A 520309 i"


bt.    Lv  8
V, 




L
A T
RITA
U OFIMP''
QUAERIS-PENIN5ULAM-Al )E
77
Fr




S 2 F
/-3 6Sf
/  r-i ~:,


--- "I, -st4~












p:c:


H E VIRGINIANS


TALE OF THE LAST CENTURY




-1~


Ii
'I




, i


P








:::




,jl /f 8~xaFF$;BB]d,, 
o
t
i C,
-CQT- -
"         /vIt~r
ljr/aF IY /
-e ii \ 
- pUr  —=



A STEP-FATHER IN PROSPECT.




fIlsttttatet
e I I I I
i 


TH E VIRGINIA.. S,.A TALE OF
S of f.....~~~~~~~~~, 


THW, LST C, as X  ) \..


BY






- - I'-..".-. I  —   4, 1 -,   I




CONTENTS OF VOLUME I.


CHAPTER                             rAGB
I. In which one of the Virginians visits Home  1
II. In which Harry has to pay for his Supper..10
III. The Esmonds in Virginia........ 21
IV. In which Harry finds a New Relative... 28
V. Family Jars............     34
VI. The Virginians begin to see the World. X.46
VII.  Preparations for 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......... 95
XIII.  Profitless Quest.........  103
XIV. Harry in England......     112
XV. A Sunday at Castlewood.......  117
XVI. In which Gumbo shows Skill with the old English Weapon...........       16 
XVII.  On the Scent............136
XVIII.  An old Story............   144
XIX. Containing both Love and Luck....  152
XX.  Facilis Descensus....157
XXI. Samaritans.............170
XXII. In Hospital............177
-XXIIL. Holidays............ 18r. 




CONTENTS.




CHAPTER                                            PAGi.
XXIV. From Oakhurst to Tunbridge..... 194
XXV. New Acquaintances....... 203
XXVI. In which we are at a very great Distance
from Oakhurst..                       211
XXVII. Plenum Opus Alese.......     222
XXVIII. The Way of the World....... 229
XXIX. In which Harry continues to enjoy Otium
sine Dignitate.......             237
XXX. Contains a Letter to Virginia..       240
XXXI. The Bear and the Leader....                 248
XXXII. In which a Family Coach is ordered... 260
XXXIII. Contains a Soliloquy by Hester....          270
XXXIV. In which Mr. Warrington treats the Company with Tea and a Ball... 278
XXXV. Entanglements..... 288
XXXVI. Which seems to mean Mischief..... 297
CXXVII. In which various Matches are fought...306
XXVIII. Sampson and the Philistines.. 313
XXXIX. Harry to the Rescue....... 322
XL. In which Harry pays off an old Debt, and
incurs some new ones....              329
XLI. Rake's Progress.........                 3. 39
XLII. Fortunatus nimium....            346
XLIII. In which Harry flies high......           352!XLI~V.. Contains what might, perhaps, have been
-' /:  - expected..........                 361
XLV. In which Harry finds two Uncles...         372
iXLVI. Chains andSlavery.......                    378
XLVI:I. Visitors in Trouble.........               391
L;VIIIL   An Apparition....                   0......   39.



THE VIRGINIANS.
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH ONE OF THE VIRGINIANS VISITS HOME.
ON the library wall of one of the most famous writers of
America, there hang two crossed swords, which his relatives
wore in the great War of Independence. The one sword was
gallantly drawn in the service of the king, the other was the
weapon of a brave and honored republican soldier. The possessor of the harmless trophy has earned for himself a name
alike honored in his ancestors' country and his own, where
genius such as his has always a peaceful welcome.
The ensuing history reminds me of yonder swords in the
historian's study at Boston. In the Revolutionary War, the
subjects of this story, natives of America, and children of
the Old Dominion, found themselves engaged on lifferent 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 iWn
the wainscoted parlor of the Warringtons, in England, where a
descendant of'one of the brothers has shown their portraits to
me, with many of the letters which they wrote, and the books
and papers which belonged to them. In the Warringtdn family,
and to distinguish them from other personages of that respect
able race, these effigies have always gone by the name of ';The:
Virginians;" by which name their memoirs are christened.L
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 cont
-.with personages of whom we read only in books, who seeu
I1I:Xs




: 2~   ~      THE VIRGINIANS. *
alive, as I read in the Virginians' letters regarding them, whose
voices I almost fancy I hear, as I read the yellow pages written
scores of years since, blotted with the boyish tears of 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 preserved, but for the
affectionate thrift of one person, to whom they never failed in
their dutiful correspondence. Their mother kept all her sons'
letters, from the very first, in which Henry, the younger of the
twins, sends his love to his brother, then ill of a sprain at his
grandfather's house of Castlewood, in Virginia, and thanks his
grandpapa for a horse which he rides with his tutor, down to
the last, "' from my beloved son," which reached her but a few
hours before her death.  The venerable lady never visited
Europe, save once with her parents in the reign of George the
Second; took refuge in Richmond when the house of Castlewood was burned down during the war; and was called Madam
Esmond ever after that event; never caring much for the name
or family of Warrington, which she held in very slight estimatlon as compared to her own.
The letters of the Virginians, as the reader will presently
see, from specimens to be shown to him, are by no means full.
They are hints rather than descriptions - indications and outlines chiefly: it may be, that the present writer has mistaken
the forms, aad filled in the color 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
i  have drawn the figures as I fancied they were; set down conversations as I think I might have heard them; and so, to the
best of my ability, endeavored to revivify the bygone times and
people. With what success the task has been accomplished,
with what profit or amusement to himself, the kind reader will
please to determine. 
-:;:ONE summer morning in the year 1756, and in the reign
of his Majesty King George the Second, the " Young Rachel,':, Virginian ship, Edward Franks master, came up the Avon
ifi River on her happy return from her annual voyage to the PotoI:manc. She proceeded to Bristol with the tide, and moored in
i.the- stream as near as possible to Trail's wharf, to which she
as consigned. Mr. Trail, her part owner, who could survey
g-~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




THE VIRGINIANS.


3


his ship from his counting-house windows, straightway took
boat and came up her side. The owner of the "Young 
Rachel," a large grave man in his own hair, and of a demure
aspect, gave the hand of welcome to Captain Franks, who 
stood on his deck, and congratulated the captain upon the
speedy and fortunate voyage which lie 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 lave,"
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 i
from heaven. "Confound you, Franks, and your luck! The
'Duke William,' which came in last week, brought fourteen,
and she is not half of our tonnage."
"And this passenger, who has the whole cabin, don't pay 
nothin'," continued the Captain. "Swear now, it will do you 
good, Mr. Trail, indeed it will. I have tried the medicine."
"A passenger take the whole cabin and not pay? Graciousmercy, are you a fool, Captain Franks?"
" Ask the passenger himself, for here he comes." And, as
the master spoke, a young man of some nineteen years of age
came up the hatchway. He had a cloak and a sword under
his arm, and was dressed in deep mourning, and called out,
"Gumbo, you idiot, why don't you fetch the baggage out of
the cabin? Well, shipmate, our journey is ended. You will
see all the little folks to-night whom you have been talking
about. Give my love to Polly, and Betty, and Little Tommy;
not forgetting my duty to Mrs. Franks. I thought, yesterday,
the voyage would never be done, 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 here gentleman is 
Mr. Trail, sir, whose name you have a-heerd of.":
"It's pretty well known in Bristol, sir," says Mr. Trail, 
majestically.                                        ' 
"And this is Mr. Warrington, Madam Esmond Warring- T.
ton's son, of Castlewood," continued the Captain.    -
The British merchant's hat was instantly off his head, and:
the owner of the beaver was making a prodigious number of::::
bows, as if a crown-prince were before him. 
~&~                                 I                     - A  ';




4                  THE VIRGINIANS.
" 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. Esmond Warrington, whose name is
known and honored on Bristol 'Change, I warrant you. Isn't
it, Franks?"
"' There's no sweeter tobacco comes from Virginia, and no
better brand than the Three Castles," says Mr. Franks, drawing a great brass tobacco-box from his pocket, and thrusting a
quid into his jolly mouth. " You don't know what a comfort
it is, sir; you'll take to it, bless you, as you grow older.
Won't he, Mr. Trail? I wish you had ten 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
a lord when 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 Mr. Trail). " She is a realborn 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. "My grandfather and my
" mother have always objected to it, and I do not like to think of
selling or buying the poor wretches."
"It is for their good, my dear young sir! for their temporal
and their spiritual good!" cried Mr. Trail. "And we 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'shonest fare. Can't I, Captain Franks?"
"Can't say," growled the Captain. "Never asked me to
Ntake bite or sup at your table. Asked me to psalm-singing
once, and to hear Mr. Ward preach: don't care for them sort
of entertainments."
Not choosing to take any notice of this remark, Mr. Trail
continued ii his low tone: "Business is business, my dear
young sir, and I know 'tis only my duty, the duty of all of us,
to cultivate the fruits of the earth in their season. As the heir
^   of Lady Esmond's estate; for I speak, I believe, to the heir of
i- that great property?..,l —  H  -\    -    -                -.  ',,




THE VIRGINIANS.


5


The young gentleman made a bow -
" I would urge upon you, at the very earliest moment, the
propriety, the duty of increasing the ample means with which
heaven has blessed you. As an honest factor, I could not do
otherwise: as a prudent man, should I scruple to speak of
what will tend to your profit and mine? No, my dear Mr.
George."
"My name is not George; my name is Henry," said the
young man as he turned his head away, and his eyes filled with
tears.
" Gracious powers! what do you mean, sir? Did you not
say you were my lady's heir? and is not George Esmond Warrington, Esq. -"
" Hold your tongue, you fool! " cried Mr. Franks, striking
the merchant a tough blow on his sleek sides, as the young lad
turned away.  Dlon't you see the young gentleman a-swabbing his eyes, and note his black clothes?"
" What do you mean, Captain Franks, by laying your hand
on your owners?.Mr. George is the heir; I know the Colonel's
will well enough."
' "Mr. George is there," said the Captain, pointing with his
thumb to the deck.
' Where?" cries the factor.
" Mr. George is there! " reiterated the Captain, again lifting
up his finger towards the top-mast, or the sky beyond. " He is
dead a year, sir, come next 9th of July. He would go out with
General Braddock on that dreadful business to the Belle Riviere.
IIe and a thousand more never came back again. Every man of
them was murdered as he fell. You know the Indian way, Mr,
Trail?"  And here the Captain passed his hand rapidly round
his head. "Horrible! ain't it sir? horrible! He was a fine 
young man, the very picture of this one; only his hair wasi
black, which is now hanging in a bloody Indian wigwam. He
was often and often on board of the ' Young Rachel,' and would
have his chests of books broke open on deck before they was
landed. He was a shy and silent young gent: not like this one,
which was the merriest, wildest young fellow, full of his songs 
and fun. He took on dreadfil at the news; went to his bed,
had that fever which lays so many of 'em by the heels along
that swampy Potomac, but he's got better on the voyage: the
voyage makes every one better; and, in course, the young gen-;:
tleman can't be for ever a-crying after a brother who dies and!
leaves him a great fortune. Ever since we sighted Ireland he. 
has been quite gay and happy, only he would go off at times, 




6


THE VIRGINIANS.


when he was most merry, saying, 'I wish my dearest Georgy
could enjoy this here sight along with me,' and when you mentioned the t'other's name, you see, he couldn't stand it.". And
the honest Captain's own eyes filled with tears, as he turned
and looked towards the object of his compassion.
Mr. Trail assumed a lugubrious countenance befitting the
tragic compliment with which he prepared to greet the young
Virginian; but the latter answered him very curtly, declined
his offers of hospitality, and only stayed in Mr. Trail's house
long enough to drink a glass of wine and to take up a sum of
money of which he stood in need. But he and Captain Franks
parted on the very warmest terms, and all the little crew of the
"' Young Rachel" cheered from the ship's side as their passenger left it.
Again and again Harry Warrington and his brother had
pored over the English map, and determined upon the course
which they should take upon arriving at Home. All Americans
who love the old country - and what gently-nurtured man or
woman of Anglo-Saxon race does not? - have re this rehearsed their English travels, and visited rn fancy the spots
with which their hopes, their parents' fond stories, their friends'
descriptions, have rendered them familiar. There are few things
to me more affecting in the history of the quarrel which divided
the two great nations than the recurrence of that word Home,
as used by the younger towards the elder country. Harry
Warrington had his chart laid out. Before London, and its
glorious temples of St. Paul's and St. Peter's; its grim Tower,
where the brave and loyal had shed their blood, from Wallace
down to Balmerino and Kilmarnock, pitied by gentle hearts;before the awful window at Whitehall, whence the martyr
Charles had issued, to kneel once more, and then ascend to
heaven;- before Playhouses, Parks, and Palaces, wondrous
resorts of wit, pleasure, and splendor;-before Shakspeare's
Resting-place under the tall spire which rises by Avon, amidst
the sweet Warwickshire pastures;- before Derby, and Falkirk, and Culloden, where the cause of honor and loyalty had
fallen, it might be to rise no more: - before all these points
in their pilgrimage there was one which the young Virginian
brothers held even more sacred, and that was the home of their
family,- that old Castlewood in Hampshire, about which their
parents had talked so fondly. From Bristol to Bath, from
Bath to Salisbury, to Winchester, to Hexton, to Home; they
^ knew the way, and had mapped the journey many and many a
time.




THE VIRGINIANS.


7


We must fancy our American traveller to be a handsome
yvung fellow, whose suit of sables only made him look the more
interesting. The plump landlady from her bar, surrounded bv
her china and punch-bowls, allnd stout gilded bottles of strong
waters, and glittering rows of siliver flagons, looked kindly after
the young gentleman as he passed through the inn-hall from
his post-chaise, and the obsequious chamberlain bowed him
up stairs to the " Rose " or the " Dolphin."  The trim chambermaid dropped her best curtsy for his fee, and Gumbo, in the
inn-kitchen, where the townsfolk drank their mug of ale by the
great fire, bragged of his young master's splendid house in Virginia, and of the immense wealth to which he was heir. The
post-chaise whirled the traveller through the most delighttful
home-scenery his eyes had ever lighted on. If English landscape is lleasant to the American of the lresent day, who must
needs contrast the rich woods and glowing pastures, and picturesque ancient villages of the old country with the rough aspect of his own, how much pleasanter must I-arry Warrington's
course have been, whose journeys had lain through swamps
and forest solitudes from one Virginian ordinary to another loghouse at the end of the day's route, and who now liglited suddenly upon the busy, happy, splendid scene of English summer?
And the highl-road, a hundred years ago, was not that grassgrown desert of the present time. It was alive with constant
travel and traffic: the country towns and inns swarmed with
life and gayety.  The ponderous wagon, with its bells and
plodding team; the light post-coach that achieved the journey
from the " White Hart," Salisbury, to the "Swan with Two
Necks," London, in two days; the strings of pack-horses that
had not yet left the road; my lord's gilt post-chaise and six,
with the outriders galloping on a-heat; the country squire's
great coach and heavy Flanders mares; the farmers trotting to
market, or the parson jolting to the cathedral town on Dumpling, his wife behind on the pillion -all these crowding sights
and brisk people greeted the young traveller 6n his summer
journey. Hodge the farmer's boy took off his hat, and Polly
the milk-maid bobbed a curtsy, as the chaise whirled over the
plesant village-green, and the white-headed children lifted
their chubby faces and cheered. The church-spires glistened
with gold, the cottage-gables glared in sunshine, the great elms 
murmured in summer, or cast purple sladows over tile grass.
Young Warrington never liad had such a glorious day, or wit-.
nessed a scene so delightful. To be nineteen years of age, / 
- with high health, high spirits, and a full purse, to be making?.
P-.   '...       ffi




8


THE VIRGINIANS.


your first journey, and rolling through the country in a post.
chaise at nine miles an hour  O happy youth! almost it m kes
one young to think of him! But Harry was too eager to give
more than a passing glance at the Abbey at Bath, or gaze with
more than a moment's wonder at the mighty linster at Salisbury. Until he beheld Home it seemed to him he had no eyes
fbr any other place.
At last the young gentleman's post-chaise drew up at the
rustic inn on Castlewood Green, of which his grandsire had
many a time talked to him, and which bears as its ensign,
swinging from an elm near the inn porch, the Three Castles of
the Esmond family. They had a sign, too, over the gateway
of Castlewood House, bearing the same cognizance. This was
the hatchment of Francis, Lord Castlewood, who now lay in
the chapel hard by, his son reigning in his stead.
Harry Warrington had often heard of Francis, Lord Castlewood. It was for Frank's sake, and for his great love towards
the boy, that Colonel Esmond determined to forego his claim
to the English estates and rank of his family, and retired to
Virginia. The young man had led a wild youth; he had fought
with distinction under Marlborough; he had married a foreign
lady, and most lamentably adopted her religion. At one time
he had been a Jacobite'(for loyalty to the sovereign was ever
hereditary in the Esmond family), but had received some slight
or injury from the Prince, which had caused him to rally to King
George's side. He had, on his second marriage, renounced
the errors of Popery which he had temporarily embraced, and
returned to the Established Church again. He had, from his
constant support of the King and the Minister of the time being,
been rewarded by his Majesty George II., and died an English
peer. An earl's coronet now figured on the hatchment which
hung over Castlewood gate - and there was an end of the jolly
gentleman. Between Colonel Esmond, who had become his
step-father, and his lordship there had ever been a brief but
affectionate correspondence- on the Colonel's part especially,
who loved his step-son, and had a hundred stories to tell about
him to his grandchildren. Madam Esmond, however, said she
could see nothing in her half-brother. He was dull, except:    when he drank too much wine, and that, to be sure, was every
day at dinner. Then he was boisterous, and his conversation
not pleasant. He was good looking - yes - a fine tall stout
animal; she had rather her boys should follow a different model.
In spite of the grandfatherls encomium of the late lord, the boya:: had no very great respect for their kinsman's memory. The




THE VIRGINIANS.


9


lads and their mother were staunch Jacobites, though having
every respect for his present Majesty; but right was right, and
nothing could make their hearts swerve from their allegiance to
the descendants of the martyr Charles.
With a beating heart Harry Warrington walked from the inn
towards the house where his grandsire's youth had been passed.
The little 'village-green of Castlewood slopes down towards the
river, which is spanned by an old bridge of a single broad arch,
and from this the ground rises gradually towards the house,
grey with many gables and buttresses, and backed by a darkling wood. An old man sat at the wicket on a stone bench in
front of the great arched entrance to the house, over which the
earl's hatchinent was hanging. An old dog was crouched at
the man's feet. Immediately above the ancient sentry at the,
gate was an open casement with some homely flowers in the
window, from behind which good-humored girls' faces were
peeping. They were watching the young traveller dressed in
black as he walked up gazing towards the castle, and the ebony
attendant who followed the gentleman's steps also accoutred in
mourning. So was he at the gate in mourning, and the girls
when they came out had black ribbons.
To Harry's surprise, the old man accosted him by his name.
" You have had a nice ride to Iexton, Master Harry, and the
sorrel carried you well."
I think you must be Lockwood," said Harry, with rather
a tremulous voice, holding out his hand to the old man. His
grandfather had often told him of Lockwood, and how he had
accompanied the Colonel and the young Viscount in Marlborough's wars forty years ago. The veteran seemed puzzled
by the mark of affection which Harry extended to him. The
old dog gazed at the new comer, and tlen went and put his
head between his knees. "I have heard of you often.  Iow
did you know my name?" 
"They say I forget most things," says the old man, with a
smile; " but I ain't so bad as that quite. Only this mornin',
when you went out, my darter says, ' Father, do you know why
you have a black coat on?' 'In course I know why I have a 
black coat,' says I. 'My lord is dead. They say 'twas a toul ':
blow, and Master Frank is my lord now, and Master Harry'- -
why, what have you done since you've went out this morning?:
Why, you have a grow'd taller and changed your hair- though
I know - I know you."
One of the young women had tripped out by this time from 
the porter's lodge, and dropped the stranger a pretty curtsy. ':i




10


THE VIRGINIANS.


"' Grandfather sometimes does not recollect very well," she said,
pointing to her head. "Your honor seems to have heard of
Lockwood?"
"And you, have you never heard of Colonel Francis Esmond?"
" He was Captain and Major in Webb's Foot, and I was
with him in two campaigns, sure enough," cries Lockwood.
"Wasn't 1, Ponto?"
" The Colonel as married Viscountess Rachel, my late lord's
mother? and went to live amongst the Indians? We have heard
of him. Sure we have his picture in our gallery, and hisself
painted it."
"Went to live in Virginia, and died there seven years ago,
'and I am his grandson."
"Lord, your honor! Why, your honor's skin's as white as
mine," cries Molly. "Grandfather, do you hear this? His
honor is Colonel Esmond's grandson that used to send you tobacco, and his honor have come all the way from Virginia."
"To see you, Lockwood," says the young man, "and the
family. I only set foot on English ground yesterday, and my
first visit is for home. I may see the house, though the family
are from home?"  Molly dared to say Mrs. Barker would let
his honor see the house, and Harry Warrington made his way
across the court, seeming to know the place as well as if he had
been born there, Miss Molly thought, who followed, accompanied by Mr. Gumbo making her a profusion of polite bows
and speeches.
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH HARRY HAS TO PAY FOR HIS SUPPER.
COLONEL ESMOND'S grandson rahg for a while at his ancestors' house of Castlewood, before any one within seemed inclined to notice his summons.  The servant, who at length
issued from the door, seemed to be very little affected by the
announcement that the visitor was a relation of the family.
The family was away, and in their absence John cared very
little for their reratives, but was eager to get back to his game
i   at cards with Thomas in the window-seat. The housekeeper
was busy getting ready for my lord and my lady, who were ex-- ypected that evening. Only by strong entreaties could Harry




THE VIRGINIANS.


11


gain leave to see my lady's sitting-room and the picture-room,
where, sure enough, was a portrait of his grandfather in periwig
and breastplate, the counterpart of their picture in Virginia,
and a likeness of his grandmother, as Lady Castlewood, in a
yet earlier habit of Charles II.'s time; her neck bare, her fair
golden hair waving over her shoulders in ringlets which lie remembered to have seen snowy white. From the contemplation
of these sights the sulky housekeeper drove him. Her family
was about to arrive. There was my lady the Countess, and
my lord and his brother, and the young ladies and the Baroness,
who was to have the state bedroom. Who was the Baroness?
The Baroness Bernstein, the young ladies' aunt. Harry wrote
down his name on a paper from his own pocket-book, and laid
it on a table in the hall. " Henry Esmond Warrington, of
Castlewood in Virginia, arrived in England yesterday  staying
at the ' Three Castles' in the village." The lackeys rose up
from their cards to open the door to him, in order to get their
" vails," and Gumbo quitted the bench at the gate, where he
had been talking with old Lockwood the porter, who took
Harry's guinea, hardly knowing the meaning of the gift. During the visit to the home of his fathers, I-arry had only seen
little Polly's countenance that was the least unselfish or kindly;
b he walked away, not caring to own how disappointed he was,
and what a damp had been struck upon him by the aspect of
the place. They ought to have known him. Had any of them
ridden up to his house in Virginia, whether the master were
present or absent, the guests would have been made welcome,
and, in sight of his ancestors' hall, he had to go and ask for a
dish of bacon and eggs at a country ale-house!
After his dinner, he went to the bridge and sat on it, looking
towards the old house, behind which the sun was descending as
the rooks came cawing home to their nests in the elms. His
young fancy pictured to itself many of the ancestors of whom
his mother and grandsire had told him. He fancied knights
and huntsmen crossing the ford-cavaliers of King Charles's 
days;.,my Lord Castlewood, his grandmother's first husband,
riding out with hawk and hound. The recollection of his dear-  i
est lost brother cale back to him as he indulged in these reveries, and smote him with a pang of exceeding tenderness and
longing, insomuch that the young man hung his head and felt
his sorrow renewed for the dear friend and companion with 
whom, until of late, all his pleasures and griefs had been 
shlred. As he sat plunged in his own thoughts, which were
mingled up with the mechanical clinking of the blacksmith's.:i-:




12


THE VIRGINIANS.


forge hard by, the noises of the evening, the talk of the rooks,
and the calling of the birds, round about —a couple of young
men on horseback dashed over the bridge. One of them, with
an oath, called him a fool, and told himl to keep out of the way
-the other, who fancied he might have jostled the foot-pusenger, and possibly might have sent him over the pawapet,
pushed on more quickly when he reached the other side of the
water, calling likewise to Tom to come on; and the pair of
young gentlemen were up the hill on their way to the house
before Harry had recovered himself from his surprise at their
appearance, and wrath at their behavior. In a minute or two,
this advanced guard was followed by two livery-servants on
horseback, who scowled at the young traveller on the bridge a
true British welcome of Curse you, who are you? After these,
in a minute or two, came a coach-and-six, a ponderous vehicle
having need of the horses which drew it, and containing three
ladies, a couple of maids, and an armed man on a seat behind
the carriage. Three handsome pale faces looked out at Harry
Warrington as the carriage passed over the bridge, and (lid not
return the salute which, recognizing the family arms, he gave
it. The gentleman behind the carriage glared at him haughtily.
Harry felt terribly alone.  He thouglt lie would go back to
Captain Franks. Thle " Rachel" and her little tossing cabin
seemed a cheery spot in comparison to that on which lie stood.
The inn.folks did not lu1ow his name of Warrington. They
told him that was my lady in the coach, with her step-daughter,
my Lady Maria, and her daughter, my Lady Fanny; and the
young gentleman in the grey frock was Mr. William, and he
with powder on the chestnut was my lord. It was the latter
had sworn the loudest, and called him a fool; and it was the
grey frock which had nearly galloped Harry into the ditch.
The landlord of the " Three Castles" had shown Harry a
bed-chamber, but he had refused to have his portmanteaux unpacked, thinking that, for a certainty, the folks at the great
house would invite him to theirs.  One, two, three hours
passed, and there came no invitation. Harry was fain tp have
his trunks open at last, and to call for his slippers and gown.
Just before dark, about two hours after thie arrival of the first
carriage, a second chariot with four horses had passed over the
bridge, and a stout, high-colored lady, with a very dark plair of
eyes, had looked hard at Mr. Warrington. That was the Baroness Bernstein, the landlady said, my lord's aunt, and Harry
remembered the first Lady Castlewood had come of a German
family. Farl, and Countess, and Baroness, and postilions, and:# -. 0 t \.. E.,4A




/j  ~THE VIRGINIANS.                           13
gentlemen and horses, had all disappeared behind the castle
ate, and Harry was fain to go to bed at last, in the most mellkncholy mood and with a cruel sense of neglect and loneliness
an his young heart. IHe could not sleep, and, besides, ere
Song, heard a pirodigious noise, and cursing, and giggling, and:creaming from my landlady's bar, which would have served to
I keep him awake.
r     Then Gumbo's voice was heard without, remonstrating,
I  You cannot go in, sar-my master asleep, sar! " but a shrill
voice, with many oaths, which Harry Warrington recognized,
\ I cursed Gumbo for a stupid, negro woolly pate, and he was
pushed aside, giving entrance to a flood of oaths into the room,
and a young gentleman behind them.
"Beg your pardon, Cousin Warrington," cried the young
blasphemer, ' are you asleep? Beg your plardon for riding you
over on the bridge. Didn't know you - course shouldn't have
done it —thought it was a lawyer with a writ -  ressed in
black, you know. Gad! thought it was Nathan come to nab
me." And Mr. William laughed incoherently. It was evident
that he was excited with liquor.
' You dil me great honor to mistake me for a sheriff's officer, cousin,'' says Harry, with great gravity, sitting up in his
tall nightcap.
' "Gad I I thought it was Nathan, and was going to send
you souse into the river. But I ask your l)ardon. You see I
had been drinking at the ' Bell' at Ilexton, and the punch is
good at the ' Bell' at Hexton. Hullo, you Davis! a bowl of
punch; d'you hear?"
"I have had my share for to-night, cousin, and I should
think you have," Harry continues, always in the dignified
style.
\" You want me to go, Cousin What's-your-name, I see,"
i (Mr. William said, with gravity. "You want me to go, and!i  t ey want me to come, and I didn't want to come. I said,
iI'd see him hanged first, -that's what I said. Why should I
'trouble myself to come down all alone of an evening, and look
4.ter a fellow I don't care a pin for? Zackly what I said.
pkly what Castlewood said. Why the devil should he go
(. f  wn? Castlewood says, and so said my lady, but the Baroness
would have you. It's all the Baroness's doing, and if she says.  a thing it must be done; so you must just get up and come."
Mr. Esmond delivered these words with the most amiable rapidity and indistinctness, running them into one another, and tackg about the room as he spoke. But the young Virginian was
1/




14                THE VIRGINIANS..in great wrath. "I tell you what, cousin," he cried, "I won'
move for the Countess, or for the Baroness, or for all the cousin
in Castlewood."  And when the landlord entered the chambe
wi,4h the bowl of punch, which Mr. Esmond had ordered, tht
young gentleman in bed called out fiercely to the host, to turr,
that sot out of the room.
"Sot, you little tobacconist! Sot, you Cherokee! "screams
out Mr. William. "Jump out of bed, and I'll drive my sword
through your body. Why didn't I do it to-day when I took
you for a bailiff- a confounded pettifogging bum-bailiff? " and
he went on screeching more oaths and incoherences, until
4-1,  1,-,,1 -,,-,1 -   4... -  4-,- l,^,l..,-A.- 11 +1,   -P-l.,4, I,



b2
-12.TI*
PI ~:-li-:'~
;~::~ ~
5
zc-.
t '~~
a:~:
R1:'!r ~
: n*.;:r


llltU J1itll
kitchen
WarrinI
doubt, I.11VIUl tUl U U Il, t   tll IIll18 L 11 1   i:1U ail tlltU; llKIt UV1 UIll
were brought to lead him away. After which Harry
gton closed his tent round him in sulky wrath, and, no
inally went fast to sleep.


My landlord was very much more obsequious on the next
morning when he met his young guest, having now fully learned
his name and quality. Other messengers had come from the
castle on the previous night to bring both the young gentlemen
home, and poor Mr. William, it appeared, had returned in a
wheelbarrow, being not altogether unaccustomed to.that mode of
conveyance. " He never remembers nothin' about it the next
day. Ile is of a real kind nature, Mr. William," the landlord
vowed, " and the men get crowns and half-crowns from him by
saying that he beat them overnight when he was in liquor. He's
the devil when he's tipsy, Mr. William, but when lie is sober
he is the very kindest of young gentlemen."
As nothing is unknown to writers of biographies of the
present kind, it may be as well to state what had occurred
within, the walls of. Castlewood House, whilst Harry Warrington was without, awaiting some token of recognition from hi:
kinsmen. On their arrival at home the family had found thie
paper on which the lad's name was inscribed, and his appea'ance occasioned a little domestic council. My Lord Castlewood
supl)osed that must have been the young gentleman whom they
had seen on the bridge, and as they had not drowned him the
must invite him. I^t a man go down with the proper messag'
let a servant carry a note. Lady Fanny thought it would,.
more civil if one of the brothers would go to their kinsman,
especially considering the original greeting which they had
given. Lord Castlewood had not the slightest objection to lis 
brother William going - yes, William should go. Upon. thiMr. William said (with a yet stronger expression) that he would
- '  \  *.




THE V[RGINIANS.                   15
be hanged if he would go. Lady Maria thought the young gentleman whom they had remarked at the bridge was a pretty
fellow enough. Castlewood is dreadfully dull, I am sure neither
of my brothers do anything to make it amusing. He may be
vulgar- no doubt he is vulgar- but let us see the American.
Such was Lady Maria's opinion. Lady Castlewood was neither
for inviting nor for refusing him, but for delaying. " Wait till
your aunt comes, children; perhaps the Baroness won't like to
see the young man; at least, let us consult her before we ask
him." And so the hospitality to be offered by his nearest kinsfolk to poor Harry Warrington remained yet in abeyance.
At length the equipage of the Baroness Bernstein made
its appearance, and whatever doubt there might be as to the
reception of the Virginian stranger, there was no lack of enthusiasm in this generous family regarding their wealthy and
powerful kinswoman. The state-chamber had already been
prepared for her. The cook had arrived the l)revious day with
instructions to get ready a supper for her such as her ladyship
liked. The table sparkled with old plate, and was set in the
oak diining-rooQ  with the pictures of the family round the walls.
There was the late Viscount, his father, his mother, his sister, -
these two lovely pictures. There was his predecessor by Vandyck, and his Viscountess. There was Colonel Esmond, their
relative in Virginia, about whose grandson the ladies and gentlemen of the Esmond family showed such a very moderate degree
of sympathy.
The feast set before their aunt, the Baroness, was a very
good one, and her ladyship enjoyed it. The supper occupied
an hour or two, during which the whole Castlewood family were
most attentive to their guest. The Countess pressed all the
good dishes upon her, of which she fieely partook: the butler
no sooner saw her glass empty than he filled it with champagne:
the young folks and their mother kept up the conversation, not
so much by talking, as by listening appropriately to their friend.
She was fill of spirits and humor. She seemed to know everybody in Europe, and about those everybodies the wickedest
stories. The Countess of Castlewood, ordinarily a very demure, severe woman, and a stickler for the proprieties, smiled
at the very worst of these anecdotes; the girls looked at one
another and laughed at the maternal signal; the boys giggled
-and roared with especial delight at their sisters' confusion.
They also'partook freely of the wine which the.butler handed
round, nor (lid they, or their guest, disdain the bowl of smoking
punch, which was laid on the table alter the supper. Many and




16                THE VIRGINIANS.
many a night, the Baroness said, she had drunk at that table
by her father's side. "That was his place," she pointed to the
place where the Countess now sat. She saw none of the old
plate. That was all melted to pay his gambling debts. She
hoped, " Young gentlemen, that you don't play?"
"Never, on my word," says Castlewood.
"Never, 'pon honor," says Will, winking at his brother.
The Baroness was very glad to hear they were such good
boys. Her face grew redder with the punch; and she became
voluble, might have been thought coarse, but that times were
different, and those critics were inclined to be especially
favorable.
She talked to the boys about their father, their grandfatherother men and women of the house. " The only man of the
family was that," she said, pointing (with an arm that was yet
beautifilly round and white) towards the picture of the military
gentleman in the red coat and cuirass, and great black periwig.
"The Virginian? What is he good for? I always thought
he was good for nothing but to cultivate tobacco and my grandmother," says my lord, laughing.
She struck her hand upon the table with an energy that made
the glasses dance. " I say he was the best of you all. There
never was one of the male Esmonds that had more brains than
a goose, except him. He was not fit for this wicked, sElfish
old world of ours, and he was right to go and live out of it.
Where would your father have been, young people, but for him?"
"Was he particularly kind to our papa? " says Lady Maria.
"Old stories, my dear Maria! " cries the Countess. " I am
sure my dear Earl was very kind to him in giving him that
great estate in Virginia."
" Since his brother's death, the lad who has been here to-day
is heir to that. Mr. Draper told me so! Peste! I don't know
why my father gave up such a property."
" Who has been here to-day? " asked the Baroness, highly
excited.
"Harry Esmond Warrington, of Virginia," my lord answered: " a lad whom Will nearly pitched into the river, and
whom I pressed my lady the Countess to invite to stay here."
"You mean that one of the Virginian boys has been to
Castlewood, and has not been asked to stay here? "
" There is but one of them, my dear creatures" interposes
the Earl. " The other, you know, has Just been-"'
' For shame, for shame!"
"Oh! it ain't pleasant, I confess, to be s —". 0.s.:...




THE VIRGINIANS


17


supper. Many and many a night, the Baroness said, she had
drunk at that table by her father's side.  'That was his place,'
she pointed to the place where the Countess now sat.  She saw
11none of the old plate.  That was all melted to pay his gambling
leb)ts.  She hoped, 'Young gentlemen, that you don't play.'
'Never, on my word,' says Castlewood.
'Never, 'pon honour,' says Will-winking at his brother.
Tile Baroness was very glad to hear they were such good boys.
IHer face grew redder with the punch; and she became voluble,
mighlt have been thought coarse, but that times were different,
and those critics were inclined to be especially favourable.
She talked to the boys about their father, their grandfatherother men and women of the house. ' The only man of the family
was that,' she said, pointing (with an arm that was yet beautifully
round and white) towards the picture of the military gentleman in
the red coat and cuirass, and great black periwig.
' The Virginian? What is he good for? I always thought he
was good for nothing but to cultivate tobacco and my grandmother,'
says my lord, laughing.
She struck her hand upon the table with an energy that made
the glasses dance.  'I say he was the best of you all.  There
never was one of the male Esmonds that had more brains than a
goose, except him.  He was not fit for this wicked, selfish old
world of ours, and he was right to go and live out of it. Where
would your father have been, young people, but for him i'
'Was he particularly kind to our papa?' says Lady Maria.
' Ol stories, my dear Maria!' cries the Countess. 'I am sure
my dear Earl was very kind to him in giving him that great estate
in Virginia.'
' Since his brother's death, the lad who has been here to-day is
heir to that.  Mr. Draper told me so! Peste! I don't know why
my father gave up such a property.'
' Who has been here to-day ' asked the Baroness, highly
excitel.
'Harry Esmond Warrington, of Virginia,' my lord answered:
'a lad whom Will nearly pitched into the river, and whom I
pressed my lady the Countess to invite to stay here.'
'You mean that one of the Virginian boys has been to Castlewood, and has not been asked to stay here 1'
'There is but one of them, my dear creature,' interposes the
Earl. 'The other, you know, has just been —'
'For shame, for shame!'
'Oh! it ain't pleasant, I confess, to be sc  '
'Do you mean that a grandson of Henry Esmond, the master
o




18


THE VIRGINIANS


of this house, has been here, and none of you have offered him
hospitality?'
'Since we didn't know it, and he is staying at the Castles?'
interposes Will.
'That he is staying at the Inn, and you are sitting there!'
cries the old lady.  'This is too bad-call somebody to me. Get
me my hood-I'll go to the boy myself. Come with me this
instant, my Lord Castlewood.'
The young man rose up, evidently in wrath. 'Madame the
Baroness of Bernstein,' he said, 'your ladyship is welcome to go;
but as for me, I don't choose to have such words as "shameful"
applied to my conduct. I won't go and fetch the young gentleman from Virginia, and I propose to sit here and finish this bowl
of punch. Eugene     Don't Eugene me, madam.   I know her
ladyship has a great deal of money, which you are desirous should
remain in our amiable family. You want it more than I do.
Cringe for it-I won't.' And he sank back in his chair.
The Baroness looked at the family, who held their heads down,
and then at my lord, but this time without any dislike. She
leaned over to him and said rapidly in German, 'I had unright
when I said the Colonel was the only man of the family. Thou
canst, if thou wiliest, Eugene.' To which remark my lord only
bowed.
'If you do not wish an old woman to go out at this hour of
the night, let William, at least, go and fetch his cousin,' said the
Baroness.
'The very thing I proposed to him.'
'And so did we-and so did we!' cried the daughters in a
breath.
'I am sure, I only wanted the dear Baroness's consent!' said
their mother, 'and shall be charmed for my part to welcome our
young relative.'
'Will! Put on thy pattens and get a lantern, and go fetch
the Virginian,' said my lord.
' And we will have another bowl of punch when he comes, says
William, who by this time had already had too much. And he
went forth-how we have seen; and how he had more punch;
and how ill he succeeded in his embassy.
The worthy lady of Castlewood, as she caught sight of young
Harry Warrington by the river-side, must have seen a very handsome and interesting youth, and very likely had reasons of her
own for not desiring his presence in her family. All mothers are
not eager to encourage the visits of interesting youths of nineteen
in families where there are virgins of twenty. If Harry's acres




THE VIRGINIANS


19


l1ad been in Norfolk or Devon, in place of Virginia, no doubt the
rood Countess would have been rather more eager in her welcome.
I;ad she wanted him she would have given him her hand readily
enough.  If our people of ton are selfish, at any rate they show
they are selfish; and, being cold-hearted, at least have no hypocrisy
of affection.
Why should Lady Castlewood put herself out of the way to
wNelcome the young stranger? Because he was friendless? Only
a simpleton could ever imagine such a reason as that.  People of
fash1ion, like her ladyship, are friendly to those who have plenty of
fiiends.  A poor lad, alone, from a distant country, with only very
moderate means, and those not as yet in his own power, with un(outh manners very likely, and coarse provincial habits; was a
rieat lady called upon to put herself out of the way for such a
youth? Allons done    He was quite as well at the alehouse as
at the castle.
Thils, no doubt, was her ladyship's opinion, which her kinswoman, the Baroness Bernstein, who knew her perfectly well,
entirely understood.  The Baroness, too, was a woman of the
world, and, possibly, on occasion, could be as selfish as any other
person of fashion. She fully understood the cause of the deference
which all the Castlewood family showed to her-mother, and
daughter, and sons,-and being a woman of great humour, played
upon the dispositions of the various members of this family,
amused herself with their greedinesses, their humiliations, their
artless respect for her money-box, and clinging attachment to her
purse. They were not very rich; Lady Castlewood's own money
was settled on her children.  The two elder had inherited nothing
but flaxen heads from their German mother, and a pedigree of
prodigious distinction. But those who had money, and those who
had none, were alike eager for the Baroness's; in this matter the
rich are surely quite as greedy as the poor.
So if Madam Bernstein struck her hand on the table, and caused
the glasses and the persons round it to tremble at her wrath, it
was because she was excited with plenty of punch and champagne,
which her ladyship was in the habit of taking freely, and because
she may have had a generous impulse when generous wine warmed
her blood, and felt indignant as she thought of the poor lad yonder,
sitting friendless and lonely on the outside of his ancestors' door;
not because she was specially angry with her relatives, who she
knew would act precisely as they had done.
The exhibition of their selfishness and humiliation alike amused
ler, as did Castlewood's act of revolt.  He was as selfish as the
rest of the family, but not so mean; and, as he candidly stated,




20


TIE VIRGINIANS


he could afford the luxury of a little independence, having a
tolerable estate to fall back upon.
Madam Bernstein was an early woman, restless, resolute, extraordinarily active for her age.  She was up long before the languid
Castlewood ladies (just home from their London routs and balls)
had quitted their feather-beds, or jolly Will had slept off his
various potations of punch.  She was up, and pacing the green
terraces that sparkled with the sweet morning dew, which lay
twinkling, also, on a flowery wilderness of trim parterres, and on
the crisp walls of the dark box hedges, under which marble fauns
and dryads were cooling themselves, whilst a thousand birds sang,
the fountains plashed and glittered in the rosy morning sunshine,
and the rooks cawed from the great wood.
Had the well-remembered scene (for she had visited it often in
childhood) a freshness and charm for her? Did it recall days of
innocence and happiness, and did its calin beauty soothe or please,
or awaken remorse in her heart? Her manner was more than
ordinarily affectionate and gentle, when, presently, after pacing
the walks for a half-hour, the person for whom she was waiting
came to her.  This was our young Virginian, to whom she had
despatched an early billet by one of the Lockwoods.  The note
was signed B. Bernstein, and informed Mr. Esmond Warrington
that his relatives at Castlewood, and among them a dear friend
of his grandfather, were most anxious that he should come to
'Colonel Esmond's house in England.'  And now, accordingly,
the lad made his appearance, passing under the old Gothic doorway, tripping down the steps from one garden terrace to another,
hat in hand, his fair hair blowing from his flushed cheeks, his slim
figure clad in mourning.  The handsome and modest looks, the
comely face and person, of the young lad pleased the lady.  He
made her a low bow which would have done credit to Versailles.
She held out a little hand to him, and, as his own palm closed
over it, she laid the other hand softly on his ruffle. She looked
very kindly and affectionately in the honest blushing face.
'I knew your grandfather very well, Harry,' she said.  'So
you came yesterday to see his picture, and they turned you away,
though you know the house was his of right 1'
Harry blushed very red.  'The servants did not know me. A
young gentleman came to me last night,' he said, 'when I was
peevish, and he, I fear, was tipsy. I spoke rudely to my cousin,
and would ask his pardon.  Your ladyship knows that in Virginia
our manners towards strangers are different. I own I had expected
another kind of welcome.  Was it you, madam, who sent my
cousin to me last night?'




THE VIRGINIANS


21


'I sent him; but you will find your cousins most friendly to
vyon to-day. You must stay here. Lord Castlewood would have
ieen with you this morning, only I was so eager to see you.  There
will be breakfast in an hour; and meantime you must talk to me.
\We will send to the Three Castles for your servant and your
baggage. Give me your
arm.   Stop, I dropped
Ily cane when you came.
You shall be my cane.'
'say grandfather used
to call us his crutches,'  h  s 
said Harry.
'You are like him, 
tllough you are fair.'
' You should have seen  -.
-you should have seen -
George,' said the boy, and 
his honest eyes welled       -
with tears. The recollection of his brother, the
bitter pain of yesterday's  j      u,   ue     u 
humiliation, the affectionateness of the  present 
greeting - all, perhaps,
contributed to soften the
lad's heart.  He felt very tenderly  and gratefully towards
the lady who had received him so warmly.    He was utterly
alone and miserable a minute since, and here was a home
and(l a kind hand held out to him.  No wonder he clung to it. In
the hour during which they talked together, the young fellow had
poured out a great deal of his honest heart to the kind new-found
friend; when the dial told breakfast-tinme, he wondered to think
how much he had told her.  She took him to the breakfast-room;
she presented him to his aunt, the Countess, and bade him
embrace his cousins.  Lord Castlewood was frank and gracious
enough. Honest Will had a headache, but was utterly unconscious
of the proceedings of the past night.  The ladies were very
pleasant and polite, as ladies of their fashion know how to be.
How should Harry Warrington, a simple truth-telling lad from a
distant colony, who had only yesterday put his foot upon English
shore, know that my ladies, so smiling and easy in demeanour,
wlere furious against him, and aghast at the favour with which
Madam Bernstein seemed to regard him?
She was folle of him, talked of no one else, scarce noticed the




22


THE VIRGINIANS


Castlewood young people, trotted with him over the house, and
told him all its story, showed him the little room in the courtyard where his grandfather used to sleep, and a cunning cupboard
over the fireplace which had been made in the time of the
Catholic persecutions; drove out with him in the neighbouring
country, and pointed out to him the most remarkable sites and
houses, and had in return the whole of the young man's story.
This brief biography the kind reader will please to accept, not
in the precise words in which Mr. Harry Warrington delivered
it to Madam Bernstein, but in the form in which it has been
cast in the Chapters next ensuing.
CHAPTER III
THE ESMONDS IN VIRGINIA
ENRY ESMOND, ESQ., an officer
who had served with the rank of
Colonel during the wars of Queen
close, compromised in certain attempts for the restoration of the
r. E onihab Queen's family to the throne of
these realms. IHappily for itself,
the  nation  preferred  another
dynasty; but some of the few
opponents of the house of Hanover
took refuge out of the three kingdoms, and amongst others, Colonel
Esmond was counselled by his
friends to go abroad.  As Mr.
Esmond sincerely regretted the
part which he had taken, and as
the august Prince who came to
rule  over  England  was  the
most pacable of sovereigns, in
a very little time the Colonel's friends found means to make
his peace.
Mr. Esmond, it has been said, belonged to the noble English
family which takes its title from Castlewood, in the county of
Hants; and it was pretty generally known that King James II.




THE VIRGINIANS.


23
I~


but there had been some bankruptcy of his heart, which his
spirit never recovered. He submitted to life, rather than enjoyed it, and never was in better spirits than in his last hours 
when he was going to lay it down. 
Having lost his wife, his daughter took the management of
the Colonel and his affairs; aaid he gave them up to her charge
with an entire acquiescence. So f'at he had his books and his
quiet, he cared for no more. When'company came to Castlewood, he entertained them handsomely, and was of a very
pleasant, sarcastical turn. Hte was not in the least sorry when
they went away.
"My love, I shall not be sorry to go myself," he said to his
daughter, " and you, though the most affectionate of daughters,
will console yourself after a while..Why should I, who am
so old, be romantic? You may, who are still a young creature." This he said, not meaning all he said, for the lady
whom he addressed was a matter-of-fact little person, with
very little romance in her nature.
After fifteen years' residence upon his great Virginian estate,
affairs prospered so well with the worthy proprietor, that he acquiesced in his daughter's plans for the building of a mansion
much grander and more durable than the plain wooden edifice
in which he had been content to live, so that his heirs might
have a habitation worthy of their noble name.  Several of
Madam Warrington's neighbors had built handsome houses for
themselves; perhaps it was her ambition to take rank in the
country, which inspired this desire for improved quarters.
Colonel Esmond, of Castlewood, neither cared for quarters nor
for quarterings. But his daughter had a very high opinion of
the merit and antiquity of her lineage; and her sire, growing
exquisitely calm and good-natured in his serene, declining
years, humored his child's peculiarities in an easy, bantering
way, - nay, helped her with his antiquarian learning, which
was not inconsiderable, and with his skill in the art of painting,
of which he was a proficient. A knowledge of heraldry, a
hundred years ago, formed part of the education of most noble 
ladies and gentlemen: during her visit to Europe, Miss Esmond 
had eagerly studied the family history and pedigrees, and re- 
turned thence to Virginia with a store of documents relative to 
her family on which she relied with implicit gravity and cre- 
dence, and with the most edifying volumes then published in  i
France and England, respecting the noble science.  These
works proved, to her perfect satisfaction, not only that the
Esmonds were descended fiom noble Norman warriors, who 






24                 THE VIRGINIANS.
came into England along with their victorious chief, but from
native English of royal dignity: and two magnificent heraldic
trees, cunningly paihted by the hand of the Colonel, represented
the family springing from the Emperor Charlemagne on the one
hand, who was drawn in plate-armor, with lis imperial mantle
and diadem, and on the other from Queen Boadicca, whom the
Colonel insisted upon painting in the light costume of an ancient British queen, with a prodigious gilded crown, a trifling
mantle of furs, and a lovely symmetrical person, tastefully tattooed with figures of a brilliant blue tint. From these two
illustrious stocks the family-tree rose until it united in the
thirteenth century somewhere in the person of the fortunate
Esmond, who claimed to spring from both.
Of the Warrington family, into which she married, good
Madam Rachel thought but little. She wrote herself Esmond
Warrington, but was universally called Madam Esmond of
Castlewood, when, after her father's decease, she came to rule
over that domain. It is even to be feared that quarrels for
precedence in the colonial society occasionally disturbed her
temper; for, though her father had had a marquis's patent
from King James, which he had burned and disowned, she
would frequently act as if that document existed and was in
full force. She considered the English Esmonds of an interior
dignity to her own branch, and as for the colonial aristocracy,
she made no scruple of asserting her superiority over the whole
body of them. Hence quarrels and angry words, and even a
scuffle or two, as we gather from her notes, at the Governor's
assemblies at James Town. Wherefore recall the memory of
these squabbles?  Are not the persons who engaged in them
beyond the reach of quarrels now, and has not the republic
put an end to these social inequalities? Ere the establishment
of Independence, there was no more aristocratic country in the
world than Virginia; so the Virginians, whose history we have
to narrate, were bred to have tie fillest respect for the institutions of home, and the rightful king had not two more faithful
little subjects than the young twins of Castlewood.
When the boys' grandfather died, their mother, in great
state, proclaimed her eldest son George her successor and heir
of the estate; and Harry, George's younger brother by half
an hour, was always enjoined to respect his senior. All the
household was equally instructed to pay him honor: the negroes1 of whom there was a large and happy family, and the
assigned servants from Europe, whose lot was made as bearable as it might be under the government of the lady of Castle-.v': ' ". 
Kins  '~.




