fifty — 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, I think you said 1 " "Yes. His brown horse — Prince WiUiam, out of Constitution. You don't suppose I would set him fifty against his bay, my Lord ? " " Oh, 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 1 " " 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 Ilarry, you must be on the look-out against sharper players than the chaplain and WiU. 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 wilt 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 fond of Oastlewood, I would in your case not be in a great hurry to return to this lonely tumble-down old house. I want my- self 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 1 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 ofi" to the charmer of his heart ; and came downstairs to mount his newly-gotten steed, THE VIEGINIANS 165 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 1 " cries Harry. " Your honour's new horse," says the groom, touching his cap. " This brute 1 " exclaims the young gentleman, with one or more of those expressions then in use in England and Virginia. " Go and bring me round Prince WOliam, Mr. WiUiam's horse, the brown horse." " Mr. WiUiam have rode Prince William this morning away to Salisbirry 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 in- serting 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. Kide quickly, or your coacheS wiU be at Farnham before you ; " and waving him an adieu, my Lord entered into the house, whUst 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 sat down to finish their breakfast in peace and comfort. The two ladies did not return to this meal. "That was one of WiU'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 166 THE VIEGINIANS 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 plajs like a man, to do him justice." " He wins because he does not care aboflt 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. " AU 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) married my grandmother, who was almost old enough to be his. If this lad chooses to take out an elderly princess to Virginia, we must not baulk 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 1 " "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 villagers : they all liked the lad, whose frank cordial ways and honest face got him a welcome in most places. Legends were still extant in Castlewood of his grandparents, and how his grandfather, Colonel Esmond, might have been Lord Castlewood, but would not. Old Lookwood at the gate often told of the Colonel's gallantry in Queen Anne's wars. Hia feats were exagger- ated, the behaviour of the present family was contrasted 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 possession. 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 lieads, had bills in the neighbouring towns which he could not or would not pay ; had been arraigned before magistrates for tampering with village girls, ;ind waylaid and cudgelled by injured husbands, fathers, sweet- hearts. A hundred years ago his character and actions might THE VIRGIXIAllS 167 have been described ;it length by the jiainter of manners ; but the Comic Muse, nowadays, does not lift up Molly Seagriin's curtain ; she only indicates the presence of some one behind it, and passes on primlj', 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 trjivelled over the whole county, and was preceding him at this njoment on the boxes of Madam Bernstein's carriages, from which the valets, as they descended at the inns to bait, spread astounding reports of the young Virginian's rank and splendour. |ie 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 ofi'er 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 affecting 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 eye.'i and smiles. She held a finger to her lip. Madam 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 hedge- row 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. j\rr. Warrington paid the landlord generously. What price could be too great for the pleasure which he enjoyed in being near his adored Maria, and having the blissful chance of a conversation with her, scarce interrupted by the soft breathing of 168 THE VIEGINIANS Madame de Bernstein, who, after a comfortable 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. They were going to a crowded watering-place, where all sorts of beauty and fashion would be assembled : timid Maria was certain 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 aqd 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 proverliially is faithless; and which delights to play with poor female hearts. A scutfle ensues ; a clatter is heard among the knives and forks of the dessert ; a glass tumbles over and breaks. An " Oh ! " 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 1 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 Madam 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. Madam 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 THE VIKGHNIAlif.S 169 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 Virginia, and is worth millions and millions. Well, sure, he might have a better horse." Tliecavalcade disappears, and the little town lapses 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 indifferent to a good dinner : Madam Bernstein had had a comfort- able 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 sat with her back to the horses ] Her complexion, which was exceedingly fair, was further 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 uncharit- able, and that the timid lad had made no such experiments as you suppose, in order to ascertain whether the roses were real or arti- ficial. 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 ex- hibited pain, but was exceedingly unbecoming. Madam 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 Farnham, uttered many gruff, disagreeable, sarcastic remarks to her fellow-traveller, indicating her great displeasure that Maria shoulfl 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 170 THE VIKGINIANS T" hundred years — the dear invalid retired with her maid to her bed- room : scarcely glancing a piteous look at Harry as she retreated, / and leaving the lad's mind in a strange confusion of dismay and -1 sympathy. Those yellow yellow cheeks, those livid wrinkled eye- I lids, that ghastly 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 his mind. He had little appetite j for supper, though the jolly Baroness partook of that repast as if > she had had no dinner ; and certainly as if she had no sympathy ] with her invalid niece. V 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. " I hope she intends to be well to-morrow morning," cried Madam Bernstein, rapping her little hand on the table. " I hate people to be ill in an inu, 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 Madam Bernstein, drinking from a great glass of negus, " she takes liberties with herself. She never had a good constitution. She is forty-one years old. All her upper teeth are false, and she can't eat with them. Thank Heaven, I have stiU got every tooth in my head. How clumsily you deal, child ! " Deal clumsily, indeed ! Had a dentist Tseen 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 poKtely and coherently to the grave quiet Inquisitor 1 Beyond that little question regarding the cards, Harry's Inquisitor did not show the smallest disturbance. Her face indicated neither surprise, nor triumph, nor cruelty. Madam 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 cordiality 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 — oh, horrible, horrible ! Has she a false eye ? Has she- false hair 1 Has she a^ wooden leg 1 I envy not that boy's dreams that night. Madam Bernstein, in the morning, said she had slept as sound as a top. She, hnxl no remorse, that was alear. (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 indisposition was fortunately over : her aunt congratu- lated her affectionately on her good looks. She sat down to her THE VIRGINIAI^S 171 breakfast. She looked appealingly in Harry's fiice. He remarked, with his usual brilliancy and originality, that he was very glad her Ladyship was better. Why, at the tone of his voice, did she start, and again gaze at him with frightened eyes 1 There sat the Chief Inquisitor, smiling, perfectly calm, eating ham and muffins. Oh, poor writhing, rack-rent victim ! Oh, stony Inquisitor ! Oh, Baroness Bernstein ! It was cruel ! cruel ! Eound about Faniham the hops were gloriously green in the sunshine, and the carriages drove through the richest, most beauti- ful 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 slie had done yestei-Jay, in the fii^ce of the young knight riding by the carriage side. She looked for those answering signals which used to be lighted up in yonder twq windows, and told that love was burning within. Slie 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. And so the day sped on — sunshiny and brilliant overhead, but all over clouds for Harry and Maria. He saw nothing : he tliought 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 1 Were they not all scheming jigainst him 1 Had not that confounded Will cheated him about the horse"? At this very juncture Maria gave a scream so loud and shrill that Madam Bernstein woke, the coachman pulled liis 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 ! " " M'hat is it ■? " asked the Baroness. It was that Will's horse had come down on his knees anil nose, had sent his rider over his head ; and Mr. Harry, who ought to liave 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. Madam 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. CHAPTER XXI SAMARITANS LEST any tender-liearted reader should be* in alarm for Mr. Harry Warrington's safety, and fancy that his broken-knee'd 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 lier that nothing very serious has happened. How can we ailbrd to kUl 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 1 No, no. Heroes are not despatched 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. And to convince you that at least this youngest of the Virginians is stiU 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-knee'd horse, and in whom he* appears to have found a kind friend. " To Mrs. Esmond Waeeington, of Castlewood, " AT HEK HOUSE AT RICHMOND, ilN VIEGrNIA. " 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 litfle quarrels which they used to have together (in which Miss Molly was very often in the wi'ong), and only remembers the generous, high-spirited, sprightly Miss Esmond, the Princess Pocahontas, to whom so many of our schoolfellows paid court. " Dear Madam ! I can never forget that you were dear Rachel THE VIEGINIANS 173 once upon a time, as I was your dearest Mqlly. Though we parted not very good friends when you went home to A'irginia, yet you know how fond we once were. I still, Eachel, have the gold etui 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 avfiil 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 Queen as they walked in Kensington Gardens, and their Court following them, whilst we of Miss Hardwood's school curtseyed 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 Esnjond'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 1- 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 {he 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 AVar- rington. Now, do 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 xoas ill yes- terday, 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 pro- nounces 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 174 THE VIKGINIANS the servants, running out, returned with ihe news, that a young gentleman, who had a fall from his horse, was lying lifeless on the road, surrounded by the friends in whose company he was travel- ling. 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 1 I was very ill last year, and 'twas even thought I should die. Do you know, that I often thought of you then, and how you had parted from me in anger so many years agol 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. " Your cousin, the Eight Honourable Lady BCaria Esmond, showed a great deal of maternal tenderness and concern for her young kinsman after his accident. I aiu sure she hath a kind heart. The Baroness do Bernstein, who is of an advanced age, could not be expected to feel so keenly as we young people ; but was, nevertheless, very much moved and interested until 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 was no doctor at hand, if;/ jEsculapius laughingly said, he would not offer to attend upon a lady of quality, though he would answer for his young patient. Indeed, the Colonel, duriiig 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 horses, 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, your son is well and per- fectly restored, you need be under no sort of alarm for him whilst under the roof of, — Madam, your affectionate humble servant, "Maey Lambert. "P.S. Thursday. — I am glad to hear (Mr. Warrington's coloured gentleman hath informed our people of the gratifying THE VIRGINIANS 175 circumstance) that Providence hath blessed Mrs. Esmond with siich vast loealth, and with an heir so likely 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 (five), 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. 1 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. Hiirry Warrington's countenance was so stamped in his youth, ilis eyes were so bright, his cheek so red and healthy, his look so frank and open, that almost all who beheld him, nay, even tliose who cheated him, trusted him. Nevertheless, as we have liinted, 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. Siu-e, a shrewd and generous man (who has led an honest life and has no secret blushes for his con- science) grows simpler as he grows older ; arrives at his sum of right by more rapid processes of calcidation ; 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 senUe delusion, that some of our vanities are cured with our growing years, and tliat we become more juSt in our perceptions of our own and our neighbours' shortcomings ? . . . I would humbly suggest that young people, though they Idok 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 schoolboys 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 five years' hypocrisy and flattery is their conduct towards Dr. Birch ! And the little boys' sisters 1 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 good women (and, indeed, almost all bad women), was a sentimental person ; and as she looked at Harry Warrington laid in 176 THE VIEGINIAIifS 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 cheel;:, 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 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 httle looking-glass with a cut border and 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 1 " asks the lady. " Because I am a conjurer, 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 think- ing to yourself, which of my girls will he marry 1 Shall it be Theo, or shall it be Hester % And then you thought of Lucy who was at boarding-school." "There is no keeping anything from you, Martin Lambert,'' sighs the wife. " T}iere is no keeping it out of your eyes, my dear. What is this burning desire all you women have for selling and marrying your daughters ? We men don't wish to part with 'em. I am sure, for my part, I should not like yonde'r young fellow half as well if I thought he intended to carry one of my darlings away with him." THE YIEGINIANS 177 " Sure, Martin, I have, been so happy myaelf," says the fond wife and mother, looking at her husband vrith her very l>est eyes, "that 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 1 " " Wasn't it providential, sir, that this young gentleman should be thrown 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 1 " 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 supposed" " 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 hour when you were wounded in Scotland ] " " How many times have you seen me wounded, when I had not a scratch, my dear'? How many times have you seen me ill when 1 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 jitaircase of the comfort- able old hall, round which hung the cftigics of many foregone Lam- berts, 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 Molifere'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 arid 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's part in that celebrated play : — Onjon. Or sus, nous voilk bien. J'ai, Mariano, en vous Keconnu de tout temps un esprit assez doux, Et de tout temps aiissi vous m'avez fite chere. Mariane. Je suis fort redevable h, cet amour de pfere. Organ. Fort bien. Que dites-vous de Tartuffe, notre bote 178 THE VIRGINIANS Mariane. Qui? Moil Organ. Vons. Yojez bien comme vous rdpondrez. j\fariame. Hdlas ! J'en dirai, moi, twiit ce que vous voudrez. {Mademoiselle Mariane laughs and blusRes in spite of herself, luhilst reading this line.) Organ. C'est parler sagement. Dites-moi done, ma fille, Qu'en toute sa personne im haut m^rite brille, Qu'il touche votre coeur, et qu'il vous serait doux De le voir par mon choix devenir votre ^poux ! " Have we not read the scene prettily, Elmire ? " says the Oolonel, laughing, and tiurning round to his wife. Elmira prodigiously admired Orgon's r.eading, and so did his daughters, and almost everything besides which Mr. Lambert said or did. Canst thou, friendly reader, count upon the fidelity of an 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, aud try to make it worthy theirs. On thy knees, on thy knees, give thanks for the blesfeing awarded thee ! All the prizes of life are nothing compared to that one. AH 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 1 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 ordinary man. txranted : but don't you acknowledge that the sight of an honest man, with an hone.9t loving wife by his side, and surrounded by loving* and obedient children, presents something very sweet and aficcting 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 atfection which beams from his own, do you mean to say you are not touched and gratified 1 If you happen to stay in such a man's THE YIKGINIANS 179 house, and at morning or evening see him and his children and domestics gathered together in a certain name, do you not join humVily in the petitions of those servants, and close them "with a reverent Amen 1 That first night of his stay at Oakhurst, Harry Warrington, who had had a sleeping potion, and was awake some- times rather feverish, thought ho heard the Evening Hymn, and that his dearest brother George was singing it at home, in which delusion the patient went off again to sleep. CHAPTER XXII IN HOSPITAL SINKING into a sweet slumber, and lulled by those harmonious sounds, our young patient passed a night of pleasant un- consciousness, 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 1 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 ! 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 1 " 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 Lam- bert, knew your father, and I and your mamma were schoolgirls to- gether at Kensington. You were no stranger to us when your aunt and cousin told us who you were." " Are they here 1 " asked Harry, looking a little blank. " They must have lain at Tunbridge Wells last night. They sent a horseman from Eeigate yesterday for news of you." " Ah ! I remember," says Harry, looking at his bandaged arm. THE VIRGINIANS 181 " I have made a good cure of j'ou, IMr. 'Warriiigton. And now Mrs. LaiiiLert and tlie 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 1 We will send your valet to you." " If howling proves fidelity, your man must be a most fond at- tached creature," says Mr. Lambert, " He let your baggage travel off after all in your aunt's carriage," 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. Lam- bert ? She did cut them 1 " 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 1 "*asked the young patient. " Theo again, Mr. AVarrington ! " said the Colonel, laughing. " iMy servants .«aid 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 kind- ness of the people round about him, had softened Harry Warrington's heart, and opened it to better influences than those which had been brought to bear on it for some six weeks past. He was breathing a purer air than that tainted atmosphere of ^selfishness, and worldli- ness, and corruption, into which he had been "plunged since his arrival in England. Sometimes the young man's fate, or choice, or weak- ness, leads him into the fellowship of the giddy and vain ; happy he, whose lot makes him acquainted with the wiser company, 182 THE VIRGINIANS 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. Gratitude to his hospitable entertainers, and contentment after a comfortable meal, caused in Mr. Warrington a very pleasant condi- tion 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 ; 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 elilest, 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 dutifid children, and I see no reason whyl I should disguise ray thankfulness for such a blessing. You have never a sister I think r' " No, sir, I am alone now,'' Mr. Warrington said. THE VIRGINIANS 183 " Ay, truly, I ask your pardon for my thoughtlessness. Yoru" man hath told our people what befell last year. I served with Bniddock 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 liim these freedoms as he rescued you " "Rescued me V 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 hfe, and would run away at the sight of one, as my poor brother's boy did on that fatal day when he fell." " The bravest man will do so at unlucky times," said the Colonel. " I myself saw the best troops in tlie 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, " (Jhat the French Indians had the, good cause in the fight of last year." " The scoundrels ! I would have the scalp of every murderous redskin among 'em !" cried Harry, clenching hi.s fist. "They were robbing and invading the British territories, too. But the High- landers 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, yoiir King and mine, now, would be his Majesty King James the Thii'd ! " " Who made such a Tory of you, Mr. Warrington *? " asked Lambert. " Nay, sir, the Esmonds were always loyal ! " answered the youth. " 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." 184 THE VIEGINIANS "Yours is better on your shoulders than on a pole at Temple But. 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 lepented 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 tne boy. " Not I, but others might. You did hot talk in this way at Castlewood? 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 so. 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 offence 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 1 " cried out Harry, turning very red. " 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 for ever obey ; but I daresay he was chattering the whole of the Castlewood secrets to his new friends of Colonel Lambert's THE VIRGINIANS ]R5 kitchen ; for Harry's hostess certainly heard a number of stories concerning him which she could not prevent her housekeeper from telling ; though of course I would not accuse that w(3rtliy 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 Reigate ; and Madam Bernstein's servants naturally pulled at the first bell at hand, when the young Virginian met with his mishap. A few hundred yards further 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 Qhimneys, 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 chimneys 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 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 despatches from the Great Duke. His toilet completed with Mr. Gumbo's aid, his fair hair neatly dressed by that artist, and his open ribboiied sleeve and wounded 186 THE VIRGINIANS shoulder supported by a handkerchief whicli 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 rooTn, from which the living-rooms of the house branched off. There were more arms in this hall — pikes and halberts of ancient date, pistols and jackboots of more than a century old, that had done service in CJromwell'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 OLdloden. 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 1 " Indeed, Harry's face manifested signs of anything hut pleasure whilst he examined the portraits of the parlia- mentary heroes. " Be not alarmed, we are very good churchmen now. My eldest sou will be in orders ere long. He is now travel- ling 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 ! Oh, 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 beattty. 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 been smitten. Miss Theo had kin of our cakes to take to school or college with them." CHAPTER XXIV FROM OAKHURST TO TVN BRIDGE WAVING- her lily handkerchief in token of adieu to the departing traveller, 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 comer 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 wiU 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, and 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 bygone pleasures. At dinner there comes up that cherry tart, half of which her darling ate at two o'clock in spite of his melancholy, and with 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. Michiight 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 holidays 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 trunks, in the midst of true-lovers' knots, as was then the kindly fashion ; and Miss Theo, who had an exceedingly elegant turn that way, made some verses regarding the trees, 198 THE VIEGINIANS which her delighted parent transmitted to a periodical of those days. " Now we are out of sight of the ladies,'' says Golonel Lambert, giving a parting salute with his hat, as the pair of gentlemen trotted past the limes in question. " I know my 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 tne say, that I feel as if I am leaving quite old friends behind me." " The friend at whose house we shall siip 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. AVarrington. " Other folks have done the same thing. There were brave fellows before Agamemnon." " I beg your pardon, sir. Is the gentleman's name — Aga 1 I did not quite gather it," meekly inquired the younger traveller. " No, his 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." " Of 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 sigh of great Immility; "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 would liave 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 would have held his own here. Do you know, sir, I am glad to have come homf, and to you especially, if but to learn how ignorant I am." THE VIEGINIANS 199 "If you know that well, 'tis a great gain already," said the Colonel with a smile. " At home, especially of late, and since we lost my brother, I used to think myself a mighty 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 ara wi'ong, 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." " Nay. Dogs and horses are yery 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 gentle- men 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 Royal Highness is commander, and Martin Lambert is Colonel, and Jack Hunt, who rides behind yonder, was a private soldier, and is now a very honest, worthy groom. So as we all do our best in om- station, it matters not much whether that be high or low. Nay, how do we know what is high and what is low 1 and whether Jack's currycomb, or my epaulets, or his Royal Highness's baton, may not turn out to be pretty equal ? When I began life, et militavi noil sine — never mind what — I dreamed of success 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 gentleman and lady, the Lieutenant- Colonel of Kingsley's regiment, that was then stationed at Maidstone, whence the Colonel had come over on a brief visit to his parents. Harry looked with some curiosity at this oflicer, who, young as he was, had seen so much service, and obtained a character so high. There was little of the beautiful in liis 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. Warrington was going to Tunbridge 1 Their James would bear him company, the lady of the house said, and whispered some- thing to Colonel Lambert at supper, which occasioned smiles and a knowing wink or two from that ofiicer. He called for wiue, and toasted "Miss Lowther." "With all my heart," cried the en- thusiastic Colonel James, and drained hia glass to the very last 200 THE VIRGINIASTS drop. Mamma whispered her friend how James and the lady were going to make a match, and how she came of the famous Lowther family of the North. " If she was the daughter of King Charlemagne," cries Lambert, " 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. " Oh, of course, she is the priceless pearl, and you are nothing," cries mamma. " No. I am of Colonel Lambert's opinion ; and, if she brought all Cumberland to you for a jointure, I should say it was my James's due. That is the way with 'em, Mr. Warrington. We tend our children through fevers, and measles, and whooping- 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 having them at home only for a week or two in the year, or maybe 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 James'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 friendship for his late guest, Colonel Lambert gave over the young Virginian to Mr. Wolfe's charge, and turned his horse's head home- wards, 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, and 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 tranqiul. I have followed arms ever since I was fourteen years of age. I have seen almost every kind of duty connected THE VIKGINIANS 201 with my calling. I know aU 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 near 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, me- thinks, I wordd 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. Warrington. 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 not give a very cheerful assent, for his companion observed upon the expression of his face. " You 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 I have seen a campaign or two, or six, as you have : when I have distinguished myself like Mr. Wolfe, and made the world talk of ine, 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 further encomium of the joys of marriage ; and a special rhapsody upon the beauties and merits of his mistress — a theme intensely interesting to him- self, though not so, possibly, to his hearer, whose views regarding a married life, if he permitted himself to entertain any, were some- what -melancholy and despondent. A pleasant afternoon brought them to the end of their ride ; nor did any accident or incident accompany it, save, perhaps, a mistake which Harry Warrington made at some few miles distance from Tunbridge Wells, where two horsemen stopped them, whom Harry 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 inn- keepers' agents, and not robbers (except in their calling). Gumbo, whose horse ran away with him at this particular juncture, was brought back after a great deal of bawling on his master's part, and the two gentlemen rode into the little town, alighted at their inn, and then separated, each in quest of the la'dies 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 202 THE VIRGINIANS 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 nepliew made his bow to her. She introduced the young man to these personages as her nephew, the young Crcgsus out of Virginia, of whom they had heard. She talked about the immensity of his estate, which was as large as Kent ; and, as she had read, infinitely more fruitful. She mentioned how her half-sister. Madam 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 youth was fain to blush at their compliments. They went away to inform the Tunbridge society of the news of his arrival. The little place was soon buzzing with accounts 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 curtseys 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 prodigious large one, but I am afraid I have magni- fied 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 sovereign 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-apparent of this Royal 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, THE VIRGINIA:^S 203 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 young gentleman from Virginia lately landed, and a cousin of my Lord Castlewood. Immensely wealthy yoa 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 your person. You would not have Jiad me undeceive them, would you, and speak ill of my own flesh and blood ? " " But how am I bettered by this reputation for money 1 " asked Harry. " You are making your entry into the world, and the gold key wiU 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 hoard it, and your reputation for iavarice wiU do you good rather than harm. 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 poor grandmother, who was a saint upon earth to be sure, bating a little jealousy, used to scold me, and called me worldly. Worldly, 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 tell you — on coming here or to London, would have been nobody. Our protec- tion 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 1 " Harry had never heard about Lord Castlewood or his repu- tation. " He never had much to lose, but he has lost that and more : his wretched estate is eaten up with mortgages. He lias 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 wickedness. 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. Hat} you played with 204 THE VIRGINIANS Oastlewood, you would have had no such luck : and you would have played, had not an old aunt of yours warned my Lord Castle- wood to keep his hands ofif 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, espefcially 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 strong 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 ! my dear. It was that I wanted, and without which I moped so at Castlewood ! 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 whilst staying with his Castlewood relatives, Harry, who loved cards, and cock-fighting, and betting, and every conceivable 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 dis- believed ; selfishness was proclaimed as common practice ; sacred duties were sneeringly spoken of, and vice flippantly condoned. These were no Pharisees : they professed no hypocrisy of virtue, they flung 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 THE VIRGINIAN'S 205 changed in the last hundred years. At any rate, eaid-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 humdrum 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 duU, ma'am, and I think they are some of the best people in the world," said Harry, with his lace 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." Madam Bernstein looked round with a mischievous glance at Lady Maria, who entered the room at this juncture. CHAPTER XXV' NEJT ACQUAINTANCES COUSIN MAKIA 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 foot- men in hyery, gorgeously laced with worsted, set out twice as many card-tables. A major-domo in black and a bag, with fine laced rufBes, and looking as if he ought to have a sword by his side, followed the lacqueys bearing fasces of wax candles, of 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. Madam 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 passengers walking below were aware that her Ladyship was at home and holding a card-assemblyj to which an introduction was easy enough. By the way, in speak- ing of the past, I think the nighUife of society 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 passa:ges. The candle-snufter 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 k la Mode," in Lord Viscount Sqnanderfield'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 THE VIRGINIANS 207 card-table, and half-a-dozen in a brass chandelier. If Jack Briefless convoked his friends to oysters and beer in his chambers, Puiii]i 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 Lueiferous benefactors of man- kind, for banishing the abominable mutton of our youth. So Maria with her flowers (herself the fairest flower) popped her roses, sweet-^villiams, 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 own 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 having a darn in his stocking ; John for having greased his locks too profusely out of the candle-box ; and so forth — keeping a stem 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 in a trough such 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 dis- appointed. " 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 ofi' he would have committed not unjustifiable monstricide. But he did not bear 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, 208 THE VIKGINIANS " 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 gteat state, " I have not done anything to disgrace it that I know." Why did the old woman stop and give a little start as if she had been struck 1 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," said Madam Bernstein, " and if our company has not arrived, Maria and I will find some rufiles for you ! " And herewith, under a footman's guidance, the young fellow walked off to his new lodgings. Harry found not only handsome and spacious apartments pro- vided for him, 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 on him with the cards and compliments of their employers, Messrs. Kegnier and Tull ; the best articles in his modest wardrobe were laid out by Gumbo, and the finest linen with which his thrifty Virginian 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 fire, 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 Oastlewood ! That was strange. The simple folks there were only too well satisfied with all things that were done or said, or produced at Oastlewood ; and Madam Esmond, when she sent her son forth on his travels, thought no young nobleman need be better provided. The clothes might have fitted better and been of THE VIRGINIAMS 209 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 whqse 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 most 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 lionour did not need any other introduction than his own, helped him to hang up his coat and sword on a peg, asked him whether he would drink Burgundy, Pontao, or Champagne 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 if. Two of these guests were drinking wine, and had finished their dinner : tlie other two were young men in the midst of their meal, to whom the land- lord, 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 wine. One of these persons was in a somewhat tarnished velvet coat with a huge queue and bag, and voluminous ruffies and embroidery. The other was a little beetle-browed, hook-nosed, high-shouldered gentleman, 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. 