THE VIRGINIANS.


25


wood. In the whole family there scarcely was a rebel save
Mrs. Esmond's faithful friend and companion, Madam Mountain, andl -larlry's foster-mother, a faithful negro woman, who
never could be made to understand why her child should not
be first, wlo was handsomer, and stronger, and cleverer than
his brother, as she vowed; though, in truth, there was scarcely
any difference in the beauty, strength, or stature of the twins.
In disposition, they were in many points exceedingly unlike;
but in feature they resembled each other so closely, that, but
for the color of their hair, it had been difficult to distinguish
them. In their beds, and when their heads were covered with
those vast ribboned nightcaps which our great and little ancestors wore, it was scarcely possible for any but a nurse or a
mother to tell the one fiom tle other child.
Howbeit, alike in form, we have said that they differed in
temper. The elder was peaceful, studious, and silent; the
younger was warlike and noisy. He was quick at learning
when he began, but very slow at beginning. No threats of
the ferule would provoke Harry to lealn in an idle fit, or
would prevent George from helping his brother in his lesson.
Harry was of a strong military turn, drilled-tlhe little negroes
on the estate, and caned them like a corporal, having many
good boxing-matches with them, and never bearing malice if
he was worsted; - whereas George was sparing of blows, and
gentle with all about him. As the custom in all families was,
each of tlhe boys had a special little servant assigned him; and
it was a known fact that George, finding his little wretch of a
blackamoor asleep on his master's bed, sat down beside it and
brushed the flies off the child with a feather-fan, to the horror of
old Gumbo, the child's father, who found his young master so
engaged, and to the indignation of Madam Esmond, who ordered
the young negro off to the proper officer for a whipping. In
vain George implored and entreated -burst into passionate
tears, and besought a remission of the sentence. His mother
was inflexible regarding the young rebel's punishment, and the
little negro went off beseeching his young master not to cry.
A fierce quarrel between mother and son ensued out of this
event. Her son would not be pacified. He said the punishment was a shame- a shame; that he was the master of the    -
boy, and no one- no, not his mother - had a right to touch:
him; that she might order him to be corrected, and that he 
would suffer the punishment, as he and Harry often had, but 
no one should lay a hand on his boy. Trembling with passionate rebellion against what he conceived the injustice of the  -
*  *- *** f




.  26


THE VIRGINIANS.


procedure, he vowed - actually shrieking out an oath, which
shocked his fond mother and governor, who never before heard
such language from the usually gentle child - that on the day
he came of age he would set young Gumbo free - went to visit
the child in the slaves' quarters, and gave him one of his own
toys.
The young black martye was an impudent, lazy, saucy little
personage, who would be none the worse tor a whipping, as the
Colonel no doubt thought; for he acquiesced in the child's
punishment when Madam Esmond insisted upon it, and only
laughed in his good-natured way wy lhen his indignant grandson
called out
"You let mamma rule you in everything, grandpapa."
"Why, so I do," says grandpapa. "Rachel, my love, the
way in which I am petticoat-ridden is so evident that even
this baby has found it out."
"Then why don't you stand up like a man?" says little
Harry, who always was ready to abet his brother.
Grandpapa looked queerly.
" Because I like sitting down best, my dear," he said. "I
am an old gentleman, and standing fatigues me."
On account of a certain apish drollery and humor which
exhibited itself in the lad, and a liking for some of the old
man's pursuits, the first of the twins was the grandfather's
favorite and companion, and would laugh and talk out all his
infantine heart to the old gentleman, to whom the younger had
seldom a word to say. George was a demure studious boy,
and his senses seemed to brighten up in the library, where his
brother was so gloomy. He knew the books before he could
wellnigh carry them, and read in them long before he could
understand them. Harry, on the other hand, was all alive in
the stables or in the wood, eager for all parties QfPhltftg and
fishing, and promised to be a good sportsman fWinM  )  e4i4y
age. Their grandfather's ship was sailing fieVMp^ib AF
when the boys were children, and they were askedfdir, hplf
ent Captain Franks should bring them back? G0etie 'vWas
divided between books and a fiddle; Harry instantly declared
for a little gun; and Madam Warrington (as she then was
called) was hurt that her elder boy should have low tastes, and
applauded the younger's choice as more worthy of his name
and lineage.  "Books, papa, I can fancy to be a good:  choice," she replied to her father, who tried to convince her
that George had a right to his opinion, " though I am sure
i you must have pretty nigh all the books in the world already.,,*~- f. }f 




THE VIRGINIANS.                  27
But I never can desire -I may be wrong, but I never can
desire-that my son, and the grandson of the Marquis of
Esmond, should be a fiddler."
"Should be a fiddlestick, my dear," the old Colonel answered. "Remember that Heaven's ways are not ours, and
that each creature born has a little kingdom of thought of his
own, which it is a sin in us to invade. Suppose George loves
music? You can no more stop him than you can order a rose
not to smell sweet, or a bird not to sing."
"A bird! A bird sings from nature; George did not come
into the world with a fiddle in his hand," says Mrs. Warrington, with a toss of her head. " I am sure I hated the harpsichord when a chit at Kensington School, and only learned it
to please my mamma. Say what you will, dear sir, I can not
believe that this fiddling is work for persons of fashion."
And King David who played the harp, my dear?"
"I wish my papa would read him more, and not speak
about him in that way," said Mrs. Warrington.
"Nay, my dear, it was but by way of illustration," the father
replied gently. It was Colonel Esmond's nature, as he has
owned in his own biography, always to be led by a woman;
and, his wife dead, he coaxed and dandled and spoiled his
daughter; laughing at her caprices, but humoring them; making a joke of her prejudices, but letting them have their way;
indulging, and perhaps increasing, her natural imperiousness
of character, though it was his maxim that we can't change
dispositions by meddling, and only make hypocrites of our
children by commanding them over-much.
At length the time came when Mr. Esmond was to have
done with the affairs of this life, and he laid them down as if
glad to be rid of their burden. We must not ring in an opening
history with tolling bells, or preface it with a funeral sermon.
All who read and heard that discourse, wondered where Par- 
son Broadbent of James Town found the eloquence and the
Latin which adorned it. Perhaps Mr. Dempster knew, the
bovs' Scotch tutor, who corrected the proofs of the oration,
which was printed, by desire of his Excellency and many per- 
sons of honor, at Mr. Franklin's press in Philadelphia.: No 
such sumptuous funeral had ever been seen in the conptry
as that which Madam Esmond Warrington ordained foirher
father, who would have. been the first to smile at that pompous 
grief. The little lads of Castlewood, almost smothered in
black trains and hat-bands, headed the procession, and were 
followed by my Lord Fairfax, from Greenway Court, by his:: wi,,,!jf,




28                THE VIRGLIANS.
Excellency the Governor of Virginia (with his coach), by the
Randolphs, the Careys, the Harrisons, the Washingtons, and
many others, for the whole county esteemed the departed
gentleman, whose goodness, whose high talents, whose benevolence and unobtrusive urbanity had earned for him the just
respect of his neighbors. When informed of the event, the
family of Colonel Esmond's step-son, the Lord Castlewood of
Hampshire in England, asked to be at the charges of the marble slab which recorded the names and virtues of his lordship's
mother and her husband; and after due time of preparatiol,
the monument was set up, exhibiting the arms and coronet of
the Esmonds, supported by a little chubby group of weeping
cherubs, and reciting an epitaph which for once did not tell any
falsehoods.
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH HARRY FINDS A NEW RELATIVE.
KIND friends, neighbors hospitable, cordial, even respectful,-an ancient name, a large estate, and a sufficient fortune,
a comfortable home, supplied with all the necessaries and
many of the luxuries of life, and a troop of servants, black and
white, eager to do your bidding; good health, affectionate
children, and, let us humbly add, a good cook, cellar, and
library - ought not a person in the possession of all these bellefits to be considered very decently happy?  Madam Esmond
Warrington possessed all these causes for happiness; she
reminded herself- of them daily in her morning and evening
prayers. She was scrupulous in her devotions, good to the
poor, never knowingly did anybody a wrong. Yonder I fancy
her enthroned in her principality of Castlewood, the country
gentlefolks paying her court, the sons dutiful to her, the
domestics tumbling over each other's black heels to do her
bidding, the poor whites grateful for her bounty and implicitly
taking her doses when they were ill, the smaller gentry always
acquiescing in her remarks, and for ever letting her win at
backgammon -well, with all these benefits, which are more
sure than fate allots to most mortals, I don't think the'little
Princess Pocahontas, as she was called, was to be envied in
\ the midst of her dominions. The Princess's husband, who. was cut off in early life, was as well perhaps out of the way.




THE VIRGINIANS.


29


Had he survived his marriage by many years, they would have
quarrelled fiercely, or he would infallibly lrave been a henpecked husband, of which sort there were a few specimens still
extant a hundred years ago. The truth is, little Madam
Esmond never came near man or woman, but she tried to
domineer over thepi. If people obeyed, she was their very
good friend; if they resisted, she fought and fought until she
or they gave in. We are all miserable sinners: that's a fact
we acknowledge in public every Sunday — no one announced 1 
it in a more clear resolute voice than the little lady. As a
mortal, she may have been in the wrong, of course; only she
very seldom acknowledged the circumstance to herself, anfd to
others never. Her father, in his old age, used to watch her
freaks of despotism, haughtiness, and stubbornness, and amuse
himself with them. She felt that his eye was upon lier; his
humor, of which quality she possessed little herself, subdued
and bewildered her. But, the Colonel gone, there was nobody
else whom she was disposed to obey, — and so I am rather
glad for my part that I did not live a hundred years ago at
Castlewood in Westmoreland County in Virginia. I Iancy, one
would not have been too happy there. Happy, who is happy?  '
Was not there a serpent in Paradise itself, and if Eve had been
perfectly happy beforehand, would she have listened to him?
The management of the house of Castlewood had been in
the hands of the active little lady long before the Colonel slept
the sleep of the just. She now exercised a rigid supervision
over the estate; dismissed Colonel Esmond's English factor
and employed a new one; built, improved, planted, grew
tobacco, appointed a new overseer, and imported a new tutor.
Much as she loved her father, there were some of his maxims
by which she was not inclined to abide. Had she not obeyed
her papa and mamma during all their lives, as a dutiful daughter should? So ought all children,to obey their parents, that
their days might be long in the land. The little Queen domineered over her little dominion, and the Princes her sons were
only her first subjects. Ere long she discontinued her lusband's name of Warrington, and went by the name of Madam
Esmond in the country. Her family pretensions were known
there. She had no objection to talk of the Marquis's title
which King James had given to her father and grandfather.   -
Her papa's enormous magnanimity might induce him to give
up his titles and rank to the younger branch of the family, and
to her half-brother, my Lord Castlewood and his children; but
Bhe and her sons were of the elder branch of the Esmonds, and 
):.^'^~




30


THE VIRGINIANS.


she expected that they should be treated accordingly. Lord
Fairfax was the only gentleman in the colony of Virginia to
whom she would allow precedence over her. She insisted on
the pas before all Lieutenant-Governors' and Judges' ladies;
before the wife of the Governor of a colony she would, of
course, yield as to the representative of the Sovereign. Accounts are extant, in the family papers and letters, of one
or two tremendous battles which Madam fought with the wives
of colonial dignitaries upon these questions of etiquette. As
for her husband's family of Warrington, they were as naught
in her eyes. She married an English baronet's younger son
out of Norfolk to please her parents, whom she was always
bound to obey. At the early age at which she married -a
chit out of a boarding-school - she would have jumped overboard if her papa had ordered. " And that is always the way
with the Esmonds," she said.
The English Warringtons were not over-much flattered by
the little American Princess's behavior to them, and her manner of speaking about them. Once a year a solemn letter used
to be addressed to the Warrington family, and to her noble
kinsmen the Hampshire Esmonds; but a Judge's lady with
whom Madam Esmond had quarrelled, returning to Eingland
out of Virginia, chanced to meet Lady Warrington. who was
in London with Sir Miles attending Parliament, and this person repeated some of the speeches which the Princess Pocahontas was in the habit of making regarding her own and her
husband's English relatives, and my Lady Warrington, I suppose, carried the story to my Lady Castlewood; after which
the letters fiom Virginia were not answered, to the surprise
and wrath of Madam Esmond, who speedily left off writing
also.
So this good woman fell out with her neighbors, with her
relatives, and, as it must be owned, with her sons also.
A very early difference which occurred between the Queen
and Crown Prince arose out of the dismissal of Mr. Dempster,
the lad's tutor and the late Colonel's secretary. In her father's
life Madam Esmond bore him with difficulty, or it should be
rather said Mr. Dempster could scarce put up with her. She was
jealous of books somehow, and thought your book-worms dangerpus folks, insinuating bad principles. She had heard that
Denpster was a Jesuit in disguise, and the poor fellow was
obliged to go build himself a cabin in a clearing, and teach
school and practise- medicine where he could find customers
among the sparse inhabitants of the province. Master George




31


THE VIRGINIANS.


vowed he never would forsake his old tutor, and kept his promise. Harry had always loved fishing and sporting better than
books, and he and the poor Dominie had never been on terms
of close intimacy. Another cause of dispute presently ensued.
By the death of an aunt, and at his lather's demise, the
heirs of Mr. George Warrington became entitled to a sum of
six thousand pounds, of which their mother was one of the
trustees. She never could be made to understand that she was
not the proprietor, and not merely the trustee of this money;
and was furious with the London lawyer, the other trustee, who
refused to send it over at her order. " Is not all I have my
sons'?" she cried, " and would I not cut myself into little
pieces to serve them? With the six thousand pounds I would
have bought Mr. Boulter's estate and negroes, which would
have given us a good thousand pounds a year, and made a
handsome provision for my Harry." IHer young friend and
neiglllbor, Mr. Washington of Mount Vernon, could not convince her that the-London agent was right, and must not give
up his trust except to those for whom he held it. Madam
Esmond gave the London lawyer a piece of her mind, and, I
am sorry to say, informed Mr. Draper that he was an insolent
pettifogger, and deserved to be punished for doubting the honor 
of a mother and an Esmond.    It must be owned that the/
Virginian Princess had a temper of her own. 
George Esmond, her first-born, when this little matter was
referred to him, anll his mother vehemently insisted that he
should declare himself, was of the opinion of Mr. Washington
and Mr. I)raper, the London lawyer. The boy said he could
not help himself. He did not want the money: he would be
very glad to think otherwise, and to give the money to his
mother, if he had the power.  But Madam Esmond would 
not hear any of these reasons. Feelings were her reasons.
Here was a chance of making Harry's fortune - dear Harry,
who was left with such a slender younger brother's pittance -
and the wretches in London would not help him; his own
brother, who inherited all her papa's estate, would not help
him. To think of a child of hers being so mean at fourteen
years of age! &c. &c. Add tears, scorn, frequent innuendo,
long estrangement, bitter outbreak, passionate appeals to
heaven and the like, and we may fancy the widow's state of
mind. Are there not beloved beings of the gentler sex who
argue in the same way now-a-days?  The book of female logic
is blotted all over with tears, and Justice in their courts is for 
ever in a passion.


I


i;-I
""'
-i-;.
u;:~rt:'t
~~;:il~;
r


1.


1.;. 




32                THE VIRGINIANS.
This occurrence set the widow resolutely saving for her
younger son, for.hom, as in duty bound, she was eager to
make a portion. The fine buildings were stopped which the
Colonel had commenced at Castlewood, who had fieighted
ships from New York with Dutch bricks, and imported, at great
charges, mantel-pieces, carved cornice-work, sashes and glass,
carpets and costly upholstery from home.  No more books
were bought. The agent had orders to discontinue sending
wine. Madam Esmond deeply regretted the expense of a fine
carriage which she had had from England, and only rode in
it to church groaning in spirit, and crying to the sons opposite
her, "Harry, Harry! I wish I had put by the money for thee,
my poor portionless child - three hundred and eighty guineas
of ready money to Messieurs -Iatchett! "
"You will give me plenty while you live, and George will
give me plenty when you die," says Harry, gayly.
"Not unless he changes in spirit, my dear," says the lady,
with a grim glance at her elder boy. "Not unless heaven
softens his heart and teaches him charity, for which I pray day
and night; as Mountain knows; do you not, Mountain?"
Mrs. Mountain, Ensign Mountain's widow, Madam Esmond's
companion and manager, who took the fourth seat in the family coach on these Sundays, said, "Hurph! I know you are
always disturbing yourself and crying about this legacy, and I
don't see that there is any need."
"Oh, no! no need!" cries the widow, rustling in her silks;
I    "' of course I have no need to be disturbed, because my eldest
born is a disobedient son and an unkind brother- because he
has an estate, and my poor Harry, bless him, but a mess of
pottage."
George looked despairingly at his mother until he could see
her no more for eyes welled up with tears. "I wish you would
bless me, too, O my mother! " he said, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. Harry's arms were in a moment round his
brother's neck, and he kissed George a score of times.
"Never mind, George. I know whether you are a good
brother or not.  Don't mind what she says. She don't mean
/ it."
"I do mean it, child," cries the mother. "Would to
heaven -"
I    "HOLD YOUR TONGUE, I SAY!" roars out Harry. "It's a
- shame to speak so to him, ma'am."
\  And so it is, Harry," sasa Mrs. Mountain, shaking his
}., hand. " You never said a truer word in your life."...   d. l...




THE VIRGINIANS.                  33
"Mrs. Mountain, do yon dare to set my children against
me?" cries the widow. " From this very day, madam'-"
" Turn me and my child into the street? Do," says Mrs.
Mountain. "That will be a fine revenge because the English
lawyer won't give you the boy's money. Find another companion who will tell you black is white, and flatter you: it is not
my way, madam. When shall I go? I shan't be long a-packing. I did not bring much into Castlewood House, and I shall
not take much out."
"4 Hush! the bells are ringing for church, Mountain. Let
us try, if you please, and compose ourselves," said the widow,
and she looked with eves of extreme affection, certainly at one
-perhaps at both -of her children. George kept his head
down, and Harry, who was near, got quite close to him during
the sermon, and sat with his arm round his brother's neck.
Harry had proceeded in his narrative after his own fashion,
interspersing it with many youthful ejaculations, and answering
a number of incidental questions asked by his listener. The
old lady seemed never tired of hearing him. Her amiable
hostess and her daughters came more than once, to ask if she
would ride, or walk, or take a dish of tea, or play a game at
cards; but all these amusements Madame Bernstein declined,
saying that she found infinite amusement in Harry's conversation. Especially when any of the Castlewood family were present, she redoubled her caresses, insisted upon the lad speaking
close to her ear, and would call out to the others, " Hush, my
dears! I can't hear our cousin speak." And they would quit
the room, striving still to look pleased.
"Are you my cousin too?" asked the honest boy. "You 
seem kinder than my other cousins."
Their talk took place in the wainscoted parlor, where the
family had taken their meals in ordinary for at least two centuries past, and which, as we have said, was hung with portraits
of the race. Over Madame Bernstein's great chair was a
Kneller, one of the most brilliant pictures of the gallery, representing a young lady of three or four and twenty, in the easy 
flowing dress and loose robes of Queen Anne's time - a hand
on a cushion near her, t quantity of auburn hair parted off a fair
forehead, and flowing over pearly shoulders and a lovely neck.
Under this sprightly picture the lady sat with her knitting-.'.i
needles. 
When Harry asked, "Are you my cousin, too?" she said,  ~
"That picture is by Sir Godfrey, who thought himself the greatS
8
-   ~       ~~ A*:'




64                 THIE VIRGINIANS.
est painter in the world. But he was not so good as Lely, who
painted your grandmother - my - my Lady Castlewood, Colonel Esmond's wife; nor he so good as Sir Anthony Vandyck,
who painted your great-grandfather, yonder - and who looks,
Harry, a much finer gentleman than he was. Some of us are
painted blacker than we are. Did you recognize your grandmother in that picture? She had the loveliest fair hair and
shape of any woman of her time."
" I fancied I knew the portrait from instinct, perhaps, and
a certain likeness to my mother."
"Did Mrs. Warrington -I beg her pardon, I think she
calls herself Madam or my Lady Esmond now...?"
"They call my mother so in our province," said the boy.
"Did she never tell yop of another daughter her mother had
in England, before she married your grandfather?"
"She never spoke of one."
"Nor your grandfather? "
"Never. But in his picture-books, which he constantly
made for us children, he used to draw a head very like that
above your ladyship. That, and Viscount Francis, and King
James III., he drew a score of times, I am sure."
"And the picture over me reminds you of no one, Harry?"
"No, indeed."
"Ah! Here is a sermon!" says the lady, with a sigh.
"Harry, that was my face once - yes; it was -and then Iwas
called Beatrix Esmond. And your mother is my half-sister,
child, and she has never even mentioned my name!"
CHAPTER V.
FAMILY JARS.
As Harry Warrington related to his new-found relative
the simple story of his adventures at home, no doubt Madam
Bernstein, who possessed a great sense of humor and a remarkable knowledge of the world, formed her judgment respecting the persons and events described; and if her opinion was
not in all respects favorable, what can be said but that men
and women are imperfect, and human life not entirely pleasant.!; or profitable?  The court and city-bred lady recoiled at the
-mere thought of her American sister's countrified existence.




THE VIRGINIANS.


35


Such a life would be rather wearisome to most city-bred ladies.
But little Madam Warrington knew no better, and was-satisfied
with her life, as indeed she was with herself in general. Because you and I are epicures or dainty feeders, it does not
follow that Hodge is miserable with his homely meal of bread
and bacon. Madam Warrington had a life of duties and employments which might be humdrum, but at any rate were
pleasant to her. She was a brisk little woman of business, and
all the affairs of her large estate came under her cognizance.
No pie was baked at Castlewood but her little finger was in it.
She set the maids to their spinning, she saw the kitchen wenches
at their work, she trotted a-field on her pony, and oversaw the
overseers and the negro hands as they worked in the tobacco
and corn fields. If a slave was ill, she would go to his quarters
in any weather, and doctor him with great resolution.  She
had a book full of receipts after the old fashion, and a closet
where she distilled waters and compounded elixirs, and a
medicine-chest which was the terror of her neighbors. They
trembled to be ill, lest the little lady should be upon them with
her decoctions and her pills.
A hundred years back there were scarce any towns in
Virginia; the establishments of the gentry were little villages
in which they and their vassals dwelt. Rachel Esmond ruled
like a little queen in Castlewood; the princes, her neighbors,
governed their estates round about. Many of these were rather
needy potentates, living plentifully but in the roughest fashion,
having numerous domestics whose liveries were often ragged;
keeping open houses, and turning away no stranger from their
gates; proud, idle, fond of all sorts of field-sports as became
gentlemen of good lineage. The widow of Castlewood was as
hospitable as her neighbors, and a better economist than most
of them. More than one, no doubt, would have had no objection to share her life-interest in the estate, and supply the place
of papa to her boys. But where was the man good enough for
a person of her ladyship's exalted birth?  There was a talk of 
making the Duke of Cumberland viceroy, or even king, over 
America. Madam Warrington's gossips laughed, and said she:
was waiting for him. She remarked, with much gravity and 
dignity, that persons of as high birth as his Royal Highness  J:
had made offers of alliance to the Esmond family. 
She had, as lieutenant under her, an officer's widow who:
has been before named, and who had been Madam Esmond's 
companion at school, as her late husband had been the regi-  -
mental friend of the late Mr. Warrington. When the English




36


THE VIRGINIANS.


girls at the Kensington Academy, where Rachel Esmond had
her education, teased and tortured the little American stranger,
and laughed at the princified airs which she gave herself fromn
a very early age, Fanny Parker defended and befriended her.
They both married ensigns in Kingsley's. They became tenderly attached to each other. It was " my Fanny" and " my
Rachel" in the letters of the young ladies. Then, my Fanny's
husband died in sad out-at-elbowed circumstances, leaving no
provision for his widow and her infant; and, in one of his
annual voyages, Captain Franks brought over Mrs. Mountain,
in the "c Young Rachel," to Virginia.
There was plenty of room in Castlewood House, and Mrs.
Mountain served to enliven the place. She played cards with
the mistress: she had some knowledge of music, and could
help the eldest boy in that way: she laughed and was pleased
with the guests: she saw to the strangers' chambers, and presided over the presses and the linen. She was a kind, brisk,
jolly-looking widow, and more than one unmarried gentleman
of the colony asked her to change her name for his own. But
she chose to keep that of Mountain, though, and perhlaps because it had brought her no good fortune. One marriage was
enough for her, she said. Mr. Mountain had amiably spent
her little fortune and his own. Her last trinkets went to pay
his funeral; and, as long as Madam Warrington would keep
her at Castlewood, she preferred a home without a husband to
any which as yet had been offered to her in Virginia. The two
ladies quarrelled plentifully; but they loved each other: they
made up their differences: they fell out again, to be reconciled
presently. When either of the boys was ill, each lady vied
with the other in maternal tenderness and care. In his last
days and illness, Mrs. Mountain's cheerfulness and kindness
had been greatly appreciated by the Colonel, whose memory
- Madam Warrington regarded more than that of any living
person. So that, year after year, when Captain Franks 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 year more.
And when suitors came to Madam Warrington, as come
they would, she would receive their compliments and attentions
kindly enough, and asked more than one of these lovers whether
it was Mrs. Moutntainjie 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.
i  Did the Squire declare it was to her and no; her dependant
F.. itS  A.;," ~:.;:, 




37


TH-IE VIRGINIANS.


that he palid his addresses; she would make him her gravest
curtsy, say that she really had been utterly mistaken as to his
views, and let hil know that the daughter of tile Marquis of
Esmrond lived for her people and her sons, and did not )propose
to change her con(lition. I-ave we not read how Queen Elizabeth was a perfectly sensible woman of business, and was
pleased to inslire not only terror and awe, but love in the
bosoms of her subjects?  So tile little Virginian princess had
her favorites, and accepted their flatteries, and grew tired of
them, and was cruel or kind to them as suited her wayward
imperial humor. There was no amount of comnlliment which
sle would 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 lIenrico County had free
quarters for months at Castlewood, and was a prime favorite
with the lady there, becaus  e he addressed verses to her which
he stole out of the pocket-books. Tom Humbold of Spottsylvania wagered fifty hogsheads against five that he would make
her institute an order of knighthood, and won his wager.
The elder boy saw these freaks and oddities of his good
motler's disposition, and chafed and rlaged at themn 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, 'T The
Esmonds were always of a jealous disposition, and my poor
boy takes after my lfaither and mother in this."  George hated
Jack Firebrace and Tom Ilumbold, and all their like, whereas
Harry went ot 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 been dismissed, Madam
Esmond took them to Williamsburg, for such education as the
schools and college there afforded, and there it was the fortune
of the family to listen to the preaching of the famous M1r.
Whitfield, who had come into Virginia, where the habits and
preaching of the established clergy were not very edifying.
Unlike many of the neighboring provinces, Virginia was a
Church of England colony: the clergymen were paid by the
State and had glebes allotted to them; and, there being no
Church of England bishop as yet in America, the colonists
were obliged to import their divines froml the mother-country.;
Such as came were not, naturally, of the very best or most 
eloquent kind of lastors. 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 
"~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~; -, * 




38


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 fervor, and, could he have remained
long enough among them, hIarry and George had both worn
black coats probably instead of epaulettes. The simple boys
communicated their experiences to one another, and were on
the daily and nightly look-out for the sacred " call," in 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 congregation of Williamsburg. His mission was to enlighten the
whole benighted people of the Church, and from the East to
the West to trumpet the truth and bid slumbering sinners
awaken. However, he comforted the widow with precious
letters, and promised to send her a tutor for her sons who
should be capable of teaching them not only profane learning,
but of strengthening and confirming them in science much more
precious.
In due course, a chosen vessel arrived from 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 affected by his exhortations, and,
when he gave out the hymn, there was such a negro chorus
about the house as might be heard across the Potomac —such
a tchorus as would never have been heard in the Colonel's time
— for that worthy gentleman had a suspicion of all cassocks,
and said he would never have any controversy with a clergyman
but upon backgammon. Where money was wanted for charitable purposes no man was more ready, and the good, easy
Virginian clergyman, who loved backgammon heartily, too,
said that the worthy Colonel's charity must cover his other
shortcomings.
Ward was-a handsome young man. His preaching pleased
Madam Esmond from the first, and, I dare say, satisfied her as
much as Mr. Whitfield's. Of course it cannot be the case at
the present day when they are.so finely educated, but women,
a hundred years ago, were credulous, eager to admire and.4..




THE VIRGINIANS.


39
V


believe, and apt to imagine all sorts of excellences in the object
of their admiration. For weeks, nay, months, Madam Esmond
was never tired of hearing Mr. Ward's great glib voice and
voluble common-places: and, according to her wont, she insisted that her neighbors should come and listen to him, and
ordered them to be converted. IHer young favorite, 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 lie 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 exercises.
And- what boys are just towards their pedagogue?-the
twins grew speedily tired and even rebellious under their new
teacher.
They found him a bad scholar, a dull fellow, and ill bred to
boot.  George knew much more Latin and Greek than his
master, and caught him in perpetual blunders and false quantities. Harry, who could take much greater liberties than were
allowed to his elder brother, mimicked Ward's manner of eating and talking, so that Mrs. Mountain and even Madam
Esmond were forced to laugh, and little Fanny Mountain would
crow with delight.  Madam Esmond would have found the
fellow out for a vulgar quack but for her son's opposition,
which she, on her part, opposed with her own indomitable will.
" What matters whether he has more or less of profane learniag?" 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 sour knees in your chamber and pray to be corrected
of that creadful fault." Ward's discourse that evening was
about Naaman the Syrian, and the pride he had in his native
rivers of Abana and Pharpar, which he vainly imagined to be
superior to the healing waters of Jordan-the moral being,
that he, Ward, was the keeper and guardian of the undoubted
waters of Jordan, and that the unhappy, conceited boys must
go to perdition unless they came to him.
George now began to give way to a wicked sarcastic method,
which, perhaps, he had inherited from his grandfather, and
with which, when a quiet, skilful young person chooses to
employ it, he can make a whole family uncomfortable. He
-:.


\.


~ =I.I
j
~:
a,
u:
ilia
I:::,1:4




'THE VIRGINIANS.


took up Ward's pompous remarks and made jokes of them, so
that that young divine chafed and almost choked over his great
meals. Ile made Madam Esmond angry, and doubly so when
he sent off Ilarry illto fits of laughter. Her authority was
defied, her officer scorned and insulted, her youngest child perverted, by tile obstinate elder brother. She made a desperate
and unhapl)y attempt to maintain her power.
The boys were fourteen years of age, Harry being taller and
much more advanced than his brother, who was delicate, and as
yet almost child-like in stature and appearance. The bacdline
method was a quite common mode of argument in those days.
Sergeants, schoolmasters, slave-overseers, used the cane fieely.
Our little boys had been horsed many a (lay by Mr. Dempster,
their Scotch tutor, in their grandfather's timne; and Harry,
especially, had got to be quite accustomed to the practice, and
made very ligllt of it. But, in the interregnum after Colonel
Esmond's death, the cane had been laid aside, and tlle young
gentlemen at Castlewood had been allowed to have their own
way. Her own and her lieutenant's authority being now spurned
by the youthfil 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 tlose days. I-le 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; ~he more
their mother favored him, tle more they disliked him; and so
the tutor and the pupils cordially hated each othler.  Mrs.
Mountain, who was the boys' friend, especially George's friend,
whom she thought unjustly treated by his mother, warned the
lads to be prudent, and that some conspiracy was hatching
against them. " Ward is more obsequious than ever to your
mamma. It turns my stomach, it does, to hear him flatter,
and to see.him gobble - the odious wretch! You must be on
your guard, my poor boys - you must learn your lessons, and
not anger your tutor. A mischief will come, I know it will.
Your mamma was talking about you to Mr. Washington the
other day, when I came into the room. I don't like that Major
j:   Washington, you know I don't.   Don't say -   Mounty!
-  Master Harry. You always stand up for your fiiends, you do.:: The Major is very handsome and tall, and he may be very good,
but he is wrlch too old a young man for me. Bless you, my
fi,,.,,




THE VIRGINIANS.


41


dears, the quantity of wild oats your father sowed and my own
poor Mountain when they were Ensigns in Kingsley's, would fill
sacks fill! 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,' I)iscil)ine is discipline, and must be
preserved. Thiere 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 Iarry. "I e told
me that lie 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 mine," says George,
very haughtily. And the caution, far from benefiting him, only
rendered the lad more supercilious and ref'ractory.
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 lie 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 honor'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 behavior.
" Punish!" says George.
"Yes, sir, punish! If means of love and entreaty fail, as
they have with your proud heart, other means must be found
to bring you to obedience. I punish you niow, rebellious boy,
~::^|




42


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


to guard you 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
will punish this refractory boy, Mr. Ward, as we have agreed
that you should do, and if there is the least resistance on his
part, my overseer and servants will lend you aid."
In some such words the widow no doubt must have spoken,
but with many vehement Scriptural allusions, which it does not
become this chronicler to copy. To be for ever applying to
the Sacred Oracles, and accommodating their sentences to your
purpose -to be for ever taking heaven into your confidence
about your private affairs, and passionately calling for its interference in your family quarrels and difficulties -- to be so familiar with its designs and schemes as to be able to threaten your
neighbor with its thunders, and to know precisely its intentions
regarding him and others who differ fiom 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 mistress - I know
who said those words before you," George said, slowly, and
looking very white -" and - and I know, mother, that I have
acted wrongly to Mr. Ward."
"He owns it! He asks pardon!" cries Harry. "That's
right, George! That's enough: isn't it?"
"No, it is not enough!" cried the little woman. "The
disobedient boy must pay the penalty of his disobedience.
When I was headstrong, as I sometimes was as a child before
my spirit was changed and humbled, my mamma punished me,
and I submitted. So must George. I desire you will do your
duty, Mr. Ward."
"Stop,,mother! -you don't quite know what you are doing," George said, exceedingly agitated.
"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 mantel-piece, 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




THE VIRGINIANS.                  43
mother, who was leaving the room. "You —you are very
fond of this cup, mother? " - and Harry looked at him, wondering. "If I broke it, it could never be mended, could it?
All the tinkers' rivets would not make it a whole cup again.
My dear old grandpapa's cup! I have been wrong. Mr.
Ward, I ask pardon. I will try and amend."
The widow looked at her son indignantly, almost scornfully.
"I thought," she said, "I thought an Esmond had been more
of a man than to be afraid, and " - here she gave a little scream
as Harry uttered an exclamation, and dashed forward with his
hands stretched out towards his brother.
George, after looking at the cup, raised it, opened his hand,
and let it fall on the marble slab below him. Harry had tried
in vain to catch it.
"It is too late, Hal," George said. "You will never mend
that again - never. Now, mother, I am ready, as it is your
wish. Will you come and see whether I am afraid? Mr.
Ward, I am your servant. Your servant? Your slave! And
the next time I meet Mr. 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 Halry, 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 behind him Harry, with flaring
eyes, and brandishing a little couteau de chasse of his grandfather, which hung, with others of the Colonel's weapons, on
/   the library wall.
I don't care. I did it," says Harry.  I couldn't see this
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;.'




~::
i:
I-.;..

I
-
~ ~
~: r
-~i
~
i:ii,:ia
Z'"
"
r~: ~'
~i -,rl
r.~
i




44


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 during the few minutes of the boys' absence; and the
stripes which she imagined had been inflicted on the elder had
smitten her own heart. She longed to take both boys to it.
She was not angry now. Very likely she was delighted with
the thought of the younger's prowess and generosity. "You
are a very naughty disobedient child," she said, in an exceedingly peacealle voice. " My poor Mr. Ward! What a rebel,
to strike you! Papa's great ebony ruler, was it? Lay down
that hanger, child. 'Twas General Webb gave it to my papa
after the siege of Lille. Let me batle your wound, my good
Mr. Ward, and thank heaven it was no worse. Mountain! Go
fetch me some court- plaster out of the middle drawer in the
japan cabinet. Here comes George. Put on your coat and
waistcoat, child! You were going to take your punishment,
sir, and that is sufficient. Ask pardon, Harry, of good Mr.
Ward, for your wicked rebellious spirit-I do, with all my
heart, I am sure. And guard against your passionate nature,
child- and pray to be forgiven.  My son, 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 honor, 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," ihe 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 mantel-piece, 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 himi as le went up to HarTy, graciously and
condescendingly gave Hal his hand, and said, " Thank you,
brother! " as if he.were a prince, and Harry a general who had
helped him in a great battle.




45


THE VIRGINIANS.


Then George went up to Mr. Ward, who was still piteously
bathing his eye and forehead in tile water. ' I ask pardon for
Hal's violence, sir," George said, in great state. "You see,
thou-h we are very young, we are gentlemen, and calnnot
brook an insult from strangers. I should have submitted, as
it was mamma's desire; but I am glad she no longer entertains it."
"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 -"
"lThis, sir, to a minister of the Word! " bawls out Ward,
starting up, and who knew perfectly well the lads' skill in fence,
having a score of times been foiled by the pair of them.
" You are not a clergyman yet.  We thought you might 
like to be considered as a gentleman. We did not know."
"A gentleman! I am a Christian, sir! " says Ward, glaring furiously, and clenching his great fists.
' Well, well, if you won't fight, why don't you forgive?"
says larry.  " If you don't forgive, why don't you fight? y
That's wlat I call the horns of a dilemma." And he laughed
his frank, jolly laugh...




But this was nothing to the laugh a few days afterwards,
when, the quarrel having been patched up, along with poor Mr.
Ward's eye, the unlucky tutor was holding forth according to
his custom. He tried to preach the boys into respect for him,
to reawaken the enthusiasm which the congregation had felt
for him; he wrestled with their manifest indifierence, 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, on which occasion the remainder of the
little congregation was very cold indeed. One day, then, Ward,
still making desperate efforts to get back his despised authority,
was preaching on the beauty of subordination, the present lax
spirit of the age, and the necessity of obeying our spiritual and
temporal rulers.  ' For why, my dear friends," he nobly asked
(ie was in the habit of asking immensely lull questions, and
straightway answering them with corresponding platitudes),


dS.-.
icl
~-.
1
c
-~~~~.z
~~,c~
~I~-'";:~
"~-s.
"
``"
LT:
r-~J
~;1




46


THE VIRGINIANS.


" why are governors appointed, but that we should be governed?
Why are tutors engaged, but that children should be taught?"
(here a look at the boys). "Why are rulers-"   Here he
paused, looking with a sad, puzzled face at the young gentlemen. He saw in their countenances the double meaning of
the unluck word lie had uttered, and stammered, and thumped
the table with his fist. "I Why, I say, are rulers —
' Rulers," says George, looking at Harry.
"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 never spoke of the quarrel
with his mother, it must have weighed upon the boy's mind very
painfully, for he had a fever soon after the last recounted
domestic occurrences, during which illness his brain once or
twice wandered, when he shrieked out, "I Broken! Broken! It
never, never can be mended!" to the silent terror of his
mother, who sat watching the poor child as lie tossed wakeful
upon his midnight bed. His malady defied her skill, and increased in spite of all the nostrums which the good widow kept
in her closet and administered so freely to her people. She
had to undergo another humiliation, and one day little Mr.
Dempster beheld her at his door on horseback.  She had
ridden through the snow on her pony, to implore him to give




THE VIRGINIANS.                   47
his aid tc her poor boy.  " I shall bury my resentment,
Madam," said he, ' as your ladyship buried your pride. Please
God, I may be time enough tc help my dear young pupil!"
So lie put up his lancet, and his little provision of medicaments;
called his only negro-boy after him, shut up his lonely hut,
and once more returned to Castlewood. That nighlt and for
some days afterwards it seemed very likely that poor Harry
would become heir of Castlewood; but by Mr. Dempster's skill
the fever was got over, the intermittent attacks diminished in
intensity, and George was restored almost to health again. A
change of air, a voyage even to England, was recommended,
but the widow had quarrelled with her children's relatives
there, and owned with contrition that she had been too hasty.
A journey to the north and east was determined on, and the
two young gentlemen, with Mr. Dempster as their tutor and a
couple of servants to attend them, took a voyage to New York,
and thence up the beautiful Hudson River to Albany, where
they were received by the first gentry of the province, and
thence into the French provinces, where they had the best
recommendations, and were hospitably entertained by the
French gentry.  Harry camped with the Indians, and took
furs and shot bears. George, who never cared for field-sports
and whose health was still delicate, was a special favorite with
the French ladies, who were accustomed to see very few young
English gentlemen speaking the French language so readily as
our young gentlemen. George especially perfected his accent
so as to be able to pass for a Frenchman. I-e had the bel air
coml)letely, every person allowed. He (lanced the minuet elegantly. HIe learned the latest imported Frenchl catcles and
songs, and played them beautifully on his violin, and would
have sung them too but that his voice broke at this time, and
changed from treble to bass; and to the envy of poor HIarry,
wlho was absent on a bear-hunt, he even had an affair of honor
with a young ensign of the regimept of Auvergne, the Chevalier
de la Jabotiere, whom he pinked in the shoulder, and with
whom he afterwards swore an eternal friendship. Madame lde
Mouchy, the superintendent's lady, said the mother was blest 
wlo had such a son, and wrote a complimentary letter to 
Madam Esmond upon Mr. George's behavior.     I fear Mr.
Whitfield would not have been over-pleased with the widow's 
elation on lhearing of her son's prowess.
When the lads returned home at the end of ten delightful:
months, their mother was surprised at their growth and inprovement. George especially was so grown as to come up to,




THE VIRGINIANS.


his younger-born brother.  The boys could hardly be distinguished one from another, especially when their hair was
powdered; but that ceremony being too cumbrous for countrylife, each of the gentlemen commonly wore his own hair,
George his raven black, and Harry his light locks tied with a
ribbon.
The reader who has been so kind as to look over the first
pages of the lad's simple liography, must have observed that
Mr. George Warrington was of a jealous and suspicious disposition, most generous and gentle and incapable of an untruth,
and though too magnanimous to revenge, almost incapable of
forgiving any injury.  George left home with no good will
towards an honorable gentleman, whose name afterwards became one of the most famous in the world; and he returned
from his journey not in the least altered in his opinion of his
mother's and grandfather's friend. Mr. Washington, though
then but just of age, looked and felt much older. He always
exhibited an extraordinlary siml)licity and gravity: he had managed his mother's and his family's affairs fiorn a very early age,
and was treated by all his friends and the gentry of his county
more respectfully than persons twice his senior.
Mrs. Mountain, Madam Esmond's friend and companion,
who dearly loved the two boys and her patroness, in spite of
many quarrels with the latter, and daily threats of parting,
was a most amusing, droll letter-writer, and use( to write to
the two boys on their travels.  Now, Mrs. Mountain was of
a jealous turn likewise; especially she had a great turn tor
match-making, and fancied that everybody had a design to
marry everybody else. There scarce came an unmarried man
to Castlewool but Mountain imagined the gentleman had an
eye towards the mistress of the mansion. She was positive
that odious Mr. Ward intended to make love to the widow,
and pretty sure the latter liked him.  She knew that Mr.
Washington wanted to be married, was certain that such a
shrewd young gentleman would look out for a rich wife, and as
for the differences of ages, what matter that the Major (major
was his rank in the militia) was fifteen years younger than
Madam Esmond? They were used to such marriages in the
family; my lady her mother was how many years older than the
Colonel when she married him? - when she married him and was
so jealous that she never would let the poor Colonel out of her
sight. The poor Colonel! after his wife, lie had been henpecked
by his little daughter. And she would take after her mother,
-  and marry again, be sure of that. Madam was a little chit of a..,;..




THE VIRGINIANS.


woman, not five feet in her highest head-dress and shoes, and
Mr. Washington a great tall man of six feet two. Great tall
men always married little chits of women: therefore, Mr. W.
must be looking after the widow. What could be more clear
than the deduction?
She communicated these sage opinions to her boy, as she
called George, who begged her, for heaven's sake, to hold her
tongue. This she said she could do, but she could not keel)
her eyes always shut; and she narrated a hundred circumstances which had occurred in the young gentleman's absence,
and which tended, as she thought, to confirm her notions. Had
Mountain imparted these pretty suspicions to his brother?
George asked sternly. No. George was her boy; Harry was
his mother's boy. " She likes him best, and I like you best,
George," cries Mountain. "Besides, if I were to speak to
him, he would tell your mother in a minute. Poor Harry can
keep nothing quiet, and then there would be a pretty quarrel
between Madam and me!"
" I beg you to keep this quiet, Mountain," said Mr. George,
with great dignity, "or you and I shall quarrel too. Neither
to me nor to any one else in the world must you mention such
an absurd suspicion."
Absurd! Why absurd?    Mr. Washington was constantly
with the widow. His name was for ever in her mouth. She
was never tired of pointing out his virtues and examples to her
sons. She consulted him on every question respecting her
estate and its management. She never bought a horse or sold
a barrel of tobacco without his opinion. There was a room
at Castlewood regularly called Mr. Washington's room. He
actually leaves his clothes here and his portmanteau when
he goes away. "Ah! George, George! One day will come
when he won't go away," groaned Mountain, who, of course,
always returned to the subject of which she was forbidden to
speak. Meanwhtle Mr. George adopted towards his motler's
favorite a frigid courtesy, at which the honest gentleman chafed
but did not care to remonstrate, or a stinging sarcasm, which
he would break through as he would burst through so many
brambles on those hunting excursions in which he and Harry
Warrington rode so constantly together; whilst George, retreating to his tents, read mathematics, and French, and Latin,
and sulked in his book-room more and more lonely.
Harry was away from home with some other sporting friends
(it is to be feared the young gentleman's acquaintances were
not all as eligible as Mr. Washington), when the latter came to
4




50


THE VIRGINIANS.


pay a visit at Castlewood. He was so peculiarly tender and
kind to the mistress there, and received by her with such special
cordiality, that George Warrington's jealousy had wellnigh
broken out in open rupture. But the visit was one of adieu,
as it appeared. Major Washington was going on a long and
dangerous journey, quite to the western Virginia frontier and
beyond it. The French had been for some time past making
inroads into our territory. The government at home, as well
as those of Virginia and Pennsylvania, were alarmed at this
aggressive spirit of the lords of Canada and Louisiana. Some
of our settlers had already been driven from their holdings by
Frenchmen in arms, and the governors of the British provinces
were desirous to stop their incursions, or at any rate to protest
against their invasion.
We chose to hold our American colonies by a law that was
at least convenient for its framers. The maxim was, that
whoever possessed the coast had a right to all the territory inland as far as the Pacific; so that the British charters only laid
down the limits of the colonies from north to south, leaving
them quite free from east to west. The French, meanwhile,
had their colonies to the north and south, and aimed at connecting them by the Mississippi and the St. Lawrence and the
great intermediate lakes and waters lying to the westward of
the British possessions. In the year 1748, though peace was
signed between the two European kingdoms, the colonial question remained unsettled, to be opened again when either party
should be strong enough to urge it. In the year 1753, it came
to an issue, on the Ohio River, where the British and French
settlers met. To be sure, there existed other people besides
French and British, who thought they had a title to the territory about which the children of their White Fathers were
battling, namely, the native Indians and proprietors of the
soil.' But the logicians of St. James's and Versailles wisely
chose to consider the matter in dispute as a European and not
a Red-man's question, eliminating him from the argument, but
employing his tomahawk as it might serve the turn of either
litigant.
A company, called the Ohio Company, having grants from
the Virginia government of lands along that river, found themselves invaded in their settlements by French military detachments, who roughly ejected the Britons from their holdings.
These latter applied for protection to Mr. Dinwiddie, Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia, who determined upon sending an
ambassador to the French commanding officer on the Ohio,




THE VIRGINIANS.


51'


demanding that the French should desist from their inroads
upon the territories of his Majesty King George.
Young Mr. Washington jumped eagerly at the chance of
distinction which this service afforded hiin,.and volunteered to
leave his home and his rural and professional pursuits in Virginia, to carry the governor's message to the French officer.
Taking a guide, an interpreter, and a few attendants, and following the Indian tracks, in the fall of the year 1753, the intrepid young envoy made his way from Williamsburg almost to
the shores of Lake Erie, and found the French commander at Fort
le Boeuf. That officer's reply was brief: his orders were to hold
the place and drive all the English from it. The French avowed
their intention of taking possession of the Ohio. And with this
rough answer the messenger from Virginia had to return through
danger and difficulty, across lonely forest and frozen river,
shaping his course by the compass, and camping at night in
the snow by the forest fires.
Harry Warrington cursed his ill fortune that he had been absent from home on a cock-fight, when he might have had chance
of sport so much nobler; and on his return from his expedition,
which he had conducted with an heroic energy and simplicity,
Major Washington was a greater favorite than ever with the
lady of Castlewood. She pointed him out as a model to both
her sons. " Ah, Harry! " she would say, " think of you, with
your cock-fighting and your racing-matches, and the Major
away there in the wilderness, watching the French, and battling
with the frozen rivers! Ah, George! learning may be a very
good thing, but I wish my eldest son were doing something in
the service of his country!"
"' I desire no better than to go home and seek for employment, Ma'am," says George. "You surely will not have me
serve under Mr. Washington, in his new regiment, or ask a
commission from Mr. Dinwiddie?"
" An Esmond can only serve with the king's commission,"
says Madam, " and as for asking a favor from Mr. LieutenantGovernor Dinwiddie, I would rather beg my bread."
Mr. Washington was at this time raising such a regiment as
with the scanty pay and patronage of the Virginian government he could get together, and proposed with the help of
these men-of-war, to put a more peremptory veto upon the
Frehch invaders than the solitary ambassador had been enabled
to lay. A small force under another officer, Colonel Trent, had
been already despatched to the west, with orders to fortify themselves so as to be able to resist any attack of the enemy. The




52


THE VIRGINIANS.