210 THE VIRGINIANS " 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 mc 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 cele- brated 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 '? Crossus 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. Rose's toy-shop." "I have lodgings there too," thought Mr. Warrington. "Who is Croesus they are talking oi% 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." "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 f She ought to be a little of your parents, Chevalier 1 " THE VIEGINIANS 211 "Again I fail to comprehend your Lordsliip," said the other gentleman, rather sulkily. "Why, she is a woman of great wit — she is of noble birth — she has undergone strange ndventures — she has but little principle (there you happily have the advantage of her). But what care we men of the world 1 You intend to go and play with the young Creole, no doubt, and get as mvich money from him as you can. By the way, Baron, suppose he should be a c/uet-apens, that young Creole? Suppose our excellent friend has invented him up in London, and brings him down with his character for wealth to jjrey upon the innocent folks here 1 " " J'y ai souvent pens^, Milor," says the little Baron, placing his finger to his nose very knowingly ; " tljat Baroness is cajjable of anything." "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 Venice, at Brussels, at Spa, at Vienna — -the gaols of every one of which places he knew. I knew the man, my Lord." "I thought you would. I 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 — eiUi-e atUres your acquaintance. What Ids wife could want with such a name as his I can't conceive." " Apparently, it was better 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 distinguished, 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 forgot that I, too, am a Baron and a Chevalier of the Holy Eoman^ " -Order of the Spur ! — not in the least, my 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 embroidered 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 ruffles and blazing rings, he stalked away from the room. It was only when the person addressed as my Lord had begun to speak of the bishop's widow and the German baron's wife that 212 THE VIEGINIANS Harry Warrington was aware how his aiinit and himself had been tlie subject of the two gentlemen's conversation. Ere the convic- tion had settled itself on his mind, one of the speakers had quitted the room, and the other, turning to a table at which two gentlemen sat, 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 many times. I had him turned out of the Hague myself when I was ambassador, and I know he was can^d 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 thotc fieffi coquin than this Poellnitz. Why, Heaven be thanked, he has actually left me my snuff-box ! You laugh 1 — 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 ace 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 have the better of me." Not having paid the least attention to Mr. Warrington's angry interruption, my Lord opposite was talking ill his favourite French with Jlonsieur Barbeau, the landlord, and graciously complimenting him on his dinner. The host bowed again and again ; was en- chanted that his Excellency was satisfied : had not forgotten the art which he had learned when he was a young man in his Excel- lency's kingdom of Ireland. The salmi was to my Lord's liking? He had just served a dish to the young American seigneur who sat 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 compliment. THE VIEGINIANS 213 " And to whom your Lordship will be answerable for language reflecting upon my family, and uttered in the presence of these gentlemen," cried out Mr. Warrington, at the top of his voice, determined that his opponent should hear. " You must go and call into his ear, and then he may perchance hear you," said one of the younger guests. " I will take care that his Lordship shall understand my mean- ing, 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 hijii, 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 my acquaintance, Monsieur de Poellnitz, 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. CHAPTER XXVI IK WHICH IVE ARE AT A VERY GREAT DISTANCE FROM OAKHURST WITHIN the precincts of the "White Horse Tavern," and coming up to the windows of the eating-room, was a bowl- ing-green, with a table or two, where guests might sit and partake of punch or tea. The three gentlemen 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 pretext 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 loves 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 wiU play you for every acre you have in Virginia." " With the greatest pleasure in life, Mr. Warrington ! " inter- poses my Lord. " And for all your tobacco, and for all your spices, and for all your slaves, and for all your oxen and asses, and for everything that ■ is yours." "Shall we begin now, Jackl 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. T'nm 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 ? " THE VIRGINIANS 215 " Castlewood." " A principality, I hear it is. I will bet that its value has been exaggerated ten times at least amongst the quidnuncs here. How came you by the name of Castlewood 1 — you are related to my Lord'? Oh, stay : I know, — my Lady, your mother, descends from the real head of the house. He took the losing side in '15. I have had the story a dozen times from my old D.uchess. She knew your grandfather. He was friend of Addison and Steele, and Pope and Milton, I daresay, and the bigwigs. It is a pity he did not stay at liome, 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 1 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 Will Esmond." Harry bhished, 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 1 I wager that Tom made a third, and the Lord deliver you from Tom and Will Esmond together ! " " Nay. 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 anything 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 1 " "Must they, Morris?" said my Lord, hs if he only half liked the other's familiarity. Both of the two gentlemen were dressed alike, in small scratch- wigs without powder, in blue frocks with plate buttons, in buck- skins and riding-boots, in little liats with a narrow cord of lace, and no outward mark of fashion. " I don't care for indoor games much, my Lord," says Harry, warming with his wine ; " but I should like to go to Newmarket, and long to see a good English hunting-field." "We will show you Newmarket and the hunting-field, sir. Can you ride pretty well 1 " 216 THE VIRGINIANS. "I think I can," Harry said; "and I can shoot pretty well, and jump some." " What's your weight 1 I bet you we; weigh even, or I weigh most. I bet you Jack Morris beats you at birds or a mark, at iive-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 gentle- man 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 honour of his country not to be ashamed of any 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 off', 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 best suit. He took off the velvet coat and waistcoat, folded them up daintily, and, as the two or three tables round were slopped with drink, went to place the 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 high spirits. He told the Colonel he had a bet with my Lord March — would Colonel Wolfe stand him halves ? The Colonel said he was too poor to bet. Would he come out and see fair play 1 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 1 " says Jack Morris, on whom the Burgundy had had its due effect. Mr. Warrington explained that this "was Lieutenant-Colonel Wolfe, of the 20th Regiment. " Your humble servant, gentlemen ! " says the Colonel, making the company a rigid military bow. "Never saw such a figure in my life!" cries Jack Morris. " Did you— March 1" "I beg your pardon, I think you said March V said the Colonel, looking very much surprised. " I am the Earl of March, sir, at Colonel Wolfe's service," said the nobleman, bowing. "My friend, Mr. Morris, is so intimate with me, that, after dinner, we are quite like brothers." THE VIRGINIANS 217 "Why is not all Tunbridge Wells by to hear thisl" 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 was 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 Qot hope to win. " I see you have won one of our bets already, iMr. Warrington," my Lord March remarked. " I am taller than you by an inch or two, but you are broader round the shoulders." " Pooh, my dear Will ! I bet you you weigh twice as much as he does ! " cries Jack Morris. " Done, Jack ! " says my Lord, laughing. " The bets are all ponies. WiU you take him, Mr. Warrington ■? " " No, my dear fellow — one's enough," says Jack. " Very good, my dear fellow," says my Lord ; " and now we wiU settle the other wager." Having already arrayed himself in his best silk stockings, black satin-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. Mountain, at Castlewood, Virginia, still extant. " He was for having me take the lead ; but, remembering the story about ' the Battel of Fontanoy ' 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 stochen-feet, and for the honour of Old Vir- ginia, I had the grata facation 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 betts. And with my best duty to my mother — she will not be displeased with me, for I bett for the 218 THE VIRGINIANS honor of the Old Dominion, and my opponent was a nobleman of the first quality, himself holding Uvo 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. " I told them — and that was ray 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. G. Washington, of Mount Vernon — 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 unhappy cam-pane as if he knew every inch of the ground, and he knew the naznes of all our rivers, only he called the Potowmac Pottamac, 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 draught upbn 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 : tipon 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, " Oh, ho, ho ! Oh, good Gad ! Oh, my dear Earl ! Oh, 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 i'as an Erl ! " There was, indeed, a great variety of characters who passed. M. Poellnitz, no finer dressed than he had been at dinner, grinned, and saluted with his gi'eat 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 imj)udence— do you know who that is ? " "No, curse him! Who is it, March V' asks Jack, with an oath. THE VIRGINIANS 219 " It's one Johnson, a Dictionary-maker, about whom my Lord Chesterfield wrote some most capital papers, when his dictionary was coming out, to patronise the fellow. I know they were capital. I've heard Horry Walpole say so, and he kiiows all about that kind of thing. Confound the impudent schoolmaster." " Hang him, he ought to stand in the pillory ! " roars Jack. "That fat man he's walking with is a'nother of your writing fellows, — a printer, — his name is Eichardson ; he wrote ' Clarissa,' you know." " Great Heavens ! my Lord, is that th.e great Richardson 1 Is that the man who wrote ' Clarissa ' 1 " called out Colonel Wolfe and Mr. Warrington, 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 aige and experience does not prevent him from stumbl — Heaven bless my soul, Mr. Johnson ! I ask your pardon if I have trodden on your com." " 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 behind him, and occasionally endangering with his great stick the honest meek e3^es of his companioii author. " They do not see very well, my dear Mulso," he saj's 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 ^tind never puffed mortal vanity. Enraptured spinsters flung tea-lea,ves round him, and in- censed him with the coffee-pot. Matrons kissed the slippers they had worked for him. There was a halo of virtue round his night- cap. 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 glo-*-ing 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 lausli. " My brother declared that he, and Mr. Fielding, I think was 220 THE VIEGINIANS the name, were the greatest geniuses in England ; and often used to say, that when we came to Em-ope, his first pilgrimage would be to Mr. Richardson," cried Harry, always impetuous, honest, and tender when he spoke of the dearest friend. '■'Your brother spoke like a man," cried Mr. Wolfe, 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." "So it does me — by gad — perfectly refreshes me," cries Jack. " So it does Jack — you see — it actually refreshes Jack ! I say, Jack, which would you rather bel — a fat old printer, who has written a story about a confounded girl and a fellow that ruins her, — or a Peer of Parliament with ten thousand a year 1 " "March — my Lord March, do you take me for a foolT' says Jack, with a tea,rful 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 gentleman, 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 schoolmasters, 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 conversation with Doctor Gilbert ; who made many flattering and benedictory remarks to Mr. Richardson, declaring that he was the supporter of virtue, the preacher of sound morals, the mainstay of THE VIRGINIANS 221 religion, of all which points the honest printer himself was perfectly convinced. Do not let any young lady trip to her grandpapa's hookfase in consequence of this eulogium, 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 commended by divines from pulpits and belauded all Europe over. I wonder, are our women mure virtuous than their grandmothers, or only more squeamisji 1 If the former, then Miss Smith of New York is certainly uKjre modest than Miss Smith of London, who still does not scruple to say that tables, pianos, and animals have legs. Oh, my faithful, good old Samuel Richardson ! Hath the news yet reached thee in Hades that thy sublime novels are huddled away in corners, and that our daughters may no more read "Clarissa" than "Tom Jones "1 Go up, Samuel, and be reconciled with thy brother scribe, whom in life thou didst hate so. I wonder whether a century hence the novels of to-day will be hidden behind locks and wires, and make pretty little maidens blush 1 " Who is yonder queer person in the high head-dress of my grandmother's time, who stops and speaks to Mr. Richardson 1 " 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 Queensberry, at your service, Mr. Warring- ton. She was a beauty once ! She is changed now, isn't she ? What 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 the 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. " Oh yes ! very much — exactly ! " says he. " Why, my dear fellow, you don't mean to say you haven't heard about the little Opera-dancer 1 " " 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." 222 THE VIEGINIANS 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 whicli have returned iuto 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 Jicr hand, rather to his wonderment : — "Have you so soon forgotten me, Mr. Warrington V she said. Off went Harry's hat in an instant. He started, blushed, stammered, 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 spiritu- ally, he liad 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 there was her idea smiling on him. And it was only last Tuesday that his 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 1 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 perjuring 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 ■? " Gi\e 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 THE VIRGINIANS 223 to smile, curtsey, caress, dissemble ! How resolutely they discharge the social proprieties; how they have a vicird, or a hand, or a kind little speech or reply for the passing acquaintance who crosses un- knowing 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 ! " 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 particular run of cards at Lady Flushington's the night before, and Lady Maria had replied graciously and neatly, and so away went Jack perfectly happy. The absurd creature. I declare we know nothing 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 upon 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 JMissy's doll, or i^ it the limb of a stifled Cupid peeping out ? "What do you suppose are those ashes smoulder- ing in the grate ? — Very likely a suttee has been ofl^ered 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 bouquet which she wears is a signal to Captain C, and that he will find a note under the little bronze Shakspeare on the mantelpiece in the study'? And with all this you go up and say some unconunonly neat thing (as you fancy) to i\Irs. 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, iny good sir, how can you tell that B. is not going to pitch all the children out of the nursery window this very night, or that his lady hqs not made an arrange- ment for leaving them, and running off with the Captain 1 How do you know that those footmen are not disguised bailiff's 1 — that yonder large-looking butler (really a skeleton) is not, the pawnbroker's man 1 and that there are not skeleton rotis and enfrdes under every one of the covers 1 Look at their feet peeping from under 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 224 THE VIRGINIASrS fluttering among the flowers. See the pale winding-sheets gleaming in the wax-candles ! I know it is an old story, and especially that this preacher has yelled vauitas vaiiitatum five liiiudred times before. I can't help always falling upon it, and cry out with particular loud- ness 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 ! Smilingly lay before him what you know he likes for dinner. Show him the children's copies and the reports 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 Bern- stein 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. CHAPTER XXVII PLENUM OPUS ALB.il LET me hear about those children, child, whom I saw running about at the house where they took you in, poor dear boy, •' after your dreadful fall 1 " says Maria, as they paced the common. " Oh, 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. Warrington. " Mrs. Lambert was a friend of my mother when she was in Europe for her educa- tion. Colonel Lambert is a most accomplished gentleman, and has seen service everywhere. He was in Scotland with his Eoyal Highness, in Flanders, at Minorca. No natural parents could be kinder than they were to me. How can I show my gratitude to them 1 I want to make them a present : I mmt make them a present," says Harry, clapping his hand into his pocket, which was filled with the crisp spoils of Morris and Slarcli. " 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 anytliing 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 -uince perhaps, — ever so slight a wince.) "I can tell you Mi.ss Hester by no means considers herself a child, and Miss Theo is older than her sister. They know ever sa 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 her own." " Indeed ! I scarcely saw them. I thought they were children. They looked quite childish. I had no idea they had all these per- fections, and were such wonders of the world." " That's just the way with you women ! At home, if me or George 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 you, 10 -p 226 THE VIRGINIANS 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 1 " " You dear good Maria ! " " No, Harry ! I am not dear and good. There, sir, you needn't be so pressing in your attentions. Look ! There is your black man walking 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 1 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 coidd 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 has 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 1 Cribbage, all-fours, brag, whist, commerce, picquet, quadrille 1 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 you 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 headache 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 THE VIRGINIAN'S 227 was not thinking about her at all. Yet when his mishap befell 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 1 Ah ! do you suppose fools' caps do not cover grey hair, as well as jet or auburn 1 Bear gently with our elderly fredaiiies, you Minerva of a woman 1 Or perhaps you are so good and wise that you don't read novels at all ? This I know, tliat there are late crops of wild oats, as well as early harvests of them ; and (from observation of self and neighbour) I have an idea that the aveua fntua grows up t" the very last days of the j'ear. Like worldly parents anxious to get rid bf a troublesome (;hild, and go out to their evening party. Madam Bernstein and her attendants had put the sun to bed, whilst it was as yet light, and had drawn the cm-tains over it, and were- busy about their cards and their candles, and their tea and negus, and other refreshments. Qne chair after another landed ladies at the Baroness's door, more Dr less painted, patched, brocaded. To these came gentlemen in gala raiment. Mr. 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 wfg 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 -n-ho loved cards, as all the ^'orld did. When my Lady Maria Esmond made her appearance, 'tis certain that her looks behed Madam 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 dai'k 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 pronounce that the costume, if absurd iii some points, was pleasing altogether. Suppose our ladies took to wearing of bangles and nose-rings? I daresay we should laugh at the ornaments, and not dislike them, and lovejS would make no diffi- 228 THE VIEGINIANS culty about lifting up the ring to be able to approach the rosj' 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 magnificent, 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 Hiish 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 peer- less 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 at eighteen. You will not have to lay down your coach-and-six of beauty and see another step into it, and walk yourself through the rest of life. You will have to forego no long-accustomed homage ; you will not witness and own the deprecia- tion of your smiles. You will not see fashion forsake your quarter ; and remain all dust, gloom, and cobwebs within your once splendid saloons, with placards in your sad windows, gaunt, lonely, and to let ! You may not have known any gi'andeur, but you won't feel any desertion. You will not have enjoyed millions, but you will have escaped bankruptcy. " Our hostess," said my Lord Chester- field to his friend in a confidential whisper, Sf 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 tilings 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 tlie Bernstein but las 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 1 " 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 1 " Mr. ^Yarrington and my .Lord Chesterfield found themselves partners against Mr. Morris and the Earl of March. " You have come too late. Baron," says the elder nobleman to the other nobleman who was advancing. " We have made our game. What, have you forgotten Mr. Warrington of Virginia — the young gentleman whom you met in London 1 " THE VIRGINIANS 229 " 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 IMr. Warrington," said the Baron with much presence of mind. " Warrington, Dorrington, Harrington 1 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 ujion him, the old beau sidled away to a farther end of the room, \\here 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 the Second's army — a subject with which ]\Ir. Wolfe was thoroughly familiar, and which no doubt would have interested him at any other moment but that. Nevertheless the old gentleman uttered his criticisms and opinions, and thought he perfectly charmed the two persons to jwhom he communicated 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 room's and tables filled, and the parties were made up, Madame de Bertistein liecame more and more restless, and finally retreated with three friends to her own corner, where a table specially reserved for her was occupied by her major-domo. And here the old lady sat 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 Ladyship, as she passed on one of her wistful visits. "Cut the cards, and bring us luck. Lady Maria ! We have had none to- night, and Mr, Warrington is winning everything." " I hope you are not playing high, Harry," said the lady timidly. "Oh no, only sixpences," cried my Lord, dealing. " Only sixpences," echoed Mr. Morris, who was Lord March's partner. But Mr. Morris must have been very keenly alive to the value of sixpence, if the loss of a few such coins could make his round face look so dismal. My Lord Chesterfield sat 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 230 THE VIRGINIANS Mr. Morris'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 affected. Maria, still fondly lingering by Harry's chair, with her hand at the back of it, could see his cards, and that k whole covey of trumps was ranged in one corner. She had not taken away his luck. She was pleasjcd to think she had cut that pack which had dealt him all those pretty trumps. As Lord ]\Iarch was dealing, he had said in a quiet voice to Mr. Warrington, "The bet as before, Mr. War- rington, or shall we double it ? " "Anything you hke, my Lord," said Mr. Warrington, very quietly. " We will say, then — shillings." " Yes, shillings," says Mr. AVarrington, and the game proceeded. The end of the day's, and some succeeding days' sport may be gathered from the following letter, which was never deUvered to the person to whom it was addressed, but found its way to America in the papers of Mr. Henry Warrington : — "TnNBBiDOE Wells: August 10, 1756. " Deae George,— As White's two bottles of Burgundy and a pack of cards constitute 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 to know. He will play with you 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 has an estate in Virginia as big as Yorkshire, with the incumbrance of a mother, the reigning Sovereign ; but, as the country is unwhole- some, 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 polisson of a Castlewood, who never pays his play- debts, unless he is more honoirrable in his dealings with you than he has been with me. Mr. W. is de bonne race. We mxist 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 every- thing, 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 acquaint- ance, he beat me in jumping (having practised the art amongst the savages, and running away from bears in his native woods) ; he won THE VIRGINIAN.S 231 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 X350, 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 JBashan about his losses. We had a second night's play, en %)etit coniite, 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 very 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-k-vis, and under my very nose, 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 par- tridges when the season comes. " He 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, good looks, and good luck. " In a word, Mr. Warrington has won our money in a very gentlemanlike manner ; and, as I like him, and wish to win some of it back again, I put him under your worship's saintly guardian- ship. Adieu ! I am going to the North, and shall be back for Doncaster. — Yours ever, dear George, M. & E." "To Goorge Augustus Selwyn, Esq., at White's, Chocolate House, St. James's Street." CHAPTER XXVIII THE IF AY OF THE WOMLD OUR young Virginian found himself, after two or three days at Tunbridge 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 Tirginian 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 know- ledge 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 ami 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 pretty 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-satisfaction. But he was not too much elated. He did not brag about his victories 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 dc Bernstein, who got her fill of cards every night, THE RULING PASSION THE VIKGINIANS 233 and, no doubt, repaired the ill fortune of which we heurd in the last chapter, was delighted with her nephew's victories and repu- tation. He had shot with Jack Morris and beat him : he had ridden a match witli Mr. Scamper and wofl it. He played tennis ^N'ith Captain 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 celebrated 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 tiuie, anyas not a rigorous old moralist, nor, perhap.=i, 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 al 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 : even Aunt Bera.stein's conversation and jokes astounded the young Virginian, so that the worldly old woman ;Would call him Joseph, or simpleton. 234 THE VIEGINIAN'S But, however innoceDt he was, the world gave him credit for being as bad as other folks. How was he to know that he was not to associate with that saucy Oattarina 1 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 toy- shop ; and as his pockets were full of money, he was delighted to make her a present of the locket 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 Oattarina's fancies : but here the young gentleman stopped, turning ofi' her request with a joke and a laugh. He was shrewd enough, and not reckless or prodigal, though generous. He had no idea of purchas- ing diamond drops for the petulant little lady's pretty ears. But who was to give him credit for his modesty 1 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 he 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. Oh 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 oflicer's conversa- tion 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 innumer- able 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 gentleman 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 THE VIEGIKIAKS 235 him. Wlio does know the stories that are told of him ? Who makes them 1 Wlio are the fathers of those TTuudrous lifs ? 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 confirmcil gamester, a frequenter of abandoned women ! These stories came to worthy (Julouel Lambert at Oakhurst : first one bad story, then another, then crowds of them, till the good man's kind heart was quite filled with grief and care, so that his family saw that some- thing annoyed him. At first he ^\'ould not speak on the matter at all, and put aside the wife's fond queries. Mrs. Lambert th(jught a great misfortune had happened ; that her husband had been ruined ; that he had been ordered on a dangerous service ; that one of the boys was ill, disgraced, dead. Who can resist an anxious woman, or escape the cross-examination of the conjugal pillow 1 Lambert was obliged to tell a part of w hat he knew about Harry Warrington. The wife was as much grieved and amazed its her husband had been. From papa's and mamma's bedroom the grief, after being stifled for a while under the bed-pillows there, came downstairs. Theo and Hester took the complaint after their parents, and had it very bad. kind little wounded hearts ! At first Hester turned red, flew inti_) a great passion, clenched her fittle 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. Oh, the serpent they had nursed by their fire ! Dh, the wretehcd wretched boy ! To think of his walking about with that horrible painted Frenchwoman, ;aiid 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 tlleir 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 fife, without having the least notion of the hubbub he was creating, and the 236 THE VIRGINIANS 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 forefinger. The tennis captain walked away looking somewhat disconcerted, Harry re- maining 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 reputa- tion when he was in the army, and I doubt has not mended it since he was turned out. You certainly might find a better friend than Captain Batts. Pardon the freedom which I take in saying so," says Mr. Wolfe grimly. " Frieuil ! 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 1 Have I angered you in any way? You speak almost as if I had, and I am not con- scious 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 com- panion'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 honuiu-able lady. I met you yesterday openly walking with a French ballet-dancer, and you took off your THE VIRGINIANS 237 hat. I must frankly tell ycui that I had nither you would not take off your hat when you go out in such company." " Sir," said Mr. Warrington, growiiii,^ very reil, " do you mean that I am to forego the honour of Colonel "\N'olfe's acquaiiitnnce altogether 1 " " I certainly shall request you to do so wheu 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 1 " "You ought to know best, sir," says the other, lookins at Harry with some surjarise, " or the world belies you very much." "AVhat ought I to know best? I s'ee 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 so squeamish ? Have I not heard you say that you did not value birth, and* that all honest people ougjit to be equal. Why should I not give this little unprotected woman my arm ? there arc scarce half-a-dozen people here who can speak a word of her language. I can talk a little 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 you don't know the woman's character 1 " " Of course, sir, she is a dancer, and, I suppose, no better or worse than her neighbours. But I mean to say that, had slie been ;i duchess, or your grandmother, I couldn't have respected her more." " You don't mean to say that you did not wdn her at dice from Lord March 1 " " At what 1 " "At dice, from Lord March. Every*bovas so cut myself that I scarce remembet anything. Can you trust those black fellows, sir ] " "I can trust him with my head. AVith my head?" groaned out Mr. Warrington bitterly. " I can't trust myself with it." "'Oh 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 clergy- man. " Confound all women, I say ! " muttered the young miso- gynist. For which sentiment every well-conditioned person will surely rebuke him. CHAPTER XXXV" ENTANGLEMENTS OUK good Colonel had, no doubt, 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 tliat 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 extensive study and observation, there are few better ways of securing the faithful- ness and admiration of the beautiful partners of our existeuce 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 sparing intervals, administer small quantities 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 lollipops 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 idiots ; 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 the servants at dinner, — come creeping and fondling to his knee at tea-time, 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, Xow, John, look how good my dearest Henry is ! Make your game, gentjemen, 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 ; THE VIEGINIAlsrS 293 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 d'o 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 bondsmen," he used to remark, " know ye not, who would be free, themselves must strike the blow .?" Of course you must, in political as in domestic circles. So up with your cudgels, my enslaved injured boys ! 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 ! " Nor have I, my emitient 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 aU, — 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 thai} 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 vii]l 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 friends' carriage. He had some other party arranged for that afternoon, and when he returned thence, the good Lamberts were gone from Tunbridge 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 countenauces so frank and friendly, may have crossed the young gentleman'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 294 THE VIRGINIANS friends at Westerham. The young roses wfll be wan in her cheeks in the morning, auil there will be black circles round her eyes. It was the thunder : the night was hot : she could not sleep : she will be better when she gets home again the next (hiy. 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 lier age. But in a night or two Hester has lived — oh, long long years ! So have many besides : and poppy and maridragora will never medicine them to the sweet sleep they tasted yesterday. Maria Esmond saw the Lambert cavalcade drive away, and felt a grim relief She looks with hot eyes at Harry when he comes in to his aunt's card-tables, flushed with Barbeau's good vrine. 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, noi' 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. Madam Bernstein says that Harry must make interest with Lady Yarmouth for his prott^gd. " Elle ravvole fous, cher bedid anche ! " says Madam 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 under 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. " Did 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 beaux yeux. Why should your Excellency not be Governor of Virginia, sir? You nmst go and pay your respects to the Duke and his Majesty at Kensington. The Countess of Yarmouth will be your best friend at Court." " Why should you not introduce me, aunt ? " asked Harry, THE YIEGINIAl^S 295 The old lady's rouged cheek grew a little, redder. " I am not in favour at Kensington," she said. " 1 may liavc 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 dare- say our ingenu here would like to wipe a sum or two off the slate. Wouldst tiiou not, Harry 1 " 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 Madam Bernstein was right, and that most folks have some ugly reckonings written up on their consciences, which they were glad to be quit of. Had Maria known one of the causes of Harry's disquiet, that iniddle-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 cautious inquiries respecting it. He must not hare it known tliat the book was lost. A pretty condition of mind Lady Maria Esmond would be in, if she knew that the outpourings of her heart wore in the hands of the public ! 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 INIr. 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 any one else 1 Do you recollect what you said about the Misses Brown 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 subsequently married (for in consequence of disputes about the settlements your engage- ment with Edward was broken oil) 1 and would you like Mr. J. to see those remarks 1 You know you wouldn't. Then be pleased to withdraw that ini])utation which you have already cast in your mind upon Lady Maria Esmond. No doubt her letters were very foolish, as most love-letters are, but it does not follow that there was any- thing wrong in them. They are foolish when written by young 296 THE VIEGINIAJf.S 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 anything or anybody. 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 Bluebeard that he really was most indulgent to his wives, 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 t you raUer 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 Madam Bernstein : she has fallen asleep after dinner, and eating and drink- ing too much, — those are her Ladyship's little failings. Mr. Harry Warrington has gone to play a match at billiards with Count Oaram- boli : I suspect 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 1 " "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. THE VIRGINIAN'S 297 "Mr. Wai-rington might see his relatives of his father's family,'' suggests I\Ir. Chaplain. " Suffolk country boobies drinking beer and hallooing after foxes ! I don't see anything to be gained by his frequenting them, Mr. Sampson ! " " They are of an ancient family, of which the chief hais been knight of the shire these hundred years," says the chaplain. " I have heard Sir Miles hath a daughter of Jlr. Harry's age — and a beauty, too." " I know nothing, sir, about Sir Miles ^^'arrington, and his daughters, and his beauties ! " cries Maria, in a fluster. " The Baroness stirred — no — her Ladyf^hip is in a sweet sleep," says the Chaplain, in a very soft voice, "I fear, madam, for your Ladyship's cousin, Mr. Warrington. I fear for his youth ; for de.signing persons who may get about liim ; for extravagances, follies, intrigues 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, a,s your Ladyship knoweth. I know the follies of young men. Perhaps I have practised them myself. I own it -nith a blush," adds Mr. Sampson ■nitli much unction — not, however, bringing the promised blush forward to corroborate the asserted repentance. " Between ourselves, I fear i\Ir. "Warrington is in some trouble now, madam," continues the chaplain, steadily looking at Lady Maria. "What, again 1" shrieks the lady. " Hush ! Your Ladyship's dear invalid ! " whispers the chaplain, again pointing towards Madam 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 V " 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." " Tlieu I am at fault once more," the frank chaplain saiij. " Mr. A\'arrington said of the young lady, that she ought to go back to her doll, and called her a pert stuck-up little hussy." " Ah ! " sighed Lady Maria, as if reheved 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. 298 THE VIRGINIANS " 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 tlie head. " He is very mnch disturbed about the book. We have both made cautious inquiries about it. We have Gracioifs powers, is your Lady- ship 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 Madam Bern- stein, 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." Madam 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 1 " .cried the old Baroness, glaring at her niece with savage eyes. " Ail 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. " Seal broken, letters lost? What do you mean, aunt?" asked Mai'ia faintly. THE VIEGINIAtS 299 " T mean that my mother was the only honest woman that ever entered the family ! " cried the Baroneaa, stamping her foot. " And she was a parson's daughter of no family in particular, or she would have gone WTong too. Good Heavens ! is it decreed that we are all to be V " To be what, madam V cried Maria. " To be what my Lady Queensberry said we were last night. To be what we are ! You know the word for it ! " cried the indignant old woman. " 1 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 iunocence 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 1 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 rebellion. " Well, then ! I'd have you to know that I don't care a pennj', madam, for your paltry money! I have Mr. Harry Wamngton's word — yes, and his letters — and I know he wUl 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 lad}-, 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 r' " 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. I will, on my honoui' ! " 300 THE VIRGINIANS " When you were young, and you liked Colonel Esmond, you threw him aside for an earl, and the earl for a duke 1 " " Yes." " Eh ! Bon sang ne peut mentir 1 I have no money, I have no 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 ? Aprfes 1 I know they contain things I would as lieve 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, I .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 1 " " 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 1 " " Aprfes ? 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 Madam 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 MEAN 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 marry- ing a woman who is as old as his mother, and has not a penny to her fortime ; but if he chooses to do so silly a thing, the affair is iione of mine ; and I doubt whether I Should have been much inclined to be taken au se'rieux with regard to that offer of five thousand pounds which I made in the 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 1 " " 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 1 " " You have talked to Mr. Warrington, madam ? " " And he has owned that he made you aj 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 own, 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 prejudice 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 wretch 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. "^^rom Mr. Warrington I could have nothing concealed henceforth, and spoke freely to him. 302 THE VIRGINIANS 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 what 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 1 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 while." " That is precisely my own opinion," said Lady 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," 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 1 Delilah ! Well, they can be no good to me, and I trust you may get them. When will you go 1 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 THE VIEGINIANS 303 dressed and ready first, awaiting her aunt in the drawing-room. Madam Bernstein, as she came down, remarlied 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, Madam Bernstein's maid, presented herself to my Lady JIaria'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-junketing and merry making with Mr. Warrington's black gentleman, with my Lord Bamborough's valet, and several more ladies and gentlemen ojf that station, and the liquor — Mrs. Brett was shocked to own it — had proved too much for Mrs. Betty. Should ]\Irs. Brett undress my Lady ? Jly Lady said she would undress without a maid, and gave lilis. Brett leave to withdraw. "She has the letters in her stays," thought Madam 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 apart- ment 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 per- formed her usual duties 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 qua'rrels ; 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. 