French troops, greatly outnumbering ours, came up with the
English outposts, who were fortifying themselves at a place
on the confines of Pennsylvania where the great city of Pittsburg now stands. A Virginian officer with but forty men was
in no condition to resist twenty times that number of Canadians,
who appeared before his incomplete works. He was suffered
to draw back without molestation; and the French, taking possession of his fort, strengthened it, and christened it by the
name of the Canadian governor, Du Quesne. Up to this time
no actual blow of war had been struck. The troops representing the hostile nations were in presence - the guns were loaded,
but no one as yet had cried " Fire." It was strange that in a
savage forest of Pennsylvania, a young Virginian officer should
fire a shot, and waken up a war which was to last for sixty
years, which was to cover his own country and pass into Europe, to cost France her American colonies, to sever ours from
us, and create the great Western republic; to rage over the
Old World when extinguished in the New; and, of all the myr.
iads engaged in the vast contest, to leave the prize of the greatest fame with him who struck the first blow!
He little knew of the fate in store for him. A simple gentleman, anxious to serve his king and do his duty, he volunteered for the first service, and executed it with admirable
fidelity. In the ensuing year he took the command of the small
body of provincial troops with which he marched to repel the
Frenchmen. He came up with their advanced guard and fired
upon them, killing their leader. After this he had himself to
fall back with his troops, and was compelled to capitulate to
the superior French force. On the 4th of July, 1754, the Colonel marched out with his troops from the little fort where he
had hastily entrenched himself (and which they called Fort
Necessity), gave up the place to the conqueror, and took his
way home.
His command was over; his regiment disbanded after the
fruitless, inglorious march and defeat. Saddened and humbled
in spirit, the young officer presented himself after a while to his
old friends at Castlewood. He was very young; before he set
forth on his first campaign he may have indulged in exaggerated
hopes of success, and uttered them. "I was angry when I
parted from you," he said to George Warrington, holding
out his hand, which the other eagerly took. "You seemed to
scorn me and my regiment, George. I thought you laughed at
us, and your ridicule made me angry. I boasted too much of
what we would do."




THE VIRGINIANS.


53


"Nay, you have done your best, George," says the other,
who quite fbrgot his previous jealousy in his old comrade's
misfortune.  'Everybody knows that a hundred and fifty
starving men with scarce a round of ammunition left, could not
face five times their number perfectly armed, and everybody
who knows Mr. Washington knows that he would do his duty.
Harry and I saw the French in Canada last year. They obey
but One will: in our provinces each governor has his own.
They were royal troops the French sent against you.... 
"Oh, but that some of ours were here!" cries Madam
Esmond, tossing her head up. "I promise you a few good
English regiments would make the white-coats run."
"You think nothing of the provincials: and I must say
nothing now we have been so unlucky," said the Colonel, gloomily. " You made much of me when I was here before. Don't
you remember what victories you prophesied for me —how
much I boasted myself very likely over your good wine? All
those fine dreams are over now. 'Tis kind of your ladyship to
receive a poor beaten fellow as you do:" and the young soldier
hung down his head.
George Warrington, with his extreme acute sensibility, was
touched at the other's emotion and simple testimony of sorrow under defeat. I-le was about to say something friendly to
Mr. Washington, had not his mother, to whom the Colonel had
been speaking, replied herself: " Kind of us to receive you,
Colonel Washington! " said the widow. "I never heard that
when men were unha)ppy, our sex were less their friends."
And she made the Colonel a very fine curtsy, which straightway caused her son to be more jealous of him than ever.
CHAPTER VII.
PREPARATIONS FOR WAR.
SURELY no man can have better claims to sympathy than
bravery, youth, good looks, and misfortune. Madam Esmond
might have had twenty sons, and yet had a riglt to admire her
young soldier. Mr. Washington's room was more than ever
Mr. Washington's room now. She raved about him and praised
him in all companies. She more than ever pointed out his
excellences to her sons, contrasting his sterling qualities with




54


THE VIRGINIANS.


Iarry's love of pleasure (the wild boy!) and George's listless
musings over his books. George was not disposed to like
Mr. Washington any better for his mother's extravagant praises.
He coaxed the jealous demon within him until he must have
become a perfect pest to himself and all his fiiends round about
him. He uttered jokes so deep that his simple mother did not
know their meaning, but sat bewildered at his sarcasms, and
powerless what to think of his moody, saturnine humor.
Meanwhile, public events were occurring which were to influence the fortunes of all our homely family. The quarrel between the French and English North Americans, from being a
provincial, had grown to be a national, quarrel. Reinforcements
from France had already arrived in Canada; and English troops
were expected in Virginia. "Alas! my dear friend!" wrote
MIadame la Presidente de Mouchy, from Quebec, to her young
friend George Warrington. " How contrary is the destiny to
us. I see you quitting the embrace of an adored mother to
precipitate yourself in the arms of Bellona. I see you pass
wounded after combats. I hesitate almost to wish victory to
our lilies when I behold you ranged under the banners of the
Leopard. There are enmities which the heart does not recognize -ours assuredly are at peace among these tumults. All
here love and salute you as well as Monsieur the Bear-hunter,
your brother (that cold Hippolyte who preferred the chase to
the soft conversation of our ladies!) Your friend, your enemy,
the Chevalier de la Jabotiere, burns to meet on the field of
Mars his generous rival. M. du Quesne spoke of you last night
at supper. M. du Quesne, my husband, send affectuous remembrances to their young fiiend, with which are ever joined
those of your sincere Presidente de Mouchy."
*-        ' The banner of the Leolard," of which George's fair correspondent wrote, was, indeed, flung out to the winds, and a
number of the king's soldiers were rallied round it. It was
resolved to wrest from the French all the conquests they had
made upon British dominion. A couple of regiments were
raised and paid by the king in America, and a fleet with a
couple more was despatched from home under an experienced
commander. In February, 1755, Commodore Keppel, in the
famous ship "Centurion," in which Anson had made his voyage round the world, anchored in Hampton Roads with two
ships of war under his command, and having on board General
Braddock, his staff, and a part of' his troops. Mr. Braddock
was appointed by the Duke. A hundred years ago the Duke
of Cumberland was called The Duke par excellence in England




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


55


as another famous warrior has since been called., Not so
great a Duke certainly was that first-named Prince as his party
esteemed him, and surely not so bad a one as his enemies have
painted him. A fleet of transports speedily followed Prince
William's general, bringing stores, and men, and money in
plenty.
The great man landed his troops at Alexandria on the Potomac River, and repaired to Annapolis in Maryland, -where lie
ordered the governors of the different colonies to meet him in
council, urging them each to call upon their respective provinces to help the common cause in this strait.
The arrival of the General and his little army caused a
mighty excitement all through the provinces, and nowhere
greater than at Castlewood. Harry was off forthwith to see
the troops under canvas at Alexandria. The sight of their
lines delighted him, and the inspiring music of their fifes and
drums. He speedily made acquaintance with the officers of
both regiments; he longed to join in the expedition upon which
they were bound, and was a welcome guest at their mess.
Madam Esmond was pleased that her sons should have an
opportunity of enjoying the society of gentlemen of good fashion from England. She had no doubt their company was
improving, that the English gentlemen were very different from
the horse-racing, cock-fighting Virginian squires, with whom
Master Harry would associate, and the lawyers, and pettifoggers, and toad-eaters at the Lieutenant-Governor's table.
Madam Esmond had a very keen eye for detecting flatterers in
other folks' houses.. Against the little knot of official people
at Williamsburg, she was especially satirical, and had no
patience with their etiquettes and squabbles for precedence.
As for the company of the King's officers, Mr. Harry and
his elder brother both smiled at their mamma's compliments to
the elegance and propriety of the gentlemen of the camp. If
the good lady had but known all, if she could but have heard
their jokes and the songs which they sang over their wine and
punch, if she could have seen the condition of many of them
as they were carried away to their lodgings, she would scarce
have been so ready to recommend their company to her sons.
Men and officers swaggered the country round, and frightened
the peaceful farm and village folk with their riot: the General
raved and stormed against his troops for their disorder; against
the provincials for their traitorous niggardliness; the soldiers
took possession almost as of a conquered country, they scorned
the provincials, they insulted the wives even of their Indian




56


THE VIRGINIANS.


allies, who had come to join the English warriors, upon their
arrival in America, and to march with them against the French.
The General was compelled to forbid the Indian women his
camp. Amazed and outraged their husbands retired, and but
a few months afterwards their services were lost to him, when
their aid would have been most precious.
Some stories against the gentlemen of the camp, Madam
Esmond might have heard, tbut she would have none of them.
Soldiers would be soldiers, that everybody knew. Those officers who came over to Castlewood on her sons' invitation were
most polite gentlemen, and such indeed was the case. The
widow received them most graciously, and gave them the best
sport the country afforded. Presently, the'General himself sent
polite messages to the mistress of Castlewood. His father had
served with hers under the glorious Marlborough, and Colonel
Esmond's name was still known and respected in England.
With her ladyship's permission, General Braddock would have
the honor of waiting upon her at Castlewood, and paying his
respects to the daughter of so meritorious an officer.
If she had known the cause of Mr. Braddock's politeness,
perhaps his compliments would not have charmed Madam
Esmond so much.    The Commander-in-Chief held levees at
Alexandria, and among the gentry of the country who paid him
their respects, were our twins of Castlewood, who mounted
their best nags, took with them their last London suits, and,
with their two negro-boys in smart liveries behind them, rode
in state to wait upon the great man. Hie was sulky and angry
with the provincial gentry, and scarce took any notice of the
young gentlemen, only asking casually, of his aide-de-camp at
dinner, who the young Squire Gawkeys were in blue and gold
and red waistcoats?
Mr. Dinwiddie, the Lieutenant-Governor of Virginia, the
Agent.from Pennsylvania, and a few more gentlemen, happelned
to be dining with his Excellency. " Oh!" says Mr. Dinwiddie,
" those are the sons of the Princess Pocahontas:" on which,
with a tremendous oath, the General asked, " Who the deuice
was she?"
Dinwiddie, who did not love her, having indeed unidergone
a hundred pertnesses from the imperious little lady, now gave
a disrespectful and ridiculous account of Madam Esmond, made
merry with her pomposity and immense pretensions, andl entertained General Braddock with anecdotes regarding her, until
his Excellency fell asleep.
When he awoke Dinwiddie was gone, kut the Philadelphia




THE VIRGINIANS.


57


gentleman was still at table, deep in conversation with the
officers there )lresent. The General took up the talk where it
had been left when he fell asleep, and spoke of Madam Esmond
in curt, disrespectful terms, such as soldiers were in the habit
of using in those days, and asking, again, what was the name
of the old foul about whom Dinwiddie had been talking?  He
then broke into expressions of contempt and wrath against the
gentry, and the country in general.
Mr. Franklin of Philadelphia repeated the widow's name,
took quite a different view of her character from that Mr. Dinwiddie had given, seemed to know a good deal about her, her
father, and her estate; as, indeed, he did about every man or
subject which came under discussion; explained to the General
that Madam Esmond had beeves, and horses, and stores in
plenty, which might be very useful at the present juncture, and
recommended him to conciliate her by all means. The General
had already made up his mind that Mr. Franklin was a very
shrewd, intelligent person, and graciously ordered an aide-decamp to invite the two young men to the next day's dinner.
When they appeared he was very pleasant and good-natured;
the gentlemen of the General's family made much of them.
They behaved, as became persons of their name, with modesty
and good-breeding; they returned home delighted with their
entertainment, nor was their mother less pleased at the civilities wlhicl his Excellency had shown to her boys. In reply to
Braddock's message, Madam Esmond penned a billet in her
best style, acknowledging his politeness, and begging his Excellenc( to fix the time when she might have the honor to receive him at Castlewood. 
We may be sure that the arrival of the army and the approaching campaign formed the subject of continued conversation in the Castlewood family. To make the campaign was
tile dearest wish of Harry's life. He dreamed only of war and
battle; he was for ever with the officers at Williamsburg: he
scoured and cleaned and polished all the guns and swords in
the house; he renewed the amusements of his childhood, and
had the negroes under arms. His mother, who had a gallant
spirit, knew that the time was come when one of her boys must
leave her and serve the king. She scarce dared to think on
whom the lot should fall. She admired and respected the elder,
but she felt that she loved the younger boy with all the passion
of her heart.
Eager as Harry was to be a soldier, and with all his thoughts
bent on that glorious scheme, he too scarcely dared to touch op




58


THE VIRGINIANS.


the subject nearest his heart. Once or twice when he ventured
on it with George, the latter's countenance wore an ominous
look. Harry had a feudal attachment for his elder brother,
worshipped him with an extravagant regard, and in all things
gave way to him as the chief. So Harry saw, to his infinite
terror, how George, too, in his grave way, was occupied with
military matters. George had the wars of Eugene and Marlborough down from his book-shelves, all the military books of
his grandfather, and the most warlike of Plutarch's Lives. IHe
and Dempster were practising with the foils again. The old
Scotchman was an adept in the military art, though somewhat
shy of saying where he learned it.
Madam Esmond made her two boys the bearers of the letter
in reply to his Excellency's message, accompanying her note
with such large and handsome presents for the General's staff
and the officers of the two Royal Regiments, as caused the
General more than once to thank Mr. Franklin for having
been the means of bringing this welcome ally into the camp,
"Would not one of the young gentlemen like to see the
campaign?" the General asked.  "A friend of theirs, who
often spoke of them -Mr. Washington, who had been unlucky
in the affair of last year- had already promised to join him
as aide-de-camp, and his Excellency would gladly take another
young Virginian gentleman into his family."  Harry's eyes
brightened and his face flushed at this offer. "i He would like
with all his heart to go! " he cried out. George said, looking
~hard at his younger brother, that one of them would be proud
to attend his Excellency, whilst-it would be the other's duty to
take care of their mother at home. Harry allowed his senior
to speak. His will was even still obedient to George's. However much he desired to go, he would not pronounce until
George had declared himself. He longed so for the campaign,
that the actual wish made him timid. He dared not speak on
the matter as he went home with George. They rode for miles
iin silence, or strove to talk upon indifferent subjects; each
knowing what was passing in the other's mind, and afraid to
-bring the awful question to an issue.
On their arrival at home the boys told their mother of General Braddock's offer. " I knew it must happen," she said;
I     " i' at such a crisis in the country our family must come forward.
Have you - have you settled yet which of you is to leave
me?" and she looked anxiously frol one to another, dreading
to-hear either name.




THE VIRGINIANS.


59


"The youngest ought to go, mother; of course I ought to
go! " cries Harry, turning very red.
"Of course, he ought," said Mrs. Mountain, who was
present at their talk.
" There! Mountain says so! I told you so! " again cries
Harry, with a sidelong look at George.
" The head of the family ought to go, mother," says George,
sadly.
" No! no! you are ill, and have never recovered your fever.
Ought he to go, Mountain?"
" You would make the best soldier, I know that, dearest
Hal. You and George Washington are great friends, and
could travel well together, and he does not care for me, nor I
for him, however much he is admired in the family. But, you
see, 'tis the law of Honor, my Harry." (He here spoke to his
brother with a voice of extraordinary kindness and tenderness.)
"The grief I have had in this matter has been that I must
refuse thee. I must go. Had Fate given you the benefit of
that extra half-hour of life which I have had before you, it
would have been your lot, and you would have claimed your
right to go first, you know you would."
' Yes, George," said poor Harry, " I own I should."
"You will stay at home, and take care of Castlewood and
our mother. If anything happens to me, you are here to fill
my place. I would like to give way, my dear, as you, I know,
would lay down your life to serve me. But each of us must
do his duty.  What would our grandfather say if he were
here?"
The mother looked proudly at her two sons. "My papa
would say that his boys were gentlemen," faltered Madam Esmond, and left the young men, not choosing, perhaps, to show
the emotion which was filling her heart. It was speedily known
amongst the servants that Mr. George was going on the campaign. Dinah, George's foster-mother, was loud in her lamentations at losing him; Phillis, Harry's old nurse, was as noisy
because Master George, as usual, was preferred over Master -
Harry. Sady, George's servant, made preparations to follow
his master, bragging incessantly of the deeds which he would
do; while Gumbo, Harry's boy, pretended to whimper at
being left behind, though, at home, Gumbo was anything but a
fire-eater.
But, of all in the house, Mrs. Mountain was the most angry
at George's determination to go on the campaign. She had no
patience with him. He did not know what he was doing by
by




THE VIRGINIANS.


leaving home. She begged, implored, insisted that he should
alter his determination; and voted that nothing but mischief
would come from his departure.
George was surprised at the pertinacity of the good lady's
opposition. "I know, Mountain," said he, "that Harry would
be the better soldier; but, after all, to go is my duty."
"To stay is your duty!" says Mountain, with a stamp of
her foot.
"Why did not my mother own it when we talked of the
matter just now?"
" Your mother! " says Mrs. Mountain, with a most gloomy,
sardonic laugh; " your mother, my poor child! "
"What is the meaning of that mournful countenance,
Mountain? "
" It may be that your mother wishes you away, George! "
Mrs. Mountain continued, wagging her head. "It may be,
my poor deluded boy, that you will find a father-in-law when
you come back."
" What in heaven do you mean?" cried George, the blood
rushing into his face.
" Do you suppose I have no eyes, and cannot see what is
going on? I tell you, child, that Colonel Washington wants a
rich wife. When you are gone, he will ask your mother to
marry him, and you will find him master here when you come
back. That is why you ought not to go away, you poor,
unhappy, simple boy! Don't you see how fond she is of him?
how much she makes of him? how she is always holding him
up to you, to Harry, to everybody who comes here?"
But he is going on the campaign, too," cried George.
"He is going on the marrying campaign, child! " insisted
the widow.
"Nay; General Braddock himself told me that Mr. Washington had accepted the appointment of aide-de-camp."
"An artifice! an artifice to blind y6u, my poor child "
cries Mountain. " He will be wounded and come back - you
will see if he does not. I have proofs of what I say to you -
proofs under his own hand- look here!"  And she took from
her pocket a piece of paper in Mr. Washington's well-known
handwriting.
"How came you by this paper?" asked George, turning
ghastly pale.
"I -I found it in the Major's chamber!" says Mrs. Mountain, with a shamefaced look.
"You read the private letters of a guest stayin g in our




THE VIRGINIANS.


61


house?" cried George. " For shame! I will not look at the
paper! " And he flung it from him on to the fire before him.
"I could not help it, George; 'twas by chance, I give you
my word, by the merest chance. You know Governor Dinwiddie is to have the Major's room, and the state-room is got
ready for Mr. Braddock, and we are expecting ever so much
company, and I had to take the thilgs which the Major leaves
here - he treats the house just as if it was his own already -
into his new room, and this half-sheet of paper fell out of his
writing-book, and I just gave one look at it by the merest chance,
and when I saw what it was it was my duty to read it."
"Oh, you are a martyr to duty, Mountain!" George said
grimly. " I dare say Mrs. Bluebeard thought it was her duty
to look through the keyhole."
" I never did look through the keyhole, George. It's a
shame you should say so! I, who have watched and tended,
and nursed you, like a mother; who have sat up whole weeks
with you in fevers, and carried you from your bed to the sofa
in these arms. There, sir, I don't want you there now. My
dear Mountain, indeed! Don't tell me! You fly into a passion, and call names, and wound my feelings, who have loved
you like your mother - like your mother? - I only hope she
may love you half as well. I say you are all ungrateful. My
Mr. Mountain was a wretch, and every one of you is as bad.'
There was but a smouldering log or two in the fire-place,
and no doubt Mountain saw that the paper was in no danger as
it lay amongst the ashes, or she would have seized it at the risk
of burning her own fingers, and ere she uttered the above pas —
sionate defence of her conduct. Perhaps George was absorbed
in his dismal thoughts; perhaps his jealousy overpowered him,
for he did not resist any further when she stooped down and
picked up the paper.
" You should thank your stars, child, that I saved the
letter," cried she. "See! here are his own words, in his
great big handwriting like a clerk. It was not my fault that
he wrote them, or that I found them. Read for yourself, I say,
George Warrington, and be thankful that your poor dear old
Mounty is watching over you!"
Every word and letter upon the unlucky paper was perfectly
clear. George's eyes could not help taking in the contents of
the document before him. "Not a word of this, Mountain,"
he said, giving her a frightful look. "I -I will return this
paper to Mr. Washington."
Mountain was scared at his face, at the idea of what she




62                THE VIRGINIANS.
had done, and what might ensue. When his mother, with
alarm in her countenance, asked him at dinner what ailed him
that he looked so pale? " Do you suppose, Madam," says lie,
filling himself a great bumper of wine, " that to leave such a
tender mother as you does not cause me cruel grief? "
The good lady could not understand his words, his strange,
fierce looks, and stranger laughter. He bantered all at the
table; called to the servants and laughed at them, and drank
more and more. Each time the door was opened, he turned
towards it; and so did Mountain, with a guilty notion that
Mr. Washington would step in.
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH GEORGE SUFFERS FROM A COMMON DISEASE.
ON the day appointed for Madam Esmond's entertainment
to the General, the house of Castlewood was set out with the
greatest splendor; and Madam Esmond arrayed herself in a
much more magnificent dress than she was accustomed to wear.
Indeed, she wished to do every honor to her guest, and to
make the entertainment-which, in reality, was a sad one to
her - as pleasant as might be for her company. The General's
new aide-de-camp was the first to arrive. The widow received
him in the covered gallery before the house. He dismounted
at the steps, and his servants led away his horses to the wellknown quarters. No young gentleman in the colony was better
mounted or a better horseman than Mr. Washington.
For a while ere the Colonel retired to divest himself of his
riding-boots, he and his hostess paced the gallery in talk. She
had much to say to him; she had to hear fiom him a confirmation of his own appointment as aide-de-camp to General Braddock, and to speak of her son's approaching departure, The
negro-servants bearing the dishes for the approaching feast
were passing perpetually as they talked. They descended the
steps down to the rough lawn in front of the house, and paced
awhile in the shade. Mr. Washington announced his Excellency's speedy approach, with Mr. Franklin of Pennsylvania
in his coach.
This Mr. Franklin had been a common printer's boy, Mrs.
Esmond had heard; a pretty pass things were coming to when




THE VIRGINIANS.


63


such persons rode in the coach of the Commander-in-Chief!
Mr. Washington said, a more shrewd and sensible gentleman
never rode in coach or walked on foot. Mrs. Esmond thought
the Colonel was too liberally disposed towards this gentleman;
but Mr. Washington stoutly maintained against the widow that
the printer was a most ingenious, useful, and meritorious man.
"I am glad, at least, that, as my boy is going to make the
campaign, he will not be with tradesmen, but with gentlemen,
with gentlemen of honor and fashion," says Madam Esmond,
in her most stately manner.
Mr. Washington had seen the gentlemen of honor and fashion
over their cups, and perhaps thought that all their sayings and
doings were not precisely such as would tend to instruct or edify
a young man on his entrance into life; but he wisely chose to
tell no tales out of school, and said that Harry and George, now
they were coming into the world, must take their share of good
and bad, and hear what both sorts had to say.
f To be with a veteran officer of the finest army in the
world," faltered the widow; " with gentlemen who have been
bred in the midst of the Court; with friends of his Royal Highness, the Duke -"
The widow's friend only inclined his head. He did not
choose to allow his countenance to depart from its usual
handsome gravity.
"'And with you, dear Colonel Washington, by whom my
father always set such store. You don't know how much he
trusted in you. You will take care of my boy, sir, will not
you? You are but five years older, yet I trust to you more
than to his seniors; my father always told the children, I
always bade them, to look up to Mr. Washington."
" You know I would have done anything to win Colonel
Esmond's favor. Madam, how much would I not venture- to
merit his daughter's? "
The gentleman bowed with not too ill a grace. The lady
blushed, and dropped one of the lowest curtsies. (Madam
Esmond's curtsy was considered unrivalled over the whole
province.) " Mr. Washington," she said, " will be always sure
of a mother's affection, whilst he gives so much of his to her
children." And so saying she gave him her hand, which he
kissed with profound politeness. The little lady presently reentered her mansion, leaning upon the tall young officer's arm.
Here they were joined by George, who came to them, accurately 
powdered and richly attired, saluting his parent and his friend
alike with low and respectful bows. Now-a-days, a young man




64


THE VIRGINIANS.


walks into his mother's room with hob-nailed high-lows, and a
wide-awake on his head; and instead of making her a bow,
puffs a cigar into her face.
But George, though he made the lowest possible bow to Mr.
Washington and his mother; was by no means in good humor
with either of them. A polite smile played round the lower
part of his countenance, whilst watchfulness and wrath glared
out from the two uipper windows. What had been said or done?
Nothing that might not have been performed or uttered before
the most decent, polite, or pious company. Why then should
Madam Esmond continue to blush, and the brave Colonel to
look somewhat red, as he shook his young friend's hand?
The Colonel asked Mr. George if he had had good sport?
"No," says George, curtly. "Have you?" And then he
looked at the picture of his father, which hung in the parlor.
The Colonel, not a talkative man ordinarily, straightway
entered into a long description-of his sport, and described where
he had been in the morning, and what woods he had hunted with
the king's officers; how many birds they had shot, and what
game they had brought down. Though not a jocular man ordinarily, the Coloinel made a long description of Mr. Braddock's
heavy person and great boots, as he floundered through the
Virginian woods, hunting, as they called it, with a pack of dogs
gathered from various houses, with a pack of negroes barking as
loud as the dogs, and actually shooting the deer when they came
in sight of him. ' Great God, sir! " sas Mr. Braddock, puffing
and blowing, " what would Sir Robert have said in Norfolk, to
see a man hunting with a fowling-piece in his hand, and a pack
of dogs actually laid on to a turkey!"
" Indeed, Colonel, you are vastly comical this afternoon!"
cries Madam Esmond, with a neat little laugh, whilst her son
listened to the story, looking more glum than ever. " What
Sir Robert is there at Norfolk? Is he one of the newly arrived
army-gentlemen?"
" The General meant Norfolk at home, Madam, not Norfolk
in Virginia," said Colonel Washington. "Mr. Braddock had
been talking of a visit to Sir Robert Walpole, who lived in that
county, and of the great hunts the old Minister kept there, and
of his grand palace, and his pictures at Houghton. I should
-like to see a good field and a good fox-chase at home better
than any sight in the world," the honest sportsman added with
a sigh.
"Nevertheless, there is good sport here, as I was saying,"
iid young Esmond, with a sneer.




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


65


"What sport?" cries the other, looking at him.
"Why, sure you know, without looking at me so fiercely,
and. stamping your foot, as if you were going to charge me with
the foils. Are you not the best sportsman of the country-side?
Are there not all the fish of the field, and the beasts of the trees,
and the fowls of the sea- no - the fish of the trees, and the
beasts of the sea- and the -bah! You know what I mean.
I mean shad, and salmon, and rockfish, and roe-deer, and hogs,
and buffaloes, and bisons, and elephants, for what I know.
I'm no sportsman."
" No, indeed," said Mr. Washington, with a look of scarcely
repressed scorn.
"Yes, I understand you. I am a milksop. I have been
bred at my mamma's knee. Look at these pretty apron-strings,
Colonel! Who would not like to be tied to them? See of what
a charming color they are! I remember when they were blackthat was for my grandfather."
" And who would not mourn for such a gentleman?" said
the Colonel, as the widow, surprised, looked at her son.
" And, indeed, I wish my grandfather were here, and would
resurge, as he promises to do on his tombstone; and would
bring my father, the Ensign, with him."
"Ah, Harry! " cries Mrs. Esmond, bursting into tears, as
at this juncture her second son entered the room - in just such
another suit, gold-corded frock, braided waistcoat, silver-hilted
sword, and solitaire as that which his elder brother wore.
" Oh, Harry, Harry! " cries Madam Esmond, and flies to her
younger son.
" What is it, mother? " asks Harry, taking her in his arms.
What is the matter, Colonel? "
" Upon my life, it would puzzle me to say," answered the
Colonel, biting his lips.
" A mere question, Hal, about pink ribbons, which I think
vastly becoming to our mother; as, no doubt, the Colonel
does."
"Sir, will you please to speak for yourself?" cried the
Colonel, bustling up, and then sinking his voice again.
"He speaks too much for himself," wept the widow.
"I protest I don't any more know the source of these tears,
than the source of the Nile," said George, " and if the picture
of my father were to begin to cry, I should almost as much
wonder at the paternal tears. What have I uttered?  An
allusion to ribbons! Is there some poisoned pin in them, which
has been stuck into my mother's heart by a guilty fiend of a
6




`66                THE VIRGINIANS.
London mantua-maker? I professed to wish to be led in these
lovely reins all my life long," and he turned a pirouette on his
scarlet heels.
"George Warrington! what devil's dance are yon dancing
now?" asked Harry, who loved his mother, who loved Mr.
Washington, but who, of all creatures, loved and admired his
brother George.
" My dear child, you do not understand dancing - you care
not for the politer arts - you can get no more music out of a
spinnet than by pulling a dead hog by the ear. By nature you
were made for a man - a man of war - I do not mean a seventyfour, Colonel George, like that hulk which brought the hulking
Mr. Braddock into our river. His Excellency, too, is a man
of warlike turn, a follower of the sports of the field. I am a
milksop, as I have had the honor to say.".  You never showed it yet. You beat that great Maryland
man was twice your size," breaks out Harry.
" Under compulsion, Harry. 'Tis tupto, my lad, or else 'tis
tuptomai, as thy breech well knew when we followed school.
But I am of a quiet turn, and would never lift my hand to pull
a trigger, no, nor a nose, nor anything but a rose," and here
be took and handled one of Madam Esmond's bright pink apron
ribbons. " I hate sporting, which you and the Colonel love,
and I want to shoot nothing alive, not a turkey, nor a titmouse,
nor an ox, nor an ass, nor anything that has ears. Those curls
of Mr. Washington's are prettily powdered.": ~.. Themilitia colonel, who had been offended by the first part
i  of the talk, and very much puzzled by the last, had taken a
modest draught from the great china bowl of apple toddy which
stood to welcome the guests in this as in all Virginian houses,
and was further cooling himself by pacing the balcony in a very
stately manner.
Again almost reconciled with the elder, the appeased mother
Wt  a tood giving a hand to each of her sons. George put his dis-.: engaged hand on Harry's shoulder.  I say one thing, George,"
Hi says he with a flushing face.
i  " Say twenty things, Don Enrico," cries the other.;     " lIf you are not fond of sporting and that, and don't care
L  for killing game and hunting, being cleverer than me, why: shouldst thou not stop at home and be quiet, and let me go out
iwith Colonel George and Mr. Braddock?-that's what I say,"
i says Harry, delivering himself of his speech.
The widow looked eagerly from the dark-haired to the fairlaired boy. She knew not from which she would like to part., ~.!




THE VIRGINIANS.


-  One of our family must go because honneur oblige, and
my name being number one, number one must go first," says
George.
"' Told you so," said poor Harry.
" One must stay, or who is to look after mother at home?
We cannot afford to be both scalped by Indians or fricasseed
by French."
"' Fricasseed by French! " cries Harry; " the best troops of
the world, Englishmen! I should like to see them fiicasseed
by the French! What a mortal thrashing you will give them!"
and the brave lad sighed to think he should not be present at
the battue.
George sat down to the harpischord and played and sang
" Malbrook s'en va t'en guerre Mironton mironton mirontaine,"
at the sound of which music the gentleman from the balcony
entered. "I am playing ' God save the King,' Colonel, in
compliment to the new expedition."
" I never know whether thou art laughing or in earnest,"
said the simple gentleman, "but surely methinks that is not
the air."
George performed ever so many trills and quavers upon his
harpischord, and their guest watched him, wondering, perhaps,
that a gentleman of George's condition could set himself to
such an effeminate business. Then the Colonel took out his
watch, saying that his Excellency's coach would be here almost
immediately, and asking leave to retire to his apartment, and
put himself in a fit condition to appear before her ladyship's
company.
" Colonel Washington knows the way to his room pretty
well!" said George, from the harpischord, looking over his
shoulder, but never offering to stir.
" Let me show the Colonel to his chamber," cried the widow,
in great wrath, and sailed out of the apartment, followed by the
enraged and bewildered Colonel, as George continued crashing
among the keys. Her high-spirited guest felt himself insulted,
he could hardly say how; he was outraged and he could not
speak; he was almost stifling with anger.
Harry Warrington remarked their friend's condition. " For
heaven's sake, George, what does this all mean?" he asked his
brother. "Why shouldn't he kiss her hand?" (George had
just before fetched out his brother from their library, to watch
this harmless salute.)  "I tell you it is nothing but common
kindness."
"Nothing but common kindness!" shrieked out George.




68


THE VIRGINIANS.


"Look at that, Ial! Is that common kindness?" and he
showed his junior the unlucky paper over which he had been
brooding for some time. It was but a fragment, though the
meaning was indeed clear without the preceding text.
The paper commenced... " is older than myself, but I,
again, am older than my years; and you know, dear brother, have
ever been considered a sober person. All children are better for a.
fJther's superintendence, and her two, Itrust, willfJid in me a tender friend and guardian."
" Friend and guardian! Curse him! " shrieked out George,
clenching his fists - and his brother read on:
"... Theflattering offer which General Braddock hath made
me, will, of course, oblige me to postpone this matter until after the
campaign.  When we have given the French a sufficient drubbing,
1 shall return to repose under my own vine and Jiy-tree."
" He means Castlewood.    These are his vines," George
cries again, shaking his fist at the creepers sunning themselves
on the wall.
"... Under my own vine and fig-tree; where I hope soon to
present my dear brother to his new sister-in-law. She has a pretty
Scripture name, which is... "- and here the document ended.
"1 Which is Rachel," George went on bitterly. I" Rachel is
by no means weeping for her children, and has every desire to
be comforted. Now, Harry! Let us up stairs at once, kneel
down as becomes us, and say, ' 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 splendor as became
the first personage in all his Majesty's colonies, plantations,
and possessions of North America. His guard of dragoons
preceded him out of 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 Talmadge, his
Excellency's Master of the Horse, attended him at the door of
the ponderous enlblazoned vehicle, riding by the side of the
carriage during the journey fiom Williamsburg to Madam Esmond's house. Major Danvers, aide-de-camp, sat in the front




THE VIRGINIANS.


69


of the carriage with the little postmaster from Philadelphia,
Mr. Franklin, who, printer's boy as he had been, was a wohderful shrewd person, as his Excellency and the gentlemen of
his family were fain to acknowledge, having a quantity of the
most curious information respecting the colony, and regarding
England too, where Mr. Franklin had been more than once.
"'Twas extraordinary how a person of such humble origin
should have acquired such a variety of learning and such a
politeness of breeding too, Mr. Franklin!" 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 the advantage of his opportunity
to study their honors' manners, and adapt himself to them as
far as he might. As for education, he could not boast much
of that -his fatlher being but in straitened circumstances, and
the advantages small in his native country of New England:
but lie had done to the utmost of his power, and gathered
what he could -he knew nothing like what they had in England.
Mr. Braddock burst out laughing, and said, " As for education, there were gentlemen of the army, by George, who didn't
know whether they should spell bull with two b's or one. He
had heard the Duke of Marlborough was no special good penman. Ie had not the honor of serving under that noble commander-his Grace was before his time -but lie thrashed the
French soundly, although he was no scholar."
Mr. Franklin said he was aware of both those facts.
"Nor is my Duke a scholar," went on Mr. Braddock" ala, Mr. Postmaster, you have heard that, too- I see by
the wink in your eye."
Mr. Franklin instantly withdrew the obnoxious or satirical
wink in his eye, and looked into the General's jolly round face
with a pair of orbs as innocent as a baby's. "l Ie's no scholar,
but he is a match for any French general that ever swallowed
the English for fricassee de crapaud. He saved the crown for
the best of kings, his royal father, his Most Gracious Majesty
King George."
Of' went Mr. Franklin's hat, and from his large buckled wig
escaped a Treat halo of powder.
"4 He is the soldier's best friend, and has been the uncompromising enemy of all beggarly red-shanked Scotch rebels and
intriguing Romish Jesuits who would take our liberty from us,




70


7THE VIRGINIANS..and our religion by George. His royal highness, my gracious
master, is not a scholar neither, but he is one of the finest genm
tlemen 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. Franklin,
laughing. " You know I live in a Quaker city."
"Of course they are out of your way, my good friend.
Every man to his business. You, and gentlemen of your class,
to your books, and welcome. We don't forbid you; we encourage you. We, to fight the enemy and govern the country.
Hey, gentlemen? Lord! what roads you have in this colony,
and how this confounded coach plunges! Who have we here,
with the two negro boys in livery? Ie 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
opportunities he has had. I should have thought he had the
polish of Europe, by George I should."
" He does his best," says Mr. Franklin, looking innocently
at the stout chief, the exemplar of English elegance, who sat
swagging from one side to the other of the carriage, his face
as scarlet as his coat - swearing at every word; ignorant on
every point off parade, except the merits of a bottle and the
looks of a woman; not of high birth, yet absurdly proud of
his no-ancestry; brave as a bull-dog; savage, lustful, prodigal, generous; gentle in soft moods; easy of love and laughter; dull of wit; utterly unread; believing his country the first
in the world, and he as good a gentleman as any in it. "Yes,
he is mighty well for a provincial, upon my word. He was
beat at Fort What-d'ye-call-'um last year, down by the Thingamy River. What's the name on't, Talmadge?"
L' The Lord knows, sir," says Talmadge; "and I dare say
the Postmaster, too, who is laughing at us both."
I.    "Oh, Captain!",  "Was caught in a regular trap. He had only militia and




THE VIRGINIANS.


Indians with him.  Good-day, Mr. Washingtorn. A pretty
nag, sir. That was your first affair, last year?"
'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"
leave 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
an(l serve with them," said Mr. Washington.
' By George, we shall try and gratify you, sir," said the
General, with one of his usual huge oaths; and on the heavy
carriage rolled towards Castlewood; Mr. Washington asking
leave to gallop on a-head, in order to announce his Excellency's
speedy arrival to the lady there.
The progress of the Commander-in-Chief was so slow, that
several humbler persons who were invited to meet his Excellency came up with his carriage, and, not liking to pass the
great man on the road, formed quite a procession in the dusty
wake of his chariot-wheels. First came Mr. Dinwiddie, the
Lieutenant-Governor of his Majesty's province, attended by
his negro-servants, and in company of Parson Broadbent, 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 mule. The
procession looked so ludicrous, that Major Danvers and Mr.
Franklin espying it, laughed outright, though not so loud as to
disturb his Excellency, who was asleep by this time, bade the
whole of this queer rear-guard move on, and leave the Commander-in-Chief and his escort of dragoons to follow at their
leisure. 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




72                THE VIRGINIANS.
wine, some which Colonel Esmond himself had brought home
with him to the colony, and which was fit for ponteeficis ccenis,
said little Mr. D)empster, with a wink to Mr. Broadbent, the
clergyman of the adjoining parish. Mr. Broadbent returned
the wink 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 Ringwood's son, (my lady Cinqbars's waitingwoman being Mr. B.'s mother-I dare say the modern reader
had best not to be too particular regarding Mr. Broadbent's
father's pedigree,) had been of late sent out to a churchliving 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 wholm le 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.
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




THE VIRGINIANS.


73


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 Eslnond 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 neighbor, Mr. Braddock: " I have kept for your
Excellency the jowl of this salmon. -I will take no denial!
Mr. Franklin, you drink only water, sir, though our cellar has
wholesome wine which gives no 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 light pie-crust," continues the Judge,
and my service to you, Madam." Andl he thinks the widow
cannot but be propitiated by this compliment. She says simply that she had lessons when she was at home in England for
her education, and that there were certain dishes which her
mother taught her to make, and which her father and sons
both liked. She was very glad if they pleased her company.
More such remarks follow: more dishes; ten times as much
meat as is needful for the company. Mr. Washington does
not embark in the general conversation much, but he and Mr.
Talmadge, and Major Danvers, and the Postmaster, are leep
in talk 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




74                THE VIRGINIANS.
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 the sweets
and puddings are come, of which I can give you a list, if you
like; but what young lady cares for the puddings of to-day,
much more for those which were eaten a hundred years ago,
and which Madam Esmond had prepared for her guests with
so much neatness and skill? Then, the table being cleared,
Nathan, her 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 gracious
Sovereign. And hereupon, having drunk her glass of wine and
saluted all the company, the widow retires between a row of
negro-servants, performing one of her very handsomest curtsies
at the door.
The kind Mistress of Castlewood bore her part in the entertainment with admirable spirit, and looked so gay and handsome,
and spoke with such cheerfulness and courage to all her company, that the few ladies who were present at the dinner, could
not but congratulate Madam Esmond upon the elegance of the
feast, and especially upon her manner of presiding at it. But
they were scarcely got to her drawing-room, when her artificial
courage failed her, and she burst into tears on the sofa by Mrs.
Laws's side, just in the midst of a compliment from that lady.
"Ah, Madam! " she said. "It may be an honor, as you say,
to have the King's representative in my house, and our family
has received greater personages than Mr. Braddock. But lie
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 fiom
his side. I would not be so ill-mannered as to let my grief be
visible before the gentlemen; but, my good Mrs. Justice, who
has parted with children, and who has a mother's heart of her
own, would like me none the better, if mine were very easy this
evening."
The ladies administered such consolations as seemed proper
or palatable to their hostess, who tried not to give way farther




THE VIRGINIANS.


75


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 neighbor. "My boy must not
see me following him with a wistful face, and have our paiting
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 dare say the resolute lady sat down with
her female friends to a pool of cards and a dish of coffee, whilst
the gentlemen remained in the neighboring parlor, 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 appeared 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
under ground. As they went on their journey, Mrs. Mountain
asked whether any of the gentlemen had had too much? Nathan
thought Mr. Broadbent was tipsy -he always tipsy; he-then
thought the General gentleman was tipsy; and he thought
Master George was a lilly drunk.
" Master George! " cries Mrs. Mountain: "' why, he will sit
for days without touching a drop."




76


THE VIRGINIANS.


Nevertheless, Nathan persisted in his notion that Master
George was a lilly drunk. lie was always filling his glass, he
had talked, he had sung, he had cut jokes, especially against
Mr. Washington, which made Mr. Washington quite red and
angry, Nathan said.  "Well, well!" Mrs. Mountain cried
eagerly; " it was right a gentleman should make himself merry
in good company, and pass the bottle along with his friends."
And she trotted to the particular Bordeaux cellar with only the
more alacrity.
The tone of freedom and almost impertinence which young
George Esmond had adopted of late days towards Mr. Washington had very deeply vexed and annoyed that gentleman.
There was scarce half a dozen years' difference of age between
him and the Castlewood twins; but Mr. Washington had always been remarked for a discretion and sobriety much beyond
his time of life, whilst the boys of Castlewood seemed younger
than theirs. They had always been till now under their mother's
anxious tutelage, and had looked up to their neighbor of Mount
Vernon as their guide, director, friend - as, indeed, almost
everybody seemed to do who came in contact with the simple
and upright young man.   Himself of the most scrupulous
gravity and good-breeding, in his communication with other
folks he appeared to exact, or, at any rate, to occasion, the
same behavior. 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 charging 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 few, but
they were always wise; theyrwere not idle, tas our words are,
they were grave, sober, and strong, and ready on occasion to
do their duty. In spite of his antipathy to him, my brother
respected and admired the General as much as I dId- that is
to say, more than any mortal man."
Mr. Washington was the first to leave the jovial party which
were doing so much honor 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


* \




THE VIRGINIANS.


77


chafed the latter, and to which Mr. Washington could give no
reply. Angry beyond all endurance, he left the table at length,
and walked away through the open windows into the broad
veranda 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 neighbor 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
with whom he wais angry.
" The gentlemen are long over their wine," she said; " gentlemen of the armyl are always fond of it."
"If drinking makes good soldiers, some yonder are distinguishing themselves greatly, Madam," said Mr. Washington.
" And I dare say the General is at the head of his troops?"
" No doubt, no doubt," answered the Colonel, who always
received this lady's remarks, playful or serious, with a peculiar
softness and kindnless. " But the General is the General, and
it is not for me to Imake 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 honor 
with them. Talmadge hiccupped to me-I should say, whispered to me - just now, that an officer could no more refuse a
toast than a challenge, and he said that it was after the greatest
difficulty and dislike at first that he learned to drink. He has
certainly overcome his difficulty with uncommon resolution."
" What, I wonder, can you talk of for so many hours?"
asked the lady.
" I don't think I can tell you all we talk of, Madam, and I
must not tell tales out of school. We talked about the war, and
of the force Mr. Ccntrecoeur 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 be?" says the lady, whose father had
served under Marlborough.
" Mr. Franklin, though he is only from New England," continued the gentleman, "spoke great good sense, and would
have spoken more if the English gentlemen would let him; but
they reply invariably that we are only raw provincials, and




:78


THE VIRGINIANS.


don't know what disciplined British troops can do. Had they
not best hasten forwards and make turnpike roads and have
comfortable ins ready for his Excellency at the end of the
day's march? —' There's some sort of inns, I suppose,' says
Mr. Danvers, not so comfortable as we have in England, we
can't expect that.' --  No, you can't expect that,' says Mr.
Franklin, who seems a very shrewd and facetious person. He
drinks his water, and seems to laugh at the Englishmen, though
I doubt whether it is fair for a water-drinker to sit by and spy
out the weaknesses of gentlemen over their wine."
"And my boys?     I hope they are prudent?" said the
widow, laying her hand on her guest's arm. "Harry promised
me, and when he gives his word, I can trust him for anything.
George is always moderate. Why do you look so grave?"
*' Indeed, to be frank with you, I do not know what has
come over George in these last days," says Mr. Washington.
" -He has some grievance against me which I do not understand,
and of which I don't care to ask the reason. He spoke to me
before the gentlemen in a way which scarcely became him.
We are going the campaign together, and 'tis a pity we begin
such ill friends."
' Ile has been ill. He is always wild and wayward, and
hard to understanrd. But he has the most affectionate heart in
the world. You will bear with him, you will protect him 
promise me you will."
"Dear laly, I will do so with my life," Mr. Washington
said with great fervor. "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 drinking, to pay much attention to their young host's
behavior. Mr. Braddock loved a song after dinner, and Mr.
Danvers his aide-de-camp, who had a fine tenor voice, was
delighting his General with the latest ditty from Marybone
Gardens, when George Warrington, jumping up, ran towards




THE VIRGINIANS.


79


the window, and then returned and pulled his brother Harry by
the sleeve, 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.
" Come," cried George, with a stamp of his foot, and the
younger followed obediently.
"What is it? " continued George, with a bitter oath. " Don't
you see what it is? They were billing and cooing this morning;
they are billing and cooing now before going to roost. Had
we not better both go into the garden, and pay our duty to our
mamma a, 1 papa?" and he pointed to Mr. Washington, who
was taking the widow's hand very tenderly in his.
CHAPTER X.
A HOT AFTERNOON.
GENERAL BRADDOCK and the other guests of Castlewood
being duly consigned to their respective quarters, the boys retired to their own room, and there poured out to one another
their opinions respecting the great event of the day. They
would not bear such a marriage - no. Was the representative
of the Marquises of Eslnond to marry the younger son of a
colonial family, who had been bred up as a land-surveyor?
Castlewood, and the boys at nineteen years of age, handed over
to the tender mercies of a step-father of three-and-twenty!
Oh, it was monstrous! Harry was for going straightway to his
mother in her bedroom-where her black maidens were divesting her ladyship of the simple jewels and fineries which she
had assumed in compliment to the feast-protesting against
the odious match, and announcing that they would go home,
live upon their little property there, and leave her for ever, if
the unnatural union took place.
George advocated another way of stopping it, and explained
his plan to his admiring brother. " Our mother," he said,
" can't marry a man with whom one or both of us has been out
on the field, and who has wounded us or killed us, 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 out......




80


THE VIRGINIANS.


murderer; she won't be as bad as that. And if we pink him,
he is done for. ' Cadit qu(stio,' as Mr. Dempster used to say.
Shall I send my boy with a challenge to Colonel George now? "
"My dear Harry," the elder replied, thinking with some
complacency of his affair of honor at Quebec, " you are not accustomed to affairs of this sort."
"No," owned Harry, with a sigh, looking with envy and
admiration on his senior.
" We can't insult a gentleman in our own house," continued
George, with great majesty; " the laws of honor forbid such
inhospitable treatment. But, sir, we can ride out with him,
and, as soon as the park gates are closed, we can tell him our
mind."
"That we can, by George!" cries Harry, grasping his
brother's hand, " and that we will, too. I say, Gcorgy..."
Here the lad's face became very red, and his brother asked him
what he would say?
"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?"
"Ah, George," interposed the more    pacable younger
brother, "you ought to forget and forgive!"
" Forgive? Never, sir, as long as I remember. You can't
order remembrance out of a man's mind; and a wrong that was
a wrong yesterday must be a wrong to-morrow. I never, of my
knowledge, did one to any man, and I never will suffer one, if
I can help it. I think very ill of Mr. Ward, but I don't think
so badly of him as to suppose he will ever forgive thee that blow
with the ruler. Colonel Washington is our enemy, mine especially. He has advised one wrong against me, and he meditates a greater. I tell you, brother, we must punish him."
The grandsire's old Bordeaux had set George's ordinarily
pale countenance into a flame. Harry, his brother's fondest
worshipper, could not but admire George's haughty-bearing and
rapid declamation, and prepared himself, with his usual docility,
to follow his chief. So the boys went to their beds, the elder
conveying special injunctions to his junior to be civil to all the
guests so long as they remained under the maternal roof on the
morrow.




THE VIRGINIANS.