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. 304 THE VIEGINIANS As for Mr. Case himself, who lay out of the 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-bcd, 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 am 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 sat after their meal. Madam 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 1 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 I'ound of visits when you and I part, I think, for security, I shall ask Mr. Warring- ton to take my triuket-box iu 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 Castle- wood, 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 wiU do him no harm. He can perform my 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 Madam 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 or two of sport there. He promised thai, 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 housed No, that would be a dreary lodging with only a housemaid and a groom in charge of it. He would go to the THE VIRGINIANS 305 Mall, or to an inn in Covent Garden. " Ah ! I have often talked over that jom-ney," said Harry, his coimten4nce saddening. "And with whom, sir?" asked Lady Maria. " With one who promised to make it witli 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 euiotion. Uncontrollable gusts of grief would, not unfrequently, still pass over oiu- young man. The part- ing fi'Om 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 Tecur to him and over- come him. "I doubt, madam," whispered the chaplain demurely, to Madam 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 journey eagerly enough, and very gay and happy, if it must be owned, to be rid of his elderly attachment. Yes. There wi^s no help for it. At Oastlewood, 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 Virginian property. Of course, she would refuse her consent to such a union. The thought of it was deferred to a lato pcri(.>d. JMean- while, 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 Loudon, and that he looked with delight from his pnst-chaise windows upon the city as he advanced towards it. No highway- man stopped our traveller on Blackheath. Yonder are tJie gleam- ing domes of Green^rich, canopied with woods. There is the famous Thames with its countless shipping ; there actually is the Tower of London. " Look, Gumbo ! There is the T(4wer ! " '' 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 t" ^cc the armour and the jewels and the lions. They pass through Southwark and over that famous London Bridge which was all cuvi^red 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 306 THE VIRGINIANS Paul's," says Gumbo obsequiously, but little struck by the beiiuties of the architecture. And so by the well-kuown course we reach the Temple, and Gumbo and his master look ujj 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 strong closet, went iilto the adjoining room, taking his clerk with him, and then was at Mr. Warrington's service to take him to an hotel. An 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 Oamberwell, where I shall be proud to have the honour of entertaining Mr. Warring- ton ; but a young man, I suppose, will Mke his inn and his liberty best, sir 1 " 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 oT 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 elsewhere : 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, them 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 V Wherewith, not choosing to be inquisitive about other folks' affairs, he dismissed the subject from his mind. Whither should they go first 1 First, Harry was for going to see A RENCONTRE IN FLEET STREET a THE VIRGINIANS 307 the plaio wliere his grandfather and Lord Castlewood had fought „ duel tifty-six j'ears ago, in Leicester Field. Mr. Draper knew the place well, and all about the story. They might take CVivent Garden on their way to Leicester Field, and -see that Mr, Warrington Tvas comfortal.ily h.idged. " And order dinner," says Mr. Warrincrton. No, Mr. Draper could not consent to that. Mr. 'Warrington must be so obliging as to honour him on that day. In fact, he had made so bold as to order a collation from the " Cock." Mr. Warrington qould not decline an invitation so pressing, and walked away gaily with his friend, passing under that arch where the heads wei-e, 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. W^arrington's conduct ; and he walked up the thronging Strand, gazing with delight upon all he saw, remembering, I dare- say, for all his life after, the sights and impressions there presented to him, but maintaining a discreet reserve ; for he did not care to let the lawyer know how much he was moved, or tlie jjublic perceive that he was a stranger. He did not hear much of his companion's talk, though the latter chattered 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 attomej" his very humble servant. The chamberlain at the "Bedford" showed Mr. Warrington to his rooms, bowing before him with delightful obsequiousness, 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 lookeil 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 shabbydooking big man Mr. Warrington boweil to as they went out after dinner for a wall^ in the gardens ? That was Mr. Johnson, an author, whom he had met at Tunbriduf Wells. "Take the advice of a man of the world, sir," says Jlr. Draper, eyeins the shabby man of letters very superciliously ; " the less vou have to do with that kind of j)erson, the better. Tlic business we have into our office about them literary men is not very pleasant, I can tell you." "Indeed!" says Mr. Warrington. He 308 THE VIRGINIANS 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 GaTdens ? or Rauelagh? or how? "Not Ranelagh," 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 Cattarina, Harry wisely deter- mined that he would go to Marybone Gardens, where they had a concert of music, a choice of tea, coffee, and all sorts of wines, and the benefit of Mr. Draper's ceaseless conversation. The lawyer's obsequiousness 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 when he saw the words, Williamsburg, Virginia, 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, Hairy 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 Westminster Abbey, from which he bade the coach- THE VIRGINIANS 309 man drive him to the Tower, then to Mrs. Sahnon's Waxwork, then to Hyde Park and Kensington Palace ; then he had given orders to go to the Eoyal Exchange ; but, catching a glimpse of Govent 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 woidd come again ; but Mr. AVarrington, 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 Gurden, 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 just opinion of the value of Mr. Sampson's sermons. CHAPTER XXXVII IN WHICH VARIOUS MATCHES ARE FOUGHT READING in the London Advertiser, vliicli 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 performances, and accordingly pro- ceeded to the Wooden House, in Marybone 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. Whit- field's round Tabernacle of Tottenham Road, and the fields in the midst of which Middlesex Hospital stood. He reached his desti- nation at length, however, and found no small company assembled to witness 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. Warring- ton, to patronise the sport. A variety of beggars and cripples hustled round the young gentleman, 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, accompanied 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 a(;c()mmodated 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 amphi- theatre 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 encum- bered with a prodigious quantity of these. Gentle men or women THE VIRGINIAli[S 311 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 around every chapel-door : they swarmed in ante-rooms; they sprawled in halls and on landing's: tiiey guzzled, devoured, debauched, cheated, played cards, bullied visitors for vails ; — that nolile old race of footmen is well-nigh gone. A few thousand of them may still be left among us. Grand, tall, beauti- ful, melancholy, we still behold them on lev^e days, with their nose- gays 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 cocked hat and long cane, are passing out of the world where they once walked in glory. Before the principal combatants made their appearance, minor warriors 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! " 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 sat a stout gentleman, whcf 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 champion wore an "armiger," or ribbon of his colour. And now the gladiators shook hands, and, as a contem- porary 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 * The antiquarian reader knows the pleasant poem in the sixth volume of Dodsley's Collection, in which the above combat is described. 312 THE VIEGINIANS 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 ridingrfrock and plain scratch- wig enter the box devoted to the stout personage, and recognised with pleasure his Tunbridge Wells friend, my Lord of March and Ruglen. Lord March, who was by no means 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. Whilst thus engaged, Loi-d March spied out our Virginian, 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 to with the quarterstaflf, 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 witnessed : he pronounced this indeed to be something like sport, and of the 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 boy- hood should share the amusement in common with him, he began by sighing out, " I wish " then he stopped. " No, I don't," says he. "What do you wish, and what don't you wishi" 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." " Oh ! he was the bravest lad alive, was he ? " asks my Lord, loUing on his cushion, and eyeing his Virginian friend with some curiosity. "You should have seen him in a quarrel with a very gallant ofiicer, our friend-^an absurd affair, but it Tvas hard to keep George THE VIEGINIANS 313 off him. I never saw a fellow so cool, nor more savage and deter- mined, 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 1 " 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. '' ^^'hy, 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 harpsi- chord, could compose poetry and sermons most elegant. What can I do ? I am only good to ride and play at cards, and drink Rurgimdy." And the penitent hung down his head. " But then I can do as well aa 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 na'irete, as the jaded voluptuary 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, 1 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 yow 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 Richard Littleton's, that great one was my Lord Bingley's. 'Tis a pity they do nothing better with this great empty sjiace 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 con- founded Don Saltero's museum, with books and stuffed birds and rhinoceroses. They have actually run a cursed cut — New Road they call it — at the back of Bedford House Gardens, and spoiled the Duke's comfort, though I guess they will console him in the jpocket. I don't know where the town will stop. Shall we go down Tyburn Eoad 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 Queen of Spades, if your Lordship pleases," says 314 THE VIEGINIANS Mr. Warrington, blushing. So the equipage drove to his hotel in Cofent Garden, where the landlord came forward with his usual obsequiousness, and recognising my Lord of March and Ruglen, bowed his wig on to my Lord's shoes in his humble welcomes to his Lordship. A rich young Enghsh peer in the reign of George the Second ; a wealthy patrician in the reign of Augustus : which would you rather have been 1 There is a question for any young gentle- men'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 Vaaxhall, or else of cards. Harry, who had never seen a firework beyond an exhibition- of a dozen squibs at WilliamsburL; on the fifth of November (which he thought a sublime display), would have liked the Vauxhall, but yieldeil to his guest's preference for picquet; and they 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, came bowing into the room, where he accepted Harry's invitation to sit and drink. Mr. Warrington always asked everyl>ody to sit and drink, and 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 consum- mate 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, 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 BAU NEWS FROM TUNBElDfiE THE VIRGINIANS 315 up thoir gains and losses, -n'ith scarce any talking, and that in an undertone. A liow 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 intejruption, which bronght an execration from Lord March's lips. First was heard a scuffling witliout — then a wliispering — then an outcry as of a woman in tears, and then, finally, a female rnshed into the room, and produced that explosion of naughty language from Lord March. " I wish your women would take some other time for coming, confound 'em ! " says my Lord, laying his <*ards ilown in a pet. "What, Mrs. Betty !" cried Harry.' Indeed it was no other than Jlrs. Betty, Lady Maria's maid ; and Gumbo stood behind her, his fine countenance beslobbered with tears. " What has happened ? " asks Mr. Warrington, in no httlc perturbation of spirit. " The Baroness is well 1 " " Help ! help ! sir, your honour ! " ejaculates Mrs. Betty, and proceeds to fall on her knees. "Help whom?" A howl ensues from Gumbo. " Gumbo, you scoundrel ! has anything happened between BIrs. Betty and you ? " asks the black's master. ilr. 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 gon'e and took her, sir ! " " Is it only that old Molly Esmond ? She's known to be over head 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. "Oh, Mr. Harry! you won't be 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 Ijcll, s;i^ving : — " 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 1 " cries my Lord testily. 316 THE VIRGINIANS Mr. Warrington ordered a post-chaise 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 withm 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 T^mbridge Wells before midnight ! " cries Lord March. " Done ! " says Mr. Warrington. And my Lord carefully notes down the terms of the three wagers in his pocket-book. Lady Maria's letter ran as follows : — " My dear Cousin, — 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 after the receipt of this missive, Mr. Warrington was in his post-chaise and galloping over Westminster Bridge on the road to succour his kinswoman. CHAPTER XXXVIII SAMPSON AND THE PHILISTINES 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 maritime jewellery. The stories which that person imparted to me regarding his relatives who inhabited the gem above, mentioned, were such as used to make my young blood curdle with horror to think there should be so much wickedness in -the world. Every crime which you can think of; the entire Ten Commandments broken in a general smash : such rogueries and knaveries as no story-teller could invent; such murders and robberies as Thurtell or Turpin scarce ever perpetrated ; — were by my infor- mant accurately remembered, and freely related, respecting his nearest kindred to any one who chose to hear him. It was a wonder how any of the family still lived out of the hulks. " Me brother Tim had brought his fawther's gree hairs with sorrow to the greeve: me brother Mick had robbed the par'sh church repaytedly : me sisther Annamaroia had jilted the Captain and ran off with the Ensign, forged her grandmother's wall, and stole the spoons, which Larry the knife-boy was hanged for." The family of Atreus was as nothing compared to the race of O'What-d'ye-call-'em, from which my friend sprang ; but no power on earth would, of course, induce me to name the country whence he came. How great then used to be my naif astonishment to find these murderers, rogues, parricides, habitual forgers of bills of exchange, and so forth, every now and then writing to each other as " my dearest brother," " my dearest sister," and for montlis at a time living on the most amicable terms ! With hands reeking wnth the blood of his murdered parents, Tim would ihix a screeching tumbler, and give Maria a glass from it. With lips black with the perjuries he had sworn in Court respecting his grandmother's abstracted testament, or the murder of his poor brother Thady's helpless orphans, Mick would kiss his sister Julia's bonny cheek, and they would have a jolly night, and cry as they talked about old times, and the dear old Castle What-d'ye-call-'em, where they were born, and the 318 THE VIEGINIANS fighting Onetyoneth being quartliered there, and the Major propos- ing for Oyaroloine, and the tomb of their seented mother (who liad chayted them out of the propertee), Heaven bless her soul ! They used to weep and kiss so profusely at meeting and parting that it was touching to behold them. At the sight of their embraces one forgot those painful little stories, and those repeated previous assurances that, did they tell all, they covlld hang each other all round. What can there be finer than forgiveness? What more rational than, after calling a man by every bad name under the sun, to apologise, regret hasty expressions, and so forth, withdraw the decanter (say) which you have flung at your enemy's head, and be friends as before] Some folks possess this admirable, this angel- like gift of forgiveness. It was beautiful, for' instance, to see our two ladies at Tunbridge Wells forgiving one another, smiling, joking, fondling almost, in spite of the hard words of yesterday — yes, and forgetting bygones, though they couldn't help remembering them perfectly well. I wonder, can you and I do as much ] Let us strive, my friend, to acquire this placable, Christian spirit. My belief is that you may learn to forgive bad language employed to you ; but, then, you must have a deal of practice, and be accustomed to hear and use it. You embrace after a quarrel and mutual bad language. Heaven bless us ! 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 tlie 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 exchanged 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, meanwhile, it is a voire sant^, mon caniarade ! Here's to you, Mounseer ! and everything is as pleasant as possible. Regarding Aunt Bernstein's threatened gout 1 The twinges had gone off. Maria was so ^lad ! Maria's fainting fits 1 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 Madam Bernstein THE VIRGINIANS S19 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 vniiid, to taste every glass of medicinal water, first declaring that her aunt is capable of poisoning her 1 ^'ery 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 choose 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 auger her young slave. She knew the difference of ages, and that Harry must have his pleasure 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 Loudon, his female relatives had of course talked and joked. !Poth of the ladies knew perfectly what were a young gentleman's ordinary amusements in those days, and spoke of them with the frankness which character- ised those easy times. Our wilv Calypso consoled herself, then, perfectly, in the absence of her young wanderer, and took any diversiou which camp to hand. Mr. Jacic Morris, the gentleman whom we have mentioned as re joicing 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 obtained permission to take Mr". Morris to the Countess of Yarmouth's assembly, and played cards with him — and so every- body was pleased. Thus the first eight-and-forty hours after Mr. AVarrington's de- parture 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 repiitation for being a most amusing and eloquent preacher ; and if there were no breakfast, conjurer, 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 re- 320 THE VIRGINIANS markable confidence in her Ladyship's opinion upon these matters ; — and so we may be sure that Mr. Sampson jirepared his very best discourse for her hearing. When the Great Man is at home at the Castle, and walks over to the little country churcli 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 congregation, 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. Kapa's first nervousness is over : his noble voice clears, warms to his sermon : he 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 ! What is that humming noise, which fills the edifice, and causes hoh-nailed Melibceus to grin at smock-froeked Tityrus 1 It is the Right Honourable Lord Nasoby, snoring in the pew by the fire ! And poor Trotter's visionary mitre disappears with the music. Sampson was the domestic chaplain of Madam 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-flowered 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 Lady- ships' lacqueys walking behind them with their great gilt prayer- books, Mr. Sampson marched from breakfasj to church. Every one remarked how well the Baroness Bernstein looked ; she laughed, and was particularly friendly with her niece ; she had a bow and a stately smile for all, as she moved on, with her tortoiseshell cane. At the door there was a dazzling conflux of rank aiid fashion — all the fine company of the Wells trooping in ; and her Ladyship of Yarmoutli, 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 en- tered 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 comrade, " 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. Wher- THE VIKGINIANS 321 ever they go, a rich fragrance of whisky spreads itself. A man may be a heretic, but possess genius : these Catholic gentlemen have come to pay homage to Mr. Sampson. Nay, 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 Hebrew strangers, Mr. Beadle was for denying them admission. But one whispered into his ear, " We wants to be conwerted, gov'nor ! " another shps 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 1 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 1 He looked to the western church- door — there, on each side of it, were those horrible Hebrew Carya- tides. He then looked to the vestry-door, which was hard by the rector's pew, in which Sampson 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 sat till the conclusion of the sermon, with eyes meekly cast down to the ground. How can we describe that sermon, 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 nest pew to our friends, said it was bewdiful, and made her dremble all over. Madam 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 sat in his pulpit ; she greeted him with a little wave of the hand and flutter of her handkerchief. 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 10 x 322 THE VIRGINIANS rector's pew, where the old lady was deep in converi3ation 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 t " asks Madame de Bernstein. " Are you ready, my dear?" And the pew is thrown open, and Madam 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 whiskyfied 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 Leedy- ship walk, or shall me man go fetch a cheer 1 " For reply Lady Maria Esmond gives three shrieks, and falls swooning to the ground. " Keep the do6r, Mick ! " shouts Mr. Oostigan. " Best let in no one else, madam," he says, very politely, to Madame de Bernstein. " 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 tliat operation is performed, Madam Bern- stein 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 Leedy- ship is for one hundred and thirty-two pounds, in which she is indebted to Misthress Eliza Pincott." Meanwhile, where is the Reverend Mr. Sampson. Like the fabled opossum we have read of, who, when he spied the unerrin;,' 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 ? " he sadly asked. Sampson knew Simons : they had met many a time before. THE YIEGIKIAXS 323 " Buckleby Cordwainei," *^aYS Mr. Simojis. " Forty-eight pound and charges, I kndw," says Mr. Sampson, ^rith a sigh. "I haven't got the money. "What utticcr is there here ■? " Mr. Simons's companion, Mr. Lyons, here stepped forward, and said his liouse was most convenient, and often nsed by gentle- men, 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. Ly(ms's residence, escorted by the gentlemen to whom we have just been introduced. Yery soon after the capture the Baroijess Bernstein sent ilr. 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 I\Iaria stood indebted quite impossible. She had written off to Mrs. Pincott In that very 2^<->>i(, however, to entreat her to grant time, and as soon as ever she had an ansu'er, would not fail to acquaint her dear unhappy niece. Mrs. Betty came over to console lier mistress : and the two poor women cast about for money enough to provide a liorse and chaise for Mrs. Betty, who had very nearly come to misfortune too. Both my Lady Maria and her maid had beeh 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. Ninv Betty took tlie chain to the very toy-shop man who had sold it to Mv. 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! Oh, the wretch, the wretch ! Slie shall ])ay 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 o\'er revenge and backgammon, 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 hajipeneil to Lady Maria, and a great deal more ; though 324 THE VIEGINIANS 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 at the bottom of the business, of course they were all civil and bland in society ; and, at my Lady Trumpington's cards that night, where Mada*m 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 gentlefolks talked, laughed, yawned, chattered, the footmen waylaid the supper, the chairmen 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 stuff" them with cotton. Madam 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. " Don't tell me ! " says Lady Yarmouth, " The Bernstein would play at carts over her niecels coffin. Talk about her heart ! who ever said she had one 1 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 l)owed, and promised to do her Excellency's will. Meanwhile, about midnight, Madame de Bernstein went home, and presently fell into a sound sleep, from which she did not wake up until a late hour of the morning, when she simimoned 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-grandmothers 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 \' "1 As surely as THE VIKGINIANS 325 Mr. Gough is alive now, our ancestresses were accustomed to partake pretty freely of strong waters. So, having tipped off the cordial. Madam Bernstein rouses and asks Mrs. Brett the news. " He can give it you," says the waiting-woman sulkily. " He 1 Who 1 " 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. " Excellently, poor thing ! Is Betty gone to her 1 " "No; she is here," says Mrs. Brett. " Let me see her directly," cries the old lady. " I'll tell her," replies the obsequious B^ett, 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 patter- ing over the deal floor of the bedchamber. Carpets were luxuries scarcely known in bedrooms of those days. "So, Mrs. Betty, you were in London yesterday V 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 piUow. 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 happv. And with a little Surprise incident at her appearance through Madam Bernstein's curtains, I think we may bring this chapter to a close. CHAPTER XXXIX HARRY TO THE RESCUE MY dear Lord March " (wrote Mr. Wajrington from Tunbridge Wells, ou Saturday momiiig, thi 25th August 1756), " This is to inform you (with satisfaction) that I have won all our three betts. I was at Bromley two minutes within the hour ; my new horses kop a-going at a capital rate! I drove them myself, liaving the postillion by me to show me the 'way, and my hlack man inside with Mrs. Betty. Hope thoy found the drive very pleasant. We were not stopped on Blackheath, though two fellows on horse- back rode up to us, but not liking the looks of our countenantses, rode off again ; and we got into Tunbridge Wells (where I trans- acted my business) at forty-five minutes after eleven. This makes me quitts with your Lordship after yesterday's picquet, which I shall be very happy to give you your revenge, and am, your most obliged, faithful servant, H. Esmond Waekington." And now, perhaps, the reader will understand by what means Lady Maria Esmond was enabled to surprise her dear aunt in her bed on Satmday morning, and walk out of the house of captivity. Having despatched Mrs. Betty to London, she scarcely expected that her emissary 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 of wheels was heard approaching their house, and caused the lady 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 an 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 1 How many kisses did he give her ? If they were mille, deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein THE YIKGINIANS 327 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 Madam 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 suffering and the poor ; it is good to be aide to turn sorrow into joy. Not a little proud and elated was 6ur young champion, as, with his hat cocked, he marched by the side of his rescueil princess. His feelings came out to meet him, as it were, and beautiful happi- nesses 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 gratulation, calHng, " Here comes the conqueror ! Make way for the champion ! " And so they led him up to the king's house, and seated him in the hall of com- placency, upon the cushions of comfort. A;nd yet it was not much he had done. Only a kindness. He had but to put his hand in his pocket, and ■nnth an easy talisman drive off the dragon which kept the gate, and cause the tyrant to lay down his axe, who had got Lady ilaria in execution. Never mind if his vanity is puffed up ; he is very good-natured ; he has rescued two unfortunate people, and pumped tears of goodwill and happiness out of their eyes : — and if he brags a little to-niglit, and swaggers somewhat to the chaplain, and talks about London and Lord March, and White's and Almack's, vrith 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 nature most easily worked upon, and extraordinarily quick to receive pain and pleasure, to tears, gratitude, laugliter, hatred, liking. In his preaching profession he had educated and trained his sensibilities so that they were of great iise 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 328 THE VIEGINIANS with you ; he had a real pang of grief as he mingled his sorrow with the widow or orphan ; and, meeting Jack as lie 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 disposed 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 me, Sampson. Did you not say you had a sister at boarding- school 1 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 1 " asks the young gentleman. " I know because I am a villain, sir. I am not worthy of your kindness. I told you so. I found the book, sir, that night, when you had too much wine at Barbeau's." "And read the letters?" asked Mr. Warrington, starting up and turning very red. " They told me nothing I did not know, sir," said the chaplain. "You have had spies about you whom you little suspect — from whom you are much too young and simple to be able to keep your secret." THE VIRGINIANS 329 " Are those stories about Lady Fanny a)id my Cousin "Will and his doings, true then 1 " inquired Harry. "Yes, they are true," sighed the chaplain. "The house of Castlewood has not been fortunate, sir, since yoirr honour's branch, the elder branch, left it." " Sir, you don't dare for to breathe a word against my Lady Maria 1 " Harry cried out. " Oh, 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 accomplishment." " She is too old, Sampson, I know she is,'' says Mr. Warrington, 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 happened, 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 ig the book, sir, but the letters are gone. My trunk and valise have also been tampered with. And I am a miserable guilty 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. "SA'arrington'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 fjossessions, 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 effected. She certainly was guiltless 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 330 THE VIRGINIANS lodged in London, and all the secret affairs of the Esmond family, — these points, considered together and separate!}', might make Mr. Sampson think that the Baroness Bernsteiii was at the bottom of this mischief. But why arrest Lady Maria 1 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-book 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 Barboau had seat over to the young gentleman's lodgings, that he accepted Sampson's vows of contrition, 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 'era 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 some- what 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 1 I am blest if the sun hasn't risen again ! We have no need of candles to go to bed, ha, ha ! " 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 chocolate 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 THE YIEGINIASS 331 to Lady Yarmouth, and was quite a Hec. "Why," said tlii' 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 1 " says Mr. Harry. " Of course he did : the Baroness dc Bernstein can't afford to say she ^Yants 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 remittance.?. I have bought horses and clothes, and been very extravagant, aunt." " And rescued your poor relations in distress, you prodigal good boy. No, child, I do not want thy money. I can give thee some. Here is a note upon my agent for fifty pounds, vaurien ! Co and spend it, and be merry ! I daresay thy mother will repay me, though she does not love me." And she looked quite affectionate, and held out a pretty hand, which the youth kissed. " Your mother did not love me, but j'our'mother's father did once. INIind, sir, you always come to me when you have need of me.*' When bent on exhibiting them, nothing could exceed Beatrix Bernstein'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 I\Iaria, who is as old as your mother 1 What will Madam Esmond say? She may live three' hundred years, and you will not have wherewithal 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 IMaria 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 spells like hartshorn), and say that he will marry no other woman than his adorable cousin, Lady Maria Esmond. Oh ! it's cruel — cruel ! " " Great heavens ! madam, who showed you my letter 1 " 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 in the least what it contained. And in it was Mr. Harry Warrington's precious letter. And here, sii;, is the case." 332 THE VIRGINIANS A pang shot through Harry's heart. "Great heavens! why tlidn'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 ? WiU you believe an old woman who loves you and knows the world better than you do '( I tell you, if yon keep that foolish promise, misery and rum 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. Warrington, 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 slie 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 1 " 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 gentle- men 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. WiU 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!" said he, "you don't know what a villain I feel myself. When you told me, just now, how THE VIEGINIANS 333 that paper was burned — oh ! 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 liands on his shoulders, and lightly kissed his forehead. " You will not tell her what I have done, child 'i " she said. He declared " Never 1 never ! " And demure Mrs. Brett, enter- ing at her mistress's summons, found the nephew and aunt in this sentimental attitude. CHAPTER XL IN If HIGH HARRY PAYS OFF AN OLD DEBT, AND INCURS SOME NEW ONES OUR 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, company, life 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 entertained. 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 frieuds' door, as her Ladyship disliked and abused them ; and was very haughty and sulky that evening at the inn where they stopped, some few miles further on the road. At supper, my Lady Maria's smiles brought 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 queru- lous 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 Harry 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 1 An hour after her departure from their supper-room, MrS. Betty came in for her lady's bottle of smelling-salts, and found Par»son 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 ne.x;t 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 THE VIRGINIAI^S 335 during the journey. " Great heavens ! she must ha\'e 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 affection. As she grow 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 twoscore years ; and poor Harry, with that arm leaning on his, felt it intolerably weighty, and by no means rehshed his walk up the hiU. 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 i)oor 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 young 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 1 " she said, looking in his face. " Shall it not go with me to the grave 1 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 wliich the case contained, and IMaria 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 movement 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 teUing lies, would they ever be out of sackcloth and ashes? Arrived at Oastlewood, Mr. Harry's good-liuniour Avas not in- creased. My Lord was from home ; the ladies also were away ; the only member of the family whom Harry found was Mr. Will, who retm'ned 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 yoimg Virginian. Nevertheless, he thought to put a good face on the matter, and they met at sui)j]er, where, before my Lady Maria, their conversa- tion was at first civil, but not hvely. Mr. Will had been to some races 1 to several. He had been pretty successful in his bets 1 Mr. 33fi THE VIRGINIANS Warrington hopes. Pretty well. "And you have brought back my horse sound 1 " asked Mr. Warrington. " Your horse 1 what horse 1 " asked Mr. Will. "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 you 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, wiU you be umpire between us?" Mr. Warriiigton 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 Mr. 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-knee'd 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 lady remained in the room. When she rose to go, Harry followed her to the door, and closfed it upon her with the most courtly bow 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 one 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. WiU fifty guineas against his brown horse ? " " Against his horse ! " bawls out Mr. WUl. " I am not such a fool as you take me for," says Mr. Warring- ton, " although I do come from Virginia ! '' And he repeated his THE VIRGINIANS 337 question ; " Mr. Sampson, you were here when I played the Honourable William Esmond, Esquire, fifty guineas against his brown horse 1 " " I must own it, sir,'' says the chaplain, with a deprecatory look towards his lord's brother. "/ don't own no such a thing," says Mr. WiU, with rather a forced laugh. " No, sir ; because it costs you no more pains to lie than to cheat," said Mr. Warrington, walking up to his cousin. " Hands ofi', Mr. Chaplain, and see fair play ! Because you are no better than a — ha ! " No 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 flowered 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 deliv^ted 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 agaipst the wall, which his rapid antagonist kicked under the table. Now Will, too, had been at Marybone and Hockley-in-the-Hole, and, 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 inamBuvre 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 338 THE VIRGINIAI^S combat, but striving with all his might to restrain liimself 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, ap oath or two, had told them that some violent scene was occurring within, and they entered, and behold two victims bedabbled with red — the chaplain bleeding port-wine, and the Honouiable William Esmond, Esquire, stretched in liis own gore. " Mr. Sampson will bear witness that I struck fair, and that Mr. Esmond hit the first blow," said Mr. Warrington. " Undo his neckcloth, somebody — he may be dead ; an.d get a fleam, Gumbo, 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, Warrington'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. " Oh, 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 !!m 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 so." "And I hope it won't be the last," cried shrill Betty. "To go for to strike a poor black gentleman so ! " Mr. Will had gathereil 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 tq the company. Good- night, Mr. Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, whose jokes, though few, were not very brilliant ; but the honest Ifid relished the brilliant sally, and laughed at it inwardly. THE VIEGINIAWS 339 " He's 'ad his zopper, and he goos to baid ! " says Betty, in her native dialect, at which eAcrybody laughed outright, except Mr. William, *ho went away leaving a black fuine of curses, as it were, rolhng 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 Sir. Will begging to know whether he was for a ride to toivn or anywheres else. If he was for London, that he would friten the highwaymen on Hounslow Heath, and look a very geiUed figar al (he Chocolate 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 AN'ill and Harry, there comes a maiden simpering to IMr. 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. &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 1 Und so weiler, iind so ii'eiter. He must never never qvxxril and be so cruel again. Kai ta loijm. And I jirotest I shan't quote any more of this letter. Ah, tablets, golden once, — are ye now faded loaves 1 Where is the juggler who transmuted you, and why is the glamour over? After the little scandal with Cousin WUl, 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 occurred, and, as he called in Parson Sampson to supervise the document, no doubt it contained none of those eccentricities in spell- ing which figured in his ordinary correspondence at this period. He represented to poor IMaria, that after blackening the eye and damag- ing 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 : hg 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. Trutii 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 petty Tunbridge society of women S40 THE VIRGINIANS 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 jjossessed at Tun- bridge had slipped out of his pocket, and further supplies were necessary. Eegarding these he made himself presently easy. There were the two sums of =£5000 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 live 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 Coffee-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 flung 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 Virginian. 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 pocketful 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 ? He dined at the tavern, he supped at the club, where Jack Morris introduced him, with immense eulogiums, 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 you see, far away in the West yonder, the pious widow at her prayers for her son ? Behind the trees at Oakhurst a tender little heart, too, is beating for him, perhaps. When the THE VIRGINIANS 341 Prodigal Son was away carousing, were not love and forgiveness stiU on the watch for him 1 Amongst the inedited letters of the late Lord Orford, there is one which the present learned editor, Mr. Peter Cimningham, 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. H. Walpole's account of my son Henry at Loiidon, and of Baroness Tusher, — wrote to (?ew' Conway." "Aklington 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 joiuts full of rheumatism ? A fit took me that I would pay London a visit, that I would go to YauxhaU 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 1 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 1 " The Norfolk folk had been entertaining me on Tuesday with the account of a young savage Iroq^uois, 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, n4e 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 1 ' 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 chaj)laiii. Many of the nobility omit the marriage altogether. She tmsn't ashamed of being Mrs. Tusher, and didn't take a German Ba7-oncino for a second Imsband, 342 THE VIEGIISriANS whom nobody out of Hanover ever saw. The Yarmouth bears no malice. Esther and Vashti are very good friend?, and have been cheating each other at Tunbridgo at cards all the summer. " ' And what has all this to do with the Iroquois ? ' says your Ladyship. The Iroquois has been at Tunbridge, too — not cheating, perhaps, but winning vastly. They say he has bled Lord March of tliousands — Lord March, by whom so much blood hath been shed, that he has quarrelled with everybody, fought with everybody, rode over everybody, been fallen in love with by everybody's wife except Mr. Conway's, and not excepting her present: Majesty, the Countess of England, Scotland, France, and Ireland, Queen 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 Vauxhall, 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 oif my head ! ■ A twopenny string of glass beads and a strip of tawdry cloth are treasure 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 Rockingham and my precious nephew, and here he was bellowing and huzzaying over the music so as to do y6u 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 canie down from her throne, Jack Morris must introduce my Virginian 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 jcimy 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 sayagess 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 Vauxhall, where George fell asleep straightway, and for my sins I must tell Tony Storer what I knew about this Virginian's amiable family, especially some of the Bernstein's antecedents, and the liistory of another elderly beauty of the family, a certain Lady Maria, who was mi mienr with the late P-fince of Wales. What did I say ? I protest not half of what I knew, and of course not THE VIRGINIANS S43 a tenth part of what I Tivas going to toll, for who should start out upon us but my savage, this time quite red in the face ; and in his uiar-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 1 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 than an apology from a gentleman of my age (Merci, Monsieur !), and, hearing the name of Mr. Selwyn, made another bow to George, and said he had a letter to him from Lord March, which he had had the iU-fortune to mislay. George has put him up for the club, it appears, in conjunction with March, and no doubt these three lambs will fleece each other. Meanwhile, my pacified savage sat 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 Honi'i" H. S. Conway." CHAPTER XLI RAKE'S PROGRESS PEOPLE were still very busy in Harry Warrington's time (not that our young gentleman took much heed of the controversy) in determining the relative literary merits of the ancients and the moderns ; and the learned, and the world with them, indeed, pretty generally pronounced 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 grandchildren, a hundred years hence, will give their judgment about us. As for your book-learning, respectable ancestors (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 alraost all of you had it 1 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, or my Lady Bellaston, or that wonderful "Lady of Quality" who lent her memoirs to the author of "Peregrine Pickle." 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 THE VIKGINIANS 345 send one of that odious author's books 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 Vatican is spoUed by the tin draperies in which ecclesiastical 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 bonos 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 ad- vantage 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 pianofortes 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 1 I am thinking of Harry Warrington, Esquire, in his lodgings in Bond Street, London, arid of the life which he and many of the young bucks of fashion leour honour's afflicted Chaplain in Ordinary, T. S." Arid now, as ilr. Sampson refuses to speak, it will be our duty to acquaint the reader witli those matters whereof the poor chaplain did not care to discourse oil paper. Gumbo's loquacity had not reached so far as Long Acre, and Mr. Sampson was ignorant of the extent gf 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. War- rington had just conferred on him, and eager to find some means to succour his distressed patron. He knew what a large sum Lord Castlewood had won from his cousin, had dined in company with his Lordship on the day before, and now ran to Lord Castlewood's house, with a hope of arousing him to some pity for Mr. Warring- ton. 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 noble- man 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 'i The little sum I won from my cousin was swallowed up by others. I not only can't help Mr. Warrington, but, as I pledge you my word, not being in the least aware of his calamity,, I had positively written ti.i him this morning to ask him to help me." And a letter to this effect did actually reach jNIr. Warring^ton fiOm his lodgings, whither it had been despatched by the penny-post. " I nmst 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 piawn 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, j)oor Sampson left him. j\Iy Lady Maria meanwhile had heard, that the chaplain was with her brother, and conjectured wliat might be the subject on which they had hcon talking. She seized* upon the parson as he 388 THE VIEGINIANS 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 dreadful news last night 1 " asked my Lady. " We 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 conversation which he had just had with Lord Castlewood, and of the latter'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 regard- ing her own family, which were by no means complimentary to her own kith and kin. Although not accustomed to teU 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 which she touched upon the history of almost all her noble family. She complimented the men and the ladies alike ; she shriekeij 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 shnll in her outcries, so furious in her demeanour, that the alarmed chaplain, fearing the scene which might ensile, 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 shiUing, and you won't give him a guinea ont of his own winnings now he is penniless ! " THE VIRGINIANS 389 " So that infernal chaplain has been telling tales ! " says my Lord. " Dismiss him : do ! 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 case he is wanted," says Castlewood, glaring at her. " What can the women be in a family where there are such men 1 " says the lady. " Efect{veme)it I " says my Lord, with a shrug of his shoulder. " What can we be, when our fathers and brothers are what they are 1 We are bad enough, but what are you ? I say, you neither have coiirage — no, nor honour, nor common feeling. As your eijuals won't play with you, my Lord Castlewood, you must take this poor lad out of Virginia, your own kinsman, and pigeon him ! Oh, 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 about the poor lad from \'irginia'? Has Mr. Harry cried oif, 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 1 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 ar.e you talking ! Have you not seen, from the course which the lad has been running for months past, how he would end ? 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 ofiering 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 Ladysliip's anger, 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 3,90 THE VIRGINIANS words to the lad from whom he lias just taken hundreds," inter- posed 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 I happen to know of a case in another family which may be applicable to ours. It is this. A green young lad of tolerable expectations, 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 1 — 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, or pigeoning, or did I fly into a passion when you insulted me ? 1 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 Castlewood, 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 dean 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 sometimes. 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 1 " interposes Maria. THE VIRGINIANS 391 " Eh ! never mind a hundred or two, more or less. What is this loss at cards 1 A mere bagatelle! You are jilnying 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 possilt/e ; but sit down, and I will explain what I mean in a manner suited to your capacity." And so jNIaria Esmond, who had advanced to her brother like a raging lion, now sat 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 Ladyship 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 compagnie 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 nejiliew fallen 1 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 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. Madam 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 3Ir. Warrington had been arrested, and forthwith repair to the Baroness. Draper's emis.saries speedily found out that Mr. Warrington 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 w^ould 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 claiiMS against Mr. Warring- ton, Mr. Draper found. He Avas ready, at a signal from her Lady- ship, to settle them at a moment. The jeweller's accoimt ought 392 THE VIEGIlSriAISr.S especially to be paid, for Mr. Harry had acted most imprudently in taking goods from Mr. Sparks on credit, /ind 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 j but the affair would have an ugly look, if made public, and had better be settled out of hand. " Tliere cannot be the least difficulty regarding a thousand pounds more or less, for a gentleman of Mr. Warrington's rank and ('xi)ectations," said Madame de Bernstein. Kot 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 Ladyship's guarantee. Should he go that instant and settle the matter with Messrs. Amos? Mr. Harry might be back to din'e 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 / ever had to deal with." " There is one which the silly boy has contracted, and from which he ought to be released, Mr. Draper. You remember a little circumstance which occurred at Tunbridge Wells in the autumn 1 About which I sent up my man Case to you 1 " "When your Ladyship ])leases to recall it I remember it — not otherwise," says Mr. Draper, with a bow. " A lawyer should be like a Popish confessor, — what is told him is a se(;ret for ever, and for everybody." So we must not whisper Madam Bernstein's secret to 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 tjie lock-up house ; the bailiffs 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 of his arrest, and when his purse was emptied by the heavy charges of tlie place, that he made up THE VIEGINIAJTS 393 his mind to apply to Mr. Draper. He despatched a letter then to the lawyer at the Temple, informing him of his plight, and ilesiring him, in an emphatic po.stscript, not to say one word about the matter to his aunt, JIadame de Bernstein. He had made up his mind not to apply to the old lady except at the very last extremity. She had treated Jiim viih so much kind- ness, that he revolteil 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 sometliing humili- ating in petitioning a woman for money. No ! 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 negotiator, had not the poor fellow been captured on Ids 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 day 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 con- fidential letter to his kinsman, the Right Honourable the Earl of Castlewood, saying how he had been cast into prison, and begging Castlewood to lend him the amount of the debt. " Please to keep my appKoation, and the cause of it, a profoiind secret from the dear ladies," wrote poor Harry. " Was ever anything so unfortunate t " 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 Jlr. Warrington, thinking you were a.s rich as Crcesus — otherwise I should never have sat 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. Sly 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 result of application number one : and we may imagine that Mr. Harry read the reply to his petition with rather a blank face. Never mind ! There was kind jolly Uncle Warrington. OiJy last night his aunt had kissed him, and loved him like a son. His uncle had called dowjr blessings on his head, and professed quite a paternal regard for liim. A\'ith 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 394 THE VIRGINIANS horsc-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 sat down and com- posed 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 mortification and profound thought as to the iiathos of the com- position did Harry pass over that letter ; sheet after sheet of Mr. Amos's sixpence a sheet letter-jiaper 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 robbing, 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 con- tained 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 wbioh she deplored from her inmost soul to learn, namely, that her nephew Wamngton liad 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 prayers, her deepest commiseration, and a discourse by dear Mr. Whitfield, which would comfort him in his present (alas ! she feared not undeserved) calamity. She added profuse references to particular Scriptural chapters which would do him good. If she might speak of things worldly she said at such a moment, she 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 elsewhere, she subscribed herself his loving aunt, Margaret Warrington. Poor Harry hid his face between his hands, and sat for a while with elbows on the greasy table blankly staring into the candle before him. The bailiffs 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, how- ever, 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 another letter, with which Gumbo was commissioned to start again, and away the faithful creature ran upon his errand. THE VIRGINIANS 395 Gumbo rail as far as White's Club, to which house he was ordered in the first iiistiuice to carry the letter, and where he found the person to whom it was addressed. Even the prisoner, for whom time passed so slowl}-, 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-por*er's desk, while I stood there then with Mr Morris," said Gumbo, and the letter was to this effect : — " Dear Sie, — I am sorry I cannot comply with your wish, as I'm short of monej' at present, having paid large sums to you as well as to other gentlemen. — Yours obediently, " Maech and R. "Henry Warrington, Esq.'' "Did Lord March say anything?" a^ked Mr. "Warrington, looking very pale. "He say it was the coolest thing he ever knew. So did Mr. Morris. He showed him your letter. Master Harry. Yes, and Mr. Morris say, ' Dam 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 ki.ssed his knees and his hands. " Oh, master, my dear master, what will they say at home ? " he sobbed out. The jailer was touched at the sight of the black's grief and fidehty, ami at Harry's pale face as he sank back in his chair, quite overcome and beaten by his calamity. " Your honour ain't eat anything these two days," the man said, in a voice of rough pity. " Pluck up a little, sir. You aren't the first gentleman who has been in and out of grief before this. Let me go down and get you a glass of punch and a little supper." " My good friend," said Harry, a sidkly smile playing over his white face, " you pay ready money for everything in this house, don't you ? I must tell you that I haven't a shilling left to buy a dish of meat. All the money I have I want for letter- paper." " Oh, master, my master ! " roared out Gumbo. " Look here, my dear Master Harry ! Here's iilenty of raouey — here's twenty- 396 THE VIEGINIAl^S three five-guineas. Here's gold moidore from Virginia — here — no, not that — that's Ijeepsakes the girls gave me. Take everything — everything. I go sell myself to-morrow morning : but here'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 act, and Heaven forbid I should not take the offered help of such a friend as you. Bring me some supper : but the pipe, too, mind — the jiipe, too ! " And Harry ate his supper with a relish : and even the turnkeys and bailiff's followers, when Gumbo went out of the house that night, shook hands with him, and ever after treated him well. CHAPTER XLVII VISITORS IN TROUBLE ME. GU^MEO'S generous and feeling conduct soothed and softened tlie nngry heart of his master, and Harry's second night in the spongiug-house was passed more i)leasantly tlian the first. Somebody at least there was to help and com- passionate 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. Not to avoid twenty years of prison would he stoop to ask a favour of one of them again. Fool that he had been, to beheve 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 Englishman, 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 ; ih> anything, rather than remain amongst these English fine gentlemen. So he arose with an outwardly cheerful countenance, but an angry spirit ; and at an early hour in the morning the faithful Gumbo was in attendance in his master's chamber, having icome 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 unles^s his bill was paid he should sell Mr. W.'s goods and jiay himself; and that his black man must go and sleep elsewhere. He would hardly let Gumlio take his own clothes and portmanteau away. The black said he bad found refuge else\\'here — with some friemls at Lord A\'rotham's house. " With Colonel Lambert's people," Says Mr. Gumbo, looking 398 THE VIRGINIANS very hard at his master. " And Miss Hetty she fall down in a faint, when she hear you taken up ; and Mr. Lambert, he very good man, and he say to me this morning, he say, ' Guinbo, you tell your master if he want me he send to me, and I eome to him.' " Harry was touched when he heard that Hetty had been afHicted by his misfortune. He did not believe G umbo's story about her fainting; he was accustomed to translate his black's language and to allow for exaggeration. 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 w^re starving I would not a-sk him for a crust ! " And presently, being dressed, Mr. Warrington called for his breakfast, and despatched Gumbo with a brief note to Mr. Draper in the Temjile reciuiring 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 Englisli gentleman," Draper said ; whom indeed Harry had always treated with insufferable condescen- sion. " It's all very well for a fine gentleman to give himself airs ; but for a fellow in a sponging-iiouse ! 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 proceedings. 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 : ho failed in the present instance because he was piqued and anij;ry, or, more likely still, because he could not understand the gentleman with whom he had to deal. I jiresume that he who casts his eje on the present page is the most gentle of readers. Gentlt'man, 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 not knowing the how or the why? So the man who is no gentleman offends you in a thousand ways of which the poor creature has no idea liimself He does or says somctliing which provokes your scorn. He perceives that scorn (being always on the watch, and uneasy THE VIEGINIAIsS 399 about himself, his marmers and behavioii,!) and lie rages. You speak to him naturally, and he fancies still that you are sneering at him. You lia\e indifference towards liim, but he hates you, and hates you the worse because you don't care. " <_Junibo, a chair to Mr. Draper 1 " says Mr. "Warrington, folding his brocaded dressing-gown round his legs as he sits on the dingy bed. " Sit down, if you please, and let us talk my* business over. Much obliged to you for coming so soon in reply to my message. Had you heard of this piece of ill luck before ? '' Jlr. Draper bad heard of the circumstance. " Bad news travels quick, Mr. 'Warrington," he said ; " and I was eager to offer my humble services as soon as ever you shoulil require them. Your friends, your fapiily, 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 hved be- yond my means." (Mr. Draper bowed.) "I played in company with gentlemen 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 riiy debt and gone home without further to do. I have been mistaken ; and will thank you to have the kindness to put mc 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, W^arrington, staring at the lawyer. It not only could be done, but Mr. Draper had proposed to IMadam Bernstein on the day before instantly to pay the money, and release Mr. AA'arrington. That lady had declared she intended to make the young gentleman her heir. In cummon with the rest of the world, Draper believed Harry's .hereditary property in Yirginia to be as great in money value as in extent. He had notes in his pockets, and j\Iadam Bernstein'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 W'arrington's death we must have the event proved, the tru.'^tees released : and who is to do either? Lady Esmond Wanington in Virginia, of course, wiU not allow her sun to remain -in prison, but we must wait six months before we hear fronj her. Has your Bristol agent any authority to honour your drafts ? " 400 THE VIKGINIAFS " He is only authorised to pay me two Hundred pounds a year," says Mr. ^Varrington. " I suppose I have no resource, tlien, but to apply to my aunt, Madame de Bernstein '? She will be my security." "Her Ladyship will do nnything for you, sir; she has said so to mo, 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, JMr. Draper. I did not want to have troubled my relations : but rather than continue in this horrible needless 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. Warringtpn's voice shook a little, and he passed his hand across his eyes. " Sir," says Mr. Draper, eyeing the young inan, " I was witli her 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 1 " asked Harry. "Every circumstance, sir; the pawning the watches, and aU." Harry turned burning red. " It is an unfortunate business, the pawning them watches and things which you had never paid for," continued 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 trades- man ? " 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," saya Mr. Draper, winking his eye. " (Hang the supercilious beast ! I touch him there !) Your aunt says it's the mrist imprudent thing ever she heard of — to call it by no v'orse name." " You call it by no worse name yourself, Mr. Draper 1 " 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 ray client, it's my duty to say, ' Sir, you are in a very un- pleasant scrape,' just as a doctor -would liave to tell his patient, ' Sir, you are very ill' " "And you can't help me to pay this debt off, — and you have coine only to tell mc that I may be accused of roguery 1 " says Harry. THE VIRGINIANS 401 " Of obtaining goods under false pretences 1 Jlost undouLtedly, 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 iisk me what people will think of such behaviour, and I tell you honestly. Don't be angry with »te, Mr. Warrington." " Gro on, sir ! " says Harry, with a groafa. The lawyer thought the day was his own. "But you a.sk if I can't help to pay this debt off? And I say Yes — and "tliat here is the money in my po(;ket 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 l\e brought 'em with me." "Tell them, sir," says Mr. Harry. " They are not hard. They are only for your own gooil ; and if you say Yes, we can call a hackney-coach, and go to enlarges Sticct together, which I have promised to go thet-e, whether you will or no. Mr. Wanington, I name no names, but tliere was a question of marriage between you and a certain party." " Ah ! " 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 Tunbridge," says Mr. Draj)er. "So my client informed me; indeed her Ladvship showed it me, for the matter of that. It was wrote in bl 1-" "Never mind, sir ! " cries Henry, tm-nipg 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. "At the .same time letters, wrote to you and comproniisiiig a noble family, were recovered," continues the lawyer. "You had lost 'cm. It was no fault of yours. Yoii were away when they were found again. Yim 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 d fool, saving your presence, as .to marry an old woman 402 THE VIEGINIANS who has jilted scores of men in her time. Say the word, and I step downstairs, 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 ! 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 ilame 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 thfe 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 woidd not want an hour to consider about such an oflFer as I make you : but I 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 1 Will tell me in an hour's time ! Hang his impudence ! I'll show him what an hour is ! " Mr. Draper went to his chambers in dudgeon then ; bullied his clerks all round, sent off a messenger to the Baroness, to say that he had waited on the young gentleman, who had demanded a little time for consideration, 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 tm-ned his steps towards the neighbouring Oursitor Street. " He'll be at home when I call, the haughty beast ! " says Draper, with a sneer. " The Fortunate Youth in his room 1 " the lawyer asked of the sheriff's officer's aide-de-camp who came to ojsen 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 Gorki " said the lawyer. " My name is Oostigan ; me familee is noble, and me neetive place is the Irish methrawpolis, Mr. Six-and-Eightpence ! " said the THE YIKGIXIAI^S 403 janitor, scowling at Draper. A ricli odoui- of spirituous liquors filled the little space between the double doors where he held the attorney in conversation. " Confound you, sir, let me pass ! " bawled out Jlr. Draper. " I can hear you perfectly well, Six-and-Eishtpencc, except your h's, which you dthrop out of your conversation. I'll thank ye not to call necms, me good friend, or me fingers and your nose will have to make an intimate hic-quaintance. AValk in, sir ! Be ])o]itc for the future to your shupariors in birth aijd manners, though they me be your infariors in temporary statiop. Confound the kay ! Walk in, sir, I say ! Madam, I have the honour of sahiting 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 came down the stairs at this instant and hurried past the lawyer. He was pressing forward to look lat her — for Mr. Draper was very cavalier in his manners to woftien — but the bailiff's follower thrust his leg between Draper and the retreating lady, crying, " Keep your own distance, 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 upstairs. At six o'clock that evening the old Baroness de Bernstein was pacing up and down her drawing-room, and for ever running to the window when the noise of a coach was heard passing 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 had ordered two covers to be laid, plate to be set out, and some extra 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 boyl" 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 XLViri JN APPARITION GOING off in his wrath from his morning's conversation with Harry, Mr. Draper thought he heard the young prisoner speak behind him ; and, indeed, Harr^y 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 fiesli anil 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, p^Je and haggard, on his bed. The lady, with a sob, and almdfet 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 plentiful tears, and cried out — " Oh, my Harry ! Did I ever ever think to see thee here 1 " He started back, scarod as it seemed at her presence, but she sank down at the bedside, and seized his feverish hand, and em- braced his knees. She had a real regard and tenderness for him. THE VIRGINIANS 405 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 gi'oan. More tears, more kisses of the hot young hand, more clasps and pressiu-e with hers, were the lady's reply for a moment or two. "Oh, 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 kneeUng 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. Oh, how I hate them now ! I little thought I ever could ! I have brought jthem 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 aflfection, his emotion. He became quite gay presently, and smijed 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 twenty 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' conversation. The dark daj' 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 hot so bad as he had thought. He had expressed the deepest grief at not being able to assist his kinsman. He \\'as hopelessly in debt. Every sliilling he had won from Harry he had lost on the next day to others. An>'thing that lay in his power he would do. He would come soon and see Sir. A\'arringtou : he was in waiting to-day, and 406 THE VIRGINIANS as much a prisoner as Harry himself. So tlie juxir talked on cheer- fully and affectionately until the darkness began to close in, when Maria, with a sigh, bade Harry farewell. 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 young 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 1 " " 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, tliat 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 sonje 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," says Mr. Warrington. " And the answer I take to my client is No, then ! " screamed out Draper. Harry stepped forward, with his two liands clenched. " If you THE VIRGINIAN'S 407 utter another ^'ord," 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. Warrington himself. "What? Shall she trust me, and I desert her?" says Harry, stalking up and down his room in his flowing rustling brocade. "Dear, 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 nniu 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 CVL-^e go get her coflee. 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. WaPvEINgton ! " The old woman uttered an esclamatiofi, 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 slie 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 exa<-tly resembled Harry Warrington, 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 down a letter before Madam Bernstein. "Are you" — gasped out the Barones.s — "are you my nephew, that we supposed was " " Was killed — and is alive ! I am George ^^'arrington, madam, and I ask his kinsfolk, What have you done ^\-ith my brother '? " 408 THE VIEGINIANS " Look, George ! " said the bewildered old lady. " I expected him here to-night — that chair was set for him — I liave 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 ! " " 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. Warrington made a very stately bow for answer, and quitted the 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 1 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 settle- ments and return to Virginia 1 Oh no ! JSTo such letter had come, else Master Harry certainly tell Gumbo. Quick, horses ! Quick by Strand to Temple Bar ! Here is the house of Captivity and the Deliverer come to the rescue ! CHAPTER XLIX FRIEXDS IN NEED QUICK, hackney-coach steeds, and Ijear 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 Piccadilly to Fleet Street seemed almost as long to our young rflan as the journey from Marlborough to London wliich 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 A\'ar 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 j)ossession. 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, -sj'hen the angry Mr. Ruff had refused to give up any single item more of his lodger's property. To these apartments George iirst went on his arrival in London, and asked for his brother. Scared at the likeness between them, the maidservant 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 Harry was. He might be with her at that very moment. Oeorge had read in Harry's letters to Virginia about Aunt Bernstein's kindness to Harry. Even Madam Esmond was softened by it (and especially touched by a 410 THE VIEGINIAlSrS 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 had ways. It was time, indeed, at lier age ; and Heaven knows that she had plenty to repent of! I have known a liarmless good old soul of eighty, still bepommelled and stoned by irreproach- able 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 rpmission of tlie sentence — in spite of the handwriting on tlie floor of the Temple — there 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 fear- ful 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 reappearance 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. Oh, 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 doen 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 him- self 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 ! We are almost as slow as you are in getting from Clarges Street to the Temple. Poor Gumbo knows the way to the bailiff's house well enough. Again the bell is set ringing. The first door is opened to George and his negro ; 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 door is unlocked, and they enter into the house. The Jewish janitor stares, as by his flaring tallow-torch he sees a second Mr. Warrington before him. Come to see that gentleman 1 Yes.- But wait a moment. THE YIRGINIAXS 41] This 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 Sir. "W.'s business (the porter says), and another upstairs with him now. There's no end of people have been about him. The room into which George was introduced was a small apart- ment which went by the name of Mr. Amos's olfice, and where, by a guttering candle, and talking to the builip;, sat a stout gentleman jn a cloak and a laced hat. The young porter carried his candle too, preceding Mr. George, so there was *a sufficiency of light in the apartment. " We are not angry any more, Harry ! " says the stout gentle- man, in a cheery voice, getting up and advancing with an out- stretched 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 1 " And he started back as the otlier 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 hini my poor Harry wrote. And I 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 lud with a faltering voice. "James ! James ! here is news ! " cries Mr. Lambert to a gentle- man in red, who now entered the room. " Here are the dead come aUve ! 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, j\Ir. Warring- ton ! This is Lieutenant-Colonel James Wolfe, at your service. You must know there has been a little difference between Harrj^ and me, Mr. George. He is pacified, is he, James f " "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 A\'ish he had none other but us. Mi'. Warrington. Poor Harry's fine folks have been too fine for Itim, and have ended by landing him here.'^ "Nay, your honours, I have done my Jiewt to make the young gentleman comfortable; and, knowing yoiir honour before, wlien 412 THE VIRGINIANS you came to bail Captain Watkins, and that your security is per- fectly 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 officer's hands, taking the usual acknowledgment and caution. But I can never forget, gentle- men, that you lielped my brother at his ncdd, and, for doing so, I say thank you, and God bless you, in my mother's name and mine." Gumbo had, meanwhile, gone upstairs to his master's apart- ment, where Harry would probably have scolded the negro for return' ing that night, but that the young gentleman was very much soothed and touched by the conver.sation 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 affection, 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 w^s below, and the errand upon which the two officers had come. In" spite of himself, Lam- bert would be kind to him. In spite of Harry's ill-temper, and needless suspicion a,nd anger, the good gentleman was determined to help him if he might — to help him even agliinst 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 ai)d unkind behaviour to your senior, and what is more, one of the best gentlemen who walk God's earth. You see, sir, what his answer hath been to your way- Avard temper. You will bear with a friend who speaks frankly with youl Martin Lambert hath acted in this as he always doth, as the best Christian, the best friend, the most kind and generous of men. Nay, 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 ha? 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 woulil receive him." "I think he is a good man!" groaned out Harry. "I was very angry and wild at the tiine when he and I met last. Colonel THE VIRGINIANS 413 Wolfe. Nay, perhaps he was right in seud,ing back those trinkets, hurt as I was at his doing so. G'> down to him, «ill you he so kind, sir 1 and tell him I am sorry, and ask his pardon, and — and, God bless him for liis 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'U follow, — on, my word I will. See ! I am in my morning-gown ! I wiU but put on a coat and couie to him. Give him my message first. Just- just prepare him for me ! " says poor Hany, 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, perhaps. As he opened the door, Mr. Gumbo entered it ; almost forgetting 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 sueh high excitement and delight that his master remarked his conditkin. "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 backV Giun grinned prodigiously. " I have seen a ghost, mas'r ! " he said. " A ghost ! and whose, and where *? " "Wharl Saw him at Madam Bernstein's house. Come with him here in the coach ! He downstairs 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 anybody — is — my mother come?" " No, sir ; no, jMaster Harry ! " Gumbo's head rolls nearly oft' 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 which the door is open, is saying, "undfor doing so, I my thank you, and God bless you, in 7iiy inother^s nmrie and mine." " Whose voice is that 1 " calls out Harry Warrington, "\\'ith a strange cry in his own voice. " It's the ghost's, mas'r ! " says Gumbo from behind ; and Harry runs forward to the room, — where,; if you please, we ■wiE 414 THE VIEGINIANS 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. CHAPTER L CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF THE FINEST MORALITY WHEN first we had the honour to be presented to Sir Miles Warrington at the King's drawiiig-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, — ex- pected that I had lighted upon a most eligible and agreeable ac- quaintance at last, and was about to become intimate with that noblest specimen of the human race, the bepraised of songs and men, the good old English country gentleman. In fact, to be a good old country gentleman is to hold a position nearest the goils, and at the summit of earthly felicjty. 