81


Good manners and a relpgnance to telling tales. out of
school, forbid us from saying which of Madam Esmond's guests
was the first to fall under the weight of her hospitality. The
respectable descendants of Messrs. Talmadge and Danvers,
aides-de-camp to his Excellency, might not care to hear how
their ancestors were intoxicated a hundred years ago; and yet
the gentlemen themselves took no shame in the fact, and there
is little doubt they or their comrades were tipsy twice or thrice
in the week. Let us fancy them reeling to bed, supported by
sympathizing negroes; and their vinous General, too stout a
toper to have surrendered himself to a half-dozen bottles of
Bordeaux, conducted to his chamber by the young gentlemen
of the house, and speedily sleeping the sleep which friendly
Bacchus gives. The good lady of Castlewood saw the condition
of her guests without the least surprise or horror; and was up
early in the morning, providing cooling drinks for their hot
palates, which the servants carried to their respective chambers.
At breakfast, one of the English officers rallied Mr. Franklin,
who took no wine at all, and therefore refused the morning cool
draught of toddy, by 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 proposed to continue repeating them both.  The
General's new American aide-de-camp, Colonel Washington,
was quite sober and serene. The British officers vowed they
must take him in hand and teach him what the ways of the
Englishl 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 behavior of her sons
very closely, but at least saw that George was scrupulously
polite to her favorite, Colonel Washington, as to all the other
guests of the house.
Before Mr. Braddock took his leave, he had a private audience of Madam Esmond, in which his Excellency formally
offered to take her son into his family; and when the arrangements for George's departure were settled between his mother
and future chief, Madam Esmond, though she might feel them,
did not show any squeamish terrors about the dangers of the
bottle, which she saw were amongst the severest and most certain which her son would have to face. She knew her boy
must take his part in the world, and encounter his portion of
8




82


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 veranda 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 of his hospitable entertainers, and rolled away on his road to headquarters.
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 Washington 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
the 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 interpreted it with a pang of malignant scorn. "Stay yet a
moment, and console our mamma," he said with a steady countenance, "' only the time to get ourselves booted, and my brother
and I will ride with you a little way, 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 demeanor than George
Warrington to his neighbor and namesake, the Colonel. The




THE VIRGINIANS.


83


latter was pleased and surprised at his young friend's altered
behavior. The community of danger, the necessity of future
fellowship, the softening influence of the long friendship which
bound him to the Esmond family, the tender adieux which had
just passed between him and the mistress of Castlewood, inclined the Colonel to forget the unpleasantness of the past days,
and made him more than usually friendly with his young companion. George was quite gay anl 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 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 valor and tactics of the regular troops. King George II.
had no more loyal subject than Mr. Braddock's new aide-decamp.
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 supposed 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 as were disposed to partake. George Warrington entered the place with
a particularly gay and lively air, whereas poor Harry's face
was quite white and woe-begone.
"- 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, L" though I might bear my own share pretty well. 'Tis
not my fault that I stay at home."
"No, indeed, brother," cries George.




84


THE VIRGINIANS.


'" Harry Warrington's courage does not need any proof!"
cries Mr. Washington.
" You do the family honor by speaking so well of us, Colonel," says Mr. George, with a low bow. " I dare say 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?" 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 toddybowl before them.
" What are you conspiring, gentlemen?" cried one of them.
"Is it a drink?"
By the tone of their voices and their flushed cheeks, it was
clear the gentlemen had already been engaged in drinking that
morning.
"The very thing, sir," George said gayly. "Fresh glasses,
Mr. Benson! What, no glasses? Then we must have at the
bowl."
" 1Mainy a good man has drunk from it," says Mr. Benson;
and the lads, one after another, and bowing first to their militair acquaintance, touched the bowl with their lips. The liquor
(didt not seem to be much diminished for the boys' drinking,
thouglh 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.
Tile lad's tone was offensive, and resembled the manner
lately adopted by him, and which had so much chafed Mr.
Washington. He bowed, and said he was not thirsty.
Nay, the liquor is paid for," says George;  never fear,
Colonel."
"I said I was not thirsty. J did not sav thi liolon- was not
paid for," said the young Colonel, drumming witn lns foo.
c When the King's health is proposed, an officer can haraly




THE VIRGINIANS.


85


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 honor. The two British officers of Halkett's, Captain Grace and Mr. Waring, both drank
"The King."  Harry Warrington drank "The King." Colonel Washington, 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 officer," continues Captain Grace, with great
energy but doubtful articulation, "' never neglects a toast of
that sort, nor any other duty. A man who refhses to drink the
health of the Duke - hang me, such a man should be tried by
a court-martial!"
"What means this language to me? You are drunk, sir!"
roared 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?"
"I heard it, sir!" cried George Warrington. " We all
heard it. He entered at my invitation - the liquor called for
was mine: the table was mine - and I am shocked to hear such
monstrous language used at it as Colonel Washington has just
employed towards my esteemed guest, Captain Waring."
"Confound your impudence, you infernal young jackanapes! " bellowed out Colonel Washington. " You (are to insult me before British officers, and find fault with my language?
For months past, I have borne with such impudence from you,
that if I had not loved your mother - yes sir, and your good
grandfather and your brother - I would - I would - "  Here
his words failed him, and the irate Colonel, with glaring eyes
and purple face, and every limb quivering with wrath, stood
for a moment speechless before his young enemy.
"You would what, sir?" says George, very quietly, "if




86


THE VIRGINIANS.


you did not love my grandfather, and my brother, and my
mother?  You are making her petticoat a plea for some
conduct of yours — you would do what, sir, may I ask
again?"
"I would put you across my knee and whip you, you snarling little puppy, that's what I would do!" cried the Colonel,
who had found breath by this time, and vented another explosion of fury.
"Because you have known us all our lives, and made our
house your own, that is no reason you should insult either of
us!" here cried Harry, starting up. "What you have said,
George Washington, is an insult to me and my brother alike.
You will ask our pardon, sir! "
"Pardon!"
"Or give us the reparation that is due to gentlemen," continues Harry.
The stout Colonel's heart smote him to think that he should
be at mortal quarrel or called upon to shed the blood of one of
the lads he loved. As Harry stood facing him, with his fair
hair, flushing cheeks, and quivering voice, an immense tenderness and kindness filled the bosom of the elder man. "I -I
am bewildered," he said.  "My words, perhaps, were very
hasty. What has been the meaning of George's behavior to
me for months back? Only tell me, and, perhaps-"
The evil spirit was awake and victorious in young George
Warrington: his black eyes shot out scorn and hatred at the
simple and guileless gentleman before him. "You are shirking from the question, sir, as you did from the toast just now,"
he said. "I am not a boy to suffer under your arrogance.
You have publicly insulted me in a public place, and I demand
a reparation."
" In heaven's- name, be it! " says Mr. Washington, with the
deepest grief in his face.
"And you have insulted me," continues Captain Grace,
v   reeling towards him. "What was it he said? Confound the
A militia captain-colonel, what is he?  You've insulted me!
Oh, Waring! to think I should be insulted by a captain of
militia!" And tears bedewed the noble Captain's cheek as
this harrowing thought crossed his mind.
I insult you, you hog! " the Colonel again yelled out, for
he was little affected by humor, and had no disposition to laugh
as the others had at the scene. And, behold, at this minute a
fourth adversary was upon him. 
"Great Powers, sir!" said Captain Waring, "are three




THE VIRGINIANS.


87


affairs not enough for you, and must I come into the. quarrel,
too? You have a quarrel with these two young gentlemen."
"Hasty words, sir! " cries poor Harry once more.
"Hasty words, sir!" cries Captain Waring. "A gentleman tells another gentleman that he will put him across his
knees and whip him, and you call those hasty words?  Let me
tell you if any man were to say to me, ' Charles Waring,' or
' Captain Waring, '1ll put you across my knees and whip you,'
I'd say, 'I'll drive my cheese-toaster through his body,' if he
were as big as Goliath, I would. That's one affair with young
Mr. George Warrington. Mr. Harry, of course, as a young
man of spirit, will stand by his brother. That's two. Between
Grace and the Colonel apology is impossible. And, nowrun me through the body! - you call an officer of my regiment
-of Halkett's, sir! - a hog before my face! Great Heavens,
sir! Mr. Washington! are you all like this in Virginia? Excuse me, I would use no offensive personality, as, by George!
I will suffer none from any man! but, by Gad, Colonel! give
me leave to tell you that you are the most quarrelsome man I
ever saw in my life. Call a disabled officer of my regiment -
for he is disabled, ain't you, Grace? — call him a hog before
me! You withdraw it, sir - you withdraw it?"
"Is this some infernal conspiracy in which you are all
leagued against me?" shouted the Colonel. "It would seem
as if I was drunk, and not you, as you all are. I withdraw
nothing. I apologize for nothing. By heavens! I will meet
one or half a dozen of you in your turn, young or old, drunk
or sober."
' I do not wish to hear myself called more names," cried
Mr. George Warrington.  "This affair can proceed, sir, without any further insult on your part. When will it please you
to give me the meeting?"
"The sooner the better, sir!" said the Colonel, fuming 
with rage.                                              (
'The sooner the better," hiccupped Captain Grace, with
many oaths needless to print — (in those days, oaths were the
customary garnish of all gentlemen's conversation) -and he
rose staggering from his seat, and reeled towards his sword,
which he had laid by the door, and fell as he reached the
weapon.   "The sooner the better!" the poor tipsy wretch
again cried out from the ground, waving his weapon and
knocking his own hat over his eyes.
'At any rate, this gentleman's business will keep cool till
to-morrow," the Militia Colonel said, turning to the other King's




88


THE VIRGINIANS.


officer. "You will hardly bring your man out to-day, Captain
Waring?"
I 1 confiss that neither his hand nor mine are particularly
steady."
"   ine is!" cried Mr. Warrington, glaring at his enemy.
HIis (oinlrade of' f1)o11er dlays wals as hot iad( as sava[ie.
B' Ie it so - with wlhat wetapon, sir? " Washilngton said sternly.
' Not with small swords, Colonel. We can beat you with
them. You lknow that fi'oo  our old bouts. Pistols liad better
be the word."
"As vyo   please, George Warrington - and Godt forgive
you, George!   (lod lpardol you, arry! for bringing me into
tlis quarrel," said the Colonel, with a face full of sladness and
gloom.
hIarry hung his head, Ibut George continued with perfect
calmness  '" I, sir? It was not 1 who called names, who
talked of a cane, wlio insulte(l a gentlleman in a 1iublic place
befbre gentlemen of the larmy? It is not the first time you
have chosen to take me for a negro, and1( talked of the whip
for I-me."
The Colonel started back, turning very red, and as if struck
by a sil(udden remeimorance.
"Creat heavens, George! is it that boyish quarrel you are
still recalling?"
"Who made you the overseer of Castlewood? " said the
boy, grinding his teeth. " I am not your slave, (George Washington, and I never will be. 1 lhated you then, 'and Ihate you
now. And you have insulted me, and I am a gentleman, and
so are you. Is that not enough?"
"Too much, only too ml(uh," said the Colonel, with a genuine grief on his face, and at his heart. " Do you bear malice
too, Hlarry? I had not thought tilis of thee! "
"I stand by my brother," saild arry, turning away from
the Colonel's look, and grasping George's hand. The sadness
on their adversary's face (lid not depart.  " lcaven be good to
us!.Tis all clear now," lie -muttered to himself. " 'The time
to write a few letters, and 1 am at your service, Mr. Warrington," he said.
" You have your own pistols at your saddle. I did not
ride out with any-; lut will send Sady b:ack for mnine. That
will give you time enough, Colonel Washington?"
*' Plenty of time, sir."  And each gentleman made the
other a low bow, and, putting his arm in his brother's, George
walked away. The Virginian officer looked towards the two




TIIE VIRGINIANS.                    89
unlucky calptains, who were by this time helpless with liquor.
(C'al)t:lil lBesoll, thle master of the tavern, was propping tlhe
hat, of o)e of t(lll oe ir his lhead.
"L It is not at!0t('etl(er their fault, Colonel," said my landlord,
witll a 1rilln loolk oi' llllh)or. "Jack Firebrace and T''om Hlumbold of Spotts\y'lllli  \ was here this morning, chanting horses
with 'eln. Aldl Jack and(l Tom got 'eln to play cards; alnd
they didn't wiln -tlhe British Captains didn't. Anlld Jack tand
Tomi ehallenoed theinm to drinlk for the honor of Old ISEngland,
and they didn't win at that game neither, nlt('h.  lthey 'are
kind, f'r(ei-hallled fl'llows whlen they are sober, but they are a
pretty pair of' fools - they are."
"C:aptain Benson, you are an old fiontier man, anll an
officer of' ours, beflore you turned fhriner and( taIvernelr. You
will help ine in this matter with y onder young gentlenmen?"
said tlle Colonel.
I'll stanld )b and see fir play., Colonel. I won't lhave lno
hand in it, beyoind seeing fair pla)y.  Madam  sinond hias
helped me 1any a time, tended ll\y 1)oor wile ii her Iving-in,
and doctored outr 1etty in tile fe\er. You aii't a goin' to )e
very hard with theml p0oor boys? Thotugh 1 seeni 'ein both
shoot: tlhe fair one hunts well, as you klnow, but the old one's
a wonder at an ace of spades."
W' \Will you be l)leased to sen(l my man withll ny valise, Captain, into ay1i private room which y1oul Call slpa'l- 1Ile  I must
write a few letters before this busilness ( oli.is oil. God grant
it were well over!"  And the Calptain led tlie Colonel into
almost thc nly o other room of his house, callini, with mnany
oaths, to a p1ack of negro servants to dislelrse tlhenee, lwho were
chattering loudly alnong one another, and n1o d (1btllt (iscussing
tlhe quarrel which had just taknll place. Edwin, the Colonel's
man, returned with his master's portniantean, l:1(l, as he
looked from the window, lie saw Sady, George Warring-ton's
negro, galloping away 1upon his errand, (dolllttless, and in the
direction of Castlewood.  The Colonel, young and naturally
hot-headed, but the most courteous and scrul)ullous of men, and
ever keeping his strong passions under guard, could not but
think witl amazement of tlie position in whlichl he found himself, and of the three, perlhaps four enemies, who appeared
suddenly lbefore him, menacing his life. IHow had this strange
series of quarrels been brought about? I-e had ridden away a
few hours since from Castlewood, with his young companions,
and to all seeming they were perfect friends. A shower of
rain sends them into a tavern, where there are a couple of re



90


THE VIRGINIANS.


cruiting officers, and they are not seated for half an hour, at a
social table, but he has quarrelled with the whole company,
called this one names, agreed to meet another in combat, and
threatened chastisement to a third, the son of his most intimate
friend!
CHAPTER XI.
WHEREIN THE TWO GEORGES PREPARE FOR BLOOD.
THE Virginian Colonel remained in one chamber of the
tavern, occupied with gloomy preparations for the ensuing
meeting: his adversary in the other room thought fit to make
his testamentary dispositions, too, and dictated, by his obedient
brother and secretary, a grandiloquent letter to his mother, of
whom, and by that writing, he took a solemn farewell. She
would hardly, he supposed, pursue the scheme which she had in
view (a peculiar satirical emphasis was laid upon the scheme
which she had in view), after the event of that morning, should
he fall, as, probably, would be the case.
"My dear, dear George, don't say that!" cried the affrighted
secretary.
" As probably will be the case," George persisted with great
majesty. "You know what a good shot Colonel George is,
Harry. I, myself, am pretty fair at a mark, and 'tis probable
that one or both of us will drop. -' I scarcely suppose you
will carry out the intentions you have at present in view.'"
This was uttered in a tone of still greater bitterness than George
had used even in the previous phrase. Harry wept as he took
it down.
"You see I say nothing; Madam Esmond's name does not
even appear in the quarrel. Do you not remember, in our
grandfather's life of himself, how he says that Lord Castlewood
fought Lord Mohun on a pretext of a quarrel at cards? and
never so much as hinted at the lady's name, who was the real
cause of the duel? I took my hint, I confess, from that, Harry.
Our mother is not compromised in the - Why, child, what
have you been writing, and who taught thee to spell?" Harry
had written the last words " in view," in vew, and a great blot
of salt water from his honest, boyish eyes may have obliterated
some other bad spelling.
" I can't think about the spelling now, Georgy," whimpered




(zi? I


- -\
t,  **' s  '.  >.  ''  -
v- f  \ l<  /*fc^  * 
t   -     +  s
t   a l  A  \  (\i


iA
(,.o:c G  S' s ECRELrI'IE Al VA.


—  - —
S








THE VIRGINIANS.


George's clerk. "I'm too miserable for that. I bein to think,
perhaps, it's all nonsense, perhaps Colonel George never- "
"Never meant to take possession of Castlewood; never
gave himself airs, and patronized us there; never advised my
mother to have me flogged, never intended to marry her;
never insulted me, and was insulied before the King's officers;
never wrote to his brother to say we should be the better for
his parental authority?  The paper is there," cried the young
man, slapping his breast-pocket, "and if anything happens to
me, Harry Warrington, you will find it on my corse!"
" Write yourself, Georgy, I can't write," says Harry, digging
his fists into his eyes, and smearing over the whole composition,
bad spelling and all, with his elbows.
On this, George taking another sheet of paper, sat down at
his brother's place, and produced a composition in which he
introduced the longest words, the grandest Latin quotations,
and the most profound satire of which the youthful scribe was
master. He desired that his negro boy, Sady, should be set
free; that his "' Horace," a choice of his books, and, if possible,
a suitable provision should be made for his affectionate tutor,
Mr. Iempster; that his silver fruit-knife, his music-books, and
harpsichord, should be given to little Fanny Mountain; and
that his brother should take a lock of his hair, and wear it in
memory of his ever fond and faithfully attached George. And
he sealed the document with the seal of arms that his grandfather had worn.
"The watch, of course, will be yours," said George, taking
out his grandfather's gold watch, and looking at it. "L Why,
two hours and a half are gone! 'Tis time that Sady should be
back with the pistols. Take the watch, Harry dear."
" It's no good! " cried out Harry, flinging his arms round his
brother. " If he fights you, I'll fight him, too. If he kills my
Georgy, -     him, he shall have a shot at me!" and the poor
lad uttered more than one of those expressions, which are said
peculiarly to affect recording angels, who have to take them
down at celestial chanceries.
Meanwhile, General Braddock's new   aide-de-camp had
written five letters in his large resolute hand, and sealed them
with his seal. One was to his mother, at Mount Vernon; one
to his brother; one was addressed M. C. only; and one to his
Excellency, Major-General Braddock.   "And one, young
gentlemen, is for your mother, Madam Esmond," said the
boys' informant.
Again the recording angel had to fly off with a violent ex



92


TIHE VTRGINIANS.


pression, which parted fiom the lip)s of George Warrington.
T'e' chlincery previosly mlention((l was crow(led witll sutch
cases, a'iil tlhe Imesselngers must have been for ever oil the winIg.
IBut I fear for younll George and his oatll tliere was no excuse;
for it was an execration uttered from a heart full of hatred, and
rage, and jealousy.
It was the lanll-lordl of the tavern who communlicatedl these
facts to the vOtnlg menr.  The Captlain had 1 tit oln his (oldI
militia unii(:)l' to do honor to the occasion, an( infl'orin(l tlie
boys that tie " Colonlll was walkingil up 1nd down tllhe glar(le
a waitill for 'em, and that the Rteglars was a'nost sotbe, too,
by this time."
A l)lot of ground near the Captain's log-llolse hlad been
enclosed witli shingles, anl cleared for a kitchenll-;tardenl; thlre
indeed paced1 Colonel WXashingtoll, his hand(s behin hllis back,
his head bowed d1owi, -a g'ravc sorrow on his han(dsomie face.
The negro servants were crow(ded at the lpalings, and looking
over. 'lThe olicers un(ler tle porclh had wakened up) also, as
their host reiaiLrked.  Captain Waring was walking, -almost
steadily, uinder tlhe balconii forinie( by1 tlihe sloping po(rch an
roof of the wooden house; alnd C      'al)tain  race w as lollig over
the railing, with eyes whielh stared very miunch, tlotugh 1)perhalll
they did not see very clearly. I-Belson's was a fiamullls ren(lezvous for cock-fights, horse-matches, boxing, and( wrestlintgmatches, such as brought the Virginian coulltry-flks together.
There had beenl manyl brawls at Benson's, and men v lio caiie
'thither sound and sober had gone thence with ribss broken and
eyes gouged out. And squires, and farmiers, and negroes, all
participated in the sport.
Tlhere, then, stalked the tall young Colonel, p1lunged in
dismal meditation. There was no way out of his scrall)e, b)lt
the usual crell one, whicll the laws of honor and the l)r':tice
of the country or(dered. Goadedl into fulry by the impe'rtinence
of a boy, he hla( utsed insulting words. The young man had
asked for reparation. Ile was shocked to thlink that Georoe
Warrington's jealousy and revenge should hlave rankled in the
young fellow so lolng: but the wrong had been the Colonel's,
and lie was bound'to pay the forfeit.
A great hallooing and shoutingr, such as negroes use, who
love noise at all times, and especially delight to yell and scream
when galloping on horseback, was now heard at a distance, and
all the heads, woolly and powdered, were turned in the direction
of this outcry. It came fiom the road over which our travellers
had themselves passeCd three hours before, and presently the clat



TIIE VIRGINIANS.


93


tering of a horse's hoof's was lleard, ai: d now Mr. Sad(  made
his apl)lperamnle on his foaningill' horse, and actually flied:ta pistol oil in the mnidlst of Ia protligious uplroar f1oill llis w*oolly
bretllren tl tlhe  lie 1Cfil(d:atltlel p)istol olf: to whlichl nois(es
Sady's lhorse, which lhall cariedl I I- rry Warringlton oil nilly
a hullt, was per 1)Cctly 'lcculstme(l. Al1 d now lie was in tile
court-\yard, sulrroillnded b1y t score of hiis.awliilg comrnI ls,
tand was (descetdinilg a'lli(dst fluttelingi fowls ali(l ttllir(-es, kickillng hoises ad1 slrickii'g Ilitra tic  s; and brotlelr il('e'oes
crowdie(1 round him, to whomn he instantly beganl to talk and
cllhtte r.
' Sadvly, sir, collie here! "  roars out a\1 ster l1arry.
'" Sa(i, colli herel, conllfound you! " sllhts Mlaster Georgce.
(Again thle rcco1rlilHng allgel is ill rlquisitio(,  a1i(Nd 1has to be o)ff r.
on oil of' his endlless elrrl(lds to tlle register oiice.)  C'omnle
directly M-a ' l, as, sa  S  1ady, 11d IrCsume(s hlis colvel(rsation withl
his w(oolly biletl.rel  lie r I i.  eins  lle tlaks tlle )istols out of
tlie holster.  lie sni)ps tlie locks.  Ile poiiits t1lien  at a
grunlter, whliell plunges tli hroug  thie lam-yarl.   Ile lpoiltts
downl tlie ro:al. over which lie lias just gallolpcd, and towards
which the woolly hleads Na o1in tlur11  lie says a.1ail, " ('ollill',
Mas'r.   Everybody( a-'cominl'."  Alnd  ow. tle gallop of oftler
iortses is liceal'. And wlio is yodler?,ittle Mr. l)eplster,
Slplllillg n(1( (li(gginol ilto Ilis lp()ll; anl tllat ladl  iln  rii(llghabit oil Maldam 1Essmond's little horse —canl it be Mladlami
Esmondl?    No.   It is too stout. As 1 live it is IMrs. MIounltail
on Madam's gray! 
"Ol Lo'! Ol Golly! IlHoop! Ilcreic d   co ome!! Ilirra "
A clholrs of negroes rises uil). "' Icrc ('y ie! "  1)r. )empster anl1 M\tls. iMoutntlain have claltte('(l inlto tlie yarid, have
juilllpe(l fi'oll) tlheir l(rses, have elbowed throul, lil tlie icgroc'(s,
have rilsile(d ilito tlie houlse, 1lave Prln tlhrimogi it and across tlhe
porell, w1here the lBritishl olijeers are sittiigI inl muzzy astolishment;  lave n111  down thle Sairs to tlhe glrden where George
1ai(l i Harry are walkint, their tall cIllenemy stalking ol)posite to
thlem l  a1d(1.alost erle Geolroe Warriligltoii litis lhad tille sternlly.
to saVy, ' "Wlatt (lo you do here, Madam?    s" Mrs. Mountain lias
Huillig her arms roulndl Ilis niekl alnd cries: iOh, George, Iy
darligii! It's a listake! It's a mistake, and is all ny fault "
Whalt's a mistake?" asks George, majestically separatillg
himsel l  fiomn tlhe.embllrace.
" AVlWat is it, M\ounty?'.' cries IIarry, all of a tremble.
1 Thalt paper I took out of his portfolio, that paper 1 plicked
up, children; where the Colonel says he is going to marry a




94


THE VIRGINIANS.


widow with two children. Who should it be but you, children,
and who should it be but your mother?"
W "Well?"
"Well, it's -it's not your mother. It's that little widow
Curtis whom the Colonel is going to marry. He'd always take
a rich one; I knew he would. It's not Mrs. Rachel Warrington. He told Madam so to-day, just before he was going
away, and that the marriage was to come off after the campaign. And —and your mother is furious, boys. And when
Sady came for the pistols, and told the whole house how you
were going to fight, I told him to fire the pistols off; and I
galloped after him, and I've nearly broken my poor old bones
in coming to you."
"I have a mind to break Mr. Sady's," growled George.
"I specially enjoined the villain not to say a word."
" Thank God he did, brother," said poor Harry. "Thank
God he (lid! "
What will Mr. Washington and those gentlemen think of
my servant telling my mother at home that I was going to fight
a duel?" asks Mr. George, still in wrath.
"You have shown your proofs before, George," says Harry,
respectfully. "And, thank heaven, you are not going to fight
our old friend — our grandfather's old friend. For it was a
mistake: and there is no quarrel now, dear, is there? You
were unkind to him under a wrong impression."
"I certainly acted under a wrong impression," owns George,
"but-"
"George! George Washington!" Harry here cries out,
springing over the cabbage-garden towards the bowling-green,
where the Colonel was stalking, and though we cannot hear
him, we see him, with both his hands out, and with the eager
ness of youth, and with a hundred blunders, and with love and
affection thrilling in his honest voice, we imagine the lad telling
his tale to his friend.
There was a custom in those days which has disappeared
dfrom our manners now, but which then lingered. When Harry
had finished his artless story, his friend the Colonel took him
fairly to his arms, and held him to his heart: and his voice
faltered as he said, " Thank God, thank God for this! "
" Oh, George," said Harry, who felt now how he loved his
fiiend with all his heart, " how I wish I was going with you on
the campaign!" The other pressed both the boy's hands, in a
graslp of friendship, which, each knew, never would slacken.
Then the Colonel advanced, gravely holding out his hand to




THE VIRGINIANS.


Harry's elder brother. Perhaps Harry wondered that the two
did not embrace as he and the Colonel had just done. But,
though hands were joined, the salutation was only formal and
stern on both sides.
"I find I have done you a wrong, Colonel Washington,"
George said, "and must apologize, not for the error, but for
much of my late behavior which has resulted from it."
" The error was mine! It was I who found that paper in
your room, and showed it to George, and was jealous of you,
Colonel. All women are jealous," cried Mrs. Mountain.
''Tis a pity you could not have kept your eyes off my paper,
Madam," said Mr. Washington.  ' You will permit me to say
so. A great deal of mischief has come because I chose to
keep a secret which concerned only myself and another person. For a long time George Warrington's heart has been
black with anger against me, and my feeling towards him has,
I own, scarce been more friendly. All this pain might have been
spared to both of us, had my private papers only been read by
those for whom they were written. I shall say no more now,
lest my feelings again should betray me into hasty words.
Heaven bless thee, Harry! Farewell, George! And take a
true friend's advice, and try and be less ready to think evil of
your friends. We shall meet again at the camp, and will keep
our weapons for the enemy. Gentlemen! if you remember
this scene to-morrow, you will know where to find me." And
with a very stately bow to the English officers, the Colonel left
the abashed company, and speedily rode away.
CHAPTER XII.
NEWS FROM THE CAMP.
WE must fancy that the parting between the brothers is
over, that George has taken his place in Mr. Braddock's
family, and Harry has returned home to Castlewood and his
duty. His heart is with the army, and his pursuits at home
offer the boy no pleasure. He does not care to own how deep
his disappointment is, at being obliged to stay under the
homely, quiet roof, now more melancholy than ever since
George is away. Harry passes his brother's empty chamber
with an averted face; takes George's place at the head of the




I  ~~~~~~ I - -. 11,.  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~~~~~':i -;r:l —.  -  Il-  _;L~:: 'i~~:~~'i'T: nTl --::.
i - - _7 __  - -  I  ~ ~ ~~~~~~~"   1,  ~ ~ ~ ~   f`~~~-,`- o~~~+;'   ~~~~~. 1. F A   -   1-,_ ~ ~ i...


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


talble, and sighls s he ldrinks from his silver tankard. MIndam
WVarriilltoll (:1lls tile toast of '1'Tl ITili,'" stoutly every (lay;
and on Stundays, whlen I arr rea(ls the Service, andl rays for
all trave(llrs I)y ln a: ( 1 wat er'' '   1' s  ss, "e  a  \\ e 1beseech(.
Thilee to hear lus, witl a p)ecliar solemnity. She ilsists on
ta lkiig ab)oult (eo()lre eostan tlv, bl)t (mite h'lerf'llv, '11 a:S if
hins retur.nt was certail. She walks into his vacant rlooml, withl
head uil)right, an(d 1o outwiard sig)ns oi emotioi.  She sees tlhat
his books, ilnen, p1pers,' &c., are arrlange( withl care; talkinll
of him withl a very special respect, andt specially appealling to the
old servants at mefals, and so forth, regar(linl tilings which are
to be done        e " when Mr. Georgc   comes home."  MIrs. Motiintainl
is constanitly on the whimper when ( eorg'e's name is mnLJtioned,
andl IIarry'l s ithee wears a look of the mlost st  ly alarmll; but
his mother's is invariably grave and seldate. Sle ilmakes more
blunders at piquet anid b]iackgammoni than you would expect from
her; and the servants iind her awatke and dressed, however
early they may rise.  She lias pralyed Mr. Dempster to cole
back into residence at Castlewood.    She is not severe or
haughty- (as her wont certainly was) witlh any of the larty,
but quiet iln ler talk with them., and gentle in assertion and
reply.  Slhe is for ever talking of her father an{d hlis cam)aigns, who came out of tlhelm all witli no verv' severe woutill(s
to hurt him; and so shlc hopes and trusts will her eldest
S il.
George writes fiequent letters home to his brother, and, now
the armyl is on its march, compiles a rolughl journal, which lhe
forwards as occasion serves.  Tlis docullnent is perused with
great delight and eagerness by tle youth to whom   it is addressed, and more than once read out in famlily council, on the
long summlner nights, as MIldain Esmond sits ul)riglt at her teatable - (slle never condescends to use the back of a chair)as little Fanny Mountain is busy witll her sewing, as Mr.
Dempster and lMrs. MIountfain sit over their clards, as the huslhed
old servants of the house nmove a)bout silently in tlie gloamilg.,
an( listen to tle worIds of thle young' master. HIearken to
IIarriy Warrington read(ing out his b)rotler's letter! As we look
at the slim characters on the yellow 1)age, fondly kept and put
aside, we can almost fiancy lhim a:live who wrote and who read
it - and yet, lo! they are as i' they never had been; their
portraits ftint images in fiames of tarnished gold. Were they
real once, or are they mere phantasnms?  D)id they live andl
die once?  Did they love each other as true brothers, and loyal
gentlemen?   Can we hear their voices in the past?   Sure I




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


97


know H-arry's, and yonder he sits in the warm summer evening,
andl r'eads his youg' 1)bother's siml)le story '" It must be oliwnedl tl.ht tlhe 1.)rvillces  ae actingi scurvily
1)v lis Majestv Kiirg (Geolre II., an(d iis Irep'l)resentative here
is il a lhline of flry. V'irg'iXia is })ad eiioughl, and (1  oo)r 3llarylani( not lmuih l(better, but. t 'elsylvania is wor(st of all. We
p1)ray! tlieil to sec, l 1ts trOl)s froii ioiii to fis it ti  e  o  Frencll;
at1l( we prolllise to mainttaill tlie tl'oop)s whell thley coime. We
lnot oly don('1 t keep our p1ro lise, a'nd make scartce ay p1rovision fi)r our (del'ledlled(l,, )tllt or1 peoplel insist lpoll tlie llost
ex'orbitanlt 1)ri(ces fir t!eilr c'ttl e111(1 stores, an(1 actlually cheat
tlie sotliers wlio are come to figlit their l)bttles.  No 0wo0ler
tlie Gc(elnral swears, and the troops are sulky. The delays
have bleen eindless. 0Owingr to tlie 1filiure of the several provinces to )provlide their l)roise(l storels anld ia n'ls of hlcomotion,
weeks and montls have elap) sce(, (dul'ilg whlli(h tiime, no doullt,
the IFrelich have been strenmgthening tihemnselves oil oHi0 filontier
and ill the ifots tlhey liavye trllned ius Olut of. T'lou(iht there
never will be any love lost letween me all(l Colonel W:\ashillgtoln,
it must be owned that your fttorrite (I a111 11t jealous, Ilal.) is
a brave man aI d a1 good1  1   oflicer. Tlle falmily respecl)eCt him very
m   1tch1, and1 tile (:;tl(,rnl is always asking his olilnion.  Indeed,
lie is almiost lthe onlly nuan who has seeii the Ind(lians in their
war-l)laillt, 1111(1 I own I think lie was right in firing upon Mons. -
Junmo(iville last yea r.
h"''ere is to be no more suite to that other quarrel at
Ienson's Tavern thlin tihere was to the proposed battle between Colonel \V. 111(d a: Ce rtalin young g entlemal  whlo shall be
ilameless. Captain Waringl wislied to llursule it Ol coming into
canial, and broulglit the lmessage friom Captainl (C' ace, which your
friend, wlio is    l s   Is ector, was 101 lakiiig ill), and emp)lovyed(  a brothier,lide-de-e'-cilp, Colonel Wilgtiel:ld, on his side.
]ult when l 'l illeiild Ilheard' the ircIIlunstantes of' tle quarrel,
low it liad ar1isen friom G(ace bei ng (dlrunkll, all was ifllented
by Wa 'riiig' being' tipsy, and how the two 44th gentleiiien had
ellosen to insult a militia officer, lie swore tliat Colonel WashilOgtoni should not meet tle 44th men; tliat lie wouldl carry the
nltter st raightway to his 1 Excellency, who would brilln tile two
capt.lains to (a (ourt-m1artial for brawling witli the militia, aned
ldrnllnlkenness, land iidecenlit beli:aviot, a11ld tlie (ell)taills were
'lin to put 111) tlieir to:lstillg2-iriols, andl swallow their wrath.
T1!1(y were g01oodl-1ltured elouloll out of' their ciu)s, an(l ate
their humbll e pie witl very good appetites at a reconciliation
dinner which Colonel W. had with the 44t1, and where he was
7




98                THIE VIRGINIANS.
as perfectly stupid and correct as Prince Prettyman need be.
Hang him! He has no faults, and that's why I dislike him.
When lie marries that widow -- ah me! what a dreary life she
will have of it."
"I wonder at the taste of some men, and the effrontery of
some women," says Madam Esmond, laying her teacup down.
"I wonder at any woman who has been married once, so forgetting herself as to marry again! Don't you, Mountain? "
" Monstrous!" says Mountain, with a queer look.
Dempster keeps his eyes steadily fixed on his glass of
punch. Harry looks as if he was choking with laughter, or
with some other concealed emotion, but his mother says, " Go
on, Harry! Continue with your brother's journal. He writes
well: but, ah, will he ever be able to write like my papa?"
Harry resumes: " We keep the strictest order here in camp,
and the orders against drunkenness and ill behavior on the
part of the men are very severe. The roll of each company
is called at morning, noon, and night, and a return of the absent and disorderly is given in by the officer to the commanding
officer of the regiment, who has to see that they are properly
punished.  The'men are punished, and the drummers are
always at work. Oh, Harry, but it made one sick to see the
first blood drawn from a great strong white back, and to hear
the piteous yell of the poor fellow."
"Oh, horrid! " says Madam Esmond.
I think I should have murdered Ward if he had flogged
me. Thank heaven he got off with only a crack of the ruler!
The men, I say, are looked aftel carefully enough. I wish the
officers were. The Indians have just broken up their camp,
and retired in dudgeon, because the young officers were for ever
drinking with the squaws - and - and - hum - ha." Here
Mr. Harry pauses, as not caring to proceed with the narrative,
in the presence of little Fanny, very likely, who sits primly in
her chair by her mother's side, working her little sampler.
"Pass over that about the odious tipsy creatures," says
Madam. And Harry commences, in a loud tone, a much more
satisfactory statement: "Each regiment has Divine Service
performed at the head of its colors every Sunday. The General does everything in the power of mortal man to prevent
plundering, and to encourage the people round about to bring
in provisions. He has declared soldiers shall be shot who dare
to interrupt or molest the market people. He has ordered the
price of provisions to be raised a penny a pound, and has lent
money out of his own pocket to provide the camp. Altogether,




THE VIRGINIANS.


99 1


he is a strange compound, this General. He flogs his men
without mercy, but he gives without stint. He swears most
tremendous oaths in conversation, and tells stories which Mountain would be shocked to hear  "
" Why me? " asks Mountain; " and what have I to do with
the General's silly stories? "
"Never mind the stories; and go on, Harry," cries the
mistress of the houseo
"-would be shocked to hear after dinner; but he never
misses service. I-He adores his Great Duke, and has his name
constantly on his lips. Our two regiments both served in Scotland, where I dare say Mr. Dempster knew the color of their
facings."
" We saw the tails of their coats, as well as their facings,"
growls the little Jacobite tutor.
1" Colonel Washington has had the fever very smartly, and
has hardly been well enough to keep up with the march.  -lad
he not better go home and be nursed by his widow? When
either of us is ill, we are almost as good friends again as ever.
But I feel somehow as if I can't forgive him for having wronged
him. Good Powers! How I have been hating him for these
months past! Oh, Harry! I was in a fury at the tavern the
other day, because Mountain came up so soon, and put an end
to our difference. We ought to have burned a little gunpowder between us, and cleared the air. But though I don't love
him as you do, I know he is a good soldier, a good officer, and
a brave, honest man; and, at any rate, shall love him none the
worse for not wanting to be our step-fthter."
"A step-father, indeed! " cries Harry's mother. "Why,
jealousy and prejudice have perfectly maddened the poor child!
Do you suppose the Marquis of Esmond's daughter and heiress could not have found other step-fathers for her sons than a
mere provincial surveyor?  If there are any more such allusions in George's journal, I beg you skip 'em, Harry, my dear.
About this piece of folly and blundering, there hath been quite
talk enough already."
"'Tis a pretty sight," Harry continued, reading from his
brother's journal, " to see a long line of red-coats, threading
through the woods or taking their ground after the march.
The care against surprise is so great and constant, that we
defy prowling Indians to come unawares upon us, and our advanced sentries and savages have on the contrary fallen in with
the enemy and taken a scalp or two from them.,They are such
cruel villains, these French and their painted allies, that we do
P~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.




100                THE VIRGINIANS.
not think of showing them -nercy. Only think, we found hut
yesterday a little boy scalped bult yet alive in a lone house,
where his parents had been attacked andl murdered by tle
savage enemy, of whonm-so great is his indignation at their
cruelty-our General las offered a reward of 51. for all the
Indian scalps l)rought in.
" When our mnarch is over, you should see our camp, and
all the care bestowed on it. Our baggagoe anid our G(eneral's
tents and guardl are placed quite in tie centre of the camp.
We have outlying sentries by twos, by threes, by tens, by
whole companies. At the least surprise, they are instructet d
to run in on tile main todly and rally roun1 tlle tents anil baggage, which are so arranged thelselves as to be a strongt fortification. Sady and I, you must know, are inarclillg on foot
now, and my horses are carrying baggage. 'The Penn ls anians sent such rascally animals into camp that they speelily
gave in. What good horses were left 'twas our dulty to give
up: and Roxana hlas a couple of lacks upon her back instead
of her young master. She knows me righlt well, and whinnies
when she sees me, and I walk by her side, and we have many
a talk together on the march.
" July 4. To gulard against surprises, we are all warned to
pay especial attention to the beat of the druln; always halting
when we hear tlle long roll beat, and marehing at the beat of
the long march. We arc more on the alert regarding the
enemy now. We have our a(lvance(d pickets doubled, and
two sentries at every lpost. The mncl oll tihe alvanced pickets
are constantly unler arms, with fixed bayonets, all through
the night, and relieved every two hours. The half that are
relieved lie down by their arms, but are not suffered to leave
their pickets. 'Tis evident tlat we are drawing very near to
the enemy now. This packet goes out with tle General's to
Colonel Dunbar's camlp, who is thirty miles behind us; sand
will be carried thence to Frederick, and thence to my honored
mother's house at Castlewood, to whoin 1 send my duty, with
kindest remembrances, as to all friends there, and how much
love I need not say to my dearest brother froml his affectionate
GEORGE E. WARRINGTON."
The whole land was now lying parched and scorclhig in
the July heat. For ten days no news had come fiom the
column advancing on the Ohio. Their march, though it toiled
but slowly through the painful forest, must bring them ere long
up with the enemy; the troops, led by consummate captains,
were accustomed now to the wilderness, and not afraid of su'-,,.  *,




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


101


prise.  Every precaution had been taken against ambush.
It was tile outlyitg enellmy who were discovered, 1)ilursled,
(lestro)Ve(1, b1, tile vigiilanlt scoults and1 skirlmishers of tlhe British
'irt'e. lTie las.t  ws le eal; was a1 lit tlle:lrml li(1 ad(lvanced
(colide(l,1i.ralyl lV)obeolll t(e orotlnd of M'I1. \\sllill,_ton's discoilmfittire 11 tle l'eviolls year'l, a1 l( two (d'las aftel'r mIlstt be withiil
a dl:!V's ailmicll of tlie Fren(i fiort.  AlIout takiln it no fears
were entert'ainilld  tilie almount of tile IFrench reillforcemlents
froml  Itoltlreal Wa.s knowll.  r)1. Biradldok, with   Iis two
veterall reg'iments fiomn 1Brita.in, andi( tlelir allies of' \irginia andl
P'ellsylvani:l, were more thllan a  lmatclEl for alny troops that
could l)e collecte(d ulrlll' tlie white il:Ig.
Suchtl continmied to )e tlie talk, in the sparse towns of our
Vi'gillnian lrovinlce', at tle gentv's 1houses, nd(l tle rough roa1dside tave'llrns, lwhere people met and canvassed tie war. Tile
fe\w mness(engers whlio were sent back by tlle General reported
well of tlme mlmaill f)'(rce.  'Twas thotlu lit the elleamy woul(l not
standl or de(lfentll iihiself aIt all. IIat(l he intended to attack,
he mighlt lhave seized a dozen occasions for assaultinl    our
troops at passes tllrough( which tlhey lvad been allowed to go
eltirely free.  So (;e():'  lIad give'C  tlp) his fltvorite mare, like
a hero as he wa:s, a(nd was     archillng a-foot with the line?
MIadamlll Es1ollmol vowed tlhat lie sliomld have tihe best horse in
Virginia 0  (1:arolilin  i plal1ce of Roxana. T1hre were horses
enolugh to be l1idl ill tlme 1provinces, and for money. It was
only fi)or tlie 1King's service that tiey were not forthcoming.
Althoutgh at tleir famlilv menteting's tand repasts the ilmates
of Castlewood alwayvs talked cheerfully, never anticipating any
but a triulmp)lant issue to the campaign, or acknowledging any
feeling of d(isquiet, yet, it must be owne(d tile!- were mighty
uneasy when at honme, quitting it ceaselessly, and for ever on
tlie trot from one neighbor's lhouse to another il quest of news.
It was prodigious how quickly reports ran and spreadl.  When,
for instance, a certain noted border wa'rriori, calledl Colonel,Jack, hla(1 offlred lilllst-lf'  d hlis llhutsmen to tlle General,
wllo liad declined tlie rufiian's terms or his profferetd service.
tfie defection of'Jack adl(l his men was tle talk of thloulsands of
tongiles ilmmtlcldiately.  Tlie house negroes, in their midnight
a.olhol)S about tile countrliy, ill seatrcl( of' junketinlg or sweethearts, lbrotlgh t and spread lnews over amnazingll(  wide districts.
Thlley lia(d at curioums knlowledge of tlie incidents of the marchl
ifo a. fortnighlt:t least l after its colllnelncement.  They knew
and laughled att tile cheats practised on tile army for horses,
provisiolls, and the like; for a good bargain over the foreigner




102


THE VIRGINIANS.


was not an unfrequent or unpleasant practice among New
Yorkers, Pennsylvanians, or Marylanders; though 'tis known
that American folks have become perfectly artless and simple
in later times, and never grasp, and never overreach, and are
never selfish now. For three weeks after the army's departure,
the thousand reports regarding it were cheerful; and when our
Castlewood friends met at their supper, their tone was confident and their news pleasant.
But on the 10th of July a vast and sudden gloom spread
over the province. A look of terror and doubt seemed to fall
upon every face. Affrighted negroes wistfully eyed their masters and retired, and hummed and whispered with one another.
The fiddles ceased in the quarters: the song and laugh of those
cheery black folk were hushed. Right and left, everybody's
servants were on the gallop for news. The country taverns
were thronged with horsemen, who drank and cursed and
brawled at the bars, each bringing his gloomy story. The army
had been surprised. The troops had fallen into an ambuscade,
and had been cut up almost to a man. All the officers were
taken down by the French marksmen and the savages. The
General had been wounded, and carried off the field in his
sash. Four days afterwards the report was that the General
was dead, and scalped by a French Indian.
Ali, what a scream poor Mrs. Mountain gave, when Gumbo
brought this news from across the James River, and little
Fanny sprang crying to her mother's arms! "Lord God
Almighty, watch over us, and defend my boy!" said Mrs.
Esmond, sinking down on her knees, and lifting her rigid
hands to heaven. The gentlemen were not at home when
this rumor arrived, but they came in an hour or two afterwards, each from his hunt for news. The Scots tutor did not
dare to look up and meet the widow's agonizing looks. Harry
Warrington was as pale as his mother. It might not be true
about the manner of the General's death - but he was dead'.
The army had been surprised by Indians, and had fled, and
been killed without seeing the enemy. An express had arrived from Dunbar's camp. Fugitives were pouring in there.
Should he go and see? He must go and see. I-Ie and stout
little Dempster armed themselves and mounted, taking a couple
of mounted servants with them.
They followed the northward track which the expeditionary army had hewed out for itself, and at every step which
brought them nearer to the scene of action, the disaster of the
fearful day seemed to magnify. The day after the defeat a




THE VIRGINIANS.


103


number of the miserable fugitives from the fatal battle of the
9th July had reached Dunbar's camp, fifty miles from the field.
Thither poor I-arry and his companions rode, stopping stragglers, asking news, giving money, getting from one and all the
same gloomy tale - A thousand men were slain - two-thirds
of the officers were down- all the General's aides-de-camp
were hit. Were hit? —but were they killed? Those who
fell never rose again. The tomahawk (id its work upon them.
O brother, brother! All the fond memories of their youth, all
the dear remembrances of their childhood, the love and the
laughter, the tender romantic vows which they had pledged to
each other as lads, were recalled by Harry with pangs inexpressibly keen. Wounded men looked up and were softened
by his grief: rough women melted as they saw the woe written
on the handsome young face: the hardy old tutor could scarcely
look at him for tears, and grieved for him even more than for
his dear pupil who lay dead under the savage Indian knife.
CHAPTER XIII.
PROFITLESS QUEST.
AT every step which Harry Warrington took towards Pennsylvania, the reports of the British disaster were magnified and
confirmed. Those two famous regiments which had fought in
the Scottish and Continental wars, had fled from an enemy
almost unseen, and their boasted discipline and valor had not
enabled them to face a band of savages and a few French infantry. The unfortunate commander of the expedition had shown
the utmost bravery and resolution. Four times his horse had
been shot under him. Twice he had been wounded, and the
last time of the mortal hurt which ended his life three days
after the battle. More than one of Harry's informants described the action to the poor lad, -the passage of the river,
the long line of advance through the wilderness, the firing in
front, the vain struggle of the men to advance, and the artillery
to clear the way of the enemy; then the ambushed fire from behind every bush and tree, and the murderous fusillade, by which
at least half of the expeditionary force had been shot down.
But not all the General's suite were killed, Harry heard. One




104


THE VIRGINIANS.


of his aides-de-camp, a Virginian gentleman, was ill of fever
and( exhaustion at l)unbar's camlp.
One of them -- t)tt whichl? To the camp Harry hurried,
and rea(led(l it at lenotlh.  It was George W\ashllilgton Iharry.'
folui(l stretched ill a tenlt tllere, andl not his brother. A s1arper
pain thlla that of the fever Mr. Washington declared lihe felt,
when lie saw Harry Warrington, and coulcl give him no n1ews
of George.
1Mr. Washington di(- not dare to tell Iarry all. For three
days after the fight his duty had Ibeen to be near the G(eneral.
On thie fltal 9th of July, he had seen George go to the front
with orders fi'ol  the chief, to whose si(le he liever returnled.
After 1-Braddock himself died, the aile-dle-camtnl) hald ifund means
to retrace his course to the field. The corpses whlichl reil.iinled
there were stripl)ed and horribly mutilated. On1e Ibody le
buried which lie thought to be George Wa\rrington's. Iis own
illness was increased, )erhal)ps occasioned, by the angulish whichi
he un(lerwent in his searcll for tlie un1lhal))y young voltinteer.
Al, George! If you liad loved him you wouild have found
him dead or alive," Iarry cried out. )Nothing would satisfy
him but that lie, too, shoulid go to the ground anll examine it.
With mone-y le procured a guide ol two. IIe foded tlhe river
at the place where the army had plassed over; ihe went from
one, end to the other of the dreadflil field. It was no longer
haunted by Indlians now. The birlds of prey were feeding on
the mangled festeringr carcasses.  Save in his own grandfathler,
lying very calnm, with a sweet smile oln his lip, Hlarry had never
yet seen the face of l)eatl. The liorrille spectacle of mutilation caused him to turn a-way with shudder and loathling. What
news could the vacant woo(Is, or those festering coipses lying
lunder the trees, give the lad of his lost brother? I-e was for
going, unarmed and with a white flag, to the French fort,
whither, after their victory, the enemy liad returned; but his
guides refused to advance with himl. Tlhe French milght possibly respect them, but the Indians would not.  " Keep your
hair for your lady-mnotlher my youing gentleman," slidl tIle
guide. " 'Tis enough that slhe loses one son in this cami
paign."
When IHarry returned to the English encampmenlt at )Dlllbar's, it was his turn to b1e down with tlhe fever.  Delirium set
in upon him, and he lay some time in tlie tent and on the Ihedl
firom whicli his firiend had just risen convalescent.  'or' some
days lie did not know who watchedl lim: and poor Dempster,
who had tended him in more than one of these maladies,




THE VIRGINIANS.


thought the widow must lose both her children; but the fever
was so far subldu)ed that the lboy was enabledl to rally-somlewltat,
and get to horseback. 3Mr. Waslinogton and De)ml)ster both
escorted hinm lome. It was with a heavy heart, no doulbt, that
all thll'e be.)1lldl once Ior1l' tlhe g'ates of Castlewood.
A servanlt in advance lind been sent to anuounee their comiii. Firs'nt ca'ilne Mri'S. IMoItlnltaill anild her litlle d(laigl:lter, welcmcing Il laryw with li ian: tears and leml)races; but slle scarce
gaOtve a nod(l of lrecogntitioll to Mr. WV asllilgtoll; a11d(1 the little
(,ii'l ("autsed the '-outlo oilicer to start, 1lal( tullrn deadly pale, by
coiingi upt) to hilli with ll her hllands behind her. and1 asklilg,
" \\l11y havhe you lnot  rought (oge back, too?"  IIarry did
not l1car. Thel sobs and ca1resses of his g()od friend and Inurse
tluckily kept 1himn fIO1o liSteningl to little 1Ianiv.
l)empl)stcr was gra'ciouisly received by the two ldies. "7 Whatever c(touil  e (l done, we  11kno   you would do, Mr. l)eampster,"
says Mrs. MIoulntain, giving him her lhand. " Make a curtsy
to Mr. l)lemipster,  nn, Fall- nd relmemlber, child, to be g-rateful
to all wh( lIave been lrieindly to our benef'actors. WAill it llease
you to take any refreshnenl t before you ride, Colonel W\ashilnton?"
Mr1. Washington Ihad had a sufficient ride already, and
counted as cert.ainly uil)onl tile hosl)itality of Castlewood, as he
would 11)011 the shelter of his own house.
" The time to feed my horse, and a glass of water for myself, and I will trouble Castlewood hospitality no farther," Mr.
Washington said.
" Sure, George, you have your room here, and my mother
is above stairs getting it ready!" cries Hlarry. "Tllt poor
horse of yours stumbled with you, and can't go farther this
evenillg."
1t1ush! Your mother won't see him, child," whispered
Mrs. MIountain.
" Not sec George?  Why, he is like a son of the house,"
cries IIarry.
'   "She Ihad best not see him. I don't me(ddle any more in
famlily matters, childl: but when the Colonel's servant rode in,
and said youl were coming, MIadanm Esmond left this room, my
dear, where she was sitting reading ' Drelincourt,' and said she
felt she could not see M1r. Wasliington. Will you go to her?"
Iarry took his friend's arm, and excusing himself to the Colonel, to whom lhe said he would return in a few minutes, he left
the )arlor in whichl they lhad assembled, and went to the upper
rooms, where Madam Esmond was.