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 conse- quence — 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 written in the book, and to give other folks an example : — a G. 0. C. G. a miserable sinner ! So healthy, so wealth}', so jolly, so nuich respected by theyiear, 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 ! Allans done ! Give any man good health ahd temper, five thousand a year, the adoration of his j)arish, 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 Koyal Highness, and went *to church in the most perfect health and comfort, the parson waiting to begin the service 416 THE VIRGINIANS uutil your R. H. came in, would you believe yourself to be a miserable &c. 1 You might -when racked wjth gout, in solitude, the fear of death before your eyes, the doctor having cut off your bottle of claret, and ordered arrowroot and a little sherry, — you might .then be humiliated, 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 Ploughman, with the ague, seven children, two pounds a year rent to pay for his cottage, and eight shillings a weekl No : a healthy, rich, jolly country gentleman, if miserable, has a very 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 satis fled 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 trades- men cringe, bareheaded, and the farmers' women drop innumerable curtseys. 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 to purchase an ounce of salts, or a packet of flower-seeds : they deigu 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 coach- man 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 1 Suppose no coppers ever were known to come out of the royal coach window '? Suppose Sir Miles regaled his tenants with notoriously small beer, and his poor with especially thin broth ? This may be our fine old English gentle- man's way. There have been not a few fine English gentlemen and ladies of this sort ; who patronised the poor without ever re- lieving 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 gentlemanhood ; 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 THE VIRGINIANS 437 relations : his aunt sent him a tract and hei* blessing ; his uncle had biisiness 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 1 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 rprnain together, and talk nose to nose, — what can they think of one another 1 and of the poor kinsman fallen among the thieves, and groaning for help unheeded 1 How can they go on with those virtuous airs'? How can they dare look each other in the face 1 Dare ? Do you suppose they think they have done wrong 1 Do you 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 1 Not he. He is indignant with Prodigal for being a fool : he is not ashamed of himself for being a curmudgeon. What t a young man with such opportunities throw them away 1 A fortune spent amongst gamblers and spendthrifts t Horrible, horrible ! Take warning, my child, by this unfortunate young man's behaviour, and sec the consequences of extravagance. According to the great and always Established Church of the Pharisees, here is an admir- able opportunity for a moral discourse, and an assertion of virtue. And to think of his deceiving us so ! " cries out Lady Warrington. " Very sad, very sad, my dear ! " says Sir MUes, 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 profusion, 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 con- tinues. " My dears, I wish even the existence of such creatures could be kept 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 j\Iaster Miles. 10 2d 418 THE VIRGINIANS "AVho'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, iike 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 — was not he wild too 1 He was not kind to nie when I was quite a little boy. He never gave me money, nor toys, nor rode with me, nor — why do you crj', mamma 1 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 1 " "I know I 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 a hint of sister Dora. " But I'd give him some of it," continues Miles, after a pause. " Shut thy mouth with it, child, and then 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 lie should kiss us both ! " cries papa. " Sir Miles Warrington, I have no patience with that sort of vulgarity ! " 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 engagement to dear Tom — I did, Dora, — why do you sneer, if you please?" says 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 him : 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 A TOUKG REPROBATE THE YIRGIXIAXS 419 " ^^^^'^^' ^^'^ ^ "" alway.s looking there, Sister ? " savs the artless Miles junior. " Sure, you must know y(.ur faie a ell enoui,'h ! " "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 tliaiik you," erics Dora. "My fece is as Heaven made it, and my father and mother oave 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 Claj'pool ! I should us soon be proud of captivating a ploughboy '. " "Pray, miss, was yoru- Mr. Harry, of Virginia, 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. " Oh, my children ! Is this the way you dwell together in unity ? " exclaims their excellent female pa'rent, laying down Jier embroidery. " What an example you set to this Innocent ! " "Like to see 'em fight, my Lady 1 '' cries the Innocent, rubbing his hands. "At her. Flora! Worry her, Dora! To it again, you little rogues ! " says facetious papa. " 'Tis good sport, ain't it, Bliley % " " Oh, Sir Miles ! Oh, my children ! These disputes are mi- seemly. They tear a fond mother's heart," says mamma, with majestic action, though bearing the lacera.tion of her bosom with much seeming equanimity. " What cause for thankfulness ought we to have, that watcJiful parents have prevented any idle engage- ments between you and your misguided consin ! 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 nevei' be a source of regret. "Bis a proof of our good nature. What we have to regret, I fear, is, that your cousin should have proved un^vorthy 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 ! " " Oh, bother mamma's sermons ! " says Flora, as my Lady 4.20 THE VIKGINIANS pursues an harangue of whicli we only give the commencement here, but during which papa, whistling, gently quits 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 in 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 whifJcord in his mouth, and proceeding 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 1 Who comes here t Why does Sir Miles return to the drawing-room, and why does Tom Olaypool, who strides after the Baronet, wear a countenance so disturbed 1 " Here's a pretty business, my Lady Warrington ! " cries Sir Miles. " 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, puJfing for breath. " Tom has seen him," continued Sir Miles. " Seen both of them, my Lady Warrington. They were at Eanelagh last night, with a regular mob after '^m. And so like, that but for 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 1 " "What one, — what other?" call the girls. " Why, your fortunate youth, to be sure." "Our precious Virginian, and heir to the principality!" says Sir Miles. " Is my nephew, then, released from his incarceration ? " asks her Ladyship. " And he is again plunged in the vortex of dissip " " Confound him ! " roars out the Baronet, with an expression which I fear was even stronger. " Wliat should you think, my Lady Warrington, if this precious nephew of mine should turn out to be an impostor ; by George ! no better than an adventm-er ? " THE YIEGINIANS 421 " 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, Avhen you've done," sajs 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 Ted 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 f Did I leave thee with an impostor, my innocent one 1 " the matron cries, fondling her son. " Who's an impostor, my Lady 1 " asks the child. " That confounded young scamp of a Haft-y 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 frantically 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 eniulates 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. " Oh, Harry ! No 1 which is Harry 1 ToiHre my Harry," and he chooses rightly this time. " Oh, you dear Harry ! I'm so glad you are come ! and they've been abusing you so ! " "I am come to pay my duty to my uncle," says the dark-haired Mr. Warrington J "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 affectionatelj' a hand of each, as his honest face radiates with pleasure. " This indeed hath been a most mysterious and most providential resuscitation," says Lady Warriugtoii. " Only I wonder that my nephew Henry concealed the circumstance until now," she adds, with a sidelong glance at both young gentlemen. 422 THE VIEGINIANS " He knew it no more than your Ladyship," says Mr. Warring- ton. The young ladies looked at each other with downcast eyes. "Indeed, sir! a most singnlar circumstance," says mamma, with another curtsey. "We had heard of it, sir; and Mr. Clay- pool, 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, "a,nd do you know, Harry, father and mother said you was a — a imp " " Silence, my child ! Sorewby, convey Master Warrington to his own apartment ! These, Jlr. Warrington — or, I suppose I should say Nepliew George — are your cougins." 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 Lady- ship for such hospitality as you have been -enabled to show to my brother." " It was not much, nephew, but it was bur 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 ^iiore," says Sir Miles. "Whaf? do you think I'm a cannibal, and won't extend the hand of hospitality to my dear brother's son 1 What say you, lads 1 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, Tom ! Thou wilt be of the party, Tom 1 Thou knowest our brew, hey, my boy 1 " "Yes, I know it, Sir Miles," replies Tom, with no peculiar expression of rapture on his face. " And thou shalt taste it, my boy, thou shalt taste it ! What is there for dinner, my Lady Warrington 1 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 1 " asks Flora. " 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 THE YIRGINIAXS 423 was over, you see. He was nobody. "What wonder, tlien, that he should not be visible 1 " Oh, indeed, cousin ! " says Dora, with a glance at the young man, who sat with burning cheeks, chafing at the humiliation put upon him, but not knowing how or whether he should notice it. "Oh, indeed, cousin! You are very charitable — or very lucky, I'm sure ! You see angels where we only see ordinary little persons. Im 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 anyds, I have nothing to say." " ^ly brother is an enthusiast," interposes George. " He is often mistaken about women." " Oh, really ! " says Dora, looking a little uneasy. " I fear my nephew Henry has indeed met with some unfavour- able specimens of our ses," 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 truist you may. You have my best -n-ishes, my prayers, fur your brother's welfare ami your own. No efforts of ours have been wanting: At a painful moment, to w^hich I will not further allude " " And when my uncle Sir Miles was out of town," says George, looking 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. Ntiy, 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 1 If I did good, I am thankful ; if I was useful, I rejoice. If, through my means, you have been brought, Harry, to consider " "Oh! the sermon, is itV 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 same," " The intention is everything," says Mr. ^Yarrington, " 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 coidd do, my dear boy, j'm sure — my brother's son — my own nephew — ods bobs! you know — that is, anything — 424 THE VIKGINIANS anything, you know ! " cries Sir Miles, bringing his own hand into George's with a generous smack. "You cdn't stay and dine with us 1 Put oflf the Colonel — the General — do, now ! Or name a day. My Lady Warrington, make my nephew name a day when he will sit under his grandfather'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 gentlemen had taken their leave. " The younger must be reckless and extravagant about money indeed, for did you remark, Sir Miles, the loss of his reversion in Virginia — 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 pros- pects scarcely seemed to affect him 1 " " 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 ma 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 downstairs," says Virtue. But Dora took care to make the evening pleasant by talking of Handel and oratorios constantly during dinner. CHAPTER LI COKTICUERE OMNES ACROSS 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 ac- quaintance at Oakhurst and Tunbridge W'-oUs. James A\'olfe has promised to come to dinner ; but James is dancing attendance upon Miss Lowther, and would rather hay,? a glance from her eyes than the finest kickshaws dressed by Lord "Wrotham's cook, or the dessert which is promised for the entertainment 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 won't come. As for me, I will stand at the sideboard and report th^ conversation. Note first, how happy the women look ! When Harry War- rington was taken by those bailifl's, 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 coui'se anj'body 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. ^^'atkins 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 ^eek for friend James Wolfe, and give bail for Harry, he takes his leave and his hat, and squeezes Theo's hand, who seems to divine his errand (or perhaps that silly mamma has blabbed it), and kisses little Hetty's 426 THE VIRGINIANS 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 — calh God to bless him — cries plentifully on his shoulder ; aud in this sentimental attitude is discovered by old Mrs. Quiggett, 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. Quiggett ! " says the gentleman, walking oflT. " Well, I never ! " says Mrs. Quiggett, 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 till all her keys, and, as one may fancy, her old ribs clatter and jingle. " Oh, Quiggett ! " sobs jut Mrs. Lambert, " what a man that is ! " "You've been a-quarrelling, have you, mum, and making it up? That's right." " Quarrel with him ? He never told^ a greater story. My General is an angel, Quiggett. I should like to worship him. I should Hke to fall down at his boots and kiss 'em, I should ! There never was a man so go(_)d as my General. What have I done to have such a man'! How dare 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 suppei'V 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 liim, 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 eertain 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 VIRdlNIAXH 4'27 the door -whilst they are so gathered together. Who can be there 1 Aly Lord is in the country miles off. It is past midnight nov,' ; 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 iu another. " We have been to Aunt Bernstein. We couldn't go to bed, Aunt Lambert, without coming to thank you too. You dear, dear good " There is no more speech audible. Amit Lambert is kissing Harry, Theo has snatched up Hetty, who is as pale as death, and is hugging her into life again. George ^^'arringtou stands with his hat off, and then (when Harry's transaction is concluded) goes up and kisses Mrs. Lambert'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 saving goodnight to vcm all," savs 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 1 To-morrow?" No, they must go to Madam Bernstein's to-morrow. The next day, then 1 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, in the room of Lieutenanf^Colonel James Wolfe, absent on private affairs, my gracious reader has just been iuvited to sit down To sit down, and why, if you please 1 JTut to a mere Barmecide dinner — no, no — but to hear Mr. Geokge Esmoxd ^A'aeeinoton's SiATEMEffT, which of course he is going ^o 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 King's health, the servants have left the room, the guests sit conticent, 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 vat 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 Ducpesne, 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 difficulty of reaching the place ■? Your Excellency's march will be through woods almost untrodden, over 428 THE VIKGINIANS roads whieh you will have to make yourself, and your lino 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 were 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 ofi' 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 flring 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-mite in breadth, a thick tangled covert of brush- wood and trees on either side of us. After the firing had continued for some brief time in front, it opened from both sides of the environing wood on our advancing column. The men dropped rapidly, the officers in greater number than 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 THE VIKGINIANS 4-29 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 French- men 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 Inst it came tn 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 n rifle-ball struck my leg, and I fell straightway to the ground. I recollect a nish forward of Indians and Frenchmen after that, the former crying their fiendish war-cries, the latter as fierce as their savage allies. I was amazed and mortified to see how few of the ^\■hite-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 hidf 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 fusU 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 sis yards before me. I wiis 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 seized 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 se(-ond in the duel at Quebec. ' A moi. Florae ! ' I cried out, ' Cost Georges ! aide-moi ! ' 430 THE VIRGINIANS " 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, ' A moi ! ' " ' Ah, canaille, tu veux du sang 1 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 di^bMe, 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 within 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 tlie drink tlie 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 faithful 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 hau- to that of the wretches whose THE VIRGINIANS 431 bleeding spoils hung at their girdles. He pjomised them brauJy at the fort, if they brought me sufely there. I have but a dim recol- lection of the journey ; the anguish of my. wound was extreme : I fainted more than once. AVe came to the ehd of our march at last. I was taken into the fort, and carried to the officer's log-house, and laid upon Florae's o-mi bed. " Happy for me was my insensibility. I had been brought into the fort as a wounded French soldier of the garrison. I heard afterwards, that, diuiug my delirium, the few prisoners who had been made on the day of our disaster, had been brought under the walls of Duquesne bj' their savage captors, and there horribly bui'ned, tortured, and butchered by tlie Indians, under the ejes of the garrison." As George speaks, one may fancy a IhriU of hoiTor running through his sympathising audience. Theo takes Hetty's hand, and looks at George 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 offering a hundred and thirty dollars a-piece for Indian scalps in Pennsylvania when I left home," says George demurely, " and fifty for women." " Fifty for women, my love ! Do you hear that, BIrs. Lambert 1 " cries the Colonel, lifting up his life's hair. " The murderous villains ! " says Harry, again. " Himt '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 despatched 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 « ere not abo\e 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 a,gue-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 laiil nje in his bed, he put under my pillow my money, my watch, and, a trinket or two which I had. When I woke to myself these were all gone ; and a surly old sergeant, the only ofiicer left in the ((uarter, told me, with a 432 THE VIRGINIANS 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 Rosbifs had deservedly met with. " At the time of my recovery the fort was almost emptied of the garrison. 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, consign- ing me to the care of an invalided sergeant. Monsieur de Oontrecceur 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 colonies. His character, doubtless, had been indifferent at home ; and he knew that, according to the system pursued in France, where almost all promotion is given to the noblesse, he never would ad- vance 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 re- turned. 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 Monon- gahela, 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 THE YIEGINIAFS 433 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 my gaolers; and so the weary months passed, hut the 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 veir savage and surly towards me ; the more so as his sergeant 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. IMy 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 expert that, \vitn these three prime characters in a piece, some pathetic tragedy is going to be enacted 1 You, Miss Hetty, are about to guess that the woman saved me 1 " "Why, of course she did ! " cries mamma. " What else is she good for 1 " says Hetty. "You, Miss Theo, have painted her already as a dark beauty — is it not so ? A swift huntress 1 " " 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 straight black hair, which was usually dressed with a hair- oil or pomade by no means pleasant to approach, witli 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 forehead gracefully tattooed, a great love of finery, and inordinate passion for — oh ! must I own it ? " " For coquetry. I know you are going -lio say that ? " says Miss Hetty. " For whisky, my dear Miss Hester — in which appetite my gaoler partook ; so that I have often sat 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 entertain- ments, they would sing, they would dance, 'they would fondle, they would quarrel, and knock the cans and furniture about ; and, when 10 2 E 434 THE VIKGINIANS I was in favour, I was admitted to share their society, for Mxiseau, 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 the payment of 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 hypocrisy, for which, I hope, you will hold me excused. When my leg was soimd (the ball came out in the winter, after some pain and inflammation, and the wound healed up pre- sently), I yet chose to walk as if I was disabled and a cripple ; I hobbled on two sticks, and cried Ah ! and Oh ! 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 be discovered. His treatment 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 days at a time ; then invite me to his tipsy supper-table, quarrel with me there and abuse my nation : or again break out into maudlin sentimentalities 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 a ransom of me, if you yiH 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 Norrnandy ! You had better trust a gentleman 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 ajipuint in France or in Quebec' " ' Ah, young traitor ! ' roars he, ' do you wish to tamper with my honour? T)o you believe an officer of France will take a bribe? I have a mind to consign thee to ray 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, sacre bleu ! ' says Museau, whimpering, ' and a dish of tripe k la mode 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 THE VIRGINIANS 435 night, and return to the subject of Normandy, and cider, and tripes k la mode de Caen. My friend is dead now " " He was hung, I trust?" breaks in Colonel Lambert. " — And I need keep no secret about him. Ladies, I wi.sh I had to offer 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 matccr, I have no heroic deeds to tell of, and own that, l)y bribery and no other means, I am where I am." " But you would have fought, Georgy, if need were," says Harry : " and you couldn't conquer a whole garrison, you know ' " And herewith Mr. Harry blushed very much. " See the women, how disappointed they are ! " says Lambert. " Mrs. Lambert, you bloodthirsty 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 ^vishes." " 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. Wi^ it please you to hear how that business was done 1 You see. Miss Hetty, I cannot help being alive to tell it." " Oh, George ! — that is, I mean, Mr. Warrington ! — that is, I mean I beg yom' pardon ! " cries Hester. " No 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," says 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 mg 1 It's absurd ! " CHAPTER LII INTENTIQUE OR A TENEfiANT WE continued for months our weary life at tlie fort, and tte commandant and I had our quarrels and reconciliations, our greasy games at cards, our dismal duets with his asthmatic iiute 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 Montcalm 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 balteaux, 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 Pennsylvania and New York ; they would seize upon Albany and Philadelphia ; they would drive the Kosbifs into the sea, and all America should be theirs from the Mississippi to New- foundland. " This was all very triumphant : but yet, someliow, the prospect of the French conquest did not add to Mr. Museau's satisfaction. " ' Eh, Commandant ! ' says I, ' 'tis fort bien, but meanwhile your farm in Normandy, the pot of cider, and the tripes k la mode de Caen, where are they 1 ' " ' Yes ; 'tis all very well, my gar^on,' says he. ' But where will you be when poor old Museau is superseded? Other officers are not good companions like me. ' Very few men in the world have my humanity. When there is a great garrison here, will my suc- cessors give thee the indulgences wnich honest Museau has granted THE YIEGINIANS 437 tliee 1 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 "nilt tliou have tn 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 Braddook 1 Eoasting was the very smallest punishment, ma foi — was it not, La Biche 1 ' " And he entered into a varietj' of jocular descriptions of tortures inflicted, eyes burnt out of their sockets, teeth and nails wrenched out, limbs and bodies gashed You turn pale, dear Miss Theo ! Well, I will have pity, and will spare you the tortures wliich honest Museau recounted in his pleasant way as likely to befall mo. "La Biche was by no means so affected as ynu 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 aud broil me, 'tis true, Commandant,' say I coolly. ' But again, I say, you will never ha-ve the farm in Normandy.' " ' Go get the whisky-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 saj- I promise, as a man of honour, ten thousand livres to — whom shall I say ? to an}^ one who shall bring me any token — who shall bring me, say, my watch and seal with my grandfather's afms — which I have seen in a chest somewhere in this fort.' " ' Ah, sc^lerat ! ' 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 bj' 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 ! Oh, my country ! Oh, my mother ! ' whimpers out the commandant. ' Quick, La Biche, the whisky ! ' " All that night the commandant was deep in thought, and La Biche, too, silent and melancholy. She sat away from us, nursing her child, aud 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 iwith her child. When 438 THE VIEGINIANS she was gone, we both of us spoke our 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 your " ' That is my secret,' says I. But herp, if you Hke, 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 singing and guitar-scraping : and we would have many a concert, the m6n joining in chorus, or dancing to my homely nmsic, 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 toe. " The next day, when there were no men within hearing, the trapper showed 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 burden of my yesterday's doggerel. " ' 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 1 ' 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 shrug- ging 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 per- formed her part very faithfully and dexterously. I had not need of a word more with Museau ; the matter jvas understood between us. The Fawn had long been allowed free communication with me. She had tended me during my wound ani in my illnesses, helped it c m THE YIRGIXIAXS 439 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 com 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 hii? leave. And, three days after his departure, the 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 lieuteitant left in command, I had been allowed to remain in my quarters, sometimes being left pretty free, sometimes being looked up and fed on prisoners' rations, sometimes invited to share his mess by :my tipsy gaoler. Tliis officers' house, or room, was of logs like the half-dozen others within the fort, which mounted ouh' four guns of .small calibre, of A\'hich one was on the bastion behind my cabin. Looking westward over this gun, you could see a small island at tlie confluence of the two rivers Ohio and Monongahela whereon Duquesne is situated. On the shore opposite this island were some trees. " ' You see those trees 1 ' 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 han/'ju, Cxeorge Warrington." And in this frame of mind Harry remained during the rest of the drive. 474 THE VIRGINIAlfS Their dinner was served soon after theirf return to their lodgings, of 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 grifnly ; and having 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 %vas 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 War- rington 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 ! 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 ns 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, slie 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), ' yon 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 rnake you miserable, my dear. I absolve you from it, thanking you with all my heart for THE YIKGINTAKS 475 your fidelity, aud blessing and loving iny dear cousin alnays.' And she came up and kissed me before them all, and -nxnt out of the room quite stately, and without a single tear. They Ts-ere all crying, especially my Lord, who was sobbing quite loud. I didn't think he had so much feeling. And she, George? Oh, isn't she a noble creature 1 " " Here's her health ! " cries George, filling one of the glasses that still .stood before him. " Hip, hip, huzzay ! " says Harry. He was wild with delight at being free. CHAPTER LVII IN WHICH MR. HARRY'S NOSE CONTINUES TO BE PUT OUT OF JOINT M ■ ADAME DE BEKNSTEIN was scarcely less pleased than her Virginian nephews at the result of Harry's final inter- view 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 Oastlewood, whose visits to his aunt were very rare, came to pay his respects to her, and frankly spoke about the circumstances which had tkken place ; for no man knew better than my Lord Oastlewood how to be frank upon occa- sion, and now that the business between Maria and Harry was ended, what need was there of reticence or hypocrisy 1 The game had been played, and was over : he had no objection now to speak of ita various moves, stratagems, finesses. "She is my own sister," said my Lord affectionately: "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 Bernstein, "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 Oastlewood demurely. "But 'twas you advised her, my good nephew?" Oastlewood, with a shrug of his shoulders, owned that he did THE VIRGINTAHS 477 advise his sister to see Mr. Henry Warriijgton. " But we should have won, in spite of your Ladyship," he continued, "had not the elder brother made his appearance. And I have been trying to console my poor Maria by showing her what a piece of good fortune it is after all, that we lost." " 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 be thankful to the grave for dis- gorging in time ! I am bound to say, that Mr. George Warrington seems to be a man of sense, and not more selfish than other elder sons and men of the world. My poor Molly fancied that he miglit be a — what shall I say 1 — a greenhorn perhaps is the term — like his younger brother. She fondly hoped that he might be 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 well,' says I, ' but Harry Warrington with no bread, my dear ! ' " " How no bread 1 " asks the Baroness. " WeU, 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 — reaUy 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 Bernstein. " You should have heard her take leave of him ! C'^tait 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 offer 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. WoflBngton 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 heartrending accents. She steps out of the room in a stately despair — no more chocolate, thank you. If she had made a mnuvais jms, 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." 478 THE VIEGINIANS " 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 Lady- ship knows, at Molly's age." How should her Ladyship know'! She did not marry Doctor T usher until she was advanced in life. She did not become Madame de Bernstein until still later. Old Dido, a poet remarks, was not ignorant of misfortune, and hence learned to have com- passion 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, or a stray puppy-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 pos- session 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 Oastlewood'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, i\Iaria could not marry a poor fellow who was utterly penniless, and whose elder brother said he would give him nothing ! " "I dian imprudent marriage knows how he has to run the gauntlet of the family, and undergo the abuse, the scorn, the wrath, the pity of his relations. If your respectable family cry out because you marry the curate's daughter, one in ten, let us say, of his charming children ; or because you engage yourself to the young barrister whose only present pecuniary resources come from the court which he rejKjrts, 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 Romeo 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 comfoi't for the old clergyman's widow. And now, forsooth, 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 Westminster lodgings would be very comfort- able. It was very selfish perhaps to take a place at that smaU table, and in poor Hagan's narrow bed. But Love in some passionate and romantic dispositions never regards consequences, or measures accom- modation. Who has not experienced that frame of mind ; what thrifty wife has not seen and lamented her husband in that con- dition ; 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 1 He doesn't know whom THE VIKGINIANS 601 exactly ; and he does know the dining-room will only hold sixteen. Never mind ! Two of the prettiest girls can sit upon yining gentle- men's knees : others won't come ; there's Sure to be plenty ! In the intoxication of love people venture upon this dangerous sort of liou[~ekeej)ing ; they don't calculate the resources of their diuing- table, or those inevitable butchers' and fishmongers' bills which will 1 le brought to the ghastly housekeeper at tlie beginning of the month. Ycb : it was rather selfish of my Lady Maria to scat 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 clamour at Kensington among Lady jMaria's noble family 1 Think of the talk and scandal all over the town I 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 j\Ir. 'Will's brother officers at the ushers' table ; of the waggeries in the 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 Madam Bernstein had fits and ran off to the solitude of her 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 patronessses, a gracious Princess, who was pleased to condole with her ui)on the disgrace and calamity which had befallen her house. J^'or one, two, throe whole days the town was excited and amuscil by the scandal ; then there came other news — a victory in Germany ; doubtful accounts from America ; a general oflBcer coming home to take his trial : an exquisite new soprano singer from Italy ; and the public forgot Lady ilaria 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-camji. 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 second-floor, while good Mrs. Hagan sat on the other side of the fire with a glass of ;punch, and the ' Whole Dutv of Man.' 602 THE VIEGINIANS " 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 Frenchmen by this time, and God send my 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 Frenchman ? So will my Harry, I know, return from his battle. I feel quite 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. Pray Heaven, all our hopes may he fulfilled 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 thrust upon me ! What do you think actually of my having had another affair upon my wicked hands, and with whom, think you ? 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 be frightened ; it is all over, and nobody is a scratch the worse) 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. Van den Bosch, whose pretty granddaughter was con- signed to both of us by our good mother. Oh, 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 1 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 apjjeared to me. Is he paying his addresses to Miss Lydia, and her father's ships, negrftes, and forty thousand THE VIRGINIAX-S 603 poinds 1 I should guess so. The old gentleman is for ever talking about his money, and adores his granddaughter, and as she is a beautiful little creature, numbers of folk here are ready to adore her too. ^\as Will rascal enough to fancy that I would give up iny Theo for a niillion of guineas, and negroes, and Venus to boof? ,Could the thought of such baseness enter into the man's mind 1 I don't know that he has accused me of stealing Van den Bosch's spoons and tankards when we dine there, or of robbing on the high- way. But for one reason or tlie other he has chosen to be jealous of me, and as I have parried his impertinences with little sarcastic speeches (though perfectly civil before comliany), perhaps I have once or twice made him angry. Our little Miss Lydia has unwit- tingly added fuel to the fire 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 1 ' asks he, with one of his usual conversational ornaments. He must have offended 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. (1 know some one from whose gentle lips there only fall pure pearls and diamonds.) ' Why 1 ' says Will, with a cannonade of oaths. " ' fie ! ' says she, putting up the prettiest Httle fingers to the prettiest 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 r " ' 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 St. ('as ! Ho, ho ! ' " ' So I apprehend he did, sir,' says Haffly's brother. " ' Did he ? ' says our dear cousin ; ' always thought he ran away ; 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 himr " ' 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 fhe taljle. ' Don't laugh so loud, cousin,' I said, very gently; 'you may wake good old Mr. 604 THE VIEGINIANS Van den Bosch.' The good old gentleman Vas asleep in his arm- chair, to which he commonly retires for a nap after dinner. " ' Oh, indeed, cousin,' says Will, and he turns and winks at a friend of his, Captain Deuccaoe, whose own and whose wife's repu- tation 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.' " ' Oh, what a comfort ! ' cries Miss Lyddy. ' Keep quite quiet, gentlemen, and don't quarrel, and come up to me when I send to say the tea is ready.' And with this she makes 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 1 ' he continues ; being particularly fecetious 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 1 ' (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 fling 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 gentle- men ! ' and he sank back in his great chair, and began to sleep again. " ' From 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 ! or you wiU wake up the old gentleman. Had we not best go up- stairs to Miss Lyddy's tea-table 1 ' " We arranged a little meeting for the next morning ; and a coroner might have been sitting upon one or other, or both, of our bodies this afternoon ; but — would you believe it 1 — ^just as our engagement was about to take place, we were interrupted by three BEHIND 5[0NTAGrE HOUSK THE VIRGINIANS 605 01 Sir Jolm Fielding's men, and carried to Bow Street, and igno- mmiously Lound over to keep the peace. \\Tio gave the information 1 Not I, or Spencer, I can vow. i hough I o^^^l I was pleased when the constables came running to us, bludgeon in hand : for I had no wish to take ^Yill'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 staged 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 vip, and wondered shall I ever finish this letter '?), and now the quarrel has been so much more interesting to me than poor Molly's love-adventures, that behold my paper is fidl to the brim ! Wherever my dearest Harry reads it, I know that there will be a heart fuU of love for his loving brother, G. E. W." CHAPTER LXXI IFHITE FAVOURS THE little quarrel between G-eorge 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 diffi- culty 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 conversa- tion. 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 ! "But the arrival of the constables saved your valu- able 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 1 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 render Mr. Warrington very eager for tjie society of the young American lady. George's meeting with Mr. Will was ndt 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 dq. "You were actually going to take a fellow-creature's life, and you came to see us, and said not a word ! Oh, George, it was shocking ! " said Theo. " My dear, he had insulted me and my brother," pleaded George. " Could I let him call u.s both cowards, and sit by and say, Thank your' The General sat by and looked very grave. THE VIRGINIANS 607 "You know you think, papa, it is a wicked and un-Christian practice ; and have often said you wished gentlemen would have the courage to refuse ! " "To refuse? Yes," says i\Ir. Lambert, stUI 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. "I must not be against you, Mr. Warrington," says Jack Lambert. " Mr. AVarrington ! " cries George, turning very red. "Would you, a clergyman, have George break the Command- ments, and commit murder, John 1 " asks Theo, aghast. " I am a soldier's son, sister," says the young divine drUy. " 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 George 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 ilr. Esmond ! " The clergyman and his father looked at one another. " A man's nearest and dearest are always the first to insult him," says 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 wrimg George's hand with all his might. " Not guilty of what, in Heaven's name 1 " asks Mr. Warrin,gton. " Nay," said the General, " Mr. Jack, here, brought the story. Let him tell it. I believe 'tis a He, with all my heart." And uttering this wicked expression, the General fairly walked out of the room. The Reverend J. Lambert looked uncommonly foolish. " And what is this — this d d lie, sir, that somebody has been telling of me 1 " asked George, grinning at the young clergyman. " To question the courage of any man is always an offence to him," says Mr. Lambert, "and I rejoice that yours has been belied." 608 THE VIKGINIAJSrS " Who told the falsehood, sir, which you repeated ? " bawls out Mr. Warrington. " I insist on the 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 ! " gries 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 Bloomsb.ury Square ? " " Vixen is not the word to apply to any young lady, George Warrington ! " 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 con- sanguineous 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 1 " demands George, stamping his foot. "Why, of laying an information, to be sure I " 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 ! George, are you to be my brother ? " " I hope to have that honour," answered George, smiling. He began to perceive the other's drift. "What, 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 ' Lydise quondam cecinit vemistae ' (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, THE VIKGINIANS 609 which shall make me the happiest or the imost wretched of men ! It was in the unrestrained intercourse of family conversation that I chanced to 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 douljt : 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 ! — 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 risti inepto " " What, have you two boys made it up 1 " 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 wiU 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 1 " 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, liis 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 regarding the duel ! The family being absent, George, too, did not choose to leave his note. " If Cousin Will has been the slander-bearer, I wUl go ,and make him recant, thought George. "WUl the family soon be back?" he blandly asked. "They are gone to visit the quality," the servant replied. 10 '2a 610 THE VIRGINIANS " Here is the address on this paper ; " and George read, in Miss Lydia's hand, " The box from Madam Hoeqiiet's to be sent by the Farnham Flying Coach : addressed to Miss Van den Bosch, at the Eight Honourable the Earl of Castlewood's, Oastlewood, Hants." " Where 1 " cried poor Jack, aghast. "His Lordship and their Ladyships Iiave been here often," the servant said, 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 Oastlewood. " And they must be a-going to stay there some time, for Miss have 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 1 " 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 Hamp- shire, 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 1 " Indeed, at this moment poor Aunt Lambert came swinging down Great Eussell Street, preceded by her footman. " 'Tis no use going farther, Aunt Lambert ! " cries George. " Our little bird has flown." "What little bird ■?" " The bird Jack wished to pair with :-i-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 behaviour all day, says : " Brother Jack has not a fine temper, Aunt Lambert. He informs you all that I am a coward, and re- monstrates with me for being angry. He finds his mistress gone to the country, and he bawls, and stamps, and swears. fie ! Oh, Aunt Lambert, beware of jealousy ! Did the General ever make you jealous % " " You wiU 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. THE VIEGINIANS 611 His soul was wroth within him. He iwas bent on quarrelling with somebody. Had he met Cousin Will that night, it had gone ill with his sureties. He sought Will 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, affectionate kinsman, whom my brother uisulted 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 in- formant that I think it is not I but somebody else is the coward 1 And I T^Tite to Mr. Van den 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 despatched, Mr. Warrington dressed himself, showed himself at the play, and took supper cheerfully at the " Bedford." 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 much 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 ami pain, acquainted me with a quarr.el 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. Van 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 1 You know, cousin, 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 aU 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 Van den Bosch) will naturally survive me. After soothing my declining years, I shall not be 6l2 THE VIEGIFIANS 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, ia 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 chui-oh 1 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 Oastlewood retains the house at Kensington ; we having our own establishment, where you will ever be welcomed, dear cousin, by your affectionate humble servant, " Castlewood." Prom the London Magazine of November 1759 : — "Saturday, October 13th, married, at his seat, Castlewood, Hants, the Eight Honourable Eugene, Earl of Oastlewood, to the beautiful Miss Van den Eosch, of Virginia. £70,000." CHAPTER LXXII (FROM THE IFARRINGTON 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 deaths My son, who has taken some prodigious leaps in the heat of his fox-hunting, says he surveys the gaps and rivers which he crossed so safely over, with terror afterwards, and astonishment at his own foolhardiness in making such desperate ventures : and yet there is no more eager sportsman in the two counties than Miles. Ho 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 over his old mare's head, who has slipped on a stone, as they were both dreaming along a park road at four mUes 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 worship as an example : I don't say to all young folks, " Go and marry upon twopence 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 half-crown 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 1 " She will say, " Well, .papa, it did look very 611. THE VIRGINIAlTS like cream-cheese, indeed — there's nobody lilfe you for droll similes." Or, suppose I say, " My love, Mr. Pitt'& 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 Hke 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 tTie state of the country. I believe the rascal has never read my poems, much more my tragedies (for I mentioned 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 know he can't construe Corderius ? Why, this note-book lies publicly on the little table at my corner of the fireside, and any one may read in it who will take the trouble of lifting my spectacles off the cover : but Miles never hath. I insert in the loose pages carica- tures 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 Eoyal Highness the Prince of Wales, who was born in the very 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 * Note in a female hand : " My son is not a spendthrift, nor a Iireaker of women's hearts, as some gentlemen are ; but that he was exceeding Ulce H.E.H. when they were both babies, is most certain, the Duchess of Ancaster hailing 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 615 world. My Lord 0. and his humble servant had already come to a coolness at that time, and, Heaven knows ! my honest MUes's godmother, at his entrance into life, brought no gold pap-boats to his cliristening ! Matters have mended sinpe, laus Deo — laus Deo, indeed ! for I suspect neither Miles nor his father would ever have been able to do much for themselves, and by their own wits. Castlewood House has quite a diflferent 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, 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 threescore 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, Tilgomet 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 roimd about the mansion, or antique carved cup- board within it. I had the strangest, saddest, pleasantest old- w.orld fancies as I walked the place; I imagined tragedies, intrigues, serenades, escaladoes, Oliver's Roundheads 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 oh 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 hew suit of clothes for my Lord's marriagfe, and with Monsieur 616 THE VIRGINIANS Gumbo ia attendance, 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. AVc 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 Van 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 county families came gladly to pay their compliments to the newly-married couple. The lady's wealth was the subject of everybody's talk, and no doubt did not decrease in the telling. Those naughty stories which were rife in town, and spread by her disappointed suitors there, took some little time to travel into Hampshire ; and when they reached tlie country found it disposed to treat Lord Castlewood's wife with civility, and not inclined to be too curious about her behaviour in town. Suppose she had jilted this man, and laughed at the other'! 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 county 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 heoMcoup d'espnt with seventy thousand pounds. The Hampshire people said this was only a small portion of her wealth. When the grandfather should fall, ever so jnany plums would be found on that old tree. That quiet old mau, and keen reckoner, began quickly to put the dilapidated Castlewood accoimts 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 THE VIRGINIANS 617 where practicable, to pare the expenses of the establishment down. He could, somehow, look to every yard of worsted lace on the foot- men'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 taUor 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 affairs, from his lonely little chamber in the turret. These improvements, though here told in a paragraph or two, were the affairs 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 chUdren, who now seldom entered within Castle- wood gates, my Lady considering them in the light of enemies — for who, indeed, would hke a stepmother-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 Cormtess Lydia had a power of language and a strength of 'nnll 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 absence was not regretted by my Lord, who was in the habit of regretting no one whose back was turned. Could Cousin ^Varriugton, whose hand his 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 Lordghip would grieve at his departure, at his death, at any misfortune nvhich could happen to him, or any souls alive 1 Cousin Warrington knew better. Always of a sceptical turn, Mr. W. took a grim deUght in watching the peculiarities of his neighbours, and could like this one even though he had no courage and no heart. Courage 1 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 3u 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 618 THE VIEGINIANS Oastlewood, and of the titles -which beloBged to its possessor. The gentleman 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 1 " asks my Lord, with a French shrug of his shoulders, and a pinch out of his box. Once, in their walks in the fields, his Lord- ship happening to wear a fine scarlet coat, a cow ran towards him : and the ordinarily languid nobleman sprang over a stile with the agility of a schoolboy. He did not conceal his tremor, or his natural want of courage. " I daresay you respect me no more than I re- spect 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 shortcomings ; and wonder why Heaven had not made us all brave and tall, and handsome, and rich 1 As for Mr. War- rington, who very likely loved to be king of his company (as some people do), he could not help liking this 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 wiU, you may." No man, save a bully and coward himself, deals hardly with a creature so spiritless. CHAPTER LXXIII n'E KEEP CHRISTMAS AT CASTLEWOOD, 1759 WE know, my dear children, from our favourite fairy story- books, how at all christenings and marriages some one is invariably disappointed, 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 swear- ing he would never return. But nobody, including the swearer, believed much in blaster Will's oaths ; and this unrepentant prodigal, after a day or two, came back to the paternal house. The fumes of the marriage-feast allured hija : he could not aflbrd 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 : h*e heard then, and after- wards, no end of abuse of my Lady and her grandfather. The old gentleman's City friends, his legal adviser, the Dissenting clergyman 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 oyer 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 620 THE VIRGINIANS possession of a lock of black hair, which he bedewed with tears and apostrophised in quite unclericaJ 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 rascal of a brother, who had cajoled him with fair words, and filched his prize from him. "Why," says Mr. Warrington (when Will expatiated on these matters with him), " if the girl is such a sjie-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 them for robbing you of such a fury, and ca.n't be better revenged on Castlewood than by allowing him her sole possession." " All this was very well," Will Esmond said ; but — not un- justly, 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 inter- rupted 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 cooUy in Tottenham Court Fields yonder, for me and my second ofliered to wager that you would never come 1 " 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 ,\\'. x.-'-^ m ■ife^l^ A GRKAT LADr THE VIRGINIANS 621 ■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 reign- ing 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 Com-t usher ! You are a loss to his Majesty's army. You positively are ! " " I never know whether you are jokiijg or serious, Mr. War- rington," growls Will. " I should think very few gentlemen would dare to joke with you, 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 kinsman, and used to watch, with a 'droll interest, the other choking his curses, grinding his teeth 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 Lady- ship has told me everything." " What, everything ? " cries Will, aghast. " As much as women ever do tell, cousin. She owned that she thought you had been a little dpris 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. Warrington ! " says Mr. Esmond. " SpretcK injuria formoe, cousin ! " "For me, — what's for mtV asks the other. " I never did care for her, and hencei 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. Warriagton explained that he was speaking of a captain of the guard of the King of Egypt^ whose wife had j)erse- cuted one Joseph for not returning her affection for him. On which Will said that, as for Egypt, he Ijelieved it was a confounded long way off ; and that, if Lord What-d'ye-call's wife told lies about 622 THE VIEGINIANS him, it was like her sex, who, he supposed, were the same every- where. Now the truth is, that when he paid his marriage visit to Ca.stlewood, Mr. Warrington had lieard froiij 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 authentic 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 diflBculties 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. " Oh, 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 first families in this kingdom and the whole world, to forgive my brother William for having spoken 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 ever 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 grate- ful heart now !), but, oh ! 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 ohlif/e, 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 THE VIEGINIANS 623 these walls ! Haven't the Esmonds always fought for their country and king 1 Is there one of us that, when tlie 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 eiEgies, 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 promidgated 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 English) ; but between Warrington's first bridal visit to Castlewood and his 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 accustofned to have a chaplain all her life. She seemed to patronise not only the new chaplain, 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 Castlewood 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 from Winton, learned in poKteness 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 clodpoles. She lectured the parson on his divinity ; the bailiff on his farming ; instructed the astonished housekeeper how to preserve and pickle ; vv^ould 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 624 THE VIEGINIAJfS instructions how to nurse and take care of their children long before she had one herself ; and as for physic, Madam Esmond in Virginia was not more resolute about her pills and draughts than Hiss 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 — G. 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 diverting 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 Van 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 puU 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 Ladyship'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 into his lodge to open 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 trembled 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 cat 'um up, and serve 'um right," says Gumbo. But, as for my Lady, when discoursing with her cousin about the old porter, " Pooh, poph ! Stupid old man ! " says she ; " past his work, he and his dirty old dogs ! They are as old and ugly as those old fish in the pond ! " (Here she pointed to two old monsters of carp that had been in a pond in Castlewood THE VIRGINIANS 625 gardens for centuries, according to tradition, and had their backs all covered with a hideous grey mould.) "Lqckwood must pack off; the workhouse is the place for him ; and I shall have a smart, good- looking, tall fellow in the lodge that will do credit to our livery." " He was my grandfather's man, and served him in the wars of Queen Anne," interposed Mr. 'Warrington. On whi(^li my Lady cried petulantly, "Oh Lord! Queen Aune's" dead, I suppose, and we ain't a going into mourning for licr." This matter of Lockwood was discussed at the family dinner, when her Ladyship annoimced her intention of getting rid of the old man. " I am told," demurely remarks Mr, Van 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. "AYliat ! an old servant?" asks my Lord. " Mr. Van den Bosch possibly was independent of servants when he was young," remarks Mr. Warrington. " Greased my own boots, opened my ot\'n shutters, sanded and watered my own " " Sugar, sir 1 " 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 Lady- ship's presence." " La, pa ! what should / know about stores and groceries 1 " cries her Ladyship. " He ! Eemember stealing the sugar, and what came on it, my dear Ladyship 1 " says gTandpapa. " At any rate, a handsome well-grown man in our livery will look better than that shrivelled old porter creature! ' cries my Lady. " Xo livery is so becoming as old age, madam, and no lace as handsome as silver hairs," says Mr. Warrington. " What "will the county say if you banish old Lockwood 1 " " Oh! if you plead for him, sir, I supposte he must stay. Hadn't I better order a couch for him out of my drawing-room, and send him some 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 Lockwood would have an ill look." 626 THE VIEGINIANS " You see those mouldy old carps are, after all, a curiosity, and attract visitors," continues Mr. Warrington gravely. "Your Lady- ship 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 shaU sell that rascal Gumbo in eight or ten years." "Don't tink you wiU, 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 kindness," says Mr. Warrington. The next day, to Warrington's surprise, my lady absolutely did send a basket of good wine to Lockwood, 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 wondering within himself at this strange little character out of the West, with her ndivetd 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 Warring- ton. " They ain't so funny, and I'm sure they ain't so handsome. Look at grandfather ; 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 delightftiUy fresh and not too cold ; and, as they approached her paternal home. Aunt Beatrix told her companion 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 vrit 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 Jife-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 THE VIEGINIANS 627 auditor haviug much more information regarding her past career than her Ladysliip 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 tarnished, and the tapestries cobwebbed and torn ! Yonder dilapi- dated 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, ^Yhat splendour and laughter ! I could see lovers in waiting, crowds in adniiration, rivals furious. I could imagine twihght 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-, as I had walked about our father's house at Castlewood, meditating on departed 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, imperious- ness, and sarcastic wit, than from their desire to possess her money, were accustomed 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 laugh- ingly told of many Httle 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 deUghted with the little Countess's courage and spirit in routing the Dowager and Lady I'anny. Almost always pleased with pretty people on her first introduction to them. Madam 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 sui'e, 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 clnarin," said the pleased old Baroness. "Your brother had if — so have you. Master George ! Nous la formerons, 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 dis- 628 THE VIRGINIANS coursed 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 tliesc were not forthcoming at the inn, and after a couple of hours we were obliged to proceed with oiu- Bagshot horses to Castlewood. 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 conver- sation, but thought unceasingly about his Dulcinea, until the coach actually reached Castlewood 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 had kept them, the housekeeper said, leading the way. " Not that door, my Lady ! " cries the woman, as Madame de Bernstein 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-himiour. 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 Madam 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 pertuess towards his aunt by profljse 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 Madam 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 Warring- ton. " Our family is distin,guishing itselfj cousin," he said ; and THE VIRGINIASTS 629 added, looking -nith fond significance towards liis 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 oui'selves in America." " My love, you are talking treason ! " cries Lord C'astlewood. " 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 state, the little Countess no longer called her cousin "George," but " Mr. George," as before ; on which Mr. George laughingly said she had changed her language since the previous day. " Guess I did it to tease old Madam Buzwig," says her Lady- ship. " 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 hked her best, I suppose." " Yes, I suppose I like her best," says Mr. George. "Well^ I hke 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. "Daresay 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 IVfiss Lambert, my Lord, and I was wishing my cousin joy. How is old Goody to-day 1 What a supper she did eat last night, and drink ! — drink like a dragoon ! No 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 630 THE VIRGIKIANS lady. " Oan't see why I am to respect an old woman, because she hobbles on a stick, and has shaky hands, ^.nd false teeth ! " And the little heathen sank back on her couch, and showed twenty-four pearls of her own. " La ! " she adds, after gazing at both her hearers through the curled lashes of her brilliant dark eyes. " How frightened you both look ! My 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-going 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 iight, 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 asliamed to own that I felt as great a panic as ever coward experienced. My Lord, with his profoundest bows and blandest courtesies, greeted his aunt and led her to the fire, 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-posses- sion, 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 cosy afternoon. And you vrill tell me about Castlewood in the old times, won't you, Baroness?" says the new mistress of the mansion. Oh les Idches que les hommes I 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 court- yard, 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 conse- cutive days of her early married life, there would have been no more humble henpecked wretch in Christendom than your father. When THE VIRGINIANS 631 Parson Blake comes to dinner, don't you sfee how at a glance from his little \viie he puts his glass down and says, " No, 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 owr Bunker HUl in Suffolk. And the fire-eater of the 43rd now dares not face a glass of old port wine ! 'Tis his wife has subdvied 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. CHAPTER LXXIV NEJl'S FROM CANADA OUR Castlewood relatives kept us with them till the com- mencement 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 father. She began to talk more freely as we got away from the place. 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 jjetite, 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 henpecked 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 woidd learn English presently ; 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. Van den Bosch's pm-suit or previous profession 1 The Countess of Castlewood could afibrd to be anybody's daughter, and as soon as my nephew produced her, saj'S the old lady, it was 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. ^he related a series of THE VIRGINIANS GSS anecdotes regarding her niece, which, as this book lies open vin/iui- bus puerisqim, to all the young people of the family, I shall not choose to record. But this I wiU 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 lift;, 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 mo of possessing a peculiar spiritual illumination, which I strongly suspected at the time to be occasioneil 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 sj-mpathy 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 tiirns, was embraced and neglected. My turn of glory had been after the success of my play. I was introduced to the town- wits ; held my place in their com- pany tolerably well; was pronounced to be pretty well bred by the inaoaronis and j)eople 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 Chudleiglis, 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 worLUy Madam Bernstein both laiil their elderly heads together and lamented my way of life. " Why, with his name, he miglit marry anybody," says meek Religion, who had ever one eye on heaven and one on the main chance. " I meddle with no man's aifairs, and admire genius," says uncle, " but it is a pity you consort with those poets and authors, and tliat 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 inatters of arrangement and prudence, and demand a careful look-out. When you first com- mitted yourself with httle Miss Lambert, you had not seen the lovely American lady whom your mother wished you to marrj', as a good mother naturally would. And your duty to your mother, nephew — your duty to the Fifth Commandment, would have war- ranted your breaking with Miss L., and fulfilling your excellent mother's intentions regarding JMiss what was the Countess's Dutcli name ? Never mind. A name is nothing ; but a plum, 634, THE VIKGINIANS Master George, is something to look at ! Why, I have my dear little Miley at a dancing-school with Miss Barwell, Nabob Harwell's daughter, and I don't disguise my wish that the children may con- tract an attachment which may endure through their lives ! I tell the Nabob so. We went from the House of Commons cue 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 twopence to her 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. Nor 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 tha,n a certain person (who is not so black as he is painted) Ukes 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 seat of war where he was engaged. Madam 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 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 Quebec, stricken down by fever, and perhaps rage and disappointment, at the check which his troops had just received. Arriving in the St. 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 September, 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 hig death-wound, so that the phrase which has been put into the mouth of the dying hero THE VIRGINIANS 635 maj' 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 attacking 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 ecjual terms, for the British General lind 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 city, 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 j\Ir. Wolfe won the crowning hazard in September, must have been as interest- ing 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 midnight the French sent a flaming squadron of fire- ships down upon the British ships which were discharging their istores at Orleans. Our seamen thought it was good sport to tow the iire-ships clear of the fleet, and ground them on the shore, where tiey burned out. As soon as the French commander heard that our ships had entered the river, he marched to Beauport 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 whole 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 might be assailable, the General passed round the town of Quebec and skirted the left shore beyond. Everywhere it was guarded, as weD. as in his immediate front, and having run the gauntlet of the batteries up and down the river, he returned to his post at Mont- morenci. On the right of the French position, across the J\Iont- morenci river, 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 636 THE VIRGINIANS 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 Monckton, his second in command (sotting 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 nupibers, and were obliged to fall back. At the preconcerted signal the troops on the other side of the Montmorenci advanced across the river in perfect order. The enemy even evacuated the redoubt, and fell back to their lines; but from these the assailants were received with so fierce 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 1 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 entrenched and guarded, to leave his position and come out and engage us 1 'Twas the talk of the town. No wonder grave people shook their heads, and prophesied fresh disaster. The General, who took to his bed after this failure, shuddering with fever, was to live barely six weeks longer, and die immortal ! How is it, and by what, and whom, that Greatness is achieved 1 Is Merit — is Madness the patron 1 Is it Frolic or Fortune ? Is it Fate that awards successes and defeats ? Is it the Just Cause that ever wins 1 How did the French gain Canada from the savage, and we from the French, a,nd after which of the con- quests was the right time to sing Te Deum ? We are always for implicating Heaven in our quarrels, and causing the gods to inter- vene whatever the nodus may be. Does Broughton, after pummel- ling and beating Slack, lift up a black eye to Jove and thank him for the victory f And if ten thousand boxers are to be so heard, why not one 1 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 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. In this situation there is such a choice of difficulties, that I own myself at a loss how to determine. The THE VIRGINIANS 6S7 affairs of Great Britain, I know, require tlie most vigorous measures ; but then tlie 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 mir dear scribe was not the author or secretary) from his head-quarters at jMontmorenci Falls on the 2nd day of Sejjteuiber : and on the lith of October following, the Eodney cutter arrived with the sad new.^i in England. The attack had failed, the chief was sick, the army dwindling, the menaced city so strong that assault was almost im- possible ; " 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 present position." Would the French chief, whose great military genius was known in Europe, fall into such a snare 1 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 tiU his death, what shall we say of this one 1 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 tlie last act of his hfe 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 hLs people, as they would have been assuredly, beaten back 1 Suppose the Marquis of Montcalm not to quit his entrenched lines to accept that strange challenge 1 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 intoxicated nation which rose up frantic with self- gratulation at the victory ? I say, what fate is it that shapes our 638 THE VIEGINIANS ends, or those of nations? In the many hazardous games which my Lord Chatham played, he won this 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!af>rh coxip 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 miracu- lous security of the enemy, of his present acceptance 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 -^hemselves heroes. Our spirit rose as that of our enemy faltered. Friends embraced each other when they met. Cofi^ee-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 blessings. People did not deplore the dead warrior, but admired his euthanasia. Should James Wolfe's friends weep and wear mourning, because a chariot had come from the skies to fetch bim 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 shovdd 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 congratulate 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 Ukeness to my brother. As for Parson Sampson, 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, THE VIRGINIANS 639 and were mobbed as tbey left the cbapeh "Don't talk to me, madam, about grief," says General Lambert to bis wife, wbo, 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 froni being shot, but would scale the Abraham heights to see the thing done ! Wouldst thou mind dying in the arms of victory, Charley 1 " he asks of the little hero from the Chartreux. " That I wouldn't,'' saysi the little man ; " and the Doctor gave us a holiday, too." Our Harry's promotion was ensured after his share in the famous battle, and our aunt announced her intention of purchasing a company for him. CHAPTER LXXV THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE HAD your father, young folks, possessed the commonest share of prudence, not only would this chapter of his history never have been written, hut 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 liim 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 impudence 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, whooping- cough, scarlet fever, and the other delectable accidents of puerile life, what must that unconscionable 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 Brooks'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 grand- father 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 THE VIRGINIANS 641 than ours, and our relations were perfectly right iii being angry with us. What are relations made for, indeed, hut to be angry and find fault? When Hester marries, do you mind. Master George, to quarrel with her if she does not take a liusband of your selecting. When George has got his living, after being senior wrangler and fellow of hia 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 Avalnuts 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 Lad}' Armida, what did you meaii 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 1 I never went to sleep after dinner then. Which of us was so witty ? Was it I or you 1 And how came it our couvereations were so delightful 1 I remember that year I did not even care to go and see my Lord Ferrars tried and hung, when aU the world was running after his Lordship. The King of Prussia's capital was taken : had the Austrians and Eussians 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 1 * On the blank leaf opposite this paragraph is written, in a large girlish hand : — ' ' I never intend to go. — TheODOSIA. " "Nor I. — HesteE." They both married, as I see by the note in the family Bible, Jliss Theodosia Warrington to Joseph Clinton, son of the Rev. Joseph Blake, and himself subsequently Master of Rod well Regis Grammar School ; and Miss Hester Mary, in 1804, to Captain F. Handyman, R.N. —Ed. 10 2 S 642 THE VIEGINIANS 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 threadbare 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 en listing for the India service, and performing some desperate exploit which 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. Slie was unhappy years after on the anniversary of the day, until one of you was born on it. Suppose we had been parted : what had come to us 1 What had my lot been without her 1 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 who 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 Virginia, and represent wh.it 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 Virginia. 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 h^T daughter, having in vain tried to captivate my younger brother. She was THE VIRGINIANS 643 far from saying any harm of the young Wdiiian I liad selected ; but at the least this was certain, Bliss L. had no fortune or oxiiectations, and her parents might naturally be anxious to comjDromise me. She had taken counsel, &o., &c. She had sought for guidance where it was, &c. Feeling what her duty was, she had determined to speak. Sir J\liles, 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 Castlewood? She wrote a majestic letter to Madam Esmond, and stated, that having been placed by Provi- dence 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 laid their heads together previously ; and, packet after packet, sent off their warnings to the Virginian lady. One raw April morning, as Corydon goes to pay his usual duty to Phyllis, 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 Lambfert, and to this day the noise of fire-irons stirring a fii'e 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 jioor boy 1 " 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 imion for her younger son, which pro- ject, not unluckily for him, perhaps, was given up when it was found that Mr. Henrj' Warrington was not the inheritor of the Virginian property. If Mr. Lambert was a man of spirit and honour, as he wa.s represented to be, Madam Esmond scarcely supposed that, after her representations, he would persist in desir- ing this match. She would not lay commands upon her son, whose temper she knew ; but for the sake of Miss Lambert's own reputa- tion and comfort, she urged that the dissolution of the engagement 644. THE VIEGINIANS should come from her family, and not from the just unwillingness of Kachel 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 ahve, and 'tis cruel that she should be made to suffer." 