1<6


THE VIRGINIANS.


He was hastening across the corridor, and, with an averted
head, passing by one especial door, which he did not like to
look at, for it was that of his brother's room; but as he came
to it, Madam Esmond issued from it, and folded him to her
heart, and led him in. A settee was by the bed, and a book
of psalms lay on the coverlet. All the rest of the room was
exactly as George had left it.
" My poor child! How thin thou art grown- how haggard
you look! Never mind. A mother's care will make thee well
again. 'Twas nobly done to go and brave sickness and danger
in search of your brother. Had others been as faithful, he
might be here now. Never mind, my Harry; our hero will
come back to us, - I know he is not (lead. One so good, and
so brave, and so gentle, and so clever as he was, I know is not
lost to us altogether." (Perhaps Harry thought within himself
that his mother had not always been accustomed so to speak of
her eldest son.) "Dry up thy tears, my dear! He will come
back to us, I know he will come." And when Harry pressed her
to give a reason for her belief, she said she had seen her father
two nights running in a dream, and he had told her that her boy
was a prisoner among the Indians.
Madam Esmond's grief had not prostrated her as Harry's
had when first it fell upon him; it had rather stirred and animated her: her eyes were eager, her countenance angry and
revengeful. The lad wondered almost at the condition in which
he found his mother.
-But when he besought her to go down stairs, and give a hand
of welcome to George Washington, who had accompanied him,
the lady's excitement painfully increased. She said she should
shudder at touching his hand. She declared Mr. Washington
had taken her son from her, she could not sleep under the same
roof with him.
"He gave me his bed when I was ill, mother; and if our
George is alive, how has George Washington a hand in his
death? Ah! please God it be only as you say," cried Harry,
in bewilderment.
" If your brother returns, as return he will, it will not be
through Mr. Washington's help," said Madam Esmond. " He
neither defended George on the field, nor would he bring him
out of it."
"But he tended me most kindly in my fever," interposed
Harry. "He was yet ill when he gave up his bed to me, and
was thinking of his friend, when any other man would have
thought only of himself."




THE VIRGINIANS.


107


" A friend! A pretty friend! " sneers the lady. " Of all
his Excellency's aides-de-camp, my gentleman is the only one
who comes back unwounded. The brave and noble fall, but
he, to be sure, is unhurt. I confide my boy to him, the pride
of my life, whom he will defend with his, forsooth! And he
leaves my George in the forest, and brings me back himself!
Oh, a pretty welcome I must give him!"
" No gentleman," cried Harry, warmly, " was ever refused
shelter under my grandfather's roof."
' Oh, no, - no gentleman!" exclaims the little widow; " let
us go down, if you like, son, and pay our respects to this one.
Will you please to give me your arm? " and taking an arm which
was very little able to give her support, she walked down the
broad stairs, and into the apartment where the Colonel sat.
She made him a ceremonious curtsy, and extended one of
the little hands, which she allowed for a moment to rest in his.
I wish that our meeting had been happier, Colonel Washington," she said.
"You do not grieve more than I do t!at it is otherwise,
Madam," said the Colonel.
"I might have wished that the meeting had been spared,
that I might not have kept you from friends whom you are
naturally anxious to see, - that my boy's indisposition had
not detained you. Home and his good nurse Mountain, and
his mother and our good Doctor Dempster will soon restore
him. 'Twas scarce necessary, Colonel, that you who have so
many affairs on your hands, military and domestic, should turn
doctor too."
" Harry was ill and weak, and I thought it was my duty to
ride by him," faltered the Colonel.
"You yourself, sir, have gone through the fatigues and
dangers of the campaign in the most.wonderful manner," said
the widow, curtsying again, and looking at him with her impenetrable black eyes.
" I wish to heaven, Madam, some one else had come back
in my place "
"Nay, sir, you have ties which must render your life more
than ever valuable and dear to you, and duties to which, I
know, you must be anxious to betake yourself. In our present
deplorable state of doubt and distress, Castlewood can be a
welcome place to no stranger, much less to you, and so I know,
sir, you will be for leaving us ere long. And you will pardon
me if the state of my own spirits obliges me for the most part
to keep my chamber. But my friends here will bear you com



108


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


pany as long as you favor us, whilst I nurse my poor Ilarry
up stairs. Mountain! you will have the cedar room on the
ground-floor ready for Mr. Washington, anld anythlilg il tlie
house is at his command. Farewell, sir.  Will votl be p)leased
to present my compliments to yolr mother, who will be tllalikfuil to have her son sae allndl soiiiid ott of tlle war, -as.also to
my young friend Martha Curtis, to whlomln alnd to whose chlil(ren
I wish every htappine.ss. Come, my son " alnd w*itll tlesc wol (ds,
andl another freezilln c urtsy, tle I)ple little womnll retreated,
looking steadily at the Colonel, who stood ldubt on tlhe floor.
Strong as Madam Esmond's belief appeared to be respecting
her son's safety, tlhe house ot Castlewoo(l naturally 'remnained
sad and gloomy.  Sle miioght forbid mollrning for herself and
fiamilv; but her heart was in bllack, whatever fice tlle resolute
little lady persisted in wearing before tle world. To look for
her son was liop)ing against liope. No autllenltic acco(nt of his
deatl ha(l in(leed:rrived, andl no one aplpeared wlio liad seen
him fall; but hutnc' 1eds more liadl beeni so stricken on tliat l'attal
day, with no eyes to beholdl tleir last 1)p1ngs, save tlIose of tlie
lurking ene1my1 a1n  the colmrades dying b their side. A fortnight after the d(leifat, when HIarry was al)senlt oll lhis (quest,
George's servant, Say, 1Sreappl)ared wounded and mlaimed at
Castlewood. But lie cotld( give no coherent account of the
battle, only of hlis flight fromi tlme centre, where lie was with
the baggage. IIe haId no news of his master since the morning
of the action. For many- (lays Sadyl lurked in the negro quarters
away from the siglit of Madam E1smond, whlose an1er he dlid
not dare to face. That lady's few neiglohors spoke of lier as
laboring  nder al deluision.  So stronig wias it, tlhat there were
tilmes wi en IIarLr and the otlher mem(irs of tlhe little C astlewoo(d ftauily w\ere 1almnost broIught to sl1 re in it. It seemed
notlinig stran'ge to her, that her fatlieir outt of another world
slio)ul(1 pirolise her her son's'ife. In this \world or the next,
thlat family sure niust be of conse(lIence, she thlouohlt. Nothing had ever yet happened to her sons: no acc(idnt, no fe ver,
no important illness, 1but she 1had a prevision of it. Slie could
enumerate half a dozen instances, which, indeed, her house(hold
was obliged more or less to confirm liow, O when any'thing lhad
happened to the boys at ever so great a distance, slie lia( known
of their mishap andl its consequences.  No, (Geolrge w'r ts not
dead; George was a prisoner among the Indians; George
would come hack and rule over Castlewood; as sure, as sure
as his Majesty would send a great force from home to recover




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


109


the tarnished glory of tihe British arms, and to drive the French
out (;' tlie \Amerl'iclS.
As 'oir 1Ml. W.xalington. she would n ever, with her own
gOo(l vvill, tbelldll( lliill 'no"li. le haIl l)proiis(ed to lr'otect
(Ieoi'ge with llis lii. WlNy was her soil gole anlld tlhe Colonel
alive? Ilow (larel lie to face her after tllhat promise. andl
applar belore a mother witlhot her son? She truste( sle knew
her dult. She 1bore ill will to no one: but as all 'Eslmonll(, she
hadl a sense of honor, dan ll Mr. Washington had fol r'eited his iil
letting her sonl out of Iis siight. IIe llal to oley- siuperior ord(ers
(sonlic one lerllilps objectedl)? Pslha! a promise was a p romise.
Ie Itlad p1rollised( to gua11l Gceoroge's life with his own, and
where was her b1)o? And l(l as not the Colonel (a pretty (Colomel,
indlee(l!) Sotld 11 s  safe?  l)o not tell iie that lhis coat and
hat 11i l s!()ts tlihri)olig them! " ('llis wa1s lier anlswer to anothler
humble l)lt iill Mr. Wa hingiton's behlif.)  ' (Canl't I o.o into
the stludl this instant alldl fire two shots with my lapa's lpitols
throughl this p)adtliisoV skirt, - anii slouldl I be killedl?"  Slie
lallgled at tile notion of dleatlh resulting flomn aniys stuch operation; nor was her laugh very ipleasant to hear. The satire of
people 1who lhave little iatrillal lhumorl is sel(omn good sl)ort for
bystanders.  I think (dll 111nIm's ficei(i are 11  ostly cruel.
So, if IILarry wanllt(e to meet his friend li l   lid to (o so in
secret, at touirt-lhoises, tavernis, or various llaces of resort or
in their little towns, wherle tl, e )rovinciail gcntry assembled.
No ma1. of spirit, slhe vowerd, could meet Mr. WTashington after
his lase desertion of her flamlilv.  ShIe was exceedingly excited
when slie hear(l that the Colonel and her son absolutely had
met.  What a heart must Ilarry have to give his han(1 to one
whom she conlsidered as little better tlhan George's murdleer!
For shame to say so!   "For shame upon yotu, ullgrateful boy,
forgetting the dearest, nollest, most  perfect of Ibrothers, for
tlhat tall, gawky3, fox-hun11ting Colonel, with his horri(l oaths!
Iow c anl he be eGeorge's muiird(erer, when I say my boy- is not
dea(l? IIe is iiot de'(l, because my instinct never (deceivced me:
because, as sure as I see his picture now before me, -only 'tis
not near so ilohle or so sool as lie use( to loo, -so surely
two nights runnlig (i(l 11m p)ala  pl)l)ear to mle il my drems.
You d(oubt about that, very likely? "'is because yvo' neiver
loved anyboody sulcienitly, my pioolr Harry; else vyou n1igl1t have
leave to see them in llreams, as lis beeil vouhelssafedl to somne."
I thiliik I loved George, mother," crie(d Iarr'y.  I have
often pray1ed that I might dream albout him-, 11an I (don't.'
How you can talk, sir, of loving George, and then go and




110


TIE VIRGINIANS.


meet your Mr. Washington at horse-races, I can't understand!
Can you, Mountain?"
"We can't understand many things in our neighbors' characters. I can understand that our boy is unhappy, and that he
does not get strength, and that lie is doing no good here, in
Castlewood, or moping at the taverns and court-houses with
horse-coupers and idle company," grumbled Mountain in reply
to her patroness; and, in truth, the dependant was right.
There was not only grief in the Castlewood House, but there
was disunion. " I cannot tell how it came," said Harry, as he
brought the story to an end, which we have narrated in the preceding pages, and which he confided to his new-found English
relative, Madame de Bernstein:  but since that fatal day of
July, last year, and my return home, my mother never has been
the same woman. She seemed to love none of us as she used.
She was for ever praising George, and yet she did not seem as
if she liked him much when he was with us. She hath plunged,
more deeply than ever, into her books of devotion, out of which
she only manages to extract grief and sadness, as I think.
Such a gloom has fallen over our wretched Virginian House
of Castlewood, that we all grew ill, and pale as ghosts, who
inhabited it. Mountain told me, Madam, that, for nights, my
mother would not close her eyes. I have had her at my bedside, looking so ghastly, that I have started from my own sleep,
fancying a ghost before me. By one means or other she has
wrought herself into a state of excitement which, if not delirium,
is akin to it. I was again and again struck down by the fever,
and all the Jesuits' bark in America could not cure me. We
have a tobacco-house and some land about the new town of
Richmond, in our province, and I went thither, as Williamsburg
is no wholesomer than our own place; and there I mended a
little, but still did not get quite well, and the physicians strongly
counselled a sea-voyage. My mother, at one time, had thoughts
of coming with me, but" - (and here the lad blushed and hung
his head down)    "we did not agree very well, though I know
we loved each other very heartily, and 'twas determined that
i?     I should see the world for myself. So I took passage in our
ship from the James River, and was landed at Bristol. And
* 'twas only on the 9th of July, this year, at sea, as had been::|:   agreed between me and Madam Esmond, that I put mourning
~it 0  onfor my dear brother."
So that little Mistress of the Virginian Castlewood, for whom,
I am sure, we have all the greatest respect, had the knack of




THE VIRGINIANS.


111


rendering the people round about her uncomfortable; quarrelled
with those she loved best, and exercised over them her wayward jealousies and imperious humors, until they were not sorry
to leave her. Here was money enough, friends enough, a good
position, and the respect of the world; a house stored with all
manner of pIlenty, and good things, and poor Harry Warrington
was glad to leave them all behind him.  Happy! Who is
happy? What good in a stalled ox for dinner every day, and
no content therewith?  Is it best to be loved and plagued by
those you love, or to have an easy, comfortable indifference at
home; to follow your fancies, live there unmolested, and die
without causing any painful regrets or tears?
To be sure, when her boy was gone, Madam Esmond forgot
all these little tiffs and differences. To hear her speak of both
her children, you would fancy they were perfect characters, and
had never caused her a moment's worry or annoyance. These
gone, Madam fell naturally upon Mrs. Mountain and her little
daughter, and worried and annoyed them. But women bear
with hard words more easily than men, are more ready to forgive injuries, or, perhaps, to dissemble anger. Let us trust
that Madam Esmond's dependants found their life tolerable,
that they gave her ladyship sometimes as good as they got, that
if they quarrelled in the morning they were reconciled at night,
and sat down to a tolerably friendly game at cards and an
amicable dish of tea.
But, without the boys, the great house of Castlewood was
dreary to the widow. She left an overseer there to manage
her estates, and only paid the place an occasional visit. She
enlarged and beautified her house in the pretty little city of
Richmond, which began to grow daily in importance. She had
company there, and card assemblies, and preachers in plenty;
and set up her little throne there, to which the gentlefolks of
the province were welcome to come and bow. All her domestic
negroes, who loved society as negroes will do, were delighted
to exchange the solitude of Castlewood for the gay and merry
little town; where, for a time, and while we pursue Harry
Warrington's progress in Europe, we leave the good lady.




112


THE VIRGINIANS.


CIAPTER XIV.
HARRY IN ENGLAND.
WirEN the famous Trojan wandlerer narrated Ihis escapes and
alventures to Queen Dido, her TMajesty, as we read, took the
very greatest interest in the 'fascinating story-teller who told
his perils so eloquently. A history ensuted, nore pathetic than
any of' the previous occurrences in tlie life' of Pius lAlneas, and
the poor princess had reason to rue the (day when she listened
to that glib and (dangerots oraltor. 11arry Warrgto had not
pious Elneas's power of sp)eelh, tand his elderly atillt, we lmay
presume, was by no means so soft-hearted Is the selltimlental
D)ido; Ibut yet tile lal's narrative was l toucltlilg, as he d(livere
it with his artless elo(quellce a  c1(1 r(lil voie' '1(1 mo11re than
ollce, in tile colurse of his story, MaI(i-tale Be'iistein ifoilllli hlerself
move(1 to a softness to whiich she had very seldom.ll l befoe allowed
herself to give way. Tllere were not 11man\ toullltliils ill tllat
desert of a life- Inot nallny  swectt lirefeslllg restilg-lal:ces.
It had been a long lonelilness, fotr tlhe most partt, tt til tlis
fiiendly voice came and sounded iln hr ears andef caused her
heart to beat witll strange l)ng'us of love an1( svpa.thlly. Slle
doted on this lad, and on tilis sense of compal)ssioil and( reord
so new to her. Save once, faintly, in very very early youth,
she Ihad felt no teider selitilnent fo')r 11a human beinl'. Such
a woman would, no doubt, watch lher own sensations very
keenly, and must have smiled after the appearancel of thlis b)oy,
to mark how her pl)lses rose above their ordinuariy beaLt. Sile
longed after him. She felt her cheeks hufish with Ia)l)ppin ss
when he came inear. Ier eyes greeted hlim withl welcome,:1nd
iollowed hiln with fond 1lleasure. " Al, if sle col( hliI ave ha1(1
a son like that, how she would have loved lim! "  '...W: it,"
says Conisience, the darl: scolfer mocking wvitilill her, ' "wait,
Beatrix Esmond! You know you will wweary of this incliInaiion,
as you have of all. You know, whlelI the passing fancy ll as
subsided, that the boy m-ay perish, and you won't 1have a tear
for him; or talk, and you weary of' his stories; and tlhat your
lot in life is to be lonely - lnely- e."  W ell? sulplse lif( I/ a
desert? There are haltin-lplaces and shades, a:nd reflresllilg:  waters; let us profit by them for to-cay. We kllow that we
must march when to-morrow comes, and tramp on our destiny
~i'- onward... I.




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


113


She smiled inwardlly-, whilst following the lad's narrative, to
recoglize ill his silmplle tales tabout his mother traits of flanily
reseiltlil anee. Ma:t(lai EsoinIl(l was very jealous? - Yes, that
H-arry owi(Le. She was fond of Colonel W ashllington? She
liked him, ibuti oily as a friend, Ilarry declared..A hundred
times lie hla(l he'ard lhis mother vow that she hlal no other feeling towards him. Ile was ashame(l to have to own that lie
himself lhad )be>en once ab)surdly jealous of the Colonel. '" Well,
you will see that my half-sister will never fobrgive him," said.(ladlm Bea(trix. '" Alnd you need not be surprised, sir, at
womenl tlaingll  a 1fSmey to men younger thlan themselves; for
doll't I lot uponll yo; and don't all these Castlewood people
crecent witl jea.loIusy?"
However great tmilght be their jealousy of Madame (le Bernstein's nxew fiavorite, the:lImily of Castlewood allowed no feeling
of ill w ill to lpplear inl tll ir language or behavior to their young
tguest aid(1 kinissman.. After a couple of (lays' stay in the ancestral house, iMr. IIlarry Warrin'ton had become Cousin HIarry
witl youllg and miiddle-aged.  Especially in Madamne Bernstein's presence, tlhe Couiitess of Castlewood was most gracious
to her kinllsnma, and slie tool malany amiablle private opportunities of intformiig' tlie 1Baroness how charming the young, Huron
was, of vaun\.ltilg the elegtance of his manners andl alppearance,
and wondlering how, in lis distiant province, the child should
ever lave learndc to be so polite?
These notes of adlira tion or interrogation, tle Baroness
took witll equal conplacency.  (Speaking parenthetically, and,
for his own part, tle present chrlonicler cannot help pjutting in
a little respeetfil remark here, and siolnifying his admiration of
the conduct of ladies towards one anotliher, and of the tlings
which they say, whichl they forbear to say, and which they say
blehind each otler's backs. With wliat smiles and curtsies they
stab eachl other! with what colpliinents they hate each other!
with what determination of long-sufleIring the:"won't be offended!
with what innouent dexterity they can drop tle drop of' poison
into the cup of conversation, hand round the goblet, smiling, to
tle whole family to drink, and make tle dear domestic circle mliserable!) - I burst out of my parenthesis. I fancy my Baroness
and Countess smiling at each other a hundred years ago, aid
giving each other tile hland or the cheek, an(l callinhg each other,
My lear. My dlear creature, My (lear Countess, My dear Baroness, M  dlear sister - even, when they were most ready to frght.
"You wonder, my dlear Maria, that the boy should be so
polite?" cries Madame de Bernstein.  " His m;other was bred
<tS~~~~ 8




114


THE VIRGINIANS.


up by two very perfect gentlefolks. Colonel Esmond had a
certain grave courteousness, and a grand manner, which I do
not see among the gentlemen now-a-days."
"Eh, my dear, we all of us praise our own time! My
grandmamma used to declare there was nothing like Whitehall
and Charles the Second."
"My mother saw King James the Second's court for a short
while, and though not a court-educated person, as you knowher father was a country clergyman - yet was exquisitely well
bred. The Colonel, her second husband, was a person of great
travel and experience, as well as of learning, and had frequented the finest company of Europe. They could not go
into their retreat and leave their good manners behind them,
and our boy has had them as his natural inheritance."
" Nay, excuse me, my dear, for thinking y5ou too partial
about your mother. She could not have been that perfection
which your filial fondness imagines. She left off liking her
daughter —my dear creature, you have owned that she did
— and I cannot fancy a complete women who has a cold
heart.  No, no, my dear sister-in-law! Manners are very
requisite, no doubt, and, for a country parson's daughter,
your mamma was very well - I have seen many of the cloth
who are very well. Mr. Sampson, our chaplain, is very well.
Dr. Young is very well. Mr. Dodd is very well; but they
have not the true air - as how should they? I protest, I beg
pardon! I forgot my lord bishop, your ladyship's first choice.
But, as I said before, to be a complete woman, one must have,
what you have, what I may say, and bless heaven for, I think
Ihave- a good heart. Without the affections, all the world
is vanity, my love! I protest I only live, exist, eat, drink,
rest, for my sweet, sweet children! - for my wicked Willy, for
my self-willed Fanny, dear naughty loves! "  (She rapturously
kisses a bracelet on each arm which contains the miniature
representations of those two young persons.)  "Yes, Mimi!
yes, Fanchon! you know I do, you dear, dear little things!
and if they were to die, or you were to die, your poor mistress would die, too!"    Mimi and Fanchon, two quivering
Italian greyhounds, jump into their lady's arms, and kiss her
hands, but respect her cheeks, which are- covered with rouge.
Ei    "No, my dear!    For nothing do I bless heaven so much
(though it puts me to excruciating torture very often) as for
having endowed me with sensibility and a feeling heart! ":      " You are full of feeling, dear Anna," says the Baroness.
"You are celebrated for your sensibility. You must give a




THE VIRGINIANS.                 115
little of it to our American nephew - cousin - I scarce know
his relationship."
"Nay, I am here but as a guest in Castlewood now. The
house is my Lord Castlewood's, not mine, or his lordship's
whenever he shall choose to claim it. What can I do for the
young Virginian that has not been done? Ile is charming.
Are we even jealous of him for being so, my dear? and though
we see what a fancy the Baroness de Bernstein has taken for
him, do your ladyship's nephews and nieces —your real
nephews and nieces —cry out? My poor children might be
mortified, for indeed, in a few hours, the charming young man
has made as much way as my poor things have been able to
do in all their lives: but are they angry? Willy hath taken
him out to ride. This morning, was not Maria playing the
harpsichord whilst my Fanny taught him the minuet? 'Twas
a charming young group, I assure you, and it brought tears
into my eyes to look at the young creatures. Poor lad! we
are as fond of him as you are, dear Baroness! "
Now, Madame de Bernstein had happened, through her own
ears or her maid's, to overhear what really took place in consequence of this harmless little scene. Lady Castlewood had
come into the room where the young people were thus engaged
in amusing and instructing themselves, accompanied by her
son William, who arrived in his boots from the kennel.
"Bravi, bravi! Oh, charming!" said the Countess, clapping her hands, nodding with one of her best smiles to Harry
Warrington, and darting a look at his partner, which my Lady
Fanny perfectly understood; and so, perhaps, did my Lady
Maria at her harpsichord, for she played with redoubled energy, and nodded her waving curls over the chords.
" Infernal young Choctaw! Is he teaching Fanny the wardance? and is Fan going to try her tricks upon him now?"
asked Mr. William, whose temper was not of the best.
And that was what Lady Castlewood's look said to Fanny.
"Are you going to try your tricks upon him now? "
She made Harry a very low curtsy, and he blushed, and
they both stopped dancing, somewhat disconcerted. Lady
Maria rose from the harpsichord and walked away.
"Nay, go on dancing, young people! Don't let me spoil
sport, and let me play for you," said the Countess; and she
sat down to the instrument and played.
"I don't know how to dance," says Harry, hanging his
head down, with a blush that the Countess's finest carmine
could not equal.




116


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


"And Fanny was teaching you?     Go on teaching him,
dearest F'annll! 
'; (-Go on, do " says William, with a sidelong growl.
'I - I lhad( rather not sllow o1l' 1my aiwkwardnless in company," adds H1arry, recoverigllo hiinself'. '" When I know how
to dance a miniuet, be sure 1 wvill ask my cousin to walk one
with me."
"That will be very soon, (ear Cousin Wlarrington, I am
certain," remarks the Countess, witl her most gracious air.
"What game is she hunting now? " tllinks lr. William to
himself, wlo cannot l)eletrate his mother's -ways; and tlhat
lady, fondly calling her daulghter to her elbow, leaves the
rOOll.
'lhey are no sooner in the tapestried passage leading away
to their own apartment, but Lady (astlew-ood's bla(nd tone
entirely changes. i"You booby!" shie begins to her adlored
Fanny.   ' You double idiot! What are 3ou goillg to (lo with
the lHuron?  You (lon't want to marry a creature like that,
and be a squaw in a wigwam? "
"Don't, manlna! " gasped Lady Fanny.     Mamma was
pinching her ladylship's arim blackl and blue. "I am sure
our cousin is very well," Fanny whimpers, " and you said so
yourself."
Very well   Yes; and heir to a swamp, a negro, a logcabin and a barrel of tobacco! iMy Lady Frances Esmonid,
do you remember what your ladyship's ralnk is, aind what your
name is, and who was your ladshilp's mother, when, at three
days' acquaintatlce, you commence (l1aicilg —a pretty dance,
indeed!  witlh this Ibrat out of Virginia."
"'Mr. Warrington is our cousin," pleads Lady Fanny.
"A creature come from nobody knows where is inot yolr
cousin! Iow do we know he is your cousin? Ile may b)e
a valet who has taken his master's portmanteau, and run away
in his post-chaise."
"But Madame de Bernstein says he is our cousin," interpocse Franny,  and he is the image of the Esmonds."
" Madame de Bernstein has her likes and dislikes, takes up
people and forgets peol)le; and she chooses to )rofess a mighlty
fancyl for this young man. Because slle likes him to-dtay, is
that any reason why she should like 1hlmi to-morrow? Before
Comlpany,and in your' aunt's presence, your ladyshi p will please
to be as civil to hiin as necessary; but, in private, I forbid you
to see hilm or encourage him."
"I don't care, Madam, whether your ladyship forbids me




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


117


or not!" cries out Lady Fanny, wrought up to a pitch of
revolt.
Very good, Fanny! then I speak to my lord, and we return to l(ensington.  I I can't bring you to reason, your
brother will."
At this juncture the conversation between mother and d(aughter stopped, or Madame de Bernstein's informer had no further
means of hlarilng or reporting it.
It was only in af ter-ldays that she told aIrry Warrington a
part of whait slie kllew. At lLesent lie but saw that his killsfolks receiv-ed himl not unkinllly. Laly Castlewood was plerfectly civil to him; tlie young ladies pleasant and pleased; my
Lord Castlewoo(t, a man of cold and ll:aughty (lemeanor, was
not Imoire reservel towards Iarry thlan to a11 of' e res t of tie
faimily; Mr. William was ready to drink with llili, to ride with
him, to go to races with him, and to 1)lay cards with him.
When he proposed to go awv!y, they one and all pressed lilm to
stay. Madtame te Be llenstein dlid not tell him how it arose that
lie was the ojcect of such eager l iosl)itality. le did not know
what schemles he was se-rvingr or (lis.111arranging(, whose or what
anger he was creatiln. Ile fancied he was welcome because
those around himiiii wre his killsmen, and never thought that
those could be his enemies out of whose cup) le was driinking,
and whose hand he was pressing every night and morning.
CHAPTER XV.
A SUNDAY AT CASTLEWOOD.
TIlE second day after IHarry's arrival at Castlewood was a
Sunday. Tlhe clhapel al)pert'aiiingl to the castle was the village
church. A door from the house comnunuicated witl a great
state p)ew which tile family occl:)ie(l, and here, after due time,
they all took tleir places in order, wliilst a rather numerous
co(ngregation from the village filled the seats below. A few
anicient (1usty banneri s hlunIg from the church roof; and Harry
pleased himself in im'ngiining that thaey had been borne by retalinerls of his Iulnily in the (ommolnwelth wars, in which, as
lie knew well, his incestors 11ad taken a loyal and distinguished
part. Within the altar-rails was tile effigy of the Esmnond of
the time of Kiin James the First, the colmmon forefather of all




118


THE VIRGINIANS.


the group assembled in the family-pew. Madame de Bernstein,
in her quality of Bishop's widow, never failed in attendance,
and conducted her devotions with a gravity almost as exemplary as that of the ancestor yonder, in his square beard and
red gown, for ever kneeling on his stone hassock before his
great marble desk and book, under his emblazoned shield of
arms. The clergyman, a tall, high-colored, handsome young
man, read the service in a lively, agreeable voice, giving almost
a dramatic point to the chapters of Scripture which he read.
The music was good -one of the young ladies of the family
touching the organ -and would have been better but for an
interruption and something like a burst of laughter from the
servants' pew, which was occasioned by Mr. Warrington's
lackey, Gumbo, who, knowing the air given out for the psalm,
began to sing it in a voice so exceedingly loud and sweet, that
the whole congregation turned towards the African warbler:
the parson himself put his handkerchief to his mouth, and the
liveried gentlemen from London were astonished out of all
propriety. Pleased, perhaps, with the sensation which he had
created, Mr. Gumbo continued his performance until it became
almost a solo, and the voice of the clerk himself was silenced.
For the truth is, that though Gumbo held on to the book, along
with pretty Molly, the porter's daughter, who had been the first
to welcome the strangers to Castlewood, he sang and recited
by ear and not by note, and could not read a syllable of the
verses in the book before him.
This choral performance over, a brief sermon in due course
followed, which, indeed, Harry thought a deal too short. In
a lively, familiar, striking discourse the clergyman described
a scene of which he had been witness the previous week- the
execution of a horse-stealer after Assizes. He described the
man and his previous good character, his family, the love they
bore one another, and his agony at parting from them. He
depicted the execution in a manner startling, terrible, and
picturesque. He did not introduce into his sermon the Scripture phraseology, such as Harry had been accustomed to hear
from those somewhat Calvinistic preachers whom his mother
loved to frequent, but rather spoke as one man of the world to
other sinful people, who might be likely to profit by good advice. The unhappy man just gone, had begun as a farmer of
good prospects; he had taken to drinking, card-playing, horseracing, cock-fighting, the vices of the age; against which the
young clergyman was generously indignant. Then he had got
to poaching and to horse-stealing, for which he suffered. The




H  ~~~~~~~~~~~~  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~, ~~~~~~~~~~~~  1$ 'i 1 11R 
CA         /              '~~~~ ~       ij~~;'4
VKY IT


THE, FAMILY PEW.




I




TIIE VIRGINIANS.                 119
divine rapidly drew striking and fearful pictures of these rustic
crimes. He startled his hearers by showing that the Eye of
the Law was watching the poacher at midnight, and setting
traps to catch the criminal. lie galloped the stolen horse over
highway and common, and from one county into another, but
showed Retribution ever galloping after, seizing the malefactor
in the country fair, carrying him before the justice, and never
unlocking his manacles till he dropped them at the gallows'foot. Heaven be pitiful to the sinner! The clergyman acted
the scene. He whispered in the criminal's ear at the cart. He
dropped his handkerchief on the clerk's lead. Harry started
back as that handkerchiei dropped. The clergyman had been
talking for more than twenty minutes. Harry could have heard
him for an hour more, and thought he had not been five minutes in the pulpit. The gentlefolks in the great pew were very
much enlivened by the discourse. Once or twice, Harry, who
could see the pew where the house servants sat, remarked these
very attentive; and especially Gumbo, his own man, in an attitude of intense consternation. But the smock-frocks did not
seem to heed, and clamped out of church quite unconcerned.
Gaffer Brown and Gammer Jones took the matter as it came,
and the rosy-cheeked, red-cloaked village lasses sat under their
broad hats entirely unmoved. My lord, from his pew, nodded
slightly to the clergyman in the pulpit, when that divine's head
and wig surged up from the cushion.
"Sampson has been strong to-day," said his lordship. " He
has assaulted the Philistines in great force."
" Beautiful, beautiful!" says Harry.
"Bet five to four it was his Assize sermon. He has been over
to Winton to preach, and to see those dogs," cries William.
The organist had played the little congregation out into
the sunshine. Only Sir Francis Esmond, temp. Jac. I., still
knelt on his marble hassock, before his prayer-book of stone.
Mr. Sampson came out of his vestry in his cassock, and nodded
to the gentlemen still lingering in the great pew.
"Come up, and tell us about those dogs," says Mr. William,
and the divine nodded a laughing assent.
The gentlemen passed out of the church into the gallery of
their house, which connected them with that sacred building.
Mr. Sampson made his way through the court, and presently
joined them. He was presented by my lord to the Virginian
cousin of the family, Mr. Warrington: the chaplain bowed
very profoundly, and hoped Mr. Warrington would benefit by
the virtuous example of his European kinsmen. Was he related




120


THE VIRGINIANS.~~S


to Sir Miles Warrington, of Norfolk? Sir Miles was Mr. War.
rington's father's elder brother. What a pity he had a son!
'Twas a pretty estate, and Mr. Warrington looked as if he
would become a baronetcy, and a fine estate in Norfolk.
"Tell me about my uncle," cried Virginian Harry.
"Tell us about those dogs!" said English Will, in a breath.
"Two more jolly dogs, two more drunken dogs, saving your
presence, Mr. Warrington, than Sir Miles and his son, I never
saw. Sir Miles was a staunch friend and neighbor of Sir Robert's. He can drink down any man in tie county, except his
son and a few more. The other dogs about which Mr. William
is anxious, for heaven hath made him a prey to dogs and all
kinds of birds, like the Greeks in the Iliad -"
" I know that line in the Iliad," says Harry, blushing. "I
only know five more, but I know that one." And his head
fell. He was thinking, " Ah, my dear brother George knew
all the Iliad and all the Odyssey, and almost every book that
was ever written besides!"
"What on earth" (only he mentioned a place unsder the
earth) "are you talking about now?" asked Will of his reverence.
The chaplain reverted to the dogs and their performance.
He thought Mr. William's dogs were more than a match for
them. From dogs they went off to horses. Mr. William
was very eager about the Six Year Old Plate at Huntingdon.
" Have you brought any news of it, Parson?"
" The odds are five to four on Brilliant against the field,"
says the Parson, gravely, "but, mind you, Jason is a good.
horse."
"Whose horse?" asks my lord.
" Duke of Ancaster's. By Cartouche out of Miss Langley,"
says the divine. "Have you horse-races in Virginia, Mr.,
Warrington?"
"Haven't we!" cries Harry; "but oh! I long to see a
good English race!"
"Do you -do you - bet a little? " continues his reverence.
"I have done such a thing,"' replies Harry with a smile.
"I'll take Brilliant even against the field, for ponies with
you, cousin! " shouts out Mr. William.
"I'll give or take three to one against Jason!" says the
clergyman.
"I don't bet on horses I don't know," said Harry, wondering to hear the chaplain now, and remembering his sermon
half an hour before..i ~ ~: ~




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


121


" Hadn't you better write home, and ask your mother?"
says Mr. William, with a sneer.
" Will, Will!" calls out my lord, "our cousin Warrington
is free to bet, or not, as he likes. Have a care how you venture on either of them, Harry Warrington. Will is an old file,
in spite of his smooth face, and as for Parson Sampson, I defy
our ghostly enemy to get the better of him."
"Him and all his works, my lord!" said Mr. Sampson,
with a bow.
Harry was highly indignant at this allusion to his mother.
I'll tell you what, Cousin Will," he said, "I am in the habit
of managing my own affairs in my own way, without asking any
lady to arrange them for me. And I'm used to make my own
bets upon my own judgment, and don't need any relations to
select them for me, thank you. But as I am your guest, and,
tio doubt, you want to show me hospitality, I'll take your bet
- there. And so Done and Done."
Done," says Will, looking askance.
"Of course it is the regular odds that's in the paper which
you give me, cousin?"
"Well, no, it isn't," growled Will.  The odds are five to
four, that's the fact, and you may have 'em if you like."
"Nay, cousin, a bet is a bet; and I take you, too, Mr.
Sampson."
"Three to one against Jason. I lay it. Very good," says
Mr. Sampson.
"Is it to be ponies too, Mr. Chaplain?" asks Harry with a
superb air, as if he had Lombard Street in his pocket.
" No, no. Thirty to ten. It is enough for a poor priest to
win."
"Here goes a great slice out of my quarter's hundred,"
thinks Harry. "Well, I shan't let these Englishmen fancy
that I am afraid of them. I didn't begin, but for the honor of
Old Virginia I won't go back."
These pecuniary transactions arranged, William Esmond
went away scowling towards the stables, where he loved to take
his pipe with the grooms; the brisk parson went off to pay his
court to the ladies, and partake of the Sunday dinner which
would presently be served. Lord Castlewood and Harry remained for a while together. Since the Virginian's arrival
my lord had scarcely spoken with him. In his manners he was
perfectly friendly, but so silent that he would often sit at the
head of his table, and leave it without uttering a word.
~I suppose yonder property of yours is a fine one by this
time? " said my lord to Harrv.




122


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


"I reckon it's almost as big as an English county," answered Harry, " and the land's as good, too, for many things."
Harry would not have the Old Dominion, nor his share in it,
underrated.
"Indeed!" said my lord, with a look of surprise. " When
it belonged to my father it did not yield much."
"Pardon me, my lord. You know how it belonged to your
father," cried the youth with some spirit. " It was because my
grandfather did not choose to claim his right." *
"Of course, of course," says my lord, hastily.
"I mean, cousin, that we of the Virginian house owe you
nothing but our own," continued Harry Warrington; " but our
own, and the hospitality which you are now showing me."
" You are heartily welcome to both. You were hurt by the
betting just now?"
" Well," replied the lad, " I am sort o' hurt. Your welcome,
you see, is different to our welcome, and that's the fact. At
home we are glad to see a man, hold out a hand to him and
give him of our best. Here you take us in, give us beef and
claret enough, to be sure, and don't seem to care when we come,
or when we go. That's the remark which I have been making
since I have been in your lordship's house; I can't help telling
it out, you see, now 'tis on my mind; and I think I am a little
easier now I have said it."  And with this the excited young
fellow knocked a billiard-ball across the table, and then laughed,
and looked at his elder kinsman.
"A la bonne heure! We are cold to the stranger within
and without our gates. We don't take Mr. Harry Warrington
into our arms, and cry when we see our cousin. We don't cry
when he goes away - but do we pretend? "
" No, you don't. But you try to get the better of him in a
bet," says Harry, indignantly.
" Is there no such practice in Virginia, and don't sporting
men there try to overreach one another? What was that story
I heard you telling our aunt, of the British officers and Tom
Somebody of Spottsylvania?"
"That's fair!" cries Harry. "That is it's usual practice,
and a stranger must look out. I don't mind the parson; if he
wins, he may have, and welcome. But a relation! To think
that my own blood cousin wants money out of me! "
" A Newmarket man would get the better of his father. My
brother has been on the turf since he rode over to it from Cam* This matter is discussed in the Author's previous work, "The Me.
moirs of Colonel Esmond."




1 20


THE VIRGINIANS.


bridge. If you play at cards with him - and he will if you will
Jlet him -he will beat you if he can."
Well, I'm ready," cries Harry.  I'll play any game with
him that I know, or I'll jump with him, or I'll ride with him, or
I'll row with him, or '11 wrestle with him, or I'll shoot with
him- there now."
The senior was greatly entertained, and held out his hand
to the boy. "Anything, but don't fight with him," said my
lord.
" If I do, I'll whip him! hanged if I don't! " cried the lad.
But a look of surprise and displeasure on the nobleman's part
recalled him to better sentiments. "A hundred pardons, my
lord!" he said, blushing very red, and seizing his cousin's
hand. "I talked of ill manners, being angry and hurt just
now; but 'tis doubly ill-mannered of me to show my anger,
and boast about my prowess to my own host and kinsman.
It's not the practice with us Americans to boast, believe me,
it's not."
" You are the first I ever met," says my lord, with a smile,
" and I take you at your word. And I give you fair warning
about the cards, and the betting, that is all, my boy."
" Leave a Virginian alone! We are a match for most men,
we are," resumed the boy.
Lord Castlewood did not laugh. His eyebrows only arched
for a moment, and his gray eyes turned towards the ground.
' So you can bet fifty guineas and afford to lose them?  So
much the better for you, cousin. Those great Virginian estates
yield a great revenue, do they?"
" More than sufficient for all of us- for ten times as many
as we are now," replied Harry. ("What, he is pumping me,"
thought the lad.)
"4 And your mother makes her son and heir a handsome
allowance? "
"As much as ever I choose to draw, my lord!" cried
Harry.
"Peste! I wish I had such a mother!" cried my lord.
"But I have only the advantage of a step-mother, and she
draws on me. There is the dinner-bell. Shall we go into the
eating-room?"  And taking his young friend's arm, my lord
led him to the apartment where that meal was waiting.
Parson Sampson formed the delight of the entertainment, and
amused the ladies with a hundred agreeable stories. Besides
being chaplain to his lordship, he was a preacher in London,
at the new chapel in May Fair, for which my Lady Whittlesea




1/. I




124


THE VIRGINIANS.


(so well known in the reign of George I.) had left an endow:ment. He had the choicest stories of all the clubs and coteries
- the very latest news of who had run away with whom - the
last bon-mot of Mr. Selwyn -the last wild bet of March and
Rockingham. He knew how the old king had quarrelled with
Madame Walmoden, and the Duke was suspected of having a
new love; who was in favor at Carlton House with the Princess
of Wales; and who was hung last Monday, and how well he
behaved in the cart.  My lord's chaplain poured out all this
intelligence to the amused ladies and the delighted young provincial, seasoning his conversation with such plain terms and
lively jokes as made Harry stare, who was newly arrived from
the colonies, and unused to the elegancies of London life. The
ladies, old and young, laughed quite cheerfully at the lively
jokes. Do not be frightened, ye fair readers of the present
day! We are not going to outrage your sweet modesties, or
call blushes on your maiden cheeks. But 'tis certain that their
ladyships at Castlewood never once thought of being shocked,
but sat listening to the parson's funny tales until the chapelbell, clinking for afternoon service, summoned his reverence
away for half an hour. There was no sermon. IHe would be
back in the drinking of a bottle of Burgundy. Mr. Will called
a fresh one, and the chaplain tossed off a glass ere he ran out.
Ere the half-hour was over, Mr. Chaplain was back again
bawling for another bottle. This discussed, they joined the
ladies, and a couple of card-tables were set out, as, indeed,
they were for many hours every day, at which the whole of the
family party engaged. Madame de Bernstein could beat any
one of her kinsfolk at piquet, and there was only Mr. Chaplain
in the whole circle who was at all a match for her ladyship.
In this easy manner the Sabbath day passed. The evening
was beautiful, and there was talk of adjourning to a cool tankard
and a game of whist in a summer-house; but the company voted
to sit indoors, the ladies declaring they thought the aspect of
three honors in their hand, and some good court cards, more
beautiful than the loveliest scene of nature; and so the sun
went behind the elms, and still they were at their cards; and
the rooks came home cawing their even song, and they never
stirred except to change partners; and the chapel-clock tolled
hour after hour unheeded, so delightfully were they spent over
the pasteboard; and the moon and stars came out; and it was
nine o'clock, and the groom of the chambers announced that
I supper was ready.
Whilst they sat at that meal, the postboy's twanging horn




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


125


was heard, as he trotted into the village with his letter-bag.
My lord's bag was brought in presently from the village, and
his letters, which he put aside, and his newspaper which he
read. He smiled as he came to a paragraph, looked at his Virginian cousin, and handed the paper over to his brother Will,
who by this time was very comfortable, having had pretty good
luck all the evening, and a great deal of liquor.
" Read that, Will," says my lord.
Mr. William took the paper, and, reading the sentence
pointed out by his brother, uttered an exclamation which caused
all the ladies to cry out.
"Gracious heavens, William! What has happened? " cries
one or the other fond sister.
"' Mercy, child, why do you swear so dreadfully?" asks the
young man's fond mamma.
" What's the matter? " inquires Madame de Bernstein, who
has fallen into a doze after her usual modicum of punch and
beer.
"Read it, Parson! " says Mr. William, thrusting the paper
over to the chaplain, and looking as fierce as a Turk.
" Bit, by the Lord!" roars the chaplain, dashing down the
paper.
" Cousin Harry, you are in luck," said my lord, taking up
the sheet, and reading fiom it. " The Six Year Old Plate at
Huntingdon was won by Jason, beating Brilliant, Pytho, and
Ginger. The odds were five to four on Brilliant against the
field, three to one against Jason, seven to two against Pytho,
and twenty to one against Ginger."
"I owe you a half-year's income of my poor living, Mr.
Warrington," groaned the parson. "I will pay when my noble
patron settles with me."
"A  curse upon the luck! " growls Mr. William; " that
comes of betting on a Sunday," —and he sought consolation
in another great bumper.
" Nay, Cousin Will. It was but in jest," cried Harry. " I
can't think of taking my cousin's money."
" Curse me, sir, do you suppose, if I lose, I can't pay? " asks
Mr. William; " and that I want to be beholden to any nman
alive? That is a good joke. Isn't it, Parson? "
" I think I have heard better," said the clergyman; to
which William replied, "' Hang it, let us have another bowl."
Let us hope the ladies did not wait for this last replenishment of liquor, for it is certain they had had plenty already
during the evening..




126               THE VIRGINIANS.
CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH GUMBO SHOWS SKILL WITH THE OLD ENGLISH WEAPON.
OUR young Virginian having won these sums of money
from his cousin and the chaplain, was in duty bound to give
them a chance of recovering their money, and I am afraid his
mamma and other sound moralists would scarcely approve of
his way of life. He played at cards a great deal too much.
Besides the daily whist or quadrille with the ladies, which set
in soon after dinner at three o'clock, and lasted until supper time,
there occurred games involving the gain or loss of very considerable sums of money, in which all the gentlemen, my lord included, took part. Since their Sunday's conversation, his lordship was more free and confidential with his kinsman than he
had previously been, betted with him quite affably, and engaged
him at backgammon and piquet. Mr. William and the pious
chaplain liked a little hazard; though this diversion was enjoyed on the sly, and unknown to the ladies of the house, who
had exacted repeated promises from Cousin Will, that he would
not lead the Virginian into mischief, and that he would himself
keep out of it. So Will promised as much as his aunt or his
mother chose to demand from him, gave them his word that
he would never play -no, never; and when the family retired
to rest, Mr. Will would walk over with a dice-box and a rumbottle to Cousin Harry's quarters, where he, and Hal, and his
reverence would sit and play until daylight.
When Harry gave to Lord Castlewood those flourishing descriptions of the maternal estate in America, he had not wished
to mislead his kinsman, or to boast, or to tell falsehoods, for
the lad was of a very honest and truth-telling nature; but, in
his life at home, it must be owned that the young fellow had
had acquaintance with all sorts of queer company, - horsejockeys, tavern loungers, gambling and sporting men, of whom
a great number were found in his native colony. A landed
aristocracy, with a population of negroes to work their fields,
and cultivate their tobacco and corn, had little other way of
amusement than in the hunting-field, or over the cards and the
punch-bowl. The hospitality of the province was unloundedl:
every man's house was his neighbor's; and the idle gentletolks
rode from one mansion to another, finding in each pretty much
05is:,   *X;, ' d*-:  - '  *  * E  *       '           -:




lu-hr ''VIRGINIAIIJiS


-127


the same sport —welcome, and rough plenty. The Virginian
Squire had often a bare-footed valet, and a cobbled saddle;
but there was plenty of corn for the horses, and abundance of
drink and venison for the master within the tumble-down fences,
and behind the cracked windows of the hall. Harry had slept
on many a straw mattress, and engaged in endless jolly nightbouts over claret and punch in cracked bowls till morning came,
and it was time to follow the hounds. His poor brother was of
a much more sober sort, as the lad owned with contrition. So
it is that Nature makes folks; and some love books and tea,
and some like Burgundy and a gallop across country. Our
young fellow's tastes were speedily made visible to his friends in
England. None of them were partial to the Puritan discipline;
nor did they like Harry the worse for not being the least of a
milksop. Manners, you see, were looser a hundred years ago;
tongues were vastly more free and easy; names were named,'
and things were done, which we should screech now to hear
mentioned. Yes, Madam, we are not as our ancestors were.
Ought we not to thank the Fates that have improved our morals
so plrodigiously, an(d made us so eminently virtuous?
So, keeping a shrewd keen eye upon people round about
him, and fancying, not incorrectly, that his cousins were disposed to pump him, Harry Warrington had thought fit to keep
his own counsel regarding his own affairs, and in all games of
chance or matters of sport was quite a match for the three
gentlemen into whose company he had fallen.  Even in the
noble game of billiards he could hold his own after a few days'
play with his cousins and their revered pastor.  His grandfather loved the game, and had over from Europe one of the
very few tables which existed in his Majesty's province of
Virginia. Nor though'Mr. Will could beat him at the commencement, could he get undue odds out of the young gamester.
After their first bet, Harry was on his guard with Mr. Will,
and cousin William  owned, not without respect, that the
American was his match in most things, and his better in
many. But though Harry played so well that he could beat
the l)arson, and soon was the equal of Will, who of course
could beat both the girls, how came it, that in the contests with
these, especially with one of them, Mr. Warrington frequently
came off second? He was profoundly courteous to every being
who wore a petticoat: nor has that traditional politeness yet
left his country. All the women of the Castlewood establishment loved the young gentleman. The grim housekeeper was
mollified by him: the fat cook greeted him with blowsy smiles;




THIE   VIRGINiANIS.


the ladies'-maids, whether of the French or the English nation,
smirked and giggled in his behalf; the pretty porter's daughter
at the lodge had always a kind word in reply to his. Madame
de Bernstein took note of all these things, and, though she
said nothing, watched carefully the boy's disposition and behavior.
Who can say how old Lady Maria Esmond was? Books of
the Peerage were not so many in those days as they are in our
blessed times, and I cannot tell to a few years, or even a lustre
or two. When Will used to say she was five-and-thirty, he
was abusive, and, besides, was always given to exaggeration.
Maria was Will's half-sister. She and my lord were children
of the late Lord Castlewood's first wife, a German lady, whom,
'tis known, my lord married in the time of Queen Anne's wars.
Baron Bernstein, who married Maria's Aunt Beatrix, Bishop
Tusher's widow, was also a German, a Ianoverian nobleman,
and relative of the first Lady Castlewood. If my Lady Maria
was born under George I., and his Majesty George II. had
been thirty years on the throne, how could she be seven-andtwenty, as she told Harry Warrington she was? " I am old,
child," she used to say. She used to call Harry' "child" when
they were alone. "I am a hundred years old. I am sevenand-twenty.  I might be your mother almost."  To which
Harry would reply,  Your ladyship might be the mother of all
the cupids, I am sure. You don't look twenty, on my word
you do not!"
Lady Maria looked any age you liked.  She was a fair
beauty with a dazzling white and red complexion, an abundance
of fair hair which flowed over her shoulders, and beautiful round
arms which showed to uncommon advantage when she played
at billiards with Cousin Harry.  When she had to stretch
across the table to make a stroke, that youth caught glimpses
of a little ankle, a little clocked stocking, and a little black
satin slipper with a little red heel, which filled him with unutterable rapture, and made him swear that there never was
such a foot, ankle, clocked stocking, satin slipper in the world.
And yet, 0 you foolish Harry! your mother's foot was ever so
much more slender, and half an inch shorter, than Lady Maria's.
But, somehow, boys do not look at their mammas' slippers and
ankles with rapture.
No doubt Lady Maria was very kind to Harry when they
were alone. Before her sister, aunt, step-mother, she made
light of him, calling him a simpleton, a chit, and who knows
what trivial names?  Behind his back, and even before bis




TIE VIRGINIANS.


129


face, she mimicked his accent, which smacked somewhat of his
province. Harry blushed and corrected the faulty intonation,
under his English monitresses. His aunt pronounced that they
would soon make him a pretty fellow.
Lord Castlewood, we have said, became daily more familiar
and friendly with his guest and relative. Till the crops were
off the ground there was no sporting, except an occasional
cock-match at Winchester, and a bull-baiting at Hexton Fair.
Harrn and Will rode off to many jolly fairs and races round
about: the young Virginian was presented to some of the
county families -the Henleys of the Grange, the Crawleys of
Queen's Crawley, the Redmaynes of Lionsden, and so forth.
The neighbors came in their great heavy coaches, and passed
two or three days in country fashion. More of them would
have come, but for the fear all the Castlewood family had of
offending Madame de Bernstein.  She did not like country
company; the rustical society and conversation annoye(l her.
"We shall be merrier when my aunt leaves us," the young
folks owned. " We have cause, as you may imagine, for being
very civil to her. You know what a favorite she was with our
papa?   And with reason.  She got him his earldom, being
very well indeed at Court at that time with the King and Queen.
She commands here naturally, perhaps a little too much. We
are all afraid of her: even my elder brother stands in awe of
her, and my step-mother is much more obedient to her than she
ever was to my papa, whom she ruled with a rod of iron. But
Castlewood is merrier when our aunt is not here. At least we
have much more company. You will come to us in our gay
days, Harry, won't you? Of course you will: this is your
home, sir.  I was so pleased-oh, so pleased-when my
brother said he considered it was your home!"
A soft hand is held out after this pretty speech, a pair of
very well-preserved blue eyes look exceedingly friendly. Harry
grasps his cousin's hand with ardor.  I do not know what /
privilege of cousinship he would not like to claim, only he is so
timid. They call the English selfish and cold.  He at first
thought his relatives were so: but how mistaken he was! How
kind and affectionate they are, especially the Earl, and dear,
dear Maria! How he wishes he could recall that letter which
he had written to Mrs. Mountain and his mother, in which he 
hinted that his welcome had been a cold one! The Earl his 
cousin was everything that was kind, had promised to intro-:
duce him to London society, and present him at Court, antl at
W'hite's. He was to consider Casttewood as his English home.  x..                                      '  X~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~:




130               TIIE VIRGINIANS.
He had been most hasty in his judgment regarding his relatives
in Hampshire. All this, with many contrite expressions, he
wrote in his second despatch to Virginia. And lie added, 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 Angle."
1 "Ille prceter omnes angulus ridet," muttered little Mr. Dempster, at home in Virginia.
"The child can't be falling in love with his angle, as he
calls her! " cries out Mountain.
"Pooh, pooh! my niece Maria is forty!" says Madam
Esmond. L' I perfectly well recollect her when I was at home
-a great gawky carroty creature, with a foot like a pair of
bellows." Where is truth, forsooth, and who knoweth it? Is
Beauty beautiful, or is it only our eyes that make it so? Does
Venus squint?  Has she got a splay-foot, red hair, and a
crooked back? Anoint my eyes, good Fairy Puck, so that I
may ever consider the Beloved Object a )aragon! 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 favorite with some
in the drawing-room, and all the ladies of the servants'-hall,
but, like master like man, his valet Gumbo was very much
admired and respected by very many of the domestic circle.
Gumbo had a luindred accomplishments. He was famous as a
fisherman, huntsman, blacksmith. He could dress hair beautifully, and improved himself in the art under my lord's own
Swiss gentleman.  He was great at cooking many of his
Virginian dishes, and learned many new culinary secrets from
my lord's French man. We have heard how exquisitely and
melodiously he sang at church; and he sang not only sacred
but secular music, often inventing airs and composing rude
words after the habit of his people. He played the fiddle so
charmingly, that he set all the girls dancing 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. Warrington's negro was a universal
favorite in all the Castlewood domain.
Now it was not difficult for the servants'-hall folks to perceive
that Mr.. Gumbo was a liar, which fact was undoubted in spite
of all his good qualities. For instance, that day at church,
^;'.-..:- -.........   *..   -   ' ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ r~




THIE VIRGINIANS.                 131
when he pretended to read out of Molly's psalm-book, he sang
quite other words than those which were down in the book, of
which he could not decipher a syllable. And he pretended to
understand music, whereupon the Swiss valet brought him
some, and Master Gumbo turned the page upside down.
These instances of long-bow practice daily occurred, and were
patent to all the Castlewood household. They knew Gumbo
was a liar, perhaps not thinking the worse of him for this weakness; but they did not know how great a liar he was, and believed him much more than they had any reason for doing, and
because, I suppose, they liked to believe him.
Whatever might be his feelings of wonder and envy on first
viewing the splendor and comforts of Castlewood, Mr. Gumbo
kept his sentiments to himself and examined the place, park,
appointments, stables, very coolly. The horses, he said, were
very well, what there were of them; but at Castlewood in Virginia they had six times as many, and let me see, fourteen
eighteen grooms to look after them. Madam Esmond's carriages were much finer than my lord's, -great deal more gol l
on the panels. As for her gardens, they covered acres, and  '1
they grew every kind of flower and fiuit under the sun. Pineapples and peaches?  Pine-apples and peaches were so common, they were given to pigs in his country. They had twenty
forty gardeners, not white gardeners, all black gentlemen, like
hisself. In the house were twenty forty gentlemen in livery,
besides women-servants, - never could remember how many
women-servants, -dere were so many: tink dere were fifty
women-servants,- all Madam Esmond's property, and worth
ever so many hundred pieces of eight apiece. How much was
a piece of eight?  Bigger than a guinea, a piece of eight was.
Tink, Madam Esmond have twenty thirty thousand guineas a
year, -have whole rooms full of gold and plate. 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. Glumbo
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 fill 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
HI1~ ~~191VI~U~VV~V~VJIVILJ  VI~~IU)V~1J~~ ~~~Vl lr~YIL~M




132


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 Madtlu
Esmond kept, and the amount of income which she enjoyed.
The truth is, that as four or five blacks are required to (lo the
work of one white man, the domestics in American establishments are much more numerous than in ours; and, like the
houses of most other Virginian landed 1roprietors, Madam
Esmond's mansion and stables swarmed with negroes.
Mr. Gumbo's account of his mistress's wealth and splendor
was carried to my lord by his lordship's man, and to Madame
de Bernstein and my ladies by their respective waiting-womenl
and, we may be sure, lost nothing in the telling. A young
gentleman in England is not the less liked because he is reputed to be the heir to vast wealth and possessions; when
Lady Castlewood came to hear of -tarry's pro(ligious exlectations, 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 friiendly a manner.
Was it too late to have him back into those fair arms? Lady
Fanny was welcome to try, and resumed the dancing-lessons.
The Countess would play the music with all her heart. But,
how provoking! that odious, sentimental Maria would always
insist upon being in the room; and, as sure as 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 rumors which Gumbo and his fellow-servants had set afloat;
and was not a little diverted by the effect which these reports
had upon the behavior of the Castlewood family towards their
young kinsman.
" Hang him! Is he so rich, Molly?" said my lord to his
elder sister. "Then good-by 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."




THE VIRGINIANS.                  133
"He is very simple and modest in his habits for one so
wealthy," remarks Maria.
" Rich people often are so," says my lord. " If I were
rich, I often think I would be the greatest miser, and live in
rags and on a crust. Depend on it there is no pleasure so enduring as money-getting. It grows on you, and increases with
old age. But because I am as poor as Lazarus, I dress in
purple and fine linen, and fare sumptuously every day."
Maria went to the book-room and got the " History of Virginia, by R. B. Gent" — and read therein what an admirable
climate it was, and how all kinds of fruit and corn grew in that
province, and what noble rivers were those of Potomac and 
llaplpahannock, abounding in all sorts of fish. And she wondered whether the climate would agree with her, and whether
lher aunt would like her? And Harry was sure his mother
would adore her, so would Mountain. And when lie was asked
about the number of his mother's servants, lie said, they certainly had more servants than are seen in England -he did
not know how many. But the negroes did not do near as much
work as English servants did: hence the necessity of keeping
so great a number. As for some others of Gumbo's details
wlichl were brought to him, lie laughed and said the boy was
wonderful as a romancer, and in telling such stories he supposed was trying to speak out for the honor of the family.
So Harry was modest as well as rich! lis 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. Halry's
simplle dress and equipage only served to confirm his friends'
idea of his wealth. To see a young man of his rank and means
with but one servant, and without horses or a carriage of his
own - what modesty! When he went to London he would cut
a better figure?  Of course he would. Castlewood would intro- 
duce him to the best society in the capital, and he would ap- 
pear as he ought to appear at St. James's. No man coull 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 lie thought perlaps it was his due: and took for:
granted that he was the personage which his family imagined  j
i..x




134


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 fiom
these the people in Castlewood village, and from thence the
leople in the whole county, chose to imagine that Mr. Harry
Esmond Warrington was the heir of immnense 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,
beegan to tire of Castlewood and the inhabitants of that mansion, and the neighbors 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
snapplish and sarcastic in her conversation with her Esmond
nephews and nieces, hitting out blows at my lord and his
brother the jockey, and my ladies, widowed and unmarried,
who winced under her scornful remarks, and bore them as they
best might. The cook, whom she had so praised on first corning, now gave her no satisfaction; the wine was corked; the
house was damp, dreary, and full of draughts; the doors would
not shut, and the chimneys were smoky. She began to think
the Tunbridge waters were very necessary for her, and ordered
the doctor, who came to her from the neighboring town of
Hexton, to order those waters for her benefit.
"I wish to heaven she would go!" growled my lord, who
was the most independent member of his family. "She may
go to Tunbridge, or she may go to Bath, or she may go to
Jericho for me."
"Shall Fanny and I come with you to Tunbridge, dear Baroness? " asked Lady Castlewood of lier 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,
* alnd 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 the
sentimental Lady Maria, demurely.
"My good child, what can you do for me? You cannot
play piquet so well as my maid, and I have heard all your
songs till I am perfectly tired of them! One of the gentlemen
might go with me: at least make the journey, and see me safe
from highwaymen.".ie     ^^^^^ -;. 




THE VIRGINIANS.                  135
"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 Warrington?
Don't swear, WVill. Harry is much better company than you
are, and much better ton too, sir."
"Tong, indeed!  Confound his tong," growled envious
Will to hlimself.
'I dl:re say I shall be tired of him, as I am of other folks,"
continued the Baroness. t"I have scarcely seen Harry at all
in these last days.  You shall ride with me to Tunbridge,
Harry " 
At tis direct appeal, and to no one's wonder more than that
of his aunt, Mr. I-larry Warrilgton blushed, and hemmed and
ha'd: alld at length said, "I 1 hlave promised my cousin Castlewood to go over to flexton Petty Sessions with him to-morrow.
He thinks I should see how the Courts here are conductedandl-the partridge shooting will soon begin, and I have
promised to be here for that, Ma'am."  Saying which words,
1Harry Warrington looked as red as a poppy, whilst Lady Maria
held her meek face downwards, and nimbly plied her needle.
'' You actually refuse to go with me to Tunbridge Wells?"
called out Madame Bernstein, her eyes lightning, and her face
flushing up with anger, too.
"Not to ride with you, Ma'am; that I will do with all my
heart; but to stay there —  I have promised....
"Enough, enough, sir! I can go alone, and don't want
your escort," cried the irate old lady, and rustled out of the
room.
The Castlewood family looked at each other with wonder.
Will whistled. Lady Castlewood glanced at Fanny, as much
as to say, Iis chance is over. Lady Maria never lifted up her
eyes fiom her tambour-frame..'-S




136


THE VIRGINIANS.


CHAPTER XVII.
ON THE SCENT.
YOt ro Harry Warrington's act of revolt came so suddenly
upon Madame de Bernstein, that she had no other way of
re)lying 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
Mariaover 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-in-law and sister
threw at one another.
"' So, in spite of all, you have, Madam?" the maternal looks
seemed to say.
" Have what? " asked Lady Fanny's eyes. But what good
in looking innocent? She looked puzzled. She did not look
orne-tenth part as innocent as Maria.  Had she been guilty,
she would have looked not guilty much more cleverly; and
would have taken care to study and compose a face so as to
be ready to suit the plea. Whatever was the expression of
Fanny's eyes, mamma glared on her as if she would have liked
to tear them out.
But Lady Castlewood could not operate upon the said eyes
then and there, like the barbarous monsters in the stage-direction in King Lear. When her ladyship was going to tear out
her daughter's eyes, she would retire smiling, with an arm
tourd her dear child's waist, and then gouge her in private.
" So you don't fancy going with the old lady to Tunbridge
Wells?" was all she said to Cousin Warrington, wearing at the
same time a perfectly well-bred simper on her face.
"And small blame to our cousin!" interposed my lord.
(The face over the tambour-frame looked up for one instant.)
" A young fellow must not have it all idling and holiday. Let
him mix up something useful with his pleasures, and go to the
fiddles and pump-rooms at Tunbridge or the Bath later. Mr.
Warrington has to conduct a great estate in America: let him"
see how ours in England are carried on. Will hath shown him
the kennel and the stables; and the games in vogue, which I
think, cousin, you seem to play as well as your teachers. After
harvest we will show him a little English fowling and shooting:
-.,;~.:.Y.. " 0  --- ~......~Ll. ~e~,, -.- ~i~




THE VIRGINIANS.


137


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 motherin-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 laudable desire to
cultivate the domestic affections, and to educate, amuse, and
improve his young relative; and that he had taken a great
fancy to the lad, and wished that Harry should stay for some
time near his lordship.
"What is Castlewood's game now?" asked William of his
mother and sister as they disappeared into the corridors.
"Stop! By George, I have it "
"What, William?"
"He intends to get him to play, and to win the Virginia
estate back from 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 it?" 
"He can't mean Maria — Maria is as old as Harry'*
mother," muses Mr. William. 
"Pooh! with her old face and sandy hair and freckled
skin! Impossible!  cries Lady Fanny, with somewhat of a
sigh.:'
"Of course, your ladyship had a fancy for the Iroquois,
too! " cried mamma. 
"I trust I know my station and duty better, iMadam! If I   jhad liked him, that is no reason why I should marry him      I
Your ladyship hath taught me as much as that."
"ly Lady Fanny!" 
-'..(




138


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


" I am sure you married our papa without liking him. You
have told me so a thousand times! "
" And if you did not love our father before marriage, you
certainly did not fall in love with him afterwards," broke in
Mr. William, with a laugh. " Fan and I remember how our
honored 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 Ladv
Fanny. " What is the use of a coronet with the jointure of a
tradesman's wife? - how many of them are richer than we are?
There is come lately to live in our Square, at Kensington, a
grocer's widow from London Bridge, whose daughters have
three gowns where I have one; and who, though they are
waited on but by a man and a couple of maids, I know eat and
drink a thousand times better than we do, with our scraps of
cold meat on our plate, and our great flaunting, trapesing, impudent, lazy lackeys!"
" He! he! glad I dine at the palace, and not at home! "
said Mr. Will. (Mr. Will, through his aunt's interest with
Count Puffendorff, 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 dare
say 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 you, Fan! " roared out
Mr. Will: " and so would old Maria, and so would any woman,
that's the fact." And Will laughed at his own wit.
"Pray, good folks, what is all your merriment about?"
here asked Madame Bernstein, peeping in on her relatives from
the tapestried door which led into the gallery where their conversation was held.
Will told her that his mother and sister had been having a
**~:' ~  i. 




THE VIRGINIANS.


139


fight (which was not a novelty, as Madame Bernstein knew),
because Fanny wanted to marry their cousin, the wild Indian,
and- my lady countess would not let her. Fanny protested
against this statement.  Since the very first day when her
mother had told her not to speak to the young gentleman, she
had scarcely exchanged two words with him. She knew her
station better. She did not want to be scalped by wild Indians,
or eat up by bears.
Madame de Bernstein looked puzzled.  ' If he is not staying for you, for whom is he staying?" she asked. "At the
houses to which he has been carried, you have taken care not
to show him a woman that is not a fright or in the nursery-;
and I think the boy is too proud to fall in love with a dairymaid, Will."
" IHumph! That is a matter of taste, ma'am," says Mr.
William, with a shrug of his shoulders.
" Of Mr. William Esmond's taste, as you say; but not of
yonder boy's. The Esmonds of his grandfather's nurture, sir,
would not go a-courting in the kitchen."
" Well, inm'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 Madame Bernstein's mind,
that this elderly Calypso might have captivated her young
Telemachus. She called to mind half a dozen instances in her 
own experience of young men who had been infatuated by old
women. She remembered how frequent Harry 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 was away too. Walks in cool ave-   -:S
nues, whisperings in garden temples, or behind clipt hedges,
casual squeezes of the hand in twilight corridors, or sweet 
glances and ogles in meetings on the stairs,- a lively fancy,
an intimate knowledge of the world, very likely a considerable  ^
personal experience in early days, suggested all these possibili- 
ties and chances to Madame de Bernstein, just as she was say- 
ing that they were impossible.:;
" Impossible, ma'am! I don't know," Will continued. " 5Iy 
mother warned Fan off him."
"Oh, your mother did warn Fanny off?":
" Certainly, my dear Baroness!";
"Didn't she?  Didn't she pinch Fanny's arm black and 
blue? Didn't they fight about it?"                          i
CI1~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~::,:,:'i":t




140


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


"Nonsense, William! For shame, William!" ry both the
Implicated ladies in a breath.
"And now, since we have heard now rich he is, perhaps it
is sour grapes, that is all. And now, since he is warned off
the young bird, perhaps he is hunting the old one, that's all.
Impossible! why impossible? You know old Lady Suffolk,
ma'am?"
" William, how can you speak about Lady Suffolk to your
aunt?"
A grin passed over the countenance of the young gentleman.
" Because Lady Sufiolk was a special favorite at Court? Well,
other folks have succeeded her."
" Sir " cries Madam de Bernstein, who may have had her
reasons to take offence.
" So they have, I say t or who, pray, is my Lady Yarmouth
now! And didn't old Lady Suffblk go and fall in love with
George Berkeley, and marry him when she was ever so old?
Nay, ma'am, if I remember right -and we hear a deal of
town-talk at our table - Harry Estridge went mad about your
ladyship when you were somewhat rising twenty; and would
have changed your name a third time if you would but have let
him."
This allusion to an adventure of her own later days, which
was, indeed, pretty notorious to all the world, did not anger
Madame de Bernstein, like Will's former hint about his aunt
having been a favorite at George the Second's Court; but, oi
the contrary, set her in good humor.
" 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, William, that old folks
and young folks, too, should play the fool."
B' But I can't understand a young fellow being in love with
Maria.," continued Mr. William, " however he 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 dare say the Count remembers the bastinaldo Castle.
5 wood had given to him. A confounded French dancing-master
~N'alling himself a count, and daring to fall in love in our family?
Whenever I want to make myself uncommonly agreeable to old
Maria, I just say a few words of parly voo to her. She knows
what I mean."
-fHave you a bued her to your cousin, Harry Warrington? 
asked Madame (de Bernstein.
L-,,: -.   D - —..r




THE VIRGINIANS.                 141
"Well - I know she is always abusing me -and I have
said my mind about her," said Will.
"0 yOou idiot! " cried the old lady. " Who but a gaby ever
spoke ill of a woman to her sweetheart? He will tell her everything, and they both will hate you."
The very thing, ma'al!" 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? She is
always abusing me. ain't she, Fan?  And your favorite turned
as red as my plush waistcoat —wondered how a gentleman could
malign his own flesh and blood, and, trembling all over with
rage, said I was no true Esmond."
" Why didn't you chastise him, sir, as my lord did the
dancing-master?" cried Lady Castlewood.
" Well, mother, -you see that at quarter-staff there's two
sticks used," replied Mr. William; "and my opinion is, that
Harry Warrington can guard his own head uncommonly well.
Perhaps that is one of the reasons why I did not offer to treat
my cousin to a caning. And now you say so, ma'am, 1 know
he has told Maria. She has been looking battle, murder, and
sudden death at me ever since. All which shows   " and
here he turned to his aunt.
"All which shows what?"
"That I think we are on the right scent; and that we've
found Maria - the old fox!" And the ingenuous youth here
ciapped his hand to his mouth, and gave a loud halloo.
How far had this pretty intrigue gone? now was the question. Mr. Will said, that at her age, Mlaria would be for conducting matters as rapidly as possible, not having much time
to lose. There was not a great deal of love lost between Will
and his half-sister.
Who would sift the matter to the bottom? Scolding one
party or the other was of no avail. Threats only served to:
aggravate people in such cases.  I never was in danger but 
once, young people," said Madame de Bernstein, " and I think
that was because my poor mother contradicted me. If this
boy is like others of his family, the more we oppose him, the;|?
more entete he will be; and we shall never get him out of his 
scrape."
"Faith, ma'am, suppose we leave him in it?" grumbled
Will. "01ld 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." 
-!.




142


THE VIRGINIANS.


eIcre his mother and sister broke out. They would not
1har of such a union. To which Will answered, " You are
like the dog in the manger. You don't want the man yourself,
Fantny - "
"r want him, indeed!" cries Lady Fanny, with a toss of
her head.
"Then why grudge him to Maria? I think Castlewood
wants her to have him."
"XWhy grudge him to Maria, sir?" cried Madame de Bernstein, with great energy. "Do you remember who the poor
boy is, and what your house owes to his family? His grandf:ther was the best friend your father ever had, and gave up
tlis estate, tils title, this very castle, in which you are conspiring1 against the friendless Virginian lad, that you and yours
mlighlt profit by it. And the reward for all this kindness is,
tllat you all but shut the door on the child when he knocks
at it, an(l talk of marrying him to a silly elderly creature, who
might be his mother! He shan't marry her."
"The very thing we were saying and thinking, my dear
Baroness!" interposes Lady Castlewood.  "tOur part of the
family is not eager about the match, though my lord and Maria
may be."
" You will like him for yourself, now that you hear he is
rich - and may be richer, young people, mind you that," cried
Madam Beatrix, turning upon the other women.
" Mlr. Warrington may be ever so rich, madam, but there is
no need why your ladyship should perpetually remind us that we
are poor," broke in Lady Castlewood, with some spirit. " At
least there is very little disparity in Fanny's age and Mr.
Harry's; and you surely will be the last to say that a lady of
our name and family is not good enough for any gentleman
born in Virginia or elsewhere.". ' Let Fanny take an English gentleman, Countess, not an
American. With such a name and such a mother to help her,
and with all her good looks and accomplishments, sure she
can't fail of finding a man worthy of her. But from what I
know about the daughters of this house, and what I imagine
about our young cousin, I am certain that no happy match
could be made between them."
I" VWat does my aunt know about me?" asked Lady Fanny,
turning very red.
"Only your temper, my dear. You don't suppose that I
believe all the tittle-tattle and scandal which one cannot help
hearing in town? But the temper and early education are suffi



THE VIRGINIANS.


143


cient. Only fancy one of you condemned to leave St. James's
and the Mall, and live in a plantation surrounded by savages!
You would die of ennui, or worry your husband's life out with
ill humor.  You are born, ladies, to ornament courts —not
wigwams. Let this lad go back to his wilderness with a wife
who is suited to him."
The other two ladies declared in a breath that, for their
parts, they desired no better, and, after a few more words,
went on their way, while Madame de Bernstein, lifting ul) her
tapestried door, retired into her own chamber. She saw all
the scheme now; she admired the ways of women, calling a
score of little circumstances back to mind. She won(dred at
her own blindness during the last few days, and that she should
not have perceived the rise and progress of this queer little
intrigue. How far had it gone? was now the question. Was
Harry's passion of the serious and tragical sort, or a mere fire
of straw which a day or two would burn out? Iow deeply was
he committed?  She dreaded the strength of Harry's passion,
and the weakness of Maria's. A woman of her age is so desperate, Madame Bernstein may have thought, that she will
make any efforts to secure a lover. Scandal, bali! She will
retire and be a princess in Virginia, and leave the folks in
England to talk as much scandal as they choose.
Is there always, then, one thing which women do not tell to
one another, and about which they agree to deceive each other?
Does the concealment arise fiom deceit or modesty?  A man,
as soon as lie feels an inclination for one of the other sex, seeks
for a friend of his own to whom lie may impart the delightfll
intelligence. A woman (with more or less skill) buries her
secret away from her kind. For days and weeks past, had not
this old Maria made fools of the whole house, - Maria, the butt
of the family?
I forbear to go into too curious inquiries regarding the Lady
Maria's antecedents. I have my own opinion about Madame
Bernstein's. A hundred years ago people of the great world(
were not so strait-laced as they are now, when everybody is
good, pure, moral, modest; when there is no skeleton in anybody's closet; when there is no scheming; no slurring over of
old stories; when no girl tries to sell herself for wealth, and no
mother abets her. Suppose my Lady Maria tries to make her
little game, wherein is her ladyship's great eccentricity?
On these points no doubt the Baroness de Bernstein thought,
as she communed with herself in her private apartment.




TRZ VR11INIANS.


CHAPTER XVIII.
AN OLD STORY.
As my Lady Castlewood and her son and daughter passed
through one door of the saloon where they had all been seated,
my lord Castlewood departed by another issue; and then the
demure eyes looked up from the tambour-frame on which they
had persisted hitherto in examining the innocent violets and
jonquils. The eyes looked up at Harry Warrington, who stood
at an ancestral portrait under the great fireplace. Ile had
gathered a great heap of blushes (those flowers which bloom so
rarely after gentlefolks' spring-time), and with them ornamented
his honest countenance, his cheeks, his forehead, nay, his youthful ears.
" Why did you refuse to go with our aunt, cousin?" asked
the lady of the tambour-frame.
" Because your ladyship bade me stay," answered the lad.
",I bid you stay! La! child! What one says in fun, you
take in earnest! Are all you Virginian gentlemen so obsequious as to fancy every idle word a lady says is a command?
Virginia must be a pleasant country for our sex if it be so!"
"You said   when-when we walked in the terrace two
nights since, -Oh heaven!" cried Harry, with a voice trembling with emotion.
"Ah, that sweet night, cousin! " cries the Tambour-frame.
"Whe    whe -when you gave me this rose from your own
neck" -roared out Harry, pulling suddenly a crumpled and:
decayed vegetable from his waistcoat -" which I will never
part with-with, no, by heavens, whilst this heart continues
to beat! You said, ' Harry, if your aunt asks you to go away,
you will go, and if you go, you will forget me.' - Didn't you
say so?"
"All men forget! " said the Virgin, with a sigh.
"In this cold selfish country they may, cousin, not in ours,"
continues Harry, yet in the same state of exaltation-."' I had
rather have lost an arm almost than refused the old lady. I
tell you it went to my heart to say no to her, and she so kind
to me, and who had been the means of introducing me to  to
— oh, heaven!"....(Here a kick' to an intervening spaniel,
jwhich flies yelping from before the fire, and a rapid advance




THE VIRGINIANS.


145


on the tambour-frame.) " Look here, cousin! If you Were to
bid me jump out of yonder window, I should do it; or murder,
I should do it."
"La! but you need not squeeze one's hand so, you silly
child!" remarks Maria.
" I can't hell it - we are so in the south. Where my heart
is, I can't help speaking my mind out, cousin- and you know
where that heart is! Ever since that evening - that - Oh
heaven! I tell you I have hardly slept since —I want to do
something -to distinguish myself —to be ever so great. I
wish there was Giants. Maria, as I have read of in -in books,
that I could go and fight 'em. I wish you was in distress, that
I might help you, somehow. I wish you wanted my blood,
that I might spend every drop of it for you. And when you
told me not to go with Madame Bernstein..."
"I tell thee, child? never."
"I thought you told me. You said you knew I preferred
my aunt to my cousin, and I said then what I say now, ' Incomparable Maria! I prefer thee to all the women in the world and
all the angels in Paradise -and I would go anywhere, were it
to dungeons, if you ordered me!' And do you think I would
not stay anywhere, when you only desired that I should be near
you? " he added, after a moment's pause.
"Men always talk in that way -that is, -that is, I have
heard so," said the spinster, correcting herself; " for what
should a country-bred woman know about you creatures? When
you are near us, they say you are all raptures and flames and
promises and I don't know what; when you are away, you forget all about us."
"' But I think I never want to go away as long as I live,"
groaned out the young man. "I have tired of many things;
not books and that, I never cared for study much, but games
and sports which I used to be fond of when I was a boy.
Before I saw you, it was to be a soldier I most desired; I tore
my hair with rage when my poor dear brother went away instead
of me on that expedition in which we lost him. But now, I only
care for one thing in the world, and you know what that is."
" You silly child I don't you know I am almost old enough
to be...?"
" I know - I know! but what is that to me? Hasn't yout
br... - well, never mind who, some of 'em - told me stories
against you, and didn't they show me the Family Bible, where
all your names are down, and the dates of your birth?"
"The cowards! Who did that?" cried our Lady Maria
10




THE VIRGINIANS.


" Dear Harry, tell me who did that? Was it my mother-in-law,
the grasping, odious, abandoned, brazen harpy? Do you know
all about her? How she married my father in his cups —the
horrid hussy! - and..."
" Indeed it wasn't Lady Castlewood," interposed the wondering Harry.
"I Then it was my aunt," continued the infuriate lady. "A
pretty moralist, indeed! A Bishop's widow, forsooth, and I
should like to know whose widow before and afterwards.
Why, Harry, she intrigued with the Pretender, and with the
Court of Hanover, and, I dare say, would with the Court of
Rome and the Sultan of Turkey if she had had the means.
Do you know who her second husband was? A creature
who.... "
" But our aunt never spoke a word against you," broke in
Harry, more and more amazed at the nymph's vehemence.
She checked her anger. In the inquisitive countenance opposite to her she thought she read some alarm as to the temper
which she was exhibiting.
" Well, well! I am a fool," she said. "I want thee to think
well of me. I-larr! "
A hand is somehow put out and seized and, no doubt, kissed
by the rapturous youth. " Angel! " he cries, looking into her
face with his eager, honest eyes.
V: Two fish-pools irradiated by a pair of stars would not kindle
to greater warmth than did those elderly orbs into which Harry
poured his gaze. Nevertheless, he plunged into their blue
depths, and fancied he saw heaven in their calm brightness.
So that silly dog (of whom AEsop or the Spelling-book used to
tell us in youth) beheld a beef-bone in the pond, and snapped
it, and lost the beef-bone he was carrying. Oh, absurd cur!
He saw the beef-bone in his own mouth reflected in the treacherous pool, which dimpled, I dare say, with ever so many
smiles, coolly sucked up the meat, and returned to its usual
placidity. Ah! what a heap of wreck lie beneath some of
those quiet surfaces! What treasures we have dropped into
them! What chased golden dishes, what precious jewels of
love, what bones after bones, and sweetest heart's flesh! Do
not some very faithful and unlucky dogs jump in bodily, when
they are swallowed up heads and tails entirely? When some
women come to be dragged, it is a marvel what will be bound in
the depths of them.  Cavete, canes! Have a care how ye lap
that water. ~What do they want with us, the mischievous siren
sluts? A green-eyed Naiad never rests until she has inveigled




THE VIRGINIANS.


147


a fellow under the water; she sings after him, she dances after
him; she winds round him, glittering tortuously; she warbles
and whispers dainty secrets at his cheek, she kisses his feet,
she leers at him from out of her rushes: all her beds sigh
out, "' Come, sweet youth! Hither, hither, rosy Hylas! " Pop
goes Hylas. (Surely the fable is renewed for ever and ever?)
Ias his captivator any pleasure?  Doth she take any account
of him? No more than a fisherman landing at Brighton does
of one out of a hundred thousand herrings... The last time
Ulysses rowed by the Sireils' bank, he and his men did not
care though a whole shoal of them were singing and combing
their longest locks. Young Telemachus was for jumping overboard: but the tough old crew held the silly, bawling lad.
They were deaf, and could not hear his bawling or the seanymphs' singing. They were dim of sight, and did not see how
lovely the witches were. The stale, old, leering witches! Away
with ye! I dare say you have painted your cheeks by this
time; your wretched old songs are as out of fashion as Mozart,
and it is all false hair you are combing!
In the last sentence you see Lector Benevolus and Scriptor
Doctissimus figure as tough old Ulysses and his tough old
Boatswain, who did not care a quid of tobacco for any Siren at
Sirens' Point; but Harry Warrington is green Telemachus, who,
be sure, was very unlike the soft youth in the good Bishop
of Cambray's twaddling story. IHe does not see that the siren
paints the lashes from under which she ogles him; will put by
into a box when she has done the ringlets into which she would
inveigle him; and if she eats him, as she proposes to do, will
crunch his bones with a new set of grinders just from the dentist's, and warranted for mastication. The song is not stale to
Harry Warrington, nor the voice cracked or out of tune that
sings it. But - but - Oh, dear me, Brother Boatswain! Don't
you remember how pleasant the opera was when we first heard
it?  Cosi fan tutti was its name-S Mozart's music. Now, I
dare say, they have other words, and other music, and other
singers and fiddlers, and another great crowd in the pit. Well,
well, Cosifan tutti is still upon the bills, and they are going on
singing it over and over and over.
Any man or woman with a pennyworth of brains, or the like
precious amount of personal experience, or who has read a
novel before, must, when Harry pulled out those faded vegetables just now, have gone off into a digression of his own, as the
writer confesses for himself he was diverging whilst he has
been writing the last brace of paragraphs. If he sees a pair of




148


THE VIRGINIANS.


lovers whispering in a garden alley or the embrasure of a window, or a pair of glances shot across the room from Jenny to
the artless Jessamy, he falls to musing on former days when,
&e. &c. These things follow each other by a general law,
which is not as old as the hills, to be. sure, but as old as the
people who walk up and down them. When, I say, a lad pulls
bunch of amputated and now decomposing greens from his
breast and falls to kissing it, what is the use of saying much
nmore? As well tell the market-gardener's name from whom
the slip-rose was bought- the waterings, clippings, trimmings,
inanurings, the plant has undergone  as tell how Harry Warrington came by it. Rose, elle a vecu la vie des roses, has been
trimlned, has been watered, has been potted, has been sticked,
has been cut, worn, given away, transferred to yonder boy's
pocket-book and bosom, according to the laws and fate appertaiing to roses.
And how came Maria to give it to Harry? And how did
lie come to want it and to prize it so passionately when he got
the bit of rubbish? Is not one story as stale as the other?
Are not they all alike? What is the use, I say, of telling them
over and over? Harry values that rose because Maria has
ogled him in the old way; because she has happened to meet
hih in the garden in the old way; because he has taken her
hand in the old way; because they have whispered to one
ihnother behind the old curtain (the gaping old rag, as if everybody could not peep through it!); because, in this delicious
-weather, they have happened to be early risers and go into the
park; because dear Goody Jenkins in the village happened to
have a bad knee, and my Lady Maria went to read to her, and
gave her calves'-foot jelly, and because somebody, of course,
must carry the basket. Whole chapters might have been written to chronicle all these circumstances, but a quoi bon? The
Incidents of life, and love-making especially, I believe to resemble each other so much, that I am surprised, gentlemen and
ladies, you read novels any more. Psha! Of course that rose
in young Harry's pocket-book had grown, and had budded,
tund had bloomed, and was now rotting, like other roses. I
suppose you will want me to say that the young fool kissed it.  ext?  Of course he kissed it. What were lips made for, pray,
but for smiling and simpering, and (possibly) humbugging,
tand kissing, and opening to receive mutton-chops, cigars, and
so forth. I cannot write this part of the story of our Virginians, because Harry did not dare to write it himself to anybody
iatt home. because, if he wrote any letters to Maria (which. of




THE VIRGINIANS.


149


course, he did, as they were in the same house, and might meet
each other as much as they liked), they were destroyed; because he afterwards chose to be very silent about the story,
and we can't have it from her ladyship, who never told the truth
about anything. But cui bono? I say again.  What is the
good of telling the story? My gentle reader, take your story:
take mine. To-morrow it shall be Miss Fanny's, who is just
walking away with her doll to the school-room and the governess (poor victim! she has a version of it in her desk): and
next day it shall be Baby's, who is bawling out on the stairs
for his bottle.
Maria might like to have and exercise power over the young
Virginian; but she did not want that Harry should quarrel with
his aunt for her sake, or that Madame de Bernstein should be
angry with her. Harry was not the Lord of Virginia yet: he
was only the Prince, and the Queen might marlty and have
other Princes, and the laws of primogeniture might not be
established in Virginia, qu'en savait elle? My lord her brother
and she had exchanged no words at all about the delicate busi.
ness. But they understood each other, and the Earl had a
way of understanding things without speaking. He knew his
Maria perfectly well: in the course of a life of which not a little
had been spent in her brother's company and under his roof,
Maria's disposition, ways, tricks, faults, had come to be perfectly understood by the head of the family: and she would find
her little schemes checked or aided by him, as to his lordship
seemed good, and without need of any words between them.
Thus three (lays before, when she happened to be going to see
that poor dear old Goody, who was ill with the sore knee in the
village (and when Harry Warrington happened to be walking
behind the elms on the green too), my lord with his dogs about
him, and his gardener walking after him, crossed the court, just
as Lady Maria was tripping to the gate-house - and his lordship called his sister, and said: "Molly, you are going to see
Goody Jenkins. You are a charitable soul, my dear. Give
Gammer Jenkins this half-crown for me-unless our cousin.
Warrington, has already given her money. A pleasant walk
to you. Let her want for nothing."  And at supper, my lordt
asked Mr. Warrington many questions about the poor in Virginia, and the mneans of maintaining them, to which the young
gentleman gave the best answers he might. His lordship wished:
that in the old country there were no more poor people than in
the new: and recommended Harry to visit the poor and people
of every degree, indeed high and low - in the country to lIo.




150                   THE   VIRGINIANS.
at the agriculture, in the city at the manufactures and municipal institutions-  to which edifiying advice H-arry acceded
with becoming modesty and few words, and Madacl          Bernstein
nodded approval over her piquet with the chaplain.     Next day,
Harry was in my lord's justice-room: the next day he was out
ever so long with my lord on the farm-and coming home,
what does my lord do, but look in on a sick tenant?       I think
Lady Maria was out on that day, too; she had been reading
good books to that poor (lear Goody Jenkins, though I don't
suppose Madame Bernstein ever thought of asking about her
niece.
"CASTLEWOOD, HAMPSIIRE, ENGLAND, August 5, 1757.
"MY DEAR MOUNTAIN,- At first, as I wrote, I did not like Castlewood,
nor my cousins there, very much. Now, I am used to their wtays, and we
begin to understand each other much better. With my duty to my mother,
tell her, I hope, that considering her ladyslip's great kindness to me,
Madam Esmond will be reconciled to her half-sister, thel Baroness de Bernstein. The Baroness, you know, was my Grandmamma's daughter by her
first husband, Lord Castlewood (only Grandpapa really was the real Lord);
however, that was not his, that is the other Lord Castlewood's fault you
know, and lie was very kind to Grandpapa, who always spoke most kindly
of him to us as you know.
"Madame the Baroness Bernstein first married a clergyman, Reverend
Mr. Tusher, who was so learned and good, and such a favorite of his Majesty, as was my aunt, too, that he was made a Bishoplp. When he died,
Our gracious King continued his friendship to my aunt; who married a
Hanoverian nobleman, who occupied a post at the Court-and I believe
left the Baroness very rich. My cousin, my Lord Castlewood, told me so
much about her, and I am sure I 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 Falmoutli 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 slarp,
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 treacher,
without any bigqatry.
"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 chtratahle to the poor. Hlis
sister, Lady Maria, equally 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 still, further on.":^  ^ys  ':. —.      ' 




THE VIRGINIANS.


151


"There is a sick old woman there, whom Madam Esmond would like, a
most raligious, good, old lady.
"Lady Maria goes very often to read to her; which, she says, gives her
comfort. But though her ladyship hath the sweetest voice, both in speaking
and singein# (she plays the'church organ, and singes there most beaLifitl/f/),
I cannot think Gamlner Jenkins can have any comfort from it, being very
deaf, by reason of ler great age. She has her memory perfectly, however,
and remembers when my honored Grandmother Rachel Lady Castlewood
lived here. She says, my Grandmother was the best woman in tile whole
world, gave her a cow when she was married, and cured her husband, Gaffer Jenkins, of the collects, which he used to have very bad. I suppose it
was with the Pills and Drops which my honored Mother put up in my
boxes, when I left dear Virginia. Having never been ill since, have had
no use for the pills. Gumbo hath, eating and drinking a great deal too
much in the Servants' Iall. The next angel to my Grandmother (N.B.
I think I spelt an(cl 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 Grandilama when they were in Europe, and she was a
little girl. You know they have Grandpapa's picture 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 honored 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 wellWisher
"HENRY ESMOND WARRINGTON.
"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, Mr. Harry made her ladyship a low bow, and accompanied the bow by one of his best blushes, as if he were offering
her a bow and a bouquet.




THE VIRGINIANS.


CHAPTER XIX.
CONTAINING BOTH LOVE AND LUCK.
AT the next meal, when the family party assembled, there
was not a trace of displeasure in Madame de Bernstein's
countenance, and her behavior 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 Castlewood
moats; 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?  The
Baroness amused the company with nunerous stories of her
mother, of her beauty and goodness, of her happiness with
her second husband, though the wife was so much older than
Colonel Esmond. To see them together, was delightful, she
had heard. Their attachment was celebrated all through the
country. To talk of disparity in marriages was vain after
that. My Lady Castlewood and her two children held their
peace whilst Madame Bernstein prattled. Harry was enraptured, and Maria surprised. Lord Castlewood was puzzled to
know what sudden freak or scheme had occasioned this prodigious amiability on the part of his aunt; but did not allow
the slightest expression of solicitude or doubt to appear on
his countenance, which wore every mark of the most perfect
satisfaction.
The Baroness's good-humor infected the whole of the
family; not one person at table escaped a gracious word
fiom her. In reply to some compliment to Mr. Will, when
that artless youth uttered an expression of satisfaction and
surprise at his aunt's behavior, she frankly said: "Complimentary, my dear! Of course I am. I want to make up with
you for laving 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.ame behavior. If I had been naughty in the morning, I used




THE VIRGINIANS.


153


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
which brought the circumstance back to my mind. I had been
just as wayward that day, when I was seven years old, as I am
to-day, when I am seventy, and so I confess my sins, and ask
to be forgiven, like a good girl."
"I absolve your ladyship," cried the chaplain, who made
one of the party.
"But your reverence does not know how cross and illtempered I was. I scolded my sister, Castlewood: I scolded
her children, I boxed Harry Esmond's cars: and all because he
would not go with me to Tunbridge Wells."
"But I will go, madam; I will ride with you with all the
pleasure in life," said Mr. Warrington.
"You see, Mr. Chaplain, what good, dutiful children they
all are. 'Twas I alone who was cross and peevisl. 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!  Because I
was weary of myself, I told you that your company would be
wearisome to me. You offered to come with me to Tunbridge,
and I rudely refused you."
" Nay, ma'am, if you were sick, and my presence annoyed
you.."
" But it will not annoy me! You were most kind to say
you would come. I do, of all things, beg, pray, entreat, implore, command that you will come."
My lord filled himself a glass, and sipped it. Most utterly
unconscious did his lordship look. This, then, 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 promise to be good and good-humored. My dear lord, you will
spare your sister to me?"
"Lady Maria Esmond is quite of age to judge for herself
about such a matter," said his lordship, with a bow. "If any
of us can be of use to you, madam, you sure ought to command




154


THE VIRGINIANS.


us."  Which sentence, being interpreted, no doubt meant,
"Plague take the old woman! Sle is taking Maria away in
order to separate her from this young Virginian."
" Oh, Tunbridge will be delightful! " sighed Lady Maria.
" Mr. Sampson will go and see Goody Jones for you," my
lord continued.
Iarry drew pictures with his finger on the table. What
delights had he not been speculating on? What walks, what
rides, what interminable conversations, what delicious shrubberies and sweet sequestered summer-houses, what poring over
music-books, what moonlight, what billing and cooing, had he
not imagined! Yes, the day was coming. They were all departing -my Lady Castlewood to her fiiends, Madame Bernstein
to her waters -and he was to be left alone with his divine
charmer - alone with her and unutterable rapture! The thought
of the pleasure was maddening. That these people were all
going away. That he was to be left to enjoy that heaven -to
sit at the feet of that angel and kiss the hem of that white robe.
O 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, and keep us from the highwaymen?" said Madame de
Bernstein.
Harry Warrington hoped the company did not see how red
he grew. He tried to keep his voice calm and without tremor.
Yes, he would ride with their ladyships, and he was sure they
need fear no danger. Danger! Harry felt he would rather
like danger than not. lie would slay ten thousand highwaymen if they approached his mistress's coach. At least, he
would ride by that coach, and now and again see her eyes at
the window. He might not speak to her; but he should be
near her. He should press the blessed hand at the inn at night,
and feel it reposing on his as he led her to the carriage at morning. They would be two whole days going to Tunbridge, and
one day or two he might stay there. Is not the poor wretch
who is left for execution at Newgate thankful for even two or
three days of respite?
You see, we have only indicated, we have not chosen to
describe, at length, MIr. Harry Warrington's condition, or that
utter depth of imbecility into which the poor young wretch was
now plunged. Some boys have the complaint of love favorably
and gently. Others, when they get the fever, are sick unto
death with it; or, recovering, carry the marks of the malady
j




THE VIRGINIANS.


155


down with them to the grave, or to remotest old age. I say,
it is not fair to take down a young fellow's words when he is
raging in that delirium. Suppose he is in love with a woman
twice as old as himself, have we not all read of the young gentleman who committed suicide in consequence 'of his fatal passion
for Mademoiselle Ninon de l'Enclos who turned out to be his
grandmother? Suppose thou art making 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-cardophagi:
long-eared messmates, recognize a brother donkey!
"You will stay with us for a day or two at the Wells,"
Madame Bernstein continued. "You will see us put into our
lodgings. Then you can return to Castlewood and tile partridge-shooting, and all the fine things which you and my lord
are to study together."
Harry bowed an acquiescence. A whole week of heaven!
Life-was not altogether a blank, then.
" And as there is sure to be plenty of company at the Wells,
I shall be able to present you," the lady graciously added.
" Company! ah! I shan't need company," sighed out Harry.
" I mean that I 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 the night, and my lord withdrew - as his custom was
- to his own apartments, the three gentlemen all found themselves assembled in Mr. Harry's little room before the punchbowl, 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 forbearance? He was ready to give them their revenge, as the gentlemen proposed. Up to midnight he would
play with them for what stakes they chose to name. And so




THE VIRGINIANS.