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 pro- tested, 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." " She herself will demand the parting. 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 any 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 firmly. 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 sat 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 draw- ing on the table by her little work-box : she was in the chamber upstairs ; 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 THE VIRGINIANS 645 ine. " 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 sidly 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 1 " 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 pitifid remembrances of his own condition, is a quaint and ridiculous object. My corns hurt me, I know, but I suspect my neighbour's shoes pinch him too. I am not going to howl much over my own grief, or enlarge at any great length on this one. Many another man, I daresay, has had the light of his day suddenly put out, the joy of his life extinguished, and has been left to dark- ness and vague torture. I have a book I tried to read at this time of giief — "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 Pho?bus, what horrible grief and savage wrath have you not seen me suffer ! Though my wife is mine ever so long, I say I am angry just the same. Wlio dared, I want to know, to make us suflcr 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 646 THE VIEGINIANS when he went away. I used to breakfast at a coffee-house in Whitehall, in order to see Lambert go to his oifice ; and we would salute each other sadly, and i)ass on without speaking. Why did not the women come out t They never did. They were practising on her, and persuading her to try and forget me. Oh, the weary weary days ! Oh, the maddening time ! At last "a doctor's chariot used to draw up before the General's house every day. Was she ill 'i 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. I told my story, 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 uuhappy 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, my dearest girl had been ill. I told him everything — that I would marry her and brave every chance and danger ; that, without her, tU 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 been, as I held, drawn so closely together, as to be paramount to all filial duty. " I think, sir, if your mother heard you, and saw Miss Lambert, she 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 ] " He could not," he said, " be a message-carrier between young ladies who were pining and young lovers on whom the sweethearts' gates were shut : but so much he would venture to say that he had seen me, 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 Jesuit's bark, which she takes ; but I am .not sure the hearing of THE VIEGIXIAirS 647 you has not done more good than the medicine." The women owned afterwards that they had never told tlie General of the doctor's new patient. I know not what wild expressions of gratitiulp I poured out to the good doctor for the comfort he brought me. His treatment was curing two unhappy sick persons. 'Twas hut a drop of water, to be sure ; but then a drop of water to a man raging in torment. T 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 upon 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 unfortunate 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 *of my grief My good landlady and Betty the housemaid pitied me. My son Bliles, 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 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 accoimts 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, and feeling that it might be dangerous not to humom- her, had 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, look- ing 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 sat 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. 648 THE VIRGINIANS 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 1 You think it was your mother whom the doctor had brought to me ? No. It was Hetty. CHAPTER LXXVI INFORMS US HOW MR. WARRINGTON 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 Thco, 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 ! Very 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. / wouldn't triile 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 1 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 sister — untU she saw you. And now, because your mamma thinks her young gentleman might do better, you must leave her forsooth ! " " Great powers, child ! " I cried, exasperated at this wrong- headedness. "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 school- room in Virginia again ; have your black nurse to tuck you up in bed, and ask leave from your mamma when you might walk out. Oh, George ! I little thought that my sister was giving her heart 650 THE VIKGINIAN"S 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 attend- ing 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 shan'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 1 We are to worship and wait on you, I suppose ? / don't care about your wit, and your tragedies, and your verses ; and I think they are often very stupid. / won't sit 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 ! Oh, 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. " Is it I 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 1 What have I but my word, and my honour 1 " " Honour, indeed ! You keep your word to him, and you break it to her ! Pretty honour ! If 1 were a man, I would soon let you know what I thought of your honour ! Only I forgot — you are bound to keep the peace and mustn't Oh, 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 knew 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 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 1 Was there no other remedy than that which Hetty cried fori 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, THE VIEGINIANS 651 and limped through life subsequently 1 ^Miy, but tkut luve is selfish, and does not heed other jicuple'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 sufi'er it, live imder it, recover from it. What had happened in Hetty's own case 1 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 fortunate attachment. 'Twas like sitting by the fireside, and hearing the winter howling without; 'twas like walking by the mar/ magno, and seeing the ship tossing at sea. We ching 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 simdered, and after a while survived the separation, so much my sceptical old a*ge 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 be- lieve 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 now. I may doubt about myself (or not doubt, I know), but of her, never ; and Hetty found in mo quite a willing sharer in her alarms and terrors. I was for imparting some of these to our doctor; but the good gentleman 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 patients' 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 1 He will have me beliind Montagu House as siu'e 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. Oh no ! Of course we woidd 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 e\er grateful ! I am so refreshed with that drop of ivater 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 arrang- ing 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, "Oh yes, sometimes, my dear; but I am too wretched for reading now ; I cannot see what is on the paper. I 6.-52 THE VIEGINIAl^S do not care about my books. Even ' Pocahontas ' is wearisome to rae. I " I might have continued ever so much farther, when, " Nonsense ! 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 curtsey, 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 the Second was yet King, 'twa? 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 escorted by waiters with lanthorns, to defend them from the footpads who prowled about the town outskirts. Hampstead and Highgate churches, each crowning its hill, filled up the background of the view which you saw as you turned yoiu- 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 entertain- ment ; 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 ! Your honour had best step in, and take a can of my cool beer.'' At length, as I am coming back through Tottenham Eoad, 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 in.side 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 flushed 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. THE VIEGINIANS 653 " I am taking her an airing to Hampstead," says Hetty demurely. "The doctor says the air will do lier good." " I have been ill, but I am better now, George," says Theo. There came a great buret of music from the people in the chapel hard by, as she Tras speaking. I held her hand in mine. Her eyes were looking into mine once more. It seemed as if we had never been parted. I can never forget the tune of that psalm. I have heard it all through my life. Mj' wife has touched it on her harpsichord, and her little ones have warbled it. Now, do you understand, young people, why I love it sol Because 'twas the music played at our amor is redintegratio. Because it sang hope to me, at the period of my existence the most miserable. Yes, the most miser- able : 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 reveillde 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. Whitfield, 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 Hampstead 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 liis 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 Theol Suppose I did break 'em 1 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. Xo, my young people, you will let papa choose for you ; be hungry ■\\'hen ho 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 654 THE VIEGINIANS 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 1 " 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 off Mr. Washington's epaulet, gouged General Gates's eye, cut off Charles Lee's head, and pasted it on again ! " " Let us hear all about the fighting,'' say the boys. Even the Captain condescends to own he will listen to any military details, though only from a militia officer. " 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 I 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 1 " say the girls in a chorus with mademoiselle, their French governess, who cries, " Nous dcoutons maintenant. La parole est k vous. Monsieur le Chevalier ! " Here we have them all in a circle : mamma is at her side of the fire, papa at his ; Mademoiselle Eldonore, at whom the Captain looks rather sweetly (eyes off. Captain !) ; the two girls, listening like — like nympkas discentes to Apollo, let us say ; and John and Tummas (with obtuse ears), who are bringing in the tea-trays and urns. " Very 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 HOIF EVERYBODY GOT OUT AGAIN IF you, Captain Miles Warrington, have the honour of winning the good graces of a lady — of ever so many ladies — of the Duchess of Devonshire, let us say, of Mrs. Crew, of Mrs. Fitzherhert, of the Queen of Prussia, of the Goddess Venus, of Mademoiselle Hillisberg of the Opera — never mind of whom, in iine. 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 1 " "Joe Blake, indeed ! " cries Theo junior. " And you, mademoiselle 1 That scented billet which came to you under Sir Thomas's frank, have you told us all the letter con- tains 1 Look how she blushes ! As red as the curtain, on my word ! No, mademoiselle, we all have our secrets " (says the Squire, here making his best French bow). " No, Theo, there was nothing in the shrubbery — only nuts, my child ! No, Miles, my son, we don't teU 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 ! " cries mamma ; " o^ 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 hci pretty French accent, of my wife. " Eh, ma fille ! " 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 Ihe sum of our conversa- tion, 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 man y no other person ; no, not if we lived to be as old as Methuselah ; no, not the Prince of Wales himself would she take. Her heart she 656 THE VIEGINIANS 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 affection. " 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 sweetheart could ever have come together again. Do women help each other in love-per- plexities 1 Do women scheme, intrigue, make little plans, tell little fibs, provide little amorous opportunities, hiing up the rope-ladder, coax, wheedle, mystify the guardian or Abigail, and turn their atten- tion away while Strephon and Chloe are billing and cooing in the twihght, or whisking off in the post-chaise to Gretna Green 1 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 conceivable 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 THE VIRGINIAlJS 651 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 1 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 another drive to-morrow, and another, and another, and so on." " Don't you think, papa, the ride has done the child most wonderftd 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 gooil, she shall have it, Lambert says, or he will drag the landau up Hamp- stead Hill himself, if there are no horses j 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 counte- nance ; she picked a bit of chicken with ajipetite ; 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 aiid happy. Hetty was radiant and rident. It was quite like an evening at home at Oak- hurst. 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 f Is it the country air ? is it the Jesuit's bark ? is it the new medicine ? " "Can't you think, dear, what it is?" slie 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 palpitate, and her cheek to whiten, as she continues to look in lier 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 countena,nce, 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 ! " io 2 T 6.58 THE VIRGINIANS Theo lies on her sister's neck, and kisses it twenty, fifty times. " Women, women ! are you playing wit£ 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 stagger- ing 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 conversation 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 1 " " Psha, George ! " cries the General. " For though we are parted, God forbid I should desire that we sjiould 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 1 " says Theo's father, in great agitation. " Is it behind Hester's petticoat that you will shelter yourself? What a fine defence for a gentleman ! " "Well, 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 recall 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 humanity, Mr. Lambert, would try to bind him." " Dishonour to me ! sir," exclaims the General. " Yes, if the phrase is to be shuttlecocked between us I " 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 own father — and I love you better than a father. Uncle Lambert,— I would not bear it 1 What have I done % I have seen THE VIRGINIANS 659 the woman whom I consider my wife before God and man, and if she calls me 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 J\Irs. Esmond's wrong upon this tender innocent creature^ You profess to love ynur daughter, and you can't bear a little wounded pride for her sake. Better she should perish away in misery, than an old woman in Yirginia should say that Mr. Lambert had schemed to marry one of his daughters. Saj' 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 to me what she is ? You shall marry 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 before Heaven ? You may part us : and she will die as surely as if she were Jephthah's daughter. Have you made aliy vow to Heaven to compass her murder? Kill her if you conceive your promise so binds j-ou : but this I swear, that I am glad you have come, so that I may here formally recall 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 tlie firm conviction that death would infallibly carry ofi' one or both of the parties, in case their worldly separation was inevitably decreed. Who does not believe his first passion eternal? Hating 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 coidd 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 mj' outbreak ; " to an unfriendly separation. When I meet you, Jlr. A\^arrington, 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 liad formed of you, that, in my present great grief and perjilexity, 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 sympathy. But, instead of help, you fling 660 THE VIEGINIANS obstacles in my way. Instead of 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 so 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 the 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 impetuousness 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 weari- some 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 affair with the little American, being havd ignarui mali (as I knew he would say), I found the college gentle- man 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 Latin 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 aftection than he was accustomed at other times to have from me. I walked with him up to his father's lodgings in Dean Street ; saw him enter at the dear door ; surveyed the house from without with a sickening desire to know from its THE VIEGINIANS 66l exterior appearance how my beloved fared -witlim ; and called for a bottle at the coffee-house where I waited Jack's return. I called liim Brother when I sent Iiim away. I fondled him as the con- demned wretch at Newgate hangs about the gaoler or the parson, or any one who is kind to him in his misery. I drank a whole bottle of wine at the coffee-house — by the way, Jack's Ooffee-House was its name — caUed 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 interesting. 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 ; after 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 lodgings 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 malefaction 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 elders 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, "those 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 per- mitted 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 662 THE VIEGINIANS 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 Theodosia made her appearance, I must say very much agitated and pale, kissed our father, and sat 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. " ' You should have been here to hear Jack's sermon ! ' says Hester. ' He has been preaching most beautifully.' " ' Has he 1 ' 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 wiy own watch. ' And his discourse has been you, my dear,' says papa, playing with Theodosia's hand. "'Me, papar " '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 I ' said the General. ' And pray, who was he 1 ' " 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 bride- groom, 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 Theo- dosia, still in gremio jjatris. I do not remember that this habit of caressing was frequent in my own youth," continues Jack. THE VIRGINIANS 663 "But after some more discourse, Brother Warrington! I be- thought me of you, and left my parents insisting upon Theodosia returning to bed. The late transactions have, it appears, weakened and agitated her much. I myself have experienced, in my own case, how full of solliciti timm-is 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 hav6 little philosophy) will permit it to go — I make no doubt, I say, is* ultimately 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 ! Landlord, more port ] Would honest Jack have drunk a binful 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 my dearest, best of brothers. My friendship for him I swore should be eternal. If I could do him any service, were it a bishopric, by George ! he should have it. He says I was inter- rupted by the watchman rhapsodising verses beneath the loved one's window. I know not. I know I awoke joyfully and rapturously, in spite of a racking headache, the next morning. Nor did I know the extent of my hapjriness 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 gentleman, retiring from his talk with me, mortiiied 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 his custom not unfrequently 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 himself wrong in demanding her utter subndssion. 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 autliority or demanding submission, was only too glad to return to its natural pulses of love and affection. CHAPTER LXXVIII PYRJMUS AND THISBE IN examining the old papers at home, years afterwards, I found, docketed 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 fore- gone 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 unrightly 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 temperate, 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 been influenced, but that I held 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 innocent young creature, whose own hopes, health, and happiness were cast down for ever by Mrs. Esmond's interference. The deed was done, as I feared, and I would offer no comment upon the conduct of the perpetrator, 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 heretofore, 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 understand that it was before that awful tribunal of God she had referred the case between us, and asked for counsel ; that, in respect of her own conduct, as a mother, she was ready, in all THE VIEGINIANS 665 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 ! popoi I 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 1 In our great American quarrel, did we not on both sides appeal to the skies as to the justice of our causes, sing Te Deiim for victory, and boldly express our coufldeuce that the right should prevail? "Was America right because she was victorious? Then I suppose Poland was wrong because she was defeated 1 — How am I wandering into this digression about Poland, America, and what not, and all the whUe thinkiag 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 son wanted to make a marriage not of her liking ! "VVe 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 strugglcrs succeed ; our days arc spent ; our night comes, and another morning rises, which shines on us no more. My letter to Madam Esmond, announcing my revolt and dis- obedience (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 understand 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 seculorwm, or binding at least as long as my life should endure. 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 lone 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 each other all the same. The wall was buUt, but Pyramus and Thisbe wpre whispering on either 666 THE VIRGINIANS side. In the midst of all his grief and perplexity, 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^indeed, it was wall's 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 OTfn, 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 Mi.ss Lambert. I got a fine horac, 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 jherself in young couples, and has dispensed the hospitality of her roadside cottage to more than one pair. The doctor and the country air affected a prodigious cure upon Miss Lambert. Hetty always attended as duenna, and sometimes of his holiday. 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 Theo's roses were in full bloom again, and my good Doctor Heberden's cure 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. Garrick this time (his friend Doctor Johnson having spoken not unfavourably of the work), but my friend and cousin, Hagan, was engaged by the 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 considering my feud with Madam Esmond, whose answer to my angry missive of April came to me towards autumn, and who wrote back from Vir- ginia with war for war, controlment for controlment. These menaces, however, frightened me little : my poor mother's thunder THE VIEGINIANS 667 could not reach me ; and my conscience, or' casuistry, sui)i)lied ine with other interpretations 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 loves speeded I neither informed her, nor any other members of my maternal or paternal family, who, on both sides, had been bitter against my mamage. Of what use wrangling with them? It was better 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 sar- casm to my Uncle Warrington, to my Aunt Madame de Bernstein, and to my Lord or Lady of Castlewood (I forget to which indivi- dually), thanking them for the trouble which tliey had taken in preventing the dearest happiness of my life, and promising them a corresponding gratitude from their obl;iged 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 Bamness took heart at seeing how cheerful I was, and made many sly jokes about my philosophy, and my prudent behaviour as a man of tlie 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 lialf you say, and the other half, I think, frightens her. This t07i de ^jecs/^iYf/e is very well in our society, but you must be sparing of it, my dear nephew, amongst these roturierx." Miss Badge married a young gentleman of Koyal dignity, though shattered fortunes, from a neighbouring island ; and T trust Mrs. Mackshane 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 d 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 668 THE VIRGINIANS 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 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. But 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 taUest and the most virtuous 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 protest 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 her, and placed poor little Miles under her Ladyship's august protec- tion 1 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 ! " * My neighbour and kinswoman, my Lady Claypool, 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 * 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 th6 waiting for the Prince of Wales before Holland House. — Ed. THE VIEGINIANS 669 pate. I am accused of being but a lukewarm Eoyalist ; but sure I cau contrast those times with ours, and ackiiowledge 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* 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 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 Faiewell no more. Should the day befall 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 cottages that we thought might suit young people of small means ; we devised all sorts of delightful schemes and childish economies. We were 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 1 Our trials would only confirm our attach- ment. 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 vrife has them all in a great tin sugar-box in the closet in her bedroom, 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 de- scendants shall overhear them. We heard in successive brief letters how oiu- dear Harry con- tinued 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 hear, 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. * The Warrington MS. is dated 1793.— Ed. 670 THE VIEGINIANS Then on the 25th October comes the news that his Majesty has fallen down dead at Kensin^'ton, and that George the Third reigned over us. I fear we grieved but little. What do those care for the Atridse whose hearts are strung only to erota mcnmon 1 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 difFereuee to us, as we thought, simple young sweet- hearts, whispering our little love-stories in our corner. But who can say how great events affect him ? Did not our little Charley, at the Ohartreux, 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 proclaim his new Majesty before Savile House in Leicester Fields, and a pickpocket got the watch and chain of a gentleman hard by us, and was caught and carried to Bridewell, all on account of his Majesty's accession. Had the King not died, the gentleman woiild 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 noble- man, as I believe, very eager at the commencement 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, iu 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 cassock ; und, 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 " (.'arpezau " with, I do believe, an honest en- thusiasm ; and could repeat whole passages* of those tragedies with THE VIRGINIANS 671 an emphasis and effect that Barry or Cousin Hagan himself couhl Hot surpass. Sampson was the go-between botwi.'en Lady Maria and such of her relations as had not disowned her ; and, always in debt himself, was never more liappy than in drinking a jiot, or mingling his tears with his friends in similar poverty. His acquaint- ance with pawnbrokers' 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 tu 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 liing very finely in it — he vowed, by George ! that my Lord must give me a ])lace worthy of my birth and merits. He insisted upon it that I should attend his Lordship's lev^e. I wouldn't ? The Esmonds were all as proud as Lucifer ; and, to be sure, my birth was as good as that of any man in Europe. Where was my Lord himself when the Esmonds were lords of great counties, warriors, and Crusaders ? Where 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 tjaptain ! He shall, by George ! " would my worthy parson roar eut. 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 Covent Garden to see " Carpezan " too. And how, one morning, he bursts into my apartment, where I happened to lie rather late, waving the newspaper in his hand, and singing " Huzzay ! " with all his might. "What is it, Sampson"?" says I. "Has my brother got his promotion 1 " " No, in truth : but some one else has. Huzzay ! huzzay ! His jMajesty 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 CO to his government : and who would go with him "i I had been supping with some genteel young fellows at the " Cocoa-Tree." 67S THE VIRGINIANS The rascal Gumbo had a note.for me from my dear mistress on the night previous, conveying the same news to me, and had delayed to deliver it. Thco 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 om- place of meeting. Papa had announced his acceptance of the appointment, and his speedy departure. He would have a frigate given him, and take his family with him. Merciful powers ? and were we to be parted 1 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 1 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 1 But the General was so busy with his levdes and his waiting on Ministers, and his outfit, and the settlement of his affairs 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 schoolgirl (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." Now I need not say in what perturbation of mind Mr. War- rington 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 unliappy, 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 afiairs, 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 * In the Warringtoa MS. there is not a word to say what the "old place" was. Perhaps some obliging reader ot Notes and Queries will be able to inform nio and who Mrs, Goodison was. — Ed. THE VIRGINIANS 673 would not give his consent ? Sampson shrugged his broad shoulders and swore a great roaring oath. My mother would not relent? What then 1 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 conversation. 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 Theo, nor any relative of hers, 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 confidently, that she, who ever ha,s 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 Ruth 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 famQy — 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 wiU write to each other, children 1 1 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 ! " " 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 boy!" cries the General. "Come to me — come in ! " And when I entered he held me to his heart and kissed me. 10 '2 V 674 THE VIEGINIANS I confess at this I 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 1 Broke my heart nearly when I quarrelled with you about this little — What ! — odds marrowbones ! — 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 — oh! as long as ever my dearest father wants me ! " " In Heaven's name ! " roars the General, " tell me what has happened 1 " 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. CHAPTER LXXIX CONTAINING BOTH COMEDY AND TRAGEDY 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, whom, of all others, we loved and respected. The shock to the good man was strange, and pitiful to us to witness who had administered it. The child of his heart had deceived aud 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 his government, and the ship sailed away before us, leaving me and Theo on the shore. We stood there hand in hand horribly abashed, silent, and giulty. My wife did not come to me till her father went : in the interval between the 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 gone." 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 a.s if we had buried him, or di-ove him to the grave by our undutifulness. 676 THE VIRGINIANS I made Sampson announce our marriage in the papers. (My wife used to hang down her head before the poor fellow afterwards.) I took Mrs. "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 employment 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 uncle'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 accueil, 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 Warrington gasped out. " Nay, don't deprive me of that precious privilege!" says I. "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. Walking 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 pounding afterwards 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 1 Is that my new cousin 1 I'm not told not to speak to her. I'm Miles, cousin, Sir Miles Warrington Baronet's son, and you are very pretty ! " " Now, d^cee now, Master Miles," says the groom, touch- ing his hat to us ; and the boy trots away laughing and looking at us over his shoulder. " You see how my relations have determined to treat me," I say to my partner. " As if I uparried 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 some- times came and made the punch) ; how delightful the night at the theatre, for which our friends brought us tickets of admission, and THE VIRGINIANS 677 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 Tlieo (whom she had pronounced to he 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 monde. Your marriage has put that entirely out of the ques- tion." 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 mischievous lively old woman. The Dowager Countess of Castlewood, 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 Ladyship's drums at Kensington ; but losing more money at cards, and spending more money in coach-hire than I hked to afibrd, we speedily gave up those entertainments, and, I daresay, ■« ere 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 wore dowagers, whose wrinkled old bones blazed with rubies and diamonds, which, I am sure, they would gladly have exchanged for her modest parure 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 further. The only one of our relatives who came to see us (Madame de Bernstein never came ; she sent her coach for us sometimes, or made inquiries regarding us by her woniaii or her major-domo) was our poor Maria, who, with her husband, Mr. Hagan, often took 678 THE VIEGINIASrS a share of our homely dinner. Then we had friend Spencer from the Temple, who admired our Areadian 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 1 a pailful ! " And a pail the best thing to feed him, sar ! " says Mr. Gumbo indignantly : for the Doctor's appearance was not pleasant, nor his linen particularly white. He snorted, he grew red, and sputtered in feeding ; he iiung 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. Eeynolds that shall paint you : he has no ceruse in his paintbox 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 Doctor Johnson more than his contradictions, his sputterings, and his dirty nails, was, I think, an unfavourable 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. Warrington's artless prattle than your declamation of Mr. Warrington's decasyllabics. Tell us about your household affairs, madam, and whether his Excellency 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 nie. 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 un- acquainted with the first principles of politeness, which is courtesy before ladies. Having received a university education, I am sur- prised that you have not learnt 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, "*hy did you speak of my theatre? THE VIRGINIANS 679 " Sir, you are saucy ! " roars the Doctor. "De te fabula," says the actor. "I think it is your waistcoat that is saucy. Madam, shall I make some punch in the way we make it in Ireland 1 " The Doctor, puffing, and purple in the face, was wiping the dingy shirt with a stUl 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 1 am bound to ask your pardon for setting you so ! " says Mr. Hagan, with a line bow. " 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 ; Ohamont or Castaho could not present himself better. " Let me make you some lemonade, sir ; my papa has sent us a box of fresh Hmes. May we send you some to the Temple f " "Madam, if they stay in your house, they will lose their guality 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 Polidore ! " bleats Lady Maria, when she was alone in my wife's drawing-room : — " ' Oh, I could hear thee talk for ever thus, Eternally admiring, — fix and gaze On those dear eyes, for every glance they send Darts through my soul, and fills my heart with rapture ! ' Thou knowest not, my Theo, what a pearl and paragon of a man my Castalio is ; my Chamont, my — dear me, child, what a pity it is that in your husband's tragedy be should have to take the horrid name of Captain Smith ! " Upon this tragedy not only my literary hopes, but much of my financial prospects were founded. My brother's debts discharged, my 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 cer- tainly costly. My mother could not leave her eldest son without a maintenance, whatever our quarrels might be. I had health, 680 THE VIEGINIANS 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 1 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 present necessity at least a score of hundred pounds at his command. He and his dear Molly had begun life with less, and the ravens 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 irreligious to doubt of a provision being made for her children. Was the righteous 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 Wrotham 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 stolen 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. " J/ora cher, at my age," says the Baroness, " I should bore myself to death at a tragedy : but I will 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 a faux air de moi which is quite distinguished. Put down my name for two in the front boxes. Good-bye, my dear. Bonne chance I " 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 Warrington, they were out of the question. After the affair of the sedan chair I might as well have asked Queen Elizabeth to go to Drury Lane. These were THE VIEGINIANS 681 all my friends — that host of aristocratic connections 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 1 " he asks snappishly, taking snuif (how different from the brisk, and engaging, and obsequious little manager of six months ago !) — "I promised Lord Bute should come?" " Yes," says Mr. Garrick, " and her Eoyal Highness the Princess of Wales and his JMajesty too." Poor Sampson owned that he, buoyed up by vain hopes, had promised 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 cfuetapens have you led me ! Look at that letter, sir ! — read that letter ! " And he hands me one : — " My dear Sir " (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, Saundees McDuff. " Me. D. Gabrick, " At the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane.'' My poor Theo had a nice dinner waiting for me after the rehearsal. I pleaded fatigue as the reasoji for looking so pale ; I did not dare to convey to her this dreadful news. Chapter 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 wiU see the fish rise in multitudes, on the great day ! " He and Spencer declared that the poem was discussed and admired at several coffee-houses in their hearing, and that it liad 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 re- ports ; 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 acquaintance 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, captivities, 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 over my mind. The old grandfather would make pictures fbr me of Smith doing battle with the Turks on the Danube, or led out by our Indian savages to death. Ah, what a terrlfio fight was that in which he was engaged with the three Turkish champions, and how I used to delight over the story of Ids combat with Bonny Molgro, the last and most dreadful of the three ! What a name Bonny Molgro was, and with what a prodigious turban, scimitar, 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 biUs made sometimes the one, sometimes the other, to have THE VIKGINIANS 683 scarce sense to keep their saddles : especially 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 alighted from his horse, hee stood not long, ere hee lost his head ai 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 Avhich is the privilege of poets) in my tragedy, Smith is made to perform similar exploits on the banks of our Potomac and James's Kiver. Our "ground-bait" verses ran thus : — POCAHONTAS. Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight : Kound 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 murderous blade ? From the throng, with sudden start, See, there springs an Indian maid. Quick she stands before the knight, " Loose the chain, unbind the ring, I am daughter of the King, And I claim the Indian right ! " Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife ; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life ! 684 THE VIEGINIANS In the woods of Powhattan, Still 'tis told, by Indian fires,i How a, daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman. I 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'KS 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 Ul 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 certain 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 critics, forsooth, who said that " Carpezau " was a masterpiece, 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 certain actor and inanager 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 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. THE VIEGINIAKS 685 Anybody who has curiosity sufficient may refer to the published tragedy (in the octavo form, or in the subisequont 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 draw- ing, 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 that the house tittered when she first appeared % They got used to her, liowcver, 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 which 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 gims, the playwrights were not content with one of them, but must fire two or three ; so with this wretched pot-house joke of the Belle Savage (the ignorant people hot 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 dimng 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 sq'on! And the curtain "descended amidst a shrill storm of whistles and hisses, which especi- ally 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 ■nas 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 ]\Ii-. K adab's followers prowling about the lobby, and was obliged to sheer off." And so 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 fonner could not see, and so they came good-naturedly a deux to 686 THE VIEGINIANS form an opinion of my poor tragedy. I could see Lady Maria (I knew the hood 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 present, 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 equaniinous disposition, and, as I flatter myself, able to bear good or evil fortune without disturbance, 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 brouglit 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 himself 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 mine." " Sir," says he in a pet, " I most heartily wish I had never seen your face at all!" "Yom-s, 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 I had utterly forgotten the circumstance to which he alluded, and that, on the first nigl]t 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 appeared to te 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. THE VIRGINIANS 687 " I cannot help it, Sampson," said I (filling him a bumjier of good punch), " if Indians are dressed so." " Why," says he, " would you have had Caractacus painted blue like an ancient Briton, or Bonduca with nothing but a cow- skin "i " — 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 ashamed of its defeat. After the second act, my aide-de-camp came from the field with dismal news indeed. I don't know how it is that, nervous before action,* in disaster I become pretty cool and cheerful. "Are things going iU 1 " says I. I call for my reckoning, put on my hat, and march to the theatre as calmly as if T was going to dine at the Temple ; fidus Achates walking by my side, pressing my elbow, kicking the link-boys out of the way, and crying, " By George, Mr. "Warrington, 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 impavidiim ferient, and flatter myself that I bore my calamity without flincliing. " 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 rmfaithful in misfortune. Whether I was prosperous or poor, the wild parson was equally true and friendly, and shared our crust as eagerly as ever he had partaken 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 suppose the performers gave me a wide berth out of pity for me. I must say that I think I was as little liioved 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 hkewise, but sent word that I must understand * The writer seems to contradict himself here, having just boasted of pos- sessing a pretty equanimous disposition. He was probably mistaken in his own estimate of himself, as other folks have been besides. — Ed. 688 THE VIKGINIANS 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 painteve wit, never read Dean Swift's famous description of the death- less people in ' Gulliver ' ? My papa and my husband say 'tis one THE VIRGINIANS 709 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 hai>pen to my dearest George, I would wis'h 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 piteous tone. "You are kind to me, God bless your sweet face ! 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. Everytliing 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, how- ever, if ray ■^•ife stirred or rose, and imagining that Theo was about to leave her. " Don't go away, I can't be^r 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 scowl- ing about my bedroom tliese ever so long years." "Well, Baroness! still at your oribbage?" (Wo may fancy a noble Countess interrupting a game at cards between Theo and Aunt Bernstein.) " Me and my Lord Esmond have come to see you ! Go and shake hands with grand-aunt, Esmond, and teU 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 his 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 flurried 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 yeu ! We are a-going to see his little Royal Highness. Sorry to see your Ladyship not looking (piite so well to-day. We can't always remain young ; and la ! how we do change as we grow old ! Go up and kiss that lady, Ezzy. She has got a little bny, too. Why, bless us ! have you got the child downstairs 1 " 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 710 THE VIRGINIANS so much, that she was actually fain to put up with the child. " So you have got the child here ? Oh, you slyboots ! " says the Countess. " Guess you come after the old lady's money. La 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 t 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 Castlewood and Lady Fanny visited her (these exalted ladies treated my wife with perfect indiSerence and charming good breeding) — the Baroness, in 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, that she actually did not dare to deny her the door ; and, the Countess's back turned, did not even abuse her. However much tliey might dislike her, 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 than 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 complaining 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 THE VIKGINIANS 711 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 rej^istcrcd 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 Madame 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 necessity 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 knoweth, and I pray Him to pardon me. I fear, sir, your aunt, the Lady Baroness, is not in such a state of mind as will fit her very well for the change which is imminent. I 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 1 I have called more than once of late, and Mr. Case hath told me his lady was unable to see me." In fact Madam 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 ; pre- tending 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 enough 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 oinates 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 712 THE VIEGINIANS of our faithful Molly), she fell asleep over her cards. We hushed the servants who came to lay out the supper-table (she would always 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, waiting 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 dropped 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 not good enough for ^ou. I love cards, and play, and Court ; and oh, Harry, you don't know all ! " Here hei 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 Koyal. Mamma, you must please to treat me with more respect, Vos sermons me fatiguent ; entendez-vous t — faites place k mon Altesse Koyale : 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, " il a jur^ de m'^pouser, et les princes tiennent parole — n'est-ce pas 1 Oh oui ! ils tiennent parole ; si non, tu le tueras, cousin ; tu le — ah ! que je suis folle ! " And the pitiful shrieks and laughter recommenced. Ere her frightened people had come up to her summons, the poor thing had 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 night, 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 progi-ess and termination of her malady, or 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 eaxly days. Then she would address me as Henry again, and call upon me to revenge some insult or slight, of which (whatever my suspicions might be) the only record lay in her insane memory. " They have always been so," she would murmur : " they never loved man or woman but they forsook them. THE VIRGINIANS 733 Je me vengerai, oh oui, je me vengerai ! I know them all : I know them all : and I will ,u'o to my Lord Stair with the list. Don't tell me ! His religion can't he tlie right one. I will go back to my mother's, though she does not love mc. She never did. Why don't you, mother 1 Is it because I am too wicked 1 Ah ! pitie' ! pitie' ! mon pfere ! I will make my confession" — ami 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 -nithout, 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 under- stand 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 us to go downstairs, as the — as the Doctor was ciame to Aisit tlie Baroness. 1 did not tell my wife, at the time, who " the Doctor " was ; but as the gentleman sUd l)y us, and passed upstairs, I saw at once that he was a Catholic ecclesiastic. When Theo next saw our poor lad}-, 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, thougii she would sec none of them save us. But when she was gone, and we descended to the lower rooms after all was over, we found Castlewood witli his white face, and my Lady from Kensington, and Mr. Will, already assembled in the parlour. They looked gi'eedily 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 Castlewood in Virginia, " in attce- tionate love and remembrance of the name -which he bore." The property was not great. Her revenue had been derived from pen- sions from the Crown as it appeared (for what services I cannot say), but the pensions 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 Loudon 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 mantelpiece of the chamber in which I write, ^^'hat with jewels, laces, trinkets, and old china which she had gathered — Harry 714. THE VIRGINIANS became possessed of more than four tliousand 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 ; and I pro- cured bills for the remainder, which I forwarded to Captain Henry Esmond in Virginia. 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 con- siderable 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 ! I 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 wliioh I laid 'main basse, lielped us over three months (we were behindhand with our rent, or the money would have lasted six good weeks longer) : and when this was j)retty 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 ? Let me go to Jamaica. There was plenty there for all, and employ- ment which his Excellency as Governor would immediately procure for me. " Come to us ! " writes Hetty. " Come to us ! " writes Aunt Lambert. " Have my children been suffering poverty, and we rolling in our Excellency's coach, with guards to turn out when- ever we pass ? Has Charley been home to you for ever so many holidays, from the Chartreux, and had ever so many of my poor George's half-crowns in his pocket, I dare say 1 " (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 1) " And you always treating him with such good- ness, as his letters tell me, which are brimful of love for George and little Miles ! Oh, how we long to see Miles ! " wrote Hetty and her mother ; " and as for his godfather " (writes Het), " who THE VIRGINIANS 715 has been good to my dearest and her child, I promise him a kiss whenever I see him ! " Our young benefactor was never to liear 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 " ahot hy M. W." Miote on one of them. And on receipt of this present, we wrote to thank the child, and gave him our sister's message. 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 «;;/ viewp regarding did)/ to my parents (which I had exemplified in 'my niarriaf the country, for seven years >ve came to AVarrington Blanor, our two what they called best neigh- bours 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 Doctor 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 world, 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 re- mainder to my son Miles, of course. Harry's letters were full of gaiety and good spirits. His estate prospered ; his negroes multi- plied ; his crops were large ; he was a member of our House of Burgesses ; he adored his wife : could he but have a child his happi- ness 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 veiiu at all the mansions round about, where people scarce cared to perform 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 jealousy I was a perfect Bluebeard. 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 understand. Because I am blind the world is not dark. I try now and listen with respect when Squire 734 THE VIRGINIANS Codgers talks of the day's run. I do my best to laugh when Captain Rattleton tells his garrison stories. I step up to the harp- sichord v/ith old Miss Humby (our neighbour from Beccles) and try and listen as she warbles her ancient ditties. I play whist labori- ously. Am I not trying to do the dutie| of life 1 and I have a right to be garrulous and egotistical, because I have been reading Montaigne all the morning. I was not surpii.sed, knowing by what influences my brother was led, to find his name in the list of Virginia burgesses who declared that the sole right of iinposing taxes on the inhabitants of this colony is now, and ever has 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 Enghsh 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 tlie grandmother of the fortunate babe. She coaxes her with all sorts of modest phrases and humble oiferings of respect and goodwill. She narrates anecdotes of the precocious genius of the lad (what hath subsequently happened, I wonder, to stop the growth of that gallant young officer's brains?), and she must have sent over to his grandmother a lock of the darling boy's hair, for the old lady, in htr 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-ofierings 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 ivho his friends and ddvisers are. How can a wife taken from an almost menial situdfion be expected to sympathise with persons of rank and dignity who have the honour of the Crown at heart 1 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 ]\Lir(iuis esjiecially — had ever been faithful. She knew not what opinions (though she might judge from my nev.'-fangled Lord Chatham) were in fashion in England. She prayed, at least. THE YIEUINIANS 735 she might hear that one of her sons was not on the side of rehellion. When we came, in after days, -Xo look over old family jiapers in Virginia, we found "Letters from my daughter Lady A\'arrington," neatly tied up with a ribbon. My Lady Theo insisted I should not open them ; and the truth, I believe, is, that they were so full of praises of her husband that she thought my vanity would suffer from reading them. ^^'hen jMadam began to \\ rite, she gave us brief notices of Harry and his wife. "The two women," she wrote, "still govern every- thing witli my poor boy at Fannystown (as he chooses to call his house). They must save money there, for I hear but a shabby account of their manner of entertaining. The Mount Yernon 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 equipages 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 giief, though, no doubt, Heaven in its wisdom means our good by the trials which, through our chil- dren, 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 eummon sense and to Holy Scripture than this. Are we not told. Wives, be obedient to your husbands 1 Had Mr. Warrington lived, I should have endeavoured to follow up that sacred precept, holding that nothing so becomes a woman as humiliiy and obedience." Presently we had a letter sealed with black, and announcing the death of our dear good Mountain, for w'hom 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 rircumstance, said : "My late housekeeper, Mrs. Mountain, as soon a.s she found her illness was fatal, sent to me requesting a last inter- view on her death-hed, 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 I doubt it) that she had a due sense of her crime towards me. But our meet- ing, I considered, was of no use, and could only occasion unpleasant- ness between us. If she repented, though at the eleventh hcmr, it ■was not too late, and I sincerely trusted that she was now doing so. And, would you believe her lamentable and hardened condition 1 she sent me word through Dinah, my woman, whom I despatched 736 THE VIEGINIANS to her with medicines for her soid's and her hodi/'s health, that she had nothing to repent of as far as regarde(li her conduct to me, and she wanted to be left alone ! Poor Dinah distributed the medicine to my negroes, and our people took it eacjerly — whilst Mrs. Moun- tain, left to herself, succumlDed to the fever. Oh the perversity of human kind ! This poor creature was tqo 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 cholic. 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 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 Tlieo 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 my grand- son 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 afford 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 iny father's picture over the mantelpiece. 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 ! " CHAPTER LXXXVI 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 Jiachel's cabin accommodatiou. 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 difficulty, 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 ireturned from his government, a little richer in the ^Yorld'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 affectionate 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. He, we thought, would not be long ere he joined her. His love for her had been the happiness and business of his whole Hfe. To be away from her seemed living no more. It was pitiable to watch the good man as he sat 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 niatch 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. 10 3 a 738 THE VIEGINIANS "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 Oakhui'st 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, " 7 have often and often told our dear Thoo that / 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 /"m 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 1 " "Yes, pa, of course I have. A duty is a duty, and a woman is a wom-an, and a man's a man, as I know very well. Don't tell me ! He is a man. Every man is a man, with all his sanctified airs ! " "You yourself have a married sister, with whom you were staying when my son Jack first had the happiness of making your acquaintance % " remarks the General. " Yes, of course I have a married sister ; every one knows that, and I have been as good as a mother to her children, that I have ! " " And am I to gather from your conversation that your attrac- tions proved a powerful temptation for your sister's husband % " "La, 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. THE VIRGINIANS 739 " 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 1 " " 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 came to breakfast this morning, my daughter was alone, and -there must have been a score of pieces of sQver on the table." "La, sir! who ever said a word about spoons? Did / ever accuse the poor dear? If I did, may I tjrop down dead at this moment on this liearthrug ! And I ain't tused 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 1 " 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, / 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 dc.meanour next day, I could see that his wife had given him her version of the conversation. Jack was sulk}', 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, sat 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 1 The housekeeper should be put under the full domination of Hetty. The butler's keys should be handed o\'er to him; for Gumbo, not I thought with an over good grace, was to come with us to Virginia : 740 THE VIKGINIANS having, it must be premised, united timself with Mrs. Molly in the 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 accompany 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 Kichmond ! A coach and a host of negroes were there in waiting to receive us ; and hard by a gentle- man 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. 'Twas 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'U 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 Queen 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 gaUery 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 whose 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 TiHE VIRGINIA*[S 741 tlie day was over the whole household had found a pretext for jiassing 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 rereive all the gentry of the little town, which she did with perfect grace and good-humour, and I had to shake liands with a few old acquaintances — old enemies I was going to say ; but I had come into a fortune and Was no longer a naughty prodigal. Why, a drove of fatted calves was killed in my honour ! My poor Hal was of the entertainment, but gloomy and crestfallen. His mother spoke to him, but it was as a queen to a rebelbous prince, her son, who was not yet forgiven. We two shpped away from the company, and went up to the 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 dimjiles ! " Supper is just coming on the table. Sir George. If you hke our cookery better than the tavern, Henry, I beg you to stay." What a different welcome 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 for- giveness 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 remem- bered about us in earlier days, and I praised him, but 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 oh, my dear, that I should have to say it, our name, that is, your brothgr's (by what iniiuence 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 up her favourite drink ; and my 742 THE VIRGINIANS poor wife would have had to forego hers, but we had brought a quantity for our private drinking on board 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 Government 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 experience of war which I had had in my early life, the universal cry of the army and well-aifected persons was, that Mr. Braddock's expedition had 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 wxio came to defend them ; they failed in contracts ; they furnished niggardly supplies ; they multiplied 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 efl'ected the conquest of Canada ! Monsieur de Vaudreuil 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, contri- buted 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 eflBgy. To our Virginian town of Williamsburg, some wiseacres must subscribe to bring over a portrait of my Lord, in the habit of a Eoman 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 off without his knowledge. Now my country is England, not America, or Virginia : and I THE VIEGINIANS 743 take, or rather took, the English side of the dispute. My sym- pathies had always been mth 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 River or Potomac, 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 argument was carried on without rancour ; even my new sister could not bring us to that, though she did her best when we were together, 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 wonl was law with liim ; he still protested that he and every Virginian gentleman of his side was loyal to the (.'rown. AVar was not declared as yet, and gentlemen of diflerent 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 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 Virginian 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 fraterni- sation and equality. Amongst the great folks of owe Old World I have never seen a gentleman standing more on his dignity and main- taining 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 Versailles 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 Bottetourt arrived, and held his court at WiUiamsburg in no small splendour and state, all 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 person- 744 THE VIRGINIANS ally only so far as this, that our biirifcs.ses being convened for the ]st 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 tliis 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 certainly wait upon his Excellency the Governor, nor were we sorry, perhaps; to get away from our little Eichmond to enjoy the gaieties of the provincial capital. Madam engaged, and at a great price, the best house to be had at Kichmoud for herself and her family. Now I was rich, her generosity was curious. I had more than oiice 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 hesitated 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 accuse her of too much exti^ava- gance, 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 Castle- wood by sea at no small charge, and her dress in which she had been married in George the Second's reign, Snd we all flattered our- selves that our coach made the greatest figure of any except his Excellency's, and we engaged Signer Formicalo, his Excellency's major-domo, to superintend 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 beeh known in the family since the young gentlemen went away. So great was Theo's influ- ence 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 forgiven 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 1 Her poor mother had the care of it. I always had the greatest confidence in her." THE VIRGINIANS 745 Here there is wrath flashing from Fanny S: eyes, which our mother, who has forgiven her, does not perceive — not she ! " Oh, she was a treasure to me ! " Madam resumes. " I never should have nursed my boys through their illnesses but for your mother's admirable care of them. Colonel Lee, permit me to pre- sent 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 psoud ; 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 1 " asks Madam. " He was a nobleman high in favour With his Polish Majesty," replies Mt. Lee. '• May I ask you, madam, to present me to your distinguished son 1 " " 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. \S^c had had many meetings, whicli the. stern mother could not interrupt, and in which that instinctive leve which bound us to one another, and which nothing could destroy, had opportunity to speak. Entirely 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 mine is to dawdle over books and spend my time in languid self contemplation — we have, never- theless, had such a sympathy as almost passes the love of women. My poor Hal confessed as much to me, for his i)art, 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 Castlewood 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 command fail to change the stubborn creature's opinion. Had she ever said a word against Mrs. This or Miss 746 THE ViEaiNIANS That 1 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, and 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 affectionately 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 ea,rly 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 disappointing my poor ardent fellow, and cursing inwardly that revolt against flattery and falsehood into which I sometimes franti- cally rush. Why should I not say, " Yes, dear Hal, thy wife is a paragon ! her singing is delightful, her hair and shape are beauti- ful ; " as I might have said by a Httle 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. We 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 beautiful black eyes — and we cared for them no more than for two gooseberries ! At Warrington my wife and I, when we pretended to compare notes, elaborately complimented each other on our new sister's beauty. What lovely eyes ! — Oh yes ! What a sweet little dimple on her chin ! — Ah oui 1 What wonderful little feet ! — Perfectly Chinese ! where should we in London get slippers small enough for her ? And, these compliments exhausted, we knew that we did not like Fanny the vallue of one penny-piece ; we knew that we disliked her ; we knew that we ha Well,, THE VIRGINIANS 747 what In'pocrites ■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, my dear," says I to my wife. " If I had said so much, I am sure you would have scolded me," says my Lady Warrington, laughing : and I did straightway begin to scold her, and say it was most cruel of her to suspect our new sister ; and what earthly right had we to do so 1 But I say again, I know Sladam Theo so weU, that when once she has got a prejudice against a person in her little head, not aU the King's hordes nor all the King's men will get it out again. I vow nothing would induce her to believe that Harry was not henpecked — nothing. Well, we went to Castlewood 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 I remained in my grandfather's library amongst the old mouldering 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 de- posited. 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, arid the cargoes stored in cellars. From New York and Philadelphia, the vessels were turned back to London. In Boston (where there was an armed force, whom the inhabitants were perpetually mobbing), certain j)atriots, painted and disguised as Indians, boarded the ships, and flung the 748 THE VIEGINIANS obuoxious cargoes into the water. The wrath of our white Father was kindled against this city of Mohocks in masciuerade. The notable Boston Port Bill was brought forward in the British House of Commons : the port was closed, and the "Custom House remoTcd to Salem. The Massachusetts Charter was annulled ; and — in just apprehension that riots might ensue, in dealing with the perpe- trators 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 five years old, to a ■^'hipping, and he would have cried, taken down his little small clothes, and submitted : but suppose I offered (and he richly deserved it) to chastise Captain Miles of the Prince's Dragoons 1 He would whirl my paternal cane but of my hand, box my hair-powder out of rriy ears. Lord a-mercy ! I tremble at the very idea of the controversy ! 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 jneans most captious, most insolent, most irritating, and, above all, most impotent, to assert our claim. My Lord Dunmore, our Governor of Virginia, 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 Madain Esmond's celebrated reputation for loyalty (his Excellency laughingly told me) which in- duced him to receive her eldest son to grace. "I have had the worst character of you from home," his Lord- ship said. "Little birds whisper tome, 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 Medmenham Abbey. You have lived with players, poets, and all sorts of wild people. I have been warnexl against you, sir, and I find you " " Not so black as I have been painted," I interrupted his Lord- ship, with a smile. " Faith," 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 Eome ; these Virginian squires who are for ever professing their loyalty and THE YIKGINIANS 749 respect, -whilst tliev are shaking their fists in my face — I hope nobody overhears iis," 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, oirr acquaintance daily grew more intimate ; and, especially 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 nu means popular there by the hot and eager political tone which she adopted. She assajiled all the Government measures with indiscriminating acrimony. Were they lenient? She said the perfidious British Government was only preparing a snare, and biding its time until it could forge heavier chains for un- happy America. AY ere they angi-y 1 Why did not every American citizen rise, assert his rights as a freeman, and serve every British governor, oflicer, soldier, as they had treated the East India Company's tea 1 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 ; lurk up the Capitol ! (this advice was followed it must be owned) alid send every one of the ringleaders amongst tlmsc wicked burgesses tcj prison ! was Madam Esmond's daily counsel to tlie 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. CHAPTER LXXXVII THE LAST OF GOD SAVE THE KING WHAT perverse law of Fate is it that ever places mc in a minority ? Should a law be proposed to hand over this realm to the Pretender of Kome, or the Grand Turk, and submit it to the new sovereign's religion, it paight pass, as I should certainly be voting against it. At home in Virginia, I found my- self 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 in Virginia, how I wished myself back by the banks of Waveney ! 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 hia Excellency's table, and over his Excellency's plenti- ful claret, that point was agreed on by numbers of the well-aflFected, that vow was vowed over countless brimming bumpers. No ; it was statue signum, signifef ! 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 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 humilia- tion 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 gentle- men 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. "I go to a ball which is given by a set of rebels who are going publicly to insult his THE VIEGINIAI^rS 751 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 Lady- ship ! " 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 enter- tainment, 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 Vernon, 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 recount 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. Washington'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 his conduct three days afterwards, when the day of fast and humiliation was appointed, and when he attended the service which our new clergyman performed. She invited Mr. Belnian 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 75^ THE VIRGINIAXH street outsi r'^::,xi -^ic^ \ / ' kz.i '' ^MITRIPM POPPI,^RJs ^pj,^ THE VIRGINIANS 753 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 tali, auxilio and istis defensmibiis ? Ah ! 'tis eas}', 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 om-s 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 capal)le British General who appeared during the war, and sent him into that miserable cul-de-sac at York Town, whence he could oidy issue defeated and a prisoner. Oh, for a week more ! a day more, an hour more of darkness or hght ! In reading over our American campaigns from their unhappy commence- ment 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 foi- the good, as we can now have no doubt, of both empires, that the great Western Republic should separate from us : and the galla,nt 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, dissensions, treason within their own camp, where all must have 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 hun- dreds that fought with him or against him (who has not heard the repeated sneers against "Fabius" in which his factious captains were accustomed 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 tm 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 fauje without a flaw. Quando invenies parem 'I 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 754 THE VIEGINIANS leader.* And this from the sheer force of respect which his eminent virtues extorted. With the yoUng Mr. Washington of my own early days I had not the honour to enjoy much sympathy : though my brother, whose character is much more frank and affec- tionate 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 niy disposition, and, per- haps, 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 acknow- ledge 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 hia marriage, became what our Indian Nabobs call a Bahadoor — a person ceremonious, stately, and exacting respect. When my Lord Dunmore, for in- stance, 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 hia 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 * And I trust that in the opinions I haYe recorded regarding him, I have shown that I also can be just and magnanimous towards those who view me personally with 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 History. General Washington (who read but few books, and had not the slightes't pretensions to literary taste) re- marked, "If you will have my opinion, my dear General, I think Sir George's projected work, from the specimeu I have of it, is certain to offend both parties."— G. B. W. THE VIKGINIANS 755 himself no small airs of protection and consequence amongst them ; bragging of his friends in Euidiib ("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 hini, 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 Maryboue Gardens and Hockley-in-thc-Hole. Nor was Sady the only jealous person ; almost all my mother's servants hated Signor 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 exer- cise 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 Endyinion. 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 gentleman, 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 contrary ; and in so far the difference did good, as it brought about some little intimacy between Madam and her younger children. This little diftereuce was si)eedily 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 Virginia. It was agreed that we should send the two back ; but when I ofi'ered 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 preparations 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 756 THE VIRGINIANS for the voyage 1 and the stealthy visits to the children's chambers whilst they are asleep and yet with you 1 and the terrible time of parting, as our barge with the servants and children rows to the ship, and you stand on the shore 1 Had the Prince of Wales been giiing on tliat voyage, he could not have been better provided. Where, sirrah, is the Tonipion watch your grandmother gave you 1 and how did you survive the boxes of cakes which the good lady Ktowed away in your cabin I 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 gloomy state of affairs, which Madam Esmond pronounced to be prodigious fine. I think my Lady Maria won Madam's heart by insisting 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 lire. Hal and his wife came but rarely to Gastlewood 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 oiu: mother's astonishment, who would often ask was there any cause of quarrel between her niece and her daughter-in-law 1 I kejjt 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 some- times would remonstrate with jNIadam Harry, and ask her was she a Red Indian that she tortured her victims sol "Have not I had torture enough in my time 1 " says the young lady, and looked as though she was determined to pay back the injuries inflicted on her. " Nay," says I, " you were bred in our wigwam, and I don't remember anything but kindness ! " r THE VIRGINIA'NS 757 " Kindness ! " cries she. " No slave was ever treated as I was. The blows which wound most often are those which never ;ire 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. CHAPTER LXXXVIII YANKEE DOODLE COMES TO TOWN y y'~X NE of the uses to which we put America in the days of our \ \ J 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 'bailiflFs 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 used to take care to send samples of our hlack 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 myself to find a living in America for the worthy Hagaii, 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, anod, I come on 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 officers under him, was putting the men through their exercise. As I rode up a queer expression comes over Hal's face. " Present arms ! " 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 redden- ning face. "Yes, please God! gentlemen," say I, on which the regiment gives a hearty huzzay for the Colonel and his brother. The drill over, the officers, and the men too, were for adjourning to " Willis's " and taking some refreshment, but 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 mustn't tell iladam," 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. THE VIRGINIANS 76l " we are young, and a whipping or two may »> »< i wi 'i>i m>» 'i " » Mi iiiip riiMimii I itnm jv K ,m i ittmM4m»m' m tmi mm I .,■■■— ... ^ r -J — n ' — , r t C !tl t I 1^ ^ I ...j; ? ^^- T