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
likely 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 on her knees,
the sainted creature, addressing prayers to that heaven which
is the abode of angels like her. Now she has sunk to rest
behind her damask curtains. Oh bless, bless her!"  "You
double us all round? I will take a card upon each of my two.
Thank you, that will do - a ten - now, upon the other, a queen,
-two natural vingt-et-uns, and as you doubled us you owe
me so and so."
I imagine volleys of oaths from Mr. William, and brisk
pattering of imprecations from his Reverence, at the young
Virginian's luck. He won because he did not want to win.
Fortune, that notoriously coquettish jade, carne 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 practised fair play
towards his friends he expected it from them in return.
"The luck does seem to be with me, cousin," he said, in
reply to some more oaths and growls of Will, " and I am sure
I do not want to press it; but you don't suppose I am going to
be such a fool as to fling it away altogether? I have quite a
heap of your promises on paper by this time. If we are to go
on playing, let us have the dollars on the table, if you please;
or, if not the money, the worth of it."
"Always the way with you rich men," grumbled Will.
"Never lend except on security - always win because you are
rich."
" Faith, cousin, you have been of late for ever flinging my
riches into my face. I have enough for my wants and for
my creditors."
"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 it 
-.1 ' *. 




THE VIRGINIANS.


157


I have but to preach in stuff if I lose. Stop! I have a ' Chrysostom,' a 'Fox's Martyrs,' a 'Baker's Chronicle,' and a cow
and her calf. What shall we set against these?"
"I will bet one of cousin Will's notes for twenty pounds,"
cried Mr. Warrington, producing one of those documents.
" Or I have my black mare, and will back her not against
your honor'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. 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. Mr. Harry Warrington was
quite calm, and not the least elated by his triumph. They had
asked him to play, and he had played. He knew he should
win. Oh beloved slumbering angel! he thought, am I not sure
of victory when you are kind to me? He was looking out from
his window towards the casement on the opposite side of the
court, which he knew to be hers. He had forgot about his
victims and their groans, and ill luck, ere they crossed the
court. Under yonder brilliant flickering star, behind yonder
casement where the lamp was burning faintly, was his joy, and
heart, and treasure.
CHAPTER XX.
FACILIS DESCENSUS.
WHILsT the good old Bishop of Cambray, 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 Odysseus's
own gentleman. The menials must have wept together in the
kitchen precincts whilst the master and mistress took a last
wild embrace in the drawing-room; they must have hung round
each other in the fore-cabin, whilst their principals broke their
hearts in the grand-saloon. When the bell rang for the last
time, and Ulysses's mate bawled, " Now! alny 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




158


THE VIRGINIANS.


and texture), as they stood on the quay, to their friends on the
departing vessel, whilst the people on the land and the crew
crowding in the ship's bows shouted, Hip, hip, huzzay (or
whatever may be the equivalent Greek for the salutation) to all
engaged on that voyage. But the point to be remembered is,
that if Calypso ne pouvait se consoler, Calypso's maid ne pouvait
se consoler non 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 plentifll
which one shed in her marble halls, and the other poured forth
in the servant's 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, goodhumor, his skill in dancing, cookery, and music, had endeared
him to the whole female domestic circle. More than one of the
men might be jealous of him, but the ladies all were with him.
There was no such objection to the poor black men then in
England as has obtained since among white-skinned people.
Theirs was a condition not perhaps of equality, but they had a
sufferance and a certain grotesque sympathy from all; and from
women, no doubt, a kindness much more generous. When
Ledyard and Park, in Blackmansland, were persecuted by the
men, did they not find the black women pitifil and kind to
them? Women are always kind towards our sex. What (mental) negroes do they not cherish? what (moral) hunchbacks do
they not adore? what lepers, what idiots, what dull drivellers,
what misshapen monsters (I speak figuratively) do they not
fondle and cuddle? Gumbo was treated by the women as
kindly as many people no better than himself: it was only the
men in the servants'-hall who rejoiced at the Virginian lad's
departure. I should like to see him taking leave. I should
like to see Molly, housemaid, stealing to the terrace-gardens in
the gray 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 fiom their descendants
now extant.
At the morning announced for Madame de Bernstein's de



THE VIRGINIANS.


159


parture, all the numerous domestics of Castlewobd 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 all the retainers of the Esmond family."  So he scattered about his gold
pieces to right and left, and as if he had been as rich as Gumbo
announced him to be. There was no one who came near him
but had a share in his bounty. From the major-domo to the
shoe-black, Mr. Harry had a peace-offering for them all. To
the grim 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 runs on errands for
the daughters; he gives advice and lends money to the young
son at college; he pats little dogs which he would kick 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 wicked, lively
little Bobby upsets the coffee over his shirt.
Harry Warrington, in his way, and according to the customs
of that age, had for a brief time past (by which I conclude that
only for a brief time had his love been declared and accepted)
given to the Castlewood family all these artless testimonies of
his affection for one of them. Cousin Will should have won
back his money and welcome, or have 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




THE VIRGINIANS.


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 week more.
In the early morning poor Chaplain Sampson sent over his
little black mare by the hands of his groom, footman, and gardener, who wept and bestowed a great number of kisses on the
beast's white nose as he handed him over to Gumbo. Gumbo
and his master were both affected by the fellow's sensibility;
the negro servant showing his sympathy by weeping, and Harry
by producing a couple of guineas, with which he astonished and
speedily comforted the chaplain's boy. Then Gumbo and the
late groom led the beast away to the stable, having commands
to bring him round with Mr. William's horse after breakfast, at
the hour when Madame Bernstein's carriages were ordered.
So courteous was he to his aunt, or so gratefil for her departure, that the master of the house even made his appearance
at the morning meal, in order to take leave of his guests. The
ladies and the chaplain were present —the only member of the
family absent was Will: who, 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 in due time
the carriages rolled into the court-yard, 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:,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




THf VIRGINIANS.


161


them with pistols and blunderbusses ready in event of a meeting
with highwaymen. In another carriage were their ladyships'
maids, and another servant in guard of the trunks, which, vast
and numerous as they were, were as nothing compared to the
enormous baggage-train accompanying a lady of the present
time. Mr. Warrington's modest valises were placed in 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 step-mother and Lady Fanny, 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 huzzayed and waved their hats as the ponderous vehicles rolled
away.
Gumbo was gone for Mr. Warrington's horses, as my lord,
with his arm under his young guest's, paced up and down the
court. " I hear you carry away some of our horses out of
Castlewood?" my lord said.
I-arry 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 - would gamble his coat off his back - and I and
the family have had to pay his debts ever so many times. May
I ask how much you have won of him?"
"Well, some eighteen pieces the first day or two, and his
note for a hundred and twenty more, and the brown horse,
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?"
"Yes. His brown horse -Prince William, out of Constitution. You don't suppose I would set him fifty against his
bay, my lord?"
11




162


THE VIRGINIANS.


"' 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? "
"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 Harriy, you must be
on the look-out against sharper players than the chaplain and
Will. There is all sorts of queer company at the Wells."
"A Virginian learns pretty early to take care of himself,
my lord," says Harry, with a knowing nod.
" So it seems! I recommend my sister to thee, Harry.
Although she is not a baby in years, she is as innocent as one.
Thou wilt see that she comes to no mischief?"
" I will guide her with my life, my lord! " cries Harry.
" Thou art a brave fellow. By the way, cousin, unless you
are very fond of Castlewood, I would in your case not be in
a great hurry to return to this lonely, tumble-down old house.
I want myself to go to another place I have, and shall scarce
be back here till the partridge-shooting. Go you and take
charge of the women, of my sister and the Baroness, will you?"
Indeed I will," said Harry, his heart beating with happiness at the thought.
"And I will write thee word when you shall bring my sister
back to me. Here come the horses. Have you bid adieu to
the Countess and Lady Fanny? They are kissing their hands
to you from the music-room balcony."
Harry ran up to bid these ladies a farewell. He made that
ceremony very brief, for he was anxious to be off to the charmer of his heart; and came down stairs to mount his newly-gotten steed, which Gumbo, himself astride on the parson's black
mare. held by the rein.
There was Gumbo on the black mare, indeed, and holding
another horse. But it was a bay horse - not a brown - a bay
horse with broken knees - an aged, worn-out quadruped.
" What is this?" cries Harry.
" Your honor's new horse," says the groom, touching his cap.
" This brute?" exclaims the young gentleman, with one or
more of those expressions then in use in England and Virginia.
" Go and bring me round Prince William, Mr. William's horse,
the brown horse."
"Mr. William have rode Prince William this morning away
to Salisbury races. His last words was, 'Sam, saddle my bay




THE VIRGINIANS.


163


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 honor is bountifil: you will consider the groom."
My lord could not lhelp lreaking into a laugh at these words
of Sam, the groom, whilst Harry, for his part, illdllged in a
nulmber more of those remarks which politeness does not admit
of our inserting here.
" Mr. William said he never could think of parting with the
Prince under a hundred and twenty," said the groom, looking
at the young man.
Lord Castlewood only latughed 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
rirghted. Farewell. Ride quickly, or your coaches will be at
Farnham before you;" and waving him an adieu, my lord entered into the house, whilst Iarry and his companion rode out
of the court-yard. 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 Will's confounded rascally tricks," says
my lord.  "If' our cousin breaks Will's head I should not
wonder."
" Ie is used to the operation, my lord; and yet," adds the
chaplain, with a grin, "when we were playing last night, the
color of the horse was not mentioned.  I could not escape,
having but one: and the black boy has ridden off on him.
The young Virginian plays like a man, to do him justice."
'"He wins because he does not care about losing. I think
there can be little doubt but that lie is very well to do. His
mother's law-agents are my lawyers, and they write that the
prolerty is quite a principality, ald grows richer every year."
" If it were a kingdom I know whom Mr. Warrington would
make queen of it," said the obsequious chaplain.
" Who can account for taste, parson?" asks his lordship,
with a sneer. " All men are so. The first woman I was in
love with myself was forty; and as jealous as if she had been




THE VIRGINIANS.


fifteen. It runs in the family. Colonel Esmond (he in scar.
let 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?"
"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 Lockwood at the gate
often told of the Colonel's gallantry in Queen Anne's wars.
His feats were exaggerated, the behavior 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 heads, had bills in the neighboring
towns which he could not or would not pay; had been arraigned
before magistrates for tampering with village girls, and waylaid and cudgelled by injured husbands, fathers, sweethearts.
A hundred years ago his character and actions might have been
described at length by the painter of manners; but the Comic
Muse, now-a-days, does not lift up Molly Seagrim's curtain;
she only indicates the presence of some one behind it, and
passes on primly, with expressions of horror, and a fan before
her eyes. The village had heard how the young Virginian
squire had beaten Mr. Will at riding, at jumping, at shooting,
and finally at card-playing, for everything is known; and they
respected Harry all the more for this superiority. Above all,
they admired him on account of the reputation of enormous
wealth which Gumbo had made for his master. This fame had




THE VIRGINIANS.


165


travelled over the whole county, and was preceding him at
this moment on the boxes of Madame Bernstein's carriages,
from which the valets, as they descended at the inns to bait,
spread astounding 're)orts of the young Virginian's rank and
splendor. lie was a prince in his own country. He had gold
minies, diamond mines, furs, tobaccoes, who knew what, or how
much? No wonder the honest Britons cheered him and respected him for his prosperity, as the noble-hearted fellows
always do. I am surprised city corporations did not address
him, and offer gold boxes with the fieedom of the city —he
was so rich. All, a proud thing it is to be a Briton, and think
that there is no country where l)rosperity 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 eyes and smiles. She held a finger to her
lip. Madame Bernstein was already dozing on her cushions.
Harry did not care to disturb the old lady. To look at his
cousin was bliss enougl for him. The landscape around him
might be beautitul, but what did he heed it? All the skies
and trees of summer were as nothing compared to yonder
face; the hedgerow birds sang no such Sweet music as her
sweet monosyllables.
The Baroness's fat horses were accustomed to short journeys, easy paces, and plenty of feeding; so that, ill as Harry
Warrington was mounted, he could, without much difficulty,
keep pace with his elderly kinswoman. At two o'clock they
baited for a couple of hours for dinner. Mr. Warrington paid
the landlord generously. What price could be too great for
the pleasure which lie enjoyed in being near his adored Maria,
and having the blissful chance of a conversation with her,
scarce interrupted by the soft breathing of 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




,166


TtIE VIRGINIANS.


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 aly her he orely face and figure could boast
of. By all the gods a-Irry vowed that Venus herself could
not temp)t him from her side. It was he who for his part
had occasion to fear. When the young men of fashion beheld his peerless Maria they would crowd round her car; they
would cause her to forget the rough and humble American lad
who knew nothing of fashion or wit, who had only a faithful
heart at her service.
Maria smiles, she casts her eyes to heaven, she vows that
Harry knows nothing of the truth and fidelity of woman; it
is his sex, on the contrary, which proverbially is faithless, and
which delights to play witl poor female hearts. A scuffle ensues; a clatter is heard among the knives and forks of the dessert; a glass tumbles over and breals. 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 honor 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! HIow quaintly they are squeezed at that period
of life! How they'are pushed into conversation! what absurd
vows and protests are palmed off by their aid! What good
can there be in pulling and pressing a thumb and four fingers?
I fancy I see Alexis laugh, who is haply reading this page by
the side of Araminta. To talk about thumbs indeed!....
Maria looks round, for her part, to see if Madame Bernstein
has been awakened by the crash of the glass; but the old lady
slumbers quite calmly in her arm-chair, so her niece thinks
there can be no harm in yielding to Harry's gentle pressure.
The horses are put to: Paradise is over - at least until the
next occasion. When my landlord enters with the bill, Harry
is standing quite at a listance from his cousin, looking from
the window at the cavalcade gathering below. Madame Bernstein wakes up from her slumber, smiling and quite unconscious. With what profound care and reverential politeness
Mr. Warrington hands his aunt to her carriage! how demure
and simple looks Lady Maria as she follows! Away go the




THE VIRGINIANS.                   167
car1iages, in the midst of a profoundly bowing landlord and
waiters; of country folks gathered round the blazing inn-sign;
of shopmen gazing firom their homely little doolrs; 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, lie might have
a better horse."  The cavalcade 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. Iarry had the appetite natural to his period of life. Maria and her aunt were also
not indifferent to a good dinner: Madame Bernstein had had a
comfortable nap after hers, which had no doubt helped her to
bear all the good things of the meal - the meat pies, and the
fruit pies, and the strong ale, and the heady port wine. She
reclined at ease on her seat of the landau, and looked back
affably, and smiled at Harry and exchanged a little talk with
him as lie rode by the carriage side. But what ailed the beloved being who sat with her back to the horses? IHer complexion, which was exceedingly fair, was farther ornamented
with a pair of red cheeks, which Harry took to be natural roses.
(You see, madam, that your surmises regarding the Lady
Maria's conduct with her cousin are quite wrong and uncharitable, and that the timid lad had made no such experiments as
you suppose, in order to ascertain whether the roses were real
or artificial. A kiss indeed! I blush to think you should imagine that the present writer could indicate anything so shocking!) Maria's bright red cheeks, I say still, continued to blush
as it seemed with a strange metallic bloom: but the rest of her
face, which had used to rival the lily in whiteness, became of a
jonquil color. Her eyes stared round witl a ghastly expression. Harry was alarmed at the agony depicted in the charmer's countenance; which not only exhibited pain, but was
exceedingly unbecoming. Madame Bernstein also at length remarked her niece's indisposition, and asked her if sitting backwards in the carriage made her ill, which poor Maria confessed
to be the fact. On this, the elder lady was forced to make room
for her niece on her own side, and, in the course of the drive
to Farnham uttered many gruff, disagreeable, sarcastic remarks
to her fellow-traveller, indicating her great displeasure that




168


THE VIRGINIANS.


Maria should be so impertinent as to be ill on the first day of a
journey.
When they reached the " Bush Inn" at Farnham, under
which name a famous inn hias stood in Farnham town for these
three hundred years —the dear invalid retired with her maid
to her bedroom: scarcely glancing a piteous look at Harry as
she retreated, and leaving the lad's mind in a strange confilsion of dismay and sympathy. Those yellow, yellow cheeks,
those livid wrinkled eyelids, 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 for his 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.
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.
t"I hope she intends to be well to-morrow morning," cried
Madame Bernstein, rapping her little hand on the table. " I
hate people to be ill in an inn, or on a journey. Will you play
piquet with me, Harry?"
Harry was happy to be able to play piquet with his aunt.
"That absurd Maria!" says Madame Bernstein, drinking from
a great glass of negus, " she takes liberties with herself. She
never had a good constitution. She is forty-one years old.
VAll her upper teeth are false, and she can't eat with them.
/\ Thank heaven, I have still got every tooth in my head. How
/ clumsily you deal, child!"
Deal clumsily, indeed! Had a dentist been extracting
Harry's own grinders at that moment, would he have been expected to mind his cards, and deal them neatly? When a man
is laid on the rack at the Inquisition, is it natural that he
should smile and speak politely and coherently to the grave,
quiet Inquisitor? Beyond that little question regarding the
cards, Harry's Inquisitor did not show the smallest disturbance.
Her face indicated neither surprise, nor triumph, nor cruelty.
Madame Bernstein did not give one more stab to her niece that
night: but she played at cards, and prattled with HIarry, indulging in her favorite talk about old times, and parting from
him with great cordiality and good-humor. 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




THE VIRGINIANS.                  169
horrible, horrible! Has she a false ee? Has she false hair? -
Has she a wooden leg? I envy not that boy's dreams that
night.
Madame Bernstein, in the morning, said she had slept as
sound as a top. She had no remorse, that was clear. (Some
folks are happy and easy in mind when their victim is stabbed
and done for.) Lady Maria made her appearance at the breakfast-table, too. Her ladyship's indisposition was fortunately
over: her aunt congratulated her affectionately on her good
looks. She sat down to her breakfast. She looked appealingly in Harry's face. 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? There sat the Chief Inquisitor, smil.
ing, perfectly calm, eating ham and muffins. Oh, poor writhing, rack-rent victim! Oh, stony Inquisitor! Oh, Baroness
Bernstein! It was cruel! cruel!
Round about Farnham the hops were gloriously green in the
sunshine, and the carriages drove through the richest, most
beautiful country. Maria insisted upon taking her old seat.
She thanked her dear aunt. It would not in the least incommode her now. She gazed, as she had done yesterday, in the
face of the young knight riding by the carriage side. She
looked for those answering signals which used to be lighted up
in yonder two windows, and told that love was burning within,
She smiled gently at him, to which token of regard he tried to
answer with a sickly grin of recognition. Miserable youth!
Those were not false teeth he saw when she smiled. He thought
they were, and they tore and lacerated him.
And so the day sped on -sunshiny and brilliant overhead,
but all over clouds for Harry and Maria. He saw nothing: he
thought of Virginia: he remembered how he had been in love
with Parson Broadbent's daughter at James Town, and how
quickly that business had ended. He longed vaguely to be at
home again. A plague on all these cold-hearted English relations! Did they not all mean to trick him? Were they not all
scheming against him? Had not that confounded Will cheated
him about the horse?
At this very juncture Maria gave a scream so loud and shrill
that Madame Bernstein woke, the coachman pulled his horses
up, and the footman beside him sprang down from his box in a
panic.
" Let me out! let me out! " screamed Maria. '" Let me
go to him! let me go to him! "




170


THE VIRGINIANS.


"What is it?" asked the Baroness.
It was that Will's horse had come down on his knees and
nose, had sent his rider over his head; and Mr. Harry, who
ought to have known better, was lying on his own face quite
motionless.
Gumbo, who had been dallying with the maids of the second
carriage, clattered up, and mingled his howls with Lady Maria's
lamentations. Madame Bernstein descended from her landau,
and came slowly up, trembling a good deal.
"He is dead   he is dead! " sobbed Maria.
"Don't be a goose, Maria " her aunt said. "Ring at that
gate, some one!"
Will's horse had gathered himself up and stood perfectly
quiet after his feat: but his late rider gave not the slightest
sign of life.
CHAPTER XXI.
SAMARITANS.
LEST any tender-hearted reader should be in alarm for Mr.
Harry Warrington's safety, and fancy that his broken-kneed
horse had carried him altogether out of this life and history, let
us set her mind easy at the beginning of this chapter, by assuring her that nothing very serious has happened. How can we
afford to kill off our heroes, when they are scarcely out of their
teens, and we have not reached the age of manhood of the
story? We are in mourning already for one of our Virginians,
who has come to grief in America; surely we cannot kill off the
other in England? No, no. Heroes are not 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 still alive, here is an authentic copy of a letter from
the lady into whose house he was taken after his fall from Mr.
Will's brute.of a broken-kneed horse, and in whom he appears
to have found a kind friend.




THE VIRGINIANS:


171


" TO MRS. ESMOND WARRINGTON, OF CASTLEWOOD,
" AT HER HOUSE AT RICHMOND, IN VIRGINIA.
" IF Mrs. Esmond Warrington of Virginia can call to mind twenty-three
years ago, when Miss Rachel Esmrond was at Kensington Boarding School,
she may perhaps remember Miss Molly Benson, her class-mate, who has
forgotten all the little quarrels whicl they used to have together (in which
Miss Molly was very often in the wrong), and only remembers tie generous,
hih-sirited, sprightly Miss Esmond, the Princess Pocalontas, to whom so
many of our school-fellows paid court.
" l)ear Madam   I can never forget that you were dear Ruchlel once
upon a time, as I was your dearest Molly. Though we parted not very
good friends when. you went home to Virginia, yet you know how fond we
once were. I still, Rachel, have the gold etui your papa gave me whlen he
came to our speech-day at Kensington, and we two performed the quarrel of
Brutus and Cassius out of Shakspearc; and 'twas only yesterday morning
I was dreaming that we were both called up to say our lesson before the
awful Miss Hardwood, and that I did not know it, and that as usual Miss
Rachel Esmond went above me. How well remembered those old days
are! How young we grow as we think of them! I renmember 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 curtsied in a row. I can tell still what we hlad for dinner on each
day of the week, and point to the place where your garden was, which was
always so much better kept than mine. So was Miss Esmond's chest of
drawers a model of neatness, whilst mine were in a sad condition. 1)o you
remember how we used to tell stories in the dormitory, and Madame Iibou,
the French governess, would come out of bed and interrupt us with her
hooting ' Have you forgot the poor dancing-master, whio 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 1 am now chattering to Mrs.
Esmond.
" Her ladyship has been staying here, and another relative of yours, the
Baroness of Bernstein, and the two ladies are both gone on to Tunbridge
Wells; but another and dearer relative still remains in my house, and is
sound asleep, I trust, in tile very next room, and tile name of this gentleman is Mr. Henry Esmond Warrington. 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 was ill yesterday, but to-day lie is very comfortable; and our Doctor, who is no less a
person than my dear husband, Colonel Lambert, has blooded him, has set
his shoulder, which was dislocated, and pronounces that in two days more
Mr. Warrington will be quite ready to take the road.
" I fear I and my girls are sorry that lie is so soon to be well. Yesterday evening, as we were at tea, there came a great ringing at our gate,
which disturbed us all, as the bell very seldom sounds in this quiet place,
unless a passing beggar pulls it for charity; and the servants, running out,
returned with the news, that a young gentleman, who had a fall from his
horse, was lying lifeless on the road, surrounded by the friends in whose
company he was travelling. At this, my Colonel (who is sure the most




172                  THE VIRGINIANS.
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
succor 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? I was very ill last year, and
'twas even thought I should (lie. 1)o you know, that I often thought of
you then, and how you had parted from me in anger so many years ago?
I began then a foolish note to you, which I was too sick to finish, to tell
you that if I went the way appointed for us all, I should wish to leave the
world in charity with every single being I had known in it.
" Your cousin, the Right Honorable Lady Maria Esmond, showed a
great deal of maternal tenderness and concern for her young kinsman after
iis accident. I am sure she hath'a kind leart. The Baroness de 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, wihither she was bound, and was
afraid of all tiings to lie in a place where there was no doctor at hand.
My/ Asculapius laughingly said, he would not offer to attend upon a lady
of quality, though he would answer for his young patient. Indeed, the
Colonel, during his campaigns, has had plenty of practice in accidents of
this nature, and I am certain, were we to call in all the faculty for twenty
miles round, Mr. Warrington could get no better treatment. So, leaving the young gentleman to the care of me and my daughters, the
Baroness and her ladyship took their leave of us, the latter very loth to
go. When lie 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 perfectly restored, you need
be under no sort of alarm for him whilst under the roof of,
"' Madam, your affectionate humble servant,
"MARY LAMBERT.
"P.S. Thursday.,,,,
"I am glad to hear (Mr. Warrington's colored gentleman hath informed
our people of the gratifying circumstance) that Providence hath blessed Mrs.
Esmond with such rast wealth, 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. Ai, 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 mnother's heart can feel for yours! I own to you,
mine yearned to your boy to-day, when (in a manner inexpressibly effecting
to me and Mr. Lambert) he mentioned his dear brother. "'is impossible
to see your son, and not to love and regard him. I am thankful that it has
beenour lot to succor 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 honored almost wherever presented.    Harry Warrington's countenance was so stamped in his youth.   His eyes were
sa bright, his cheeks so red and healthy, his look so frank and




THE VIRGINIANS.


173


open, that almost all who beheld him, nay, even those who
cheated him, trusted him. Nevertheless, as we have hinted,
the lad was by no means the artless stripling he seemed to be.
He was knowing enough with all his blushing cheeks; perhaps
more wily and wary than he grew to be in after-age. Sure, a
shrewd and generous man (who has led an honest life and has
no secret blushes for his conscience) grows simpler as he grows
older; arrives at his sum of right by more rapid processes of
calculation; learns to eliminate false arguments more readily,
and hits the mark of truth with less previous trouble of aiming,
and disturbance of mind. Or is it only a senile delusion, that
some of our vanities are cured with our growing years, and that
we become more just in our perceptions of our own and our
neighbors' shortcomings?... I would humbly suggest that
young people, though they look prettier, have larger eyes, and
not near so many wrinkles about their eyelids, are often as artful
as some of their elders. What little monsters of cunning your
fiank 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? 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 her best bed, after the Colonel had bled him and clapped
in his shoulder, as holding by her husband's hand she beheld the
lad in a sweet slumber, murmuring a faint inarticulate word or
two in his sleep, a faint blush quivering on his cheek, she owned
he was a pretty lad indeed, and confessed with a sort of compunction that neither of her two boys - Jack who was'at Oxford,
and Charles who was just gone back to school after the Bartlemytide holidays - was half so handsome as the Virginian. What
a good figure the boy had, and when papa bled him, his arm
was as white as any lady's!
"Yes, as you say, Jack might have been as handsome but
for the small-pox: and as for Charley —"   Always took
after his papa, my dear Molly," said the Colonel, looking at his
own honest face in a little looking-glass with a cut border and
a japannQd frame, by which the chief guests of the worthy gentleman and lady had surveyed their patches and powder, or
shaved their hospitable beards.




174


THE VIRGINIANS.


" Did I say so, my love?" whispered Mrs. Lanmbert, looking
rather scared.
"No; but you thought so, Mrs. Lambert."
"How can you tell one's thoughts so, Martin?" asks the
lady.
" Because I am a conjurer, and because you tell them yourself, my dear," answered her husband. "Don't be firightened:
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 odor of fresh
lavender.
"You can't deny it, Mrs. Lambert," the Colonel resumes;
' as you were looking at the young gentleman just now, you
were thinking to yourself which of my girls will he marry?
Shall it be Theo, or shall it be Hester? And then you thought
of Lucy who was at boarding-school."
" There is no keeping anything from you, Martin Lambert,"
sighs the wife.
"There is no keeping it out of your eyes, my dear. What
is this burning desire all you women have for selling and marrying your daughters? We men don't wish to part with 'em. I
am sure, for my part, I should not like yonder young fellow
half as well if I thought he intended to carry one of my darlings
away with him."
" Sure, Martin, I have been so happy myself," says the fond
wife and mother, looking at her husband with her very best
eyes, " that I must wish my girls to do as I have done, and be
happy, too!"
"t 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 saik of
coals?"
"' 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?  asked the wife. " There is something more than
accident in such cases, depend upon that, Mr. Lambert! "




THE VIRGINIANS.


175


"And this was the stranger you saw in the candle three
nights running, I suppose?"
" And in the fire, too, sir; twice a coal jumped out close
by Theo. You may sneer, sir, but these things are not to be
despised. Did I not see you distinctly coming back from
Minorca, and dream of you at the very day and 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 I had no sort of hurt? You are always prophesying, and
'twere very hard on you if you were not sometimes right.
Come! Let us leave our guest asleep comfortably, and go
down and give the girls their French lesson."
So saving, the honest gentleman put his wife's arm under
his, and they descended together the broad oak staircase of the
comfortable old hall, round which hung the effigies of many
foregone Lamberts, worthy magistrates, soldiers, country gentlemen, as was the Colonel whose acquaintance we have just
made. The Colonel was a gentleman of pleasant, waggish humor. The French lesson which he and his daughters conned
together was a scene out of Monsieur Moliere's comedy of
" Tartuffe," and papa was pleased to be very facetious with
Miss Theo, by calling her Madam, and by treating her with a
great deal of mock respect and ceremony.    The girls read
together with their father a scene or two of his favorite 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:
ORGON. Or sus, nous voila bien. J'ai, Mariane, en vous
Reconnu de tout temps un esprit assez doux,
Et de tout temps aussi vous m'avez etc chere.
MARIANE. Je suis fort redevable k cet amour de pere.
ORGON. Fort bien. Que dites-vous de Tartuffe notre hote?
MARIANE. Qui? Mi?
ORGON. Vous. Voyez bien comme vous rdpondrez.
MARIANE. IHlas! J'en dirai, moi, tout ce que vous voudrez!
(JMademoiselle 1Mariane laughs and blushes in spite of herself, whilst reading tiu
line.)
ORGON. C'est parler sagement. Dites moi done, ma fille,
Qu'en toute sa personne un haut merite brille,
Qu'il touche votre coeur, et qu'il vous seroit doux
De le voir par mon choix devenir votre cpoux!
"Have we not read the scene prettily, Elnire?" says the
Colonel, laughing, and turning round to his wife.
Elmira prodigiously admired Orgon's reading, and so did




176


THE VIRGINIANS.


his daughters, and almost everything besides which Mr. Lambert said or did. Canst thou, O 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, and try to
make it worthy theirs. On thy knees, on thy knees, give
thanks for the blessing awarded thee! All the prizes of life
are nothing compared to that one.  All the rewards of ambition, wealth, pleasure, only vanity and disappointment
grasped at greedily and fought for fiercely, and, over and over
again, found worthless by the weary winners. But love seems
to survive life, and to reach beyond it. I think we take it with
us past the grave. Do we not still give it to those who have
left us? May we not hope that they feel it for us, and that we
shall leave it here in one or two fond bosoms, when we also
are gone?
And whence, or how, or why, pray, this sermon? You see
I know more about this Lambert family than you do to whom I
am just presenting them: as how should you who never heard
of them before? You may not like my friends; very few people do like strangers to whom they are presented with an outrageous flourish of praises on the part of the introducer. You
say (quite naturally) what? Is this all? Are these the people
he is so fond of? Why, the girl's not a beauty - the mother
is good-natured, and may have been good-looking once, but
she has no trace of it now- and, as for the father, he is quite
an ordinary man. Granted: but don't you acknowledge that
the sight of an honest man, with an honest, loving wife by his
side, and surrounded by loving and obedient children, presents
something very sweet and affecting to you? If you are made
acquainted with such a person, and see the eager kindness of
the fond faces round about him, and that pleasant confidence
and affection which beams from his own, do you mean to say
you are not touched and gratified? Mf you happen to stay in
such a man's house, and at morning or evening see him and
his children and domestics gathered together in a certain name,
do you not join humbly in the petitions of those servants, and
close them with a reverend Amen? That first night of his stay
at Oakhurst, Harry Warrington, who had had a sleeping potion,
and was awake sometimes rather feverish, thought he heard
the evening hymn, and that his dearest brother George was
singing it at home, in which delusion the patient went off again
to sleep.




THE VIRGINIANS.


177


CHAPTER XXII.
IN HOSPITAL.
SINxING into a sweet slumber, and lulled by those harmonious sounds, our young patient passed a night of pleasant unconsciousness, and awoke in the morning to find a summer sun
streaming in at the window, and his kind host and hostess
smiling at his bed-curtains. He was ravenously hungry, and
his doctor permitted him straightway to partake of a mess of
chicken, which the doctor's wife told him had been prepared by
the hands of one of her daughters.
One of her daughters? A fiint 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-. O horror and remorse I He writhed
with anguish, as a certain recollection crossed him. An immense gulf of time gaped between him and the past. How
long was it since he had heard that those pearls were artificial,
-that those golden locks were only pinchbeck? A long, long
time ago, when he was a boy, an innocent boy. Now he was
a man, -quite an old man. He had been bled copiously; he
had a little fever; he had had nothing to eat for very many
hours; he had had a sleeping-draught, and a long, deep slumber after.
" What is it, my dear child?" cries kind Mrs. Lambert, as
he started.
"Nothing, Madam; a twinge in my shoulder," said the
lad. "I speak to my host and hostess? Sure you have been
very kind to me."
"We are old friends, Mr. Warrington.   My husband,
Colonel Lambert, knew your father, and I and your mamma
were school-girls together at Kensington.  You were no
stranger to us when your aunt and cousin told us who you
were."
"Are they here?" asked Harry, looking a little blank.
They must have lain at Tunbridge Wells last night. They
sent a horseman from Reigate yesterday for news of you."
12




178


THE VIRGINIANS.


"Ah! I remember," says Harry, looking at his bandaged
arm.
" I have made a good cure of you, Mr. Warrington. And
now Mrs. Lambert and the cook must take charge of you."
"Nay. Theo prepared the chicken and rice, Mr. Lambert,"
said the lady  " Will Mr. Warrington get up after he has had
his breakfast?  We will send your valet to you."
" If howling proves fidelity, your man must be a most fond,
attached creature," says Mr. Lambert.
" He let your baggage travel off after all in your aunt's carriage," said Mrs. Lambert. " You must wear my husband's
linen, which, I dare say, is not so fine as yours."
" Pish, my dear! my shirts are good shirts enough for any
Christian," cries the Colonel.
"They are Theo's and Hester's work," says mamma. At
which her husband arches his eyebrows and looks at her.
"'And Theo hath ripped and sewed your sleeve to make it
quite comfortable for your shoulder," the lady added.
"What beautiful roses!" cries Harry, looking at a fine
china vase full of them that stood on the toilet-table, under the
japan-framed glass.
"My daughter, Theo, cut them this morning. Well, Mr.
Lambert? She did cut them!"
I suppose the Colonel was thinking that his wife introduced
Theo too much into the conversation, and trod on Mrs. Lambert's'slipper, or pulled her robe, or otherwise nudged her into
a sense of propriety.
"And I fancied I heard some one singing the Evening
Hymn very sweetly last night-or was it only a dream?"
asked the young patient.
" Theo again, Mr. Warrington! " said the Colonel, laughing.
"My servants said your negro man began to sing it in the
kitchen as if he was a church organ."
" Our people sing it at home, sir. My grandpapa used to
love it very much. His wife's father was a great friend of
good Bishop Ken who wrote it; and -and my dear brother
used to love it too," said the boy, his voice dropping.
It was then, I suppose, that Mrs. Lambert felt inclined to
give the boy a kiss. His little accident, illness and recovery,
the kindness of the people round about him, had softened
Harry Warrington's heart, and opened it to better influences
than those which had been brought to bear on it for some six
weeks past. He was breathing a purer air than that tainted
atmosphere of selfishness, and worldliness, and corruption, into




THE VIRGINIANS.


179


which he had been plunged since his arrival in England. Sometimes the young man's fate, or choice, or weakness, leads him
into the fellowship of the giddy and vain; haplpy he, whose lot
makes him acquainted with the wiser company, whose lamps
are trimmed, and whose pure hearts keep modest watch.
The pleased matron left her young patient devouring Miss
Theo's mess of rice and chicken, and the Colonel seated by the
lad's bedside.  Gratitude to his hospitable entertainers, and
contentment after a comfortable meal, caused in Mr. Warrington a very pleasant condition of mind and body. IHe 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, forr the first time, the Virginian
learned that Mrs. Lambert had been an early friend of his
mother's, and that the Colonel's own father had served with
Harry's grandfather, Colonel Esmond, in the famous wars of
Queen Anne. He found himself in a friend's country. He was
soon at ease with his honest host, whose manners were quite
simple and cordial, and who looked and seemed perfectly a
gentleman, though he wore a plain fustian coat, and a waistcoat without a particle of lace.
"My boys are both away," said Harry's host, "or they
would have shown you the country when you got up, Mr.
Warrington. Now you can only have the company of my wife
and her daughters. Mrs. Lambert hath told you already about
one of them, Theo, our eldest, who made your broth, who cut
your roses, and who mended your coat. She is not such a
wonder as her mother imagines her to be; but little Theo is
a smart little housekeeper, and a very good and cheerful lass,
though her father says it."
" It is very kind of Miss Lambert to take so much care for
me," says the young patient.
" She is no kinder to you than to any other mortal, and




180               THE VIRGINIANS.
doth but her duty." Here the Colonel smiled. " I laugh at
their mother for praising our children," he said, " and I think
I am as foolish about them myself. The truth is, God hath
given us very good and dutiful children, and I see no reason
why I should disguise my thankfulness for such a blessing.
You have never a sister, I think?"
" No, sir, I am alone now," Mr. Warrington said.
"Ay, truly, I ask your pardon for my thoughtlessness.
Your man hath told our people what befell last year. I served
with Braddock in Scotland; and hope he mended before he
died. A wild fellow, sir, but there was a fund of truth about
the man, and no little kindness under his rough swaggering
manner. Your black fellow talks very freely about his master
and his affairs. I suppose you permit him these freedoms as
he rescued you -"
' Rescued me?" cries Mr. Warrington.
"From ever so many Indians on that very expedition. My
Molly and I did not know we were going to entertain so prodigiously wealthy a gentleman.  le 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 honor 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 neighbors, sir, but no better; and all our splendor
is in Mr. Gumbo's foolish imagination. He never rescued me
from'an Indian in his life, 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 the world run at
Preston, before a ragged mob of Highland savages."
"That was because the Highlanders fought for a good
cause, sir."
"Do you think," asks Harry's host, "that the French
Indians had the good cause in the fight of last year?"
"The scoundrels I I would have the scalp of every murderous redskin among 'em " cried Harry, clenching his fist.
"They were robbing and invading the British territories, too.
But the Highlanders were fighting for their king."
"We, on our side, were fighting for our king; and we
ended by winning the battle," said the Colonel, laughing.
"Ah!" cried Harry, "if his Royal Highness the Prince




THE VIRGINIANS,


181


had not turned back at Derby, your king and mine, now, would
be his Majesty King James the Third!"
" Who made such a Tory of you, Mr. Warrington?" asked
Lambert.
"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."
"Yours is better on your shoulders than on a pole at Temple
Bar. I have seen them there, and they don't look very pleasant,
Mr. Warrington."
"' I shall take off my hat, and salute them, whenever I pass
the gate," cried the young man, "if the king and the whole
court are standing by!"
"I doubt whether your relative, my Lord Castlewood, is as
staunch a supporter of the king over the water," said Colonel
Lambert, smiling: "or your aunt, the Baroness of Bernstein,
who left you il our charge. Whatever her old partialities may
have been, she has repented of them; she has rallied to our
side, landed her nephews in the Household, and looks to find
a suitable match for her nieces. If you have Tory opinions,
Mr. Warrington, take an old soldier's advice, and keep them
to yourself."
' Why, sir, I do not think that you will betray me!" said
the boy.
"Not I, but others might. You did not talk in this way
at 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 no. But a man's own kinsmen can play him slippery tricks at times, and he finds himself
none the better for trusting them. I mean no offence to you
or any of your family; but lackeys have ears as well as their
masters, and they carry about all sorts of stories.  For in.
stance, your black fellow is ready to tell all he knows about
you, and a great deal more besides, as it would appear."
"I Hath he told about the broken-kneed horse?" 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,




182 '


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


When you have seen more of your cousins, you will form your
own opinion of them; meanwhile, take an old soldier's advice,
I say again, and be cautious with whom you deal, and what
you say."
Very soon after this little colloquy, Mr. Lambert's guest
rose, with the assistance of Gumbo, his valet, to whom he, for
a hundredth time at least, promised a sound caning if ever he
should hear that Gumbo had ventured to talk about his affairs
again in the servants'-hall, -which prohibition Gumbo solemnly
vowed and declared he would forever obey; but I dare say he was
chattering the whole of the Castlewood secrets to his new fiiends
of Colonel Lambert's 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 worthy lady, or any of her sex or ours, of undue
curiosity regarding their neighbprs' 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 Madame 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 fiom the high-road up to a neat, broad stone.
terrace, whereon stood Oakhurst House: a square brick building, with windows faced with stone, and many high chimneys,
and a tall roof surmounted by a fair balustrade. Behind the
house stretched a large garden, where there was plenty of
room for cabbages as well as roses to grow; and before the
mansion, separated from it by the high-road, was a field of
many acres, where the Colonel's cows and horses were at
grass. Over the centre window was a carved shield supported
by the same monsters who pranced or ramped upon the
entrance-gates; and a coronet over the shield. The fact is,
that the house had been originally the jointure-house of Oak



TIHE VIRGINIANS.


183


hurst Castle, 'which stood hard by, -its chimneys and turrets
appearing over the surrounding woods, now brQnzed witl 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' (late. 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 -larwich
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 dessed by that artist, and his open riboned sleeve and
wounded shoulder supported by a handkerchief whichl llung
from his neck, Harry Warrington made his way out of his sick
chamber, preceded by his kind host, who led him first down a
broad oak stair, round which hung many pikes and muskets
of ancient shape, and so into a square marble paved room,
from which the living-rooms of the house branched off. There
were more arms in this hall - pikes and halberts of ancient
date, pistols and jack-boots of more than a century old, tlat
had done service in Cromwell's wars, a tattered French guidon
which had been borne by a French gendarme at Malplaquet,
and a pair of cumbrous Highland broadswords, which, having
been carried as far as Derby, had been flung away on tile fatal
field of Culloden. Here were breastplates and black morions
of Oliver's troopers, and portraits of stern warriors in ulff
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 thl
Prince of Orange at Exeter. We were whigs, young gentleman, and something more. John Lambert, the Major-General,
was a kinsman of our house, and we were all more or less
partial to short hair and long sermons. You do not seem to
like either?"  Indeed, Harry's face manifested signs of anything but pleasure whilst he examined the portraits of the
Parliamentary heroes. "Be not alarmed, we are very good
churchmen now. My eldest son will be in orders ere long.
He is now travelling as governor to my Lord Wrotham's son
in Italy, and as for our women, they are all for the Churclh,
and carry me with 'em. Every woman is a Tory gt heart.
Mr. Pope says a rake, but I tlink t'other is the more chari



184


THE VIRG INIANS.


table word. Come, let us go see them." And flinging open
tile dark oak door, Colonel Lambert led his young guest into
the parlor 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 curtsy 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 curtsy 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 larticular beauty.
Harry Warrington was not over head and ears in lov 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 kind eves and a sweet voice; a
ruddy freckled cheek and a round white neck, on which, out
of a little cap such as misses wore in those times, fell rich
curling clusters of dark brown hair. She was not a delicate
or sentimental-looking person. Iler arms, which were worn
bare from the elbow like other ladies' arms in those days, were
very jolly and red. Her feet were not so miraculously small
but that you could see them without a telescope. There was
nothing waspish about her waist. This young person was
sixteen years of age, and looked older. I don't know wllat
call she had to blush so when she made her curtsy to the
stranger.  It was such a deep ceremonial curtsy as you
never see at present. She and her sister both made these
" cheeses" in compliment to the new comer, and with much
stately agility.
As Miss Theo rose up out of this salute, her papa tapped
her under the chin (which was of the double sort of chins),
and laughingly hummed out the line which he had read the
day before.  " Eh bien! que dites-vous, ma fille, de notre
hote?"
" Nonsense, Mr. Lambert! " cries mamma. 
"Nonsense is sometimes the best kind of sense in the
world," said Colonel Lambert. His guest looked puzzled.
"Are you fond of nonsense?" the Colonel continued to
Harry, seeing by the boy's face that the latter had no great
love or comprehension of his favorite humor. " We consume
a vast deal of it in this house. Rabelais is my favorite read



THE VIRGINIANS.


185


ing. My wife is all for Mr. Fielding and Theophrastus. I
tllink Theo prefers Tom Brown, and Miss Hetty here loves
Dean Swift."
Cc Our papa is talking what he loves," says Miss Hetty.
And what is that, Miss?" asks the father of his second
daughter.
' Sure, sir, you said yourself it was nonsense," answers the
young lady, with a saucy toss of her head.
"Which of them do you like best, Mr. Warrington? " asked
the honest Colonel.
' Whiich of whom, sir?"
': The Curate of Meudon, or the Dean of St. Patrick's, or
honest Tom, or Mr. Fielding?"
And what were they, sir? "
" They! Why, they wrote books."
" Indeed, sir. I never heard of either one of 'em," said
I-arry, hanging down his head. "I fear my book learning
was neglected at home, sir. My brother had read every book
that ever was wrote, I think. He could have talked to you
about 'ern for hours together."
With this little speech Mrs. Lambert's eyes turned to her
daughter, and Miss Theo cast hers down and blushed.
" Never mind, honesty is better than books any day, Mr.
Warrington! " crie(t the jolly Colonel.  ' You may go through
the world very honorably without reading any of the books I
have been talking of, and some of them might give you more
pleasure than profit."
' I know mlore about horses and dogs than Greek and
Latin, sir. We most of us do in Virginia," said Mr. Warrington.
"' You are like the Persians; you can ride and speak the
truth."
"Are the Prussians very good on horseback, sir? I hope
[ shall see their king and a campaign or two, either with 'em
pr against 'em," remarked Colonel Lambert's guest. Why did
Miss Theo look at her mother, and why did that good woman's
face assume a sad expression?
Why? Because young lasses are bred in humdrum country towns, do you suppose they never indulge in romances?
Because they are modest and have never quitted mother's
apron, do you suppose they have no thoughts of their own?
What happens in spite of all those precautions which the King
and Queen take for their darling princess, those dragons, and
that impenetrable forest, and that castle of steel? The fairy




186


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


prince penetrates the impenetrable forest, finds the weak point
in the dragon's scale armor, and gets tile better of all the
ogres who guard thle castle of steel. Away goes the princess
to him. Sle knew him at once. Her band-boxes and portmanteaux are filled with her best clotles and all her jewels.
She has been ready ever so long.
That is in fairy tales, you understand - where the blessed
hour and youth lways asrrive, the ivory horn is blown at the
castle-gate; and far off in her beauteous bower the princess
hears it, and starts up, and knows that there is the right
champion. Ile is always ready. Look! how the giants' heals
tumble off as, falchion in hand, lie gallops over tlhe bridge
on his white charger! I-ow should that virgin, locked up in
that inaccessible fortress, where slhe has never seen any man
that was not eighty, or hump-backed, or her father, know that
there were such beings in the world as young men? I suppose
there's an instinct. I suppose there's a season. I never spoke
for my part to a fairy princess, or heard as much fiom any
unenchanted or enchanting maiden. Ne'er a one of them has
ever whispered her pretty little secrets to me, or perhaps confessed them to herself, her mamma, or ler nearest and dearest
confidante. But they will fall in love. Their little hearts
are constantly throbbing at the window of expectancy on the
look-out for the champion. They are always hearing his horn.
They are for ever on the tower looking out for the hero. Sister
Ann, Sister Ann, do you see him?  Surely 'tis a knight with
curling mustaches, a flashing scilnitar, and a suit of silver
armor. Oh, no! it is only a costermonger with his donkey and
a pannier of cabbage! Sister Ann, Sister Ann, what is that
cloud of dust? Oh, it is only a farmer's man driving a flock
of pigs from market. Sister Ann, Sister Ann, who is that
splendid warrior advancing in scarlet and gold? I-e nears the
castle, he clears the drawbridge, lie lifts the ponderous hammer at the gate. Ah me, lie knocks twice! 'Tis only the
postman with a double letter from Northamptonshire! So it
is we make false starts in life. I don't believe there is any
such thing known as first love -not within man's or woman's
memory. No male or female remembers his or her first inclination any more than his or her own christening. What?
You fancy that your sweet mistress, your spotless spinster,
your blank maiden just out of the school-room, never cared for
any but you?  And she tells you so? Oh, you idiot! When
she was four years old she had a tender feeling towards the
Buttons who brought the coals up to the nursery, or the little!




THE VIRGINIANS.


187


sweep at the crossing, or the music-master, or never mind
whom. She had a secret longing towards her. brother's schoolfellow, or the third charity boy at church, and if occasion had
served, the comedy enacted with you had been performed
along with another. I do not mean to say that she confessed
this amatory sentiment, but that she had it. Lay down this
page, and think how many and many and many a time you
were in love before you selected the present Mrs. Jones as the
partner of your name and affections!
So, from the way in which Theo held her head down, and
exchanged looks with her mother, when poor unconscious Harry
called the Persians the Prussians, and talked of serving a campaign with them, I make no doubt she was feeling ashamed,
and thinking within herself, " Is this the hero with whom my
mamma and I have been in love for these twenty-four hours,
and whom we have endowed with every perfection? How
beautiful, pale, and graceful he looked yesterday as lie lay on
the ground! How his curls fell over his face! How sad it
was to see his poor white arm, and the blood trickling from
it when papa bled him! And now he is well and amongst us,
he is handsome certainly, but oh, is it possible he is -he is
stupid?" When she lighted the lamp and looked at him, (lid
Psyche find Cupid out; and is that the meaning of the old allegory? The wings of love drop off at this discovery. The fancy
can no more soar and disport in skyey regions, the beloved
object ceases at once to be celestial, and remains plodding on
earth, entirely unromantic and substantial.
CHAPTER XXIII.
HOLIDAYS.
MRS. LAMBERT'S little day-dream was over. Miss Theo and
her mother were obliged to confess in their hearts that their
hero was but an ordinary mortal. They uttered few words on
the subject, but each knew the other's thoughts as people who
love each other do; and mamma, by an extra tenderness and
special caressing manner towards her daughter, sought to console her for her disappointment. " Never mind, my dear" -
the maternal kiss whispered on the filial cheek -" our hero
has turned out to be but an ordinary mortal, and none such is




188


THE VIRGINIANS.


good enough for my Theo. Thou shalt have a real husband
ere long, if there be one in England. Why, I was scarce fifteen when your father saw me at the Bury Assembly, and while
I was yet at school, I used to vow that I never would have any
other man. If heaven gave me such a husband - the best man
in the whole kingdom - sure it will bless my child equally, who
deserves a king, if she fancies him!"  Indeed, I am not sure
that Mrs. Lambert —who, of course, knew the age of the
Prince of Wales, and was aware how handsome and good a
young prince he was- did not expect that he too would come
riding by her gate, and perhaps tumble down fiom his horse
there, and be taken into the house, and be cured, and cause his
royal grandpapa to give Martin Lambert a regiment, and fall
in love with Theo.
The Colonel, for his part, and his second daughter, Miss
HIetty, were on the laughing, scornful, unbelieving side. Mamma
was always match-making. Indeed, Mrs. Lambert was much
addicted to novels, and cried her eyes out over them with great
assiduity. No coach ever passed the gate, but she expected a
husband for her girls would alight fiom it and ring the bell.
As for Miss Hetty, she allowed her tongue to wag in a more
than usually saucy way: she made a hundred sly allusions to
their guest. She introduced Prussia and Persia into their conversation with abominable pertness and frequency. She asked
whether the present King of Prussia was called the Shaw or
the Sophy, and how far it was from Ispahan to Saxony, which
his Majesty was at present invading, and about which war papa
was so busy with his maps and his newspapers? She brought
down the " Persian Tales" from her mamma's closet, and laid
them slily on the table in the parlor where the family sat. She
would not marry a Persian prince for her part; she would prefer a gentleman who might not have more than one wife at
a time. She called our young Virginian Theo's gentleman,
Theo's prince. She asked mamma if she wished her, Hetty, to
take the other visitor, the black prince, for herself? Indeed,
she rallied her sister and her mother unceasingly on their sentimentalities, and would never stop until she had made them
angry, when she would begin to cry herself, and kiss them violently one after the other, and coax them back into good humor.
Simple Harry Warrington, meanwhile, knew nothing of all the
jokes, the tears, quarrels, reconciliations, hymeneal plans, and
so forth, of which he was the innocent occasion. A hundred
allusions to the Prussians and Persians were shot at him, and
those Parthian arrows did not penetrate his hide at all. A
i




THE VIRGINIANS.


189


Shaw? A Sophy? Very likely he thought a Sophy was a lady,
and would have deemed it the height of absurdity that a man
with a great black beard should have any such name. We fall
into the midst of a quiet family: we drop like a stone, say,
into a pool, - we are perfectly compact and cool, and little
know the flutter and excitement we make there, disturbing the
fish, frightening the (lucks, and agitating the whole surface of
the water. How should Harry know the effect which his sudden appearance produced in this little quiet sentimental famrily?
He thought quite well enough of himself on many points, but
was diffident as yet regarding women, being of that age when
young gentlemen require encouragement and to be brought forward, and having been brought up at home in very modest anld
primitive relations towards the other sex. So Miss IIetty's
jokes played round the lad, and he minded them no more than
so many summer gnats. It was not that he was stupid, as she
certainly thought him: he was simple, too much occupied with
himself and his own private affairs to think of others. Why,
what tragedies, comedies, interludes, intrigues, farces, are
going on under our noses in friends' drawing-rooms where we
visit every day, and we remain utterly ignorant, self-satisfied,
and blind! As these sisters sat and combed their flowing ringlets of nights, or talked with each other in the great bed where,
according to the fashion of the day, they lay together, how
should Harry know that he had so great a share in their tholughts,
jokes, conversation? Three days after his arrival, his new
and hospitable friends were walking with him in my Lord
Wrotham's fine park, where they were free to wander; and
here, on a piece of water, they came to some swans, which the
young ladies were in the habit of feeding with bread. As the
birds approached the young women, Hetty said, with a queer
look at her mother and sister, and then a glance at her father,
who stood by, honest, happy, in a red waistcoat, - Hetty said:
"Mamma's swans are something like these, papa."
"What swans, my dear! " says mamma.
" Something like, but not quite. They have shorter necks
than these, and are, scores of them, on our common," continues
Miss Hetty. "I saw Betty plucking one in the kitchen this
morning.   We shall have it for dinner, with apple-sauce
and -"
"Don't be a little goose!" says Miss Theo.
"And sage and onions. Do you love swan, Mr. Warrington?"
"I shot three last winter on our river," said the Virginian




190


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


gentleman.  "Ours are not such white birds as these - they eat 
very well though."  The simple youth had not the slightest idea
that he himself was an allegory at that very time, and that Miss
Hetty was narrating a fable regarding him. In some exceedingly recondite Latin work I have read that, long before Virginia
was discovered, other folks were equally dull of comprehension.
So it was a premature sentiment on the part of Miss Theo -
that little tender flutter of the bosom which we have a(cknowledged sle felt on first beholding the Virginian, so handsome,
pale, and bleeding.  This was not the great passion which she
knew her heart could feel. Like the birds, it hand wakened and
begun to sing at a false dawn. HIop back to thy perch, and cover
thy head with thy wing, thou tremulous little fluttering creature!
It is not yet light, and roosting is as yet better than singing.
Anon will come morning, and the whole sky will redden, and
you shall soar up into it and salute the sun with your music.
One little phrase, some three- ndl-thirty lines back, perhaps
the fair and suspicious reader las remarked  " Three days after
his arrival, Harry was walking with," &c., &c. If he could
walk - which it appeared he could do perfectly well - what
business had he to be walking with anybody but Lady Maria
Esmond on the Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells?  His shoulder was
set: his health was entirely restored: he had not even a change
Of coats, as we have seen, and was obliged to the Colonel for
his raiment. Surely a young man in such a condition had no
right to be lingering on at Oakhurst, and was bound by every
tie of duty and convenience, by love, by relationship, by a
gentle heart waiting for him, by the washerwoman finally, to
go to Tunbridge. Why did lie stay behind, unless he was in
love with either of the young ladies? (and we say lie wasn't).
Could it be that he did not want to go? Hath the gracious
reader understood the meaning of the mystic S with whichl the
last chapter commences and in which the designer has feebly
endeavored to depict the notorious Sindbad the Sailor surmounted by tlat odious old man of the sea? *  What if Harry
Warrington should be that sailor, and his fate that choking,
deadening, inevitable old man? What if for two days past lhe
has felt those knees throttling liim round the neck? if his fell
aunt's purpose is answered, and if his late love is killed as
dead by her poisonous communications as Fair Rosamond was
by her royal and legitimate rival?  Is Hero then lighting the 
lamp up, and getting ready the supper, whilst Leander is sit* In the original edition there appeared an illustrated initial, in which
the whip-lash of the old nman of the sea formed the letter S.
*.:: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~- 1-;




THE VIRGINIANS.


191


ting comfortably with some other party, and never in the least
thinking of taking to the water? Ever since that coward's
blow was struck in Lady Maria's back by her own relative,
surely kind hearts must pity her ladyship. I know she has
faults - ay, and wears false hair and false never mind what.
But a woman in distress, shall we not pity her- a lady of a
certain age, are we going to laugh at her because of her years?
Between ler old aunt and her unhappy delusion, be sure my
Lady Maria Esmond is having no very pleasant time of it at
Tunbridge Wells. There is no one to protect her. Madam
Beatrix has her all to herself. Lady Maria is poor, and hopes
for money from her aunt. Lady Maria has a secret or two
which the old woman knows, and brandishes over her. I for
one am quite melted and grow soft-hearted as I think of her.
Imaginle her alone, and a victim to that old woman! Paint to
yourself that antique Andromeda (if you please we will allow
that rich flowing head of hair to fall over her shoulders) chained
to a rock on Mount Ephraim, and given up to that dragon of a
Baroness! Succor, Perseus! Come quickly with thy winged
feet and flashing falchion! Perseus is not in the least hurry.
The dragon has her will of Andromeda for day after day.
Harry Warrington, who would not have allowed his dislocated and mended shoulder to keel) him from going out hunting,
remained day after day contentedly at Oakhurst, with each
day finding the kindly folks who welcomed him more to his
liking. P'elhaps he had never, since his grandfather's death,
been ill such good company.  lis lot had lain amongst foxhuntilng Virginian squires, with whose society lie had put up
very contentedly, riding their horses, living their lives, and
sharing their punch-bowls. The ladies of his own and mother's
acquaintance were very well bred, and decorous, and pious, no
doubt, but somewhat narrow-minded. It was but a little place,
his home, with its pompous ways, small etiquettes and punctilios, small flatteries, small conversations and scandals. Until
he llad left the place some time after, he (lid not know how
narrow and confined his life had been there.  He was free
enough personally. HIe had dogs and horses, and might shoot
and hunt for scores of miles round about: but the little lady
mother domineered at home, and when there he had to submit
to her influence and breathe her air.
Iere the lad found himself in the midst of a circle where
everything about him was incomparably gayer, brighter, and
more free. Ile was living with a man and woman who had
seen the world, though they lived retired from it, who had both




192


TILE VIRGIN ANS.


of them happened to enjoy from their earliest times tile use not
only of good books, but of good company - those live books,
which are such pleasant and sometimes such profitable reading.
Society has this good at least: that it lessens our conceit, by
teaching us our insignificance, and making us acquainted with
our betters. If you are a young person who read this, depend
uponf it, sir or madam, there is nothing more wholesome for
you than to acknowledge and to associate with your superiors.
If I could, I would not have my son Thomas first Greek and
Lathi prize boy, first oar, and cock of the school. Better for
his soul's and body's welfare that he should have a good place,
not the first-a fair set of competitors round about him, and
a good tlhrashlilng now and then, with a hearty shake afterwards
of tle hand which administered the beating. What honest
man that can choose his lot would be a prince, let us say, and
have all society walking backwards before him, only obsequious
household-gentlemen to talk to, and all mankind mum except
when your High Mightiness asks a question and gives permission to speak? One of the great benefits which Harry Warrington received from this family, before whose gate Fate had
shot him, was to begin to learn that he was a profoulndly ignorant young fellow, and that there were many people in the
world far better than lie knew himself to be. Arrogant a little
with some folks, in the company of his suleriors he was magnanimously docile. We have seen how faithfully he admired
his brother at home, and his friend, the gallant young Colonel
of Mount Vernon: of the gentlemen his kinsmen at Castlewood, lie had felt himself at least the equal. In his new acquaintance at Oakhurst he found a man who had read far more
books than Harry could pretend to judge of, who had seen the
world and come unwounded out of it, as he had out of the
dangers and battles which he had confionted, and who had
goodness and honesty written on his face and breathing from
his lips, for which qualities our brave lad had always an instinctive sympathy and.predilection.
As for the women, they were the kindest, merriest, most
agreeable lie had as yet known. They were pleasanter than
Parson Broadbent's black-eyed daughter at home, whose laugh
carried as far as a gun. They were quite as well-bred as the
Castlewood ladies, with the exception of Madam Beatrix (who,
indeed, was as grand as an empress on some occasions). But
somehow, after a talk with Madam Beatrix, and vast amusement and interest in her stories, the lad would come away as
with a bitter taste in his mouth, and fancy all the world wicked




THE VIRGINIANS.


193


round about him.  The Lamberts were not squeamish; and
laughed over pages of Mr. Fielding, and cried over volumes of
Mr. Richardson, containing jokes and incidents which would
make Mrs. Grundy's hair stand on end, yet their merry prattle
left no bitterness behind it; their tales about this neighbor and
that were droll, not malicious; the curtsies and( salutations with
which the folks of the little neighboring town received them,
how kindly and cheerful! their bounties how cordial! Of a
truth it is good to be with good people. I-low good Ilarry
Warrington did not know at the time, perhaps, or until subsequent experience showed him contrasts, or caused him to feel
remorse. Here was a tranquil, sunshiny day of a life that was
to be agitated and stormy - a happy hour or two to remember.
Not much happened during the happy hour or two. It was
only sweet sleep, pleasant waking, friendly welcome, serene
pastime. The gates of the old house seemed to shut the wicked
world out somehow, and the inhabitants within to be better,
and purer, and kinder than other people.  -le was not in love.
Oh, no! not the least, either with saucy Hletty or generous
Theodosia: but when the time came for going away, lie fastencd
on both their hands, and felt an immense regard for them.
He thought he should like to know their brothers, and that they
must be fine fellows; and as for Mrs. Lambert, I believe she
was as sentimental at his departure as if he ihad been the last
volume of Clarissa Harlowe.
' He is very kind and honest," said Theo, gravely, as, looking from the terrace, they saw him and their father and servants
riding away on the road to Westerham.
("I don't think him stupid at all now," said little IHettv;
" and, mamma, I think he is very like a swan indeed."
"It felt just like one of the boys going to school," said
mamma.
"Just like it," said Theo, sadly.
"I am glad he has got papa to ride with him to Westerham,"
resumed Miss Hetty, " and that he bought Farmer Briggs's
horse.  I don't like his going to those Castlewood people.
I am sure that Madame Bernstein is a wicked old woman. I
expected to see her ride away on her crooked stick."
"Hush, Hett!"
"Do you think she would float if they tried her in the pond
as poor old Mother Hely did at Elmhurst? The other old
woman seemed fond of him- I mean the one with the fair
tour. She looked very melancholy when she went away; but
Madame Bernstein whisked her off with her crutch, and she
13




194               TIE VIRGINIANS.
was obliged to go. I don'tcare,Theo.  know she is a wicked
woman. You think everybody good, you do, because you never
do anything wrong yourself."
"My Theo is a good girl," says the mother, looking fondly
at both her daughters.
'''Then why do we call her a miserable sinner?"
"We are all so, my love," said mamma.
"What, papa too? You know you don't think so," cries
Miss Hester. And to allow this was almost more than Mrs.
Lambert could afford.
"What was that you told John to give to Mr. Warrington's
black man?"
Mamma owned, with some shamefacedness, it was a bottle
of her cordial water and a cake which she had bid Betty make.
" I feel quite like a mother to him, my dears, I can't help owning it, - and you know both our boys still like one of our cakes
to take to school or college with them."
CHAPTER XXIV.
FROM OAKHURST TO TUNBRIDGE.
WAVING her lily handkerchief in token of adieu to the departing travellers, Mrs. Lambert and her girls watched them pacing
leisurely on the first few hundred yards of their journey, and
until such time as a tree-clumped corner of the road hid them
from the ladies' view. Behind that clump of limes the good matron had many a time watched those she loved best disappear.
Husband departing to battle and danger, sons to school, each
after the other had gone on his way behind yonder green trees,
returning as it pleased heaven's will at his good time, and bringing pleasure and love back to the happy little family. Besides
their own instinctive nature (which to be sure aids wonderfully
in the matter), the leisure and contemplation attendant upon
their home life serve to foster the tenderness and fidelity of our
women. The men gone, there is all day to think about them,
and to-morrow and to-morrow - when there certainly will be a
letter- and so on. There is the vacant room to go look at,
where the boy slept last night, 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




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


195


brief bygone pleasures. At dinner there comes up that cherrytart, half of which our 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. Midnight 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 labor 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 thoughltfill, if' by chance she and her girls walked up to the trees in tlie
absence of' the len of the family. She said sle would like to
carve their names upon the gray silvered trunks, in the midst
of true-lovers' knots, as was then the kindly fashion; and Miss
Theo, who had an exceeding elegant turn that way, made some
verses regarding the trees, which her delighted parent tranrsmitted to a periodical of those days.
" Now  we are out of sight of the ladies," says Colonel
Lambert, giving a parting salute with his lat, as thle 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 L;ouse
again, Mr. Warrington; and the boys being at home, mayh:p
there will be better sport for you."
'" I never want to be happier, sir, than I have been." replied
Mr. Warrington; n" and I hope you will let me say, that I feel
as if I am leaving quite old friends behind me."
" The friend at whose house we shall sup to-night hath a son,
who is an old friend of our family, too, and my wife, who is an
inveterate marriage-monger, would have made a match between him and one of my girls, but that the Colonel hatll
chosen to fall in love with somebody else."
"Ah!" sighed Mr. Warrington.
( Other folks have done the same thing. There were brave
fellows before Agamemnon."
"I beg your pardon, sir.   Is the gentleman's nameAga -? I (lid 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."




196


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


" 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 oldl 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
humility; " I feel that I have neglected my own youth sadly;
and am come to England but an ignoramus. Had my dear
brother been alive, he would have represented our name and
our colony, too, better than I can do. George was a scholar;
George was a musician; George could talk with the most
learned people in our country, and I make no doubt would have
held his own here. Do you know, sir, I am glad to have come
home, and to you especially, if but to learn how ignorant
I am."
" If you know that well, 'tis a great gain already," said the
Colonel, 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 am wrong, and only
bragging again. But you see, sir, the gentry in our colony
don't know very much, except about (logs and horses, and
betting and games. I wish I knew more about books, and less
about them."
Nay. Dogs and horses are very good books, too, in their
way, and we may read a deal of truth out of 'em. Some men
are not made to be scholars, and may be very worthy citizens
and gentlemen in spite of their ignorance. What call have all
of us to be especially learned or wise, or to take a first place in
the world?  His 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 our station, it matters not much
whether that be high or low. Nay, how do we know what is
high and what is low? and whether Jack's currycomb, or my
epaulets, or his Royal Highness's baton, may not turn out to
be pretty equal? When I began life, et militavi non sine
never mind what -I dreamed of success and honor; now I




TIIE VIRGINIANS,


197


think of duty, and yonder folks, fiom whom we parted a few
hours ago. Let us trot on, else we shall not reach Westerham
before nightfall."
At Westerham the two fiiends 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 an(t 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 officer, who, young as he was, had seen
so much service, and obtained a character so high. There was
little of' the beautiful in his face. He was very lean and very
pale; his hair was red, his nose and cheek-bones were high;
but lie had a fine courtesy towards his elders, a cordial greeting
towards his friends, and an animation' in conversation which
cause(l those who heard him to forget, even to admire his
homely looks.
Mr. Warrington was going to Tunbridge? Their James
would bear him  company, the lady of the house said, and
whispered something to Colonel Lambert at supper, which occasioned smiles and a knowing wink or two fiom that officer.
IHc called for wine, and toasted L"Miss Lowther."  ' With all
my heart," cried the enthusiastic Colonel James, and drained
his glass to the very last drop. Mamma whispered her friend
how James and the lady were going to make a match, and how
sie 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 lie knew her," the young
Colonel declared.
" Oh, of course, she is the priceless pearl, and you are nothing," cries mamma. 1" No. I am of Colonel Lambert's opinion;
and, if she brought all Cumberland to you for a jointure, I should
say it was by 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 have 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 )air 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?"




198


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


"Because James's papa was gouty, and wanted someebody
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 tlrned his horse's
head homewards, wlile tlie 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 Lamnbert rode towards his own home, -Iarry's thoughts followed
him with a great deal of longing desire to the parlor 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 tliat
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 honor?" asked Warrington. "Are those
nothing? aInd would you give up the winning of them?"
"'They were my dreams once," answered the Colonel, who
had now difl'erllt ideas of happiness, "and now my desires are
much more tranquil. I have followed arms ever since I was
fourteen years of age. I have seen almost every kind of duty
connecte(l with my calling. I know all the garrison towns in
this country, and have had the honor to serve wherever there
has been work to be done (during the last ten years. I haxe
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, methinks, I would like quiet, books to
read, a wife to love me, and some children to dandle on my
knee. I have imagined some such Elysium for myself, Mr.
Warrington.  True love is better than glory; and a tranquil
fireside, withl 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. Ile 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 lad sixteen years
of the world: and I am but a few months away from my mloth



THE VIRGINIANS.


er's apron-strings. When I have seen a campaign or two, or
six, as you have: when I have distinguished myself like Mr.
WAolfe,.and made the world talk of me, I then may think of
retiring fiom it."
To these remarks, Mr. Wolfe, whose heart was full of a very
(liffLrenlt matter, replied by breaking out in a farther encomium
of the joys of marriage; and a special rhapsody upon the beau1ies and merits of his mistress -a theme intensely interesting
to,) himself, though not so, possibly, to his hearer, whose views
regarding a married life, if he permitted himself to entertain.11113, were somewhat melancholy and despondent. A pleasant:liternloon brought them to the end of their ride; nor did any
~accident or inci(lent accompany it, save, perhaps, a mistake
which IHarry Warrington made at some few miles' distance from
Tunbridge Wells, where two horsemen stopped them, whom
Hlarry was for charging, pistol in hand, supposing them to be
highwtaymlen. Colonel Wolfe, laughing, bade Mr. Warrington
reserve his fire, for these folks were only innkeelers' 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 ladies whom he had come
to visit.
M11. Warrington found his aunt installed in handsome lodgings, with a giard of London lackeys in her ante-room, and
to follow lher chair when she went abroad. She received him
with the utmost kindness. His cousin, my Lady Maria, was
absent when lie arrived: I don't know whether the young gentlemnan was unhappy at not seeing her; or whether he disguised
his feelings, or whether Madame de Bernstein took any note
regarding them.
A beau in a rich figured suit, the first specimen of the kind
Harry had seen, and two dowagers with voluminous hoops and
plenty of rouge, were on a visit to the Baroness when her nephew
made his bow to her. She introduced the young man to these
personages as her nephew, the young Croesus out of Virginia,
of whom they had heard. She talked about the immensity of
his estate, 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 honor




;


200               TIE VIRGINIANS.
to make his acquaintance. The ladies praised him to his aunt
so lou (ly that the mo(lest youth was fain to blush at their complliIenlts. Tley went away to inform the Tunbridge society of
the nlews ot his arrival. The little place was soon buzzing
with accounts of the wealth, the good breecing, and the good
looks of the Virginian.
" You could not have conle at a better moment, my dear,"
the Baroness said to her nephew, as her visitors departed with
many curtsies and congees.  "Those three individuals have
the most active tongues in the Wells. They will trumpet your
good qualities in every company where they go. I have introduced you to a hundred people already, and, heaven help me!
have told all sorts of fibs about the geography of Virginia in
order to describe your estate. It is a prodigious large one, but
I ami afraid I have magnified it. I have filled it with all sorts
of wonderful animals, gold mines, spices; I am not sure I have
not said diaronds. 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 xver 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
auntt, 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 you are, and can't help yourself. All the world is
eager to see you. You shall go to church to-morrow morning,
and see how the whole congregation will turn away from its
books and prayers, to worship the golden calf in your person.
You would not have had me undeceive them, would you, and
speak ill of my own flesh and blood?"
"But how am I bettered by this reputation for money?"
asked Harry.
" You are making your entry into the world, and the gold




"`


THE VIRGINIANS.                 201
key will open most of its doors to you. To be thought rich is
as good as to be rich. You need not spend much money. People will say that you hoard it, and your reputation for avarice
will do )you good rather than harm. You'll see how the mothers
will smile upon you, and the daughters will curtsy! 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 protection
would have helped him but little. Our family has little credit,
and, entre nous, not much reputation. I suppose you know that
Castlewood was more than suspected in '45, and hath since
ruined himself by play? "
Harry had never heard about Lord Castlewood or his reputation.
" H-e never had much to lose, but he has lost that and more:
his wretcled estate is eaten up with mortgages. He has been
at all sorts of schemes to raise money:- my dear, he has been
so desperate at times, that I did not think my diamonds were
safe with him; and have travelled to and from Castlewood without them. Terrible, isn't it, to speak so of one's own neplhew?
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. Had
you played with Castlewood, you would have had no such luck:
and you would have played, had not an old aunt of yours
warned my Lord Castlewood to keep his hands off you."
" What, Ma'am, did you interfere to preserve me? "
" I kept his clutches off from you: be thankful that you are
come out of that ogre's den with any flesh on your bones! My
dear, it has been the rage and passion of all our family. My
poor silly brother played; both his wives played, especially the
last one, who has little else to live upon now but her nightly
assemblies in London, and the money for the cards. I would
not trust her at Castlewood alone with you: the passion is too
strong for them, and they would fall upon you, and fleece you;
and then fall upon each other, and fight for the plunder. But




202


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


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 eves out of her head. I know wlat 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 pool 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 tile, lest you
should be shocked by the discovery. I can't live without the
cards, there's the truth."
A few days before, and while staying with his Castlewood
relatives, 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 honor were laughed at;
pure lives were disbelieved; selfishness was proclaimed as common practice; sacred duties were sneeringly spoken of, and vice
flippantly condoned. These were no Pharisees: they professed
no hypocrisy of virtue, they flung no stones at discovered sinners:- they smiled, shrugged their shoulders, and passed on.
The memnbers of this family did not pretend to be a whit better
than their neighbors, 'whom they despised heartily; they lived
quite familiarly with the folks about whom and whose wives
they told such wicked, finny stories; they took their share of
what l)leasure or plunder came t6 hand, and lived from day to
day till their last day came for them. Of course there are no
such leople now; and human nature is very much changed in
the last hundred years. At any rate, card-playing is greatly
out of mode: about that there can be no doubt; and very likely
there are not six ladies of fashion in London, wlo know the
difference between Spadille and Manille.
" Iow 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 dull, Ma'am,
and I think they are some of the best people in the world,"
said Harry, with his face flushing up. His aunt's tone jarred




THE VIRGINIANS.


203


upon him. He could not bear that any one should speak or
tlink lightly of the new friends whom he had found. He did
not want them in such compnany.
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 coursc le has been falling in love with
one of them."  Madame Bernstein looked round with a mischievous glance at Lady Maria, who entered the room at this
juncture.
CHAPTER XXV.
NEW ACQUAINTANCES.
COUSIN MARIA made her appearance, attended by a couple
of gardener's boys bearing baskets of flowers, with which it
was prol)osed to decorate Madamle de Bernstein's drawing-room
against the arrival of her ladyship's company. Three obotmen
in livery, gorgeously laced with worsted, set out twice as many
card-tables. A major-domo in black and a bag, with fine laced
ruffles, and looking as if he ought to have a sword by his side,
followed the lackeys 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-colored 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 thle company. A band of
music was here performing for the benefit of the visitors to the
Wells. Madame Bernstein's chief sitting-room might not suit
a recluse or a student, but for those who liked bustle, gayety, 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 cardassembly, to which an introduction was easy enough. By the
way, in speaking of the past, I think the night-life of society a
hundred years since was rather a dark life. There was not one




204


THE VIRGINIANS.


wax-candle for ten which we now see in a lady's drawing-room:
let alone gas and the wondrous new illuminations of clubs.
Horrible guttering tallow smoked and stunk in passages. The
candle-snuffer was a notorious officer in the theatre. See Ilogarth's pictures: how dark tley are, and how his feasts are, as
it were, begrimed with tallow! In 'M Marriage a la Modc." in
Lord Viscount Squanderfiell's grand saloons, where he and his
wife are sitting yawning before the horror stricken steward when
their party is over- there are but eight candles - one on each
card-table, and half a dozen in a brass chandelier. If Jack
Briefless convoked his fiiends to oysters and beer in his chaimbers, Pump Court, he would have twice as many. Let us comfort ourselves by thinking that Louis Quatorze in all his glory
held his revels in the ldark, and bless Mr. 'Irice and other Luciferous benefactors of mankind, for banishing the abominable
mutton of our youth.
So Maria with ler flowers (herself the fairest flower,) pIol)led
her roses, sweetwilliams, and so forth, in vases here and there,
and adorned the apartment to the best of her art. She lingered
fondly over this bowl and thlat dragon jar, casting but sly timid1
glances the while at young Cousin -larlr, 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 soudly: Tom for having a datrn in his
stocking; John for having greased his locks too lrofusely out
of the candle-box; and so forth - keeping a stern domination
over them. Another remark concerning poor Jeames of a hundred years ago: Jeames slept two in a bed, four in a room, and
that room a cellar very likely, and lie 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 disappointed. "Where are you going to dine, Harry?" asks
Madame de Bernstein. "My niece Maria and I shall have a
chicken in the little parlor -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?"
C'? ^ '. ' ' v *'*' * 




THE VIRGINIANS.


205


No," says her ladyship, dcropping her meek eyes: whilst
the otler lady's glared in triumph. I think Andromeda had
been a good deal exposed to the Dragon in the course of the
last five or six days: and if Perseus had cut the latter's cruel
head off lie would have committed not unjustifiable monstricide.
But lie dli( not bare sword or shield; he only looked mechanically at the lackeys in tawny and blue as they creaked about.
the room.
"And there are good mercers and tailors fiom 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
lashion - a little lace - "
"I can't go out of mourning, Ma'am," said the young man,
looking down at his sables.
"1Io, 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 1 don't want to
prevent you. I only want you to dress, and to do like other
people, and make a figure worthy of your name."
" Madam," said Mr. Warrington with great state, "I have
not (lone anything to disgrace it that I know."
lWhy did the old woman stop and give a little start as if she
had been struck? Let bygones be bygones. She and the boy
had a score of little passages of this kind in which swords were
crossed and thrusts rapidly dealt or parried. She liked Harry
none tie 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.
Iarry bowed and blushed. It was one of the homely gifts
of his Oakhurst friends. He felt pleased somehow to think he
wore it; thougllt of the new fiiends, so good, so pure, so simple, so kindly, with immense tenderness, and felt, while invested
il 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 tie best linen he had.
" Come back here, sir," said Madame Bernstein, L and if
our company has not arrived, Maria and I will find some ruffles
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
provided for him, but a groom in attendance waiting to be engaged by his honor, 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




206


THE VIRGINIANS.


bootmaker waited on him with the cards and compliments of
their employers, Messrs. Regnier and Tull; the best articles il
his modest wardrobe were laid out by Gumbo, and the finest
linlen with which his thrifty Virginian mother had provided him.
Visions of the snow-surrounded home il 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
hlomlely clothes were not quite smart enough, the home-worked
linen not so fine as it might be, crossed the young man's mind.
Th'lat le should be ashamed of anything belonging to him or to
Castlewood! That was strange. The simnlle folks there were
only too well satisfied with all things that were done or said, or
l)rolduced at Castlewood.; and Madami 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
lbeen of a later fashion, to be sure -but still the young fellow
presented a comely figure enough when lie issued fiom 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.
Iere he expected to find the beau whose acquaintance he
had lmade a few hours bef're t   at  s aunt's lodging, and who
had indicated to Iarry that the i  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 honor
that his honor did not need any other introduction than his own,
hellped himi to hang up his coat and sword on a peg, asked him
wlletller he would drink Burgundy, Pontac, 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 HIarry that there
was a great entertainment at Summer Hill, which had taken
away most of the company; indeed, when Harry entered the
room, there were but four other gentlemen in it. Two of these
guests were drinking wine, and had finished their dinner: the
other two were young men in the midst of their meal, to whom
tlhe landlord, as he passed, must have whispered the name of
the new comer, for they looked at him with some appearance
of interest, and made him a slight bow across the table as the
smiling host bustled away for Harry's dinner.
Mr. Warrington returned the salute of the two gentlemen
who bade himn welcome to Tunbridge, and hoped he would like




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


207


the place upon better acquaintance. Then they smiled and exchanged waggish looks with each other, of whicli HIarry 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 ruffles 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
Craosus who comes to arrive?"
" You're thrown out there, Jack!" says one young gentleman to the other.
" Never could manage the lingo," said Jack.  The two;lders 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 (lear Baron! I-Ie has been
here but two hours. My people told me of him only as I calme
to dinner."
"I1 knew him before!-I have met him often in London
witl the Baroness and my lord, his cousin," said the Baron.
A smoking soup for Harry here came in, borne by the smiling host.  "Behold, sir! Behold a potage of my fashion!"
says my landlord, laying down the dish and whispering to
Harry the celebrated name of the nobleman opposite. 1-arry
thanked Monsieur Barbeau in his own language, upon which
the foreign gentleman, turning round, grinned most graciously
at Harry, and said, "Fous bossedez notre langue barfaidement, Monsieur." Mr. Warrington had never heard the French
language pronounced in that manner in Canada. He bowed in
return to the foreign gentleman.
" Tell me more about the Croesus, my good Baron." continued his lordship, speaking rather superciliously to his companion, and taking no notice of Harry, which perhaps somewhat
nettled the young man.
" What will you, that I tell you, my dear lord? Croesus is
a youth like other youths; he is tall, like other youths; he is
awkward, like other youths; he has black hair, as they all have
who come from the Indies. Lodgings have been taken for him
at Mrs. Rose's toy-shop."
C"I have lodgings_ there too," thought Mr. Warrington.
- — ~v-vb-rb0 C,,




208


THIE VIRGINIANS. -


' Who is Crcesus they are talking of? How good the soup
is!"
"He travels with a large retinue," the Baron continued,
" four servants, two post-chaises, and a pair of outriders. His
chief attendant is a black man who saved his life from the savages in America, and who will not hear, on any account, of
being made free. H1e 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? She ought to be a
little of your parents, Chevalier?"
"Again I fail to comprehend your lordship," said the other
gentleman, rather sulkily.
" Why, she is a woman of great wit- she is of noble birth
-she has undergone strange adventures -she has but little
principle (there you happily have the advantage of her). But
what care we. men of the world? You intend to go and play
with the young Creole, no doubt, and get as much money fromn
him as you can.  By the way, Baron, suppose he should be
a guet a pens, that young Creole?  Suppose our excellent
friend has invented him up in London, and brings him down
with his character for wealth to prey upon the innocent folks
here?"
"J'y ai souvent pense, Milor," says the little Baron, placing his finger to his nose very knowingly, "that Baroness
is capable 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 honor of meeting you, and a more disreputable
rogue never entered my doors. A Minister must open then!
to all sorts of people, Baron, - spies, sharpers, ruffians of every
sort."




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


209:


"Parbleu, Milor, how you treat them!" says my lord's
companion.
I" A man of my rank, my friend -of the rank I held then
- of course, must see all sorts of people - entre autres your
acquaintance. What his wife could want with such a name as
his I can't conceive."
" Apparently, it was 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 forget that I, too,
am a Baron and a Chevalier of the Holy Roman -"
' -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 Harry Warrington was aware how his aunt and himself had been the subject of the two gentlemen's conversation.
Ere the conviction had settled itself on his mind, one of the
speakers had quitted the room, and the other 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 caned in Vienna."
"I wonder my Lord Chesterfield associates with such a
villain! " called out Harry from his table. The other couple
of diners looked at him. To his surprise the nobleman so
addressed went on talking.
" There cannot be a more fieffe coquin than this Poellnitz.
Why, heaven be thanked, he has actually left me my snuff-box!
You laugh?-the fellow is capable of taking it."  And my
lord thought it was his own satire at which the young men
were laughing.
" You are quite right, sir," said one of the two diners,
turning to Mr. Warrington, "though, saving your presence,
14




210


THE VIRGINIANS.


I don't know what business it is of yours. My lord will plna
with anybody who will set him. Don't be alarmed, he is as
deaf as a post, and did not hear a word that you said; and
that's why my lord will play with anybody who will put a pack
of cards before him, and that is the reason why he consorts
with this rogue."
"Faith, I know other noblemen who are not particular as
to their company," says Mr. Jack.
i 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 in his favorite French with Monsieur Barbeau, the landlord, and graciously
complimenting him on his dinner. The host bowed again and
again; was enchanted that his Excellency was satisfied; had
not forgotten the art which he had learned when he was a
young man in his Excellence's kingdom of Ireland. The salmi
was to my lord's liking? I-e 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 fiom 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.
"And to whom your lordship will be answerable for language reflecting on 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
meaning, one way or other," Mr. Warrington said, with much
dignity: " and will not suffer calumnies regarding my relatives
to be uttered by him or any other man!"
Whilst Harry was speaking, the little nobleman opposite to
him did not hear him, but had time sufficient to arrange his
own reply. He had risen, passing his handkerchief once or
twice across his mouth, and laying his slim fingers on the table.
" Sir," said he, " you will believe, on the word of a gentleman,
that I had no idea before whom I was speaking, and it seems




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


211


that my acquaintance, Monsieur de Poellnitz, knew you no better
than ryself:  Had I known you, believe me that I'should have
been tile last man in the world to utter a syllable that should
give you annoyance; and I tender to you my regrets and
apologies before my Lord March and Mr. Morris here present."
To these words, Mr. Warrington could oiily make a bow,
and mumble out a few words of acknowledgment: which speech
havling made believe to hear, my lord made Harry another very
profolund bow, and saying he should have the honor of waiting
upon Mr. Warrington at his lodgings, saluted the company,
and went away.
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICI WE 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 bowlinggreen, 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 favorite way of going to
the deuce. Iis 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 will play you for
every acre you have in Virginia."
"With the greatest pleasure in life, Mr. Warrington! " interposes 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, Jack? you are never without a dice



212


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


box or a bottle-screw. I will set Mr. Warrington for what he
likes."
" Unfortunately, my lord, the tobacco, and the slaves, and
the asses, and the oxen, are not mine, as yet. I am just of
age, and my mother, scarce twenty years older, has quite as
good chance of long life as I have."
"I will bet you that you survive her. I will pay you a sum
now against four times the sum to be paid at her death. I will
set you a fair sum over this table against the reversion of your
estate in Virginia at the old lady's departure. What (to you
call your place?"
" 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? - 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
fiom my old Duchess. She knew your grandfather. He was
friend of Addison and Steele, and Pope and Milton, I dare
say, and the bigwigs. It is a pity he did not stay at home,
and transport the other branch of the family to the plantations."
"I have just been staying at Castlewood with my cousin
there," remarked Mr. Warrington.
" Hm! Did you play with him? He's fond of pasteboard
and bones."
" Never but for sixpences and a pool of commerce with the
ladies."
" So much the better for both of you. But you played with
Will Esmond if he was at home? I will lay ten to one you
played with Will Esmond."
I-arry blushed, and owned that of an evening his cousin and
'he had had a few games at cards.
"And Tom Sampson, the chaplain," cried Jack Morris,
' was he of the party? I wager that Tom made a third, and
the Lord deliver you from Tom and Will Esmond together! "
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.




THE VIRGINIANS.


213


" If Mr. Warrington has been to school to Lord Castlewood
and Will Esmond, your tutors must have cost you a pretty
penny, mustn't they, March?"
"Must they, Morris? " said my lord, as if he only half liked
the other's familiarity.
Both of the two gentlemen were dressed alike, in small
scratch-wigs without powder, in blue frocks with plate buttons,
in buckskins and riding-boots, in little hats with a narrow cord
of lace, and no outward mark of fashion.,
"I don't care for indoor games much, my lord," says IIarry,
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?"
"I think I can," Harry said "I and I can shoot pretty well,
and jump some."
"W \hat's your weight? I bet you we weigh even, or I weigh
most. I bet you Jack Morris beats you at birds or a mark, at
five-and-twenty paces. I bet you I jump farther than you on
flat ground, here on this green."
"I don't know Mr. Morris's shooting- I never saw either
gentleman before- but I take your bets, my lord, at what you
please," cries Harry, who by this time was more than warm
with Burgundy.
"Ponies on each!" cried my lord.
"Done and done!" cried my lord and Iarry together.
The young man thought it was for the honor 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 eatingroom, 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? That lie would




214


THE VIRGINIANS.


with all his heart. Colonel Wolfe set down his glass, and
stalked through the open window after his young friend.
"I Who is that tallow-faced Put with the carroty hair?" 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 stlch a figure in my life! " cries Jack Morris.
"Did you- March?"
"I beg your pardon, I think you said March?" said the
Colonel, looking very much surprised.
" I am the Earl of March, sir, at Colonel Wolfe's service,"
said the nobleman, bowing. "My fiiend, Mr. Morris, is so
intimate with me, that, after dinner, we are quite like brothers."
"Why is not all Tunbridge Wells by to hear thlis? " thouglt
Morris. And he was so delighted that he shouted out, I"Two
to one on my lord! "
"Done!" calls out Mr. Warrington; and the enthusiastic
Jack was obliged to cry  I)one! " too.
"Take him, Colonel," Harry whispers to his friend.
But the Colonel said he could not afford to lose, and therefore could not hope to win.
"I see you have won one of our bets already, Mr. Warrington," my Lord March remarked. "I am taller than you by an
inch or two, but you are broader round the shoulders."
"' Pooh, my dear Wiil! I bet you you weigh twice as much
as lie does! " cries Jack Morris.
"Done, Jack! " says my lord, laughing. " The bets are all
ponies. Will you take him, Mr. Warrington?"
"No, iy dear fellow- one's enough," says Jack.
" Very good, my dear fellow," says my lord; " and now we
will settle the other wager."
Having already arrayed himself in his best silk stockings,
black 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 tlle landlord and of the animal depicted.
-My lord's fiiend laid a handkerchief on the ground as the




THE VIRGINIANS.


215


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. Warrlington, in a letter to Mrs. Mountain, at Castlewood, Virginia, still
extant. "IHe was for having me take the lead; 1ut, remelbering the story about ' the Battel of Fontanov' which 11my dearest George used to tell, I says,' lMonseigneur le Cointe, tir'ez
le premier, s'il vous play.' So he took his run in his stock:en/eet,
and for the honor of Old Virginia, I had the grattfication of
beating his lordship by more than two feet -viz., two teet nine
inches  me jumrping 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 1Mr. 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 honor of the Old
Dominion, and my opponent was a nobleman of the first quality,
himself holding two Eridomes, 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 my mischief perhaps - that
there was a gentleman at home who could beat me by a good
foot; and when they asked who it was, and I said Col. G.
Washington, of Mount Vernon- as you know he can, and lle'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
campane as if he knew every inch of the ground, and lie knew
the names of all our rivers, only he called the Potowmac lPottamac, at which we had a good laugh at him. My Lord of March
and Ruglen was not in the least ill-humor about losing, and lie
and his friend handed me notes out of their pocket-books, whi(ch
filled mine that was getting very empty, for the vales to tile
servants at my Cousin Castlewood-s house and buying a horse
at Oakhurst have very nearly put me on the necessity of making another draft upon my honored mothe r or her London or
Bristol agent."
These feats of activity over, the four gentlemen now strolled
out of the tavern garden into the public walk, where, by this
time, a great deal of company was assembled: upon whom Mr.
Jack, who was of a frank and free nature, with a loud voice,
chose to make remarks that were not always agreeable. And
here, if my Lord March made a joke, of which his lordship was
not sparing, Jack roared, " Oh, ho, ho! Oh, good Gad! Oh,




216


THE VIRGINIANS.


my dear earl! Oh, my dear lord, you'll be the death of me! "
" It seemed as if he wished everybody to know," writes I-arry
sagaciously to Mrs. Mountain, " that his friend and companion
was 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 great laced hat and tarnished
feathers.  Then came by my Lord Chesterfield, in a pearlcolored 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-colored man, who hardly
touches his clumsy beaver in reply. D-    his confounded
impudence - do you know who that is? "
"No, curse him! Who is it, March?" asks Jack, with an
oath.
"It's one Johnson, a Dictionary-maker, about whom my
Lord Chesterfield wrote some most capital papers, when his
dictionary was coming out, to patronize the fellow. 1 know
they were capital. I've heard Hlorry Walpole say so, andl he
knows 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 another of your writing
fellows, - a printer, - his name is Richardson; he wrote ' Clarissa,' you know."
" Great heavens! my lord, is that the great Richardson? Is
that the man who wrote ' Clarissa?'" called out Colonel Wolfe
and Mr. 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 las his faults and errors! Even his age and.experience does not prevent him fiom stumbl-  Heaven bless my
soul, Mr. Johnson! I ask your pardon if I have trodden on
your corn."




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


217


" You have done both, sir. You have trodden on the corn,
an(d received the lardon," said Mr. Johnson, and went on mumlling some verses, swaying to and fro, his eves turned towards
the ground, his hands behind hirm', and occasionally endangering
with his great stick the honest, meek eyes of his companion
author.
"They do not see very well, my dear Mulso," he says to
the young lady, " but such as they are, I would keep my lash
firom Mr. Johnson's cudgel. Your servant, sir." Here he made
a low bow, and took off his hat to Mr. Warrington, who shrank
back with many blushes, after saluting the great author. The
great author was accustomed to be adored. A gentler wind
never puffed mortal vanity. Enraptured spinsters flung tealeaves round him, and incensed him with the coffee-pot. Matrons kissed the slippers they had worked for him. There was
a halo of virtue round his nightcap. All Europe had thrilled,
panted, admired, trembled, wept, over the pages of the immortal little kind honest man with the round paunch. Harry
came back quite glowing and proud at having a bow from
him. "'Ahl!" says he, "my lord, I am glad to have seen
him! "
" Seen him! why, dammy, you may see him any day in his
shop, I suppose?" says Jack, with a laugh.
"My brother declared that he, and Mr. Fielding, I think,
was the name, were the greatest geniuses in England; and often
used to say, that when we came to Europe, his first pilgrimage would be to Mr. 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 honor 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 be? —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?"
" March - my Lord March, do you take me for a fool?"
says Jack, with a tearful voice. "Have I done anything to
deserv'e this language from you?". f   YX.




218


TIE, VIRGI(NIANS.


"I would rather win honor than honors: I would rather
have genius than wealth. I would rather make my name than
inherit it, though Imy father's, thank God, is an honest one,"
said the young Colonel. " But l)ardon 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, wlo 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 Dr. 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 religion, of all which points the honest printer himself was perfectly convinced.
Do not let any young lady trip to her grandpapa's bookcase in consequence of this 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 more virtuous than their grandmothers, or only more
squeamish? If the former, then Miss Smith of New York is
certainly more 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"? Go up, Samuel, and be
reconciled with thy brother scribe, whom1 in life thou didst hate




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


219


so. I wonder whether a century hence the novels of to-day
will be hidden behind locks alln wires, and make pretty little
maidens blush?
" Who is yonder queer person in the high head-dress of my
grandmother's time, who stops and speaks to Mr. Richardson? "
asked Harry, as a fantastically dressed lady came up, and performed a curtsy 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. Warrington. 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 fiump 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?"
"I am but lately arrived in England. Mr. Morris," said
Harry, with a smile, "and in Virginia, I own, we have not
heard much about the little Opera-dancer."
Luckily for us, the secret about the little Opera-dancer
never was revealed, for the young men's conversation was
interrupted by a lady in a cardinal cape -and a hat by no
means unlike those lovely head-pieces which have returned into
vogue a hundred years after the date of our present historywho made a profound curtsy to the two gentlemen and received
their salutation in return. She stopped opposite to Harry; she
held out her hand, rather to his wonderment:
"Have you so soon forgotten me, Mr. Warrington?" she
said.
Off went Harry's hat in an instant. He started, blushed,
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 gentlenmn's mind, that her sudden re-entry there




220


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


and appearance in the body startled Mr. Warrington's faculties,
aincd caused those guilty blushes to crowd into his cheeks.
No. Ile 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 (lay or
all night, bodily or spiritually, he had 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?  I dare say 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." lHe turned very red again as he spoke,
he felt he was peljuring himself horribly.
The poor lady was agitated hersel? by the flutter and agitation which she saw in her young companion. Gracious heaven!
Could that tremor and excitement mean that she was mistaken,
and that the lad was still faithful? " Give me your arm, and
let us take a little walk," she said, waving round a curtsy to
the other two gentlemen: " my aunt is asleep after her dinner."
Iarry could not but offer the arm, and press the hand that lay
against his heart. Maria made another fine curtsy to Harry's
bowing companions, and walked off with her prize. In her
griefs, in her rages, in the pains and anguish of wrong and
desertion, how a woman remembers to smile, curtsy, caress,
dissemble! How resolutely they discharge the social proprieties; how they have a word, or a hand, or a kind little speech
or reply for the passing acquaintance who crosses unknowing
the path of the tragedy, drops a light airy remark or two,
(happy self-satisfied rogue!) and passes on. He passes on, and
thinks: " That woman was rather pleased with what I said.
That joke I made was rather neat. I do really think Lady
Maria looks rather favorably at me, and she's a dev'lish fine
woman, begad she is!" O 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 larticular run of cards at Lady Flushington's




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


221


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 Missy's (loll,
or is it the limb of a stifled Cupid peeping out? What (lo yo
suppose are those ashes smouldering in the grate? - Very likely
a suttee has been offered up there just before you came in: a
faithful heart has been burned out upon a callous corpse, and
you are looking on the cineri doloso. You see B. and his wife
receiving their company before dinner.  Gracious powers!
Do you know that that bouquet which she wears is a signal to
Captain C., and that he will find a note under the little bronze
Shakspeare on the mantel-piece in the study? And with all
this you go up and say some uncommonly neat thing (as you
fancy) to Mrs. B. about the weather (clever (log!), or about
Lady E.'s last party (fashionable puck!), or about the dear
children in the nursery (insinuating rogue!).  Heaven aln(l
earth, my 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 has not made an arrangement for leaving
them, and running off with the Captain?  How do you know
that those footmen are not disguised bailiffs?- that yonder
large-looking butler (really a skeleton) is not the pawnbroker's
man? and tllat there are not skeleton r6tis and entrees under
every one of the covers? Look at their feet peeping from under
tlhe tablecloth. Mind how you stretch out your own lovely little
slippers, Madam, lest you knock over a rib or two. Remark
the Death's-head moths fluttering among the flowers. See tie
pale winding-sheets gleaming in the wax-candles! I know it
is an old story, and especially that this preacher has yelled
vanitas vanitatum five hundred times before.  I can't llelp
always falling upon it, and cry out with particular loudness
and wailing, and become especially melancholy, when I see a
dead love tied to a live love. Ila! I look up from my desk,
across the street: and there come il Mr. and Mrs. D. frqm
their walk in Kensington Gardens. How she hangs on him!
how jolly and happy he looks, as the children fiisk round!
M3y poor dear benighted Mrs. D., there is a Regent's Park as
Tn                        t)~~~~   I  VI~V 1




222


THE-I  VIRGINIANS.


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 I-arry and Maria taking their evening walk on the
common, away fiom 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 Mladarme
de Bernstein will waken: with the candles she must be back to
the tea-table and the cards. Never mind. Here is a minute.
It may be my love is dead, b)ut here is a minute to kneel over
the grave aud pray by it. He certainly was not thifkinng about
her: he was startled and (lid not even know her.  Ile 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, Hlarry. 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 ALEAl.
" 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? " says Maria, as they paced the common. " Oh, that fall, Harry! 1 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. " MrIs.
Lambert was a fiiend of my mother when she was in Europe
for her education. Colonel Lambert is a most accomplished
gentleman, and has seen service everywhere.  He was in
Scotland with his Royal Highness, in Flanders, at Minorca.
No natural parents could be kinder than they were to me. How
can I show my gratitude to them? I want to make them a
present: I must make them a present," says Harry, clapping
his l)and into his pocket, which was filled witlh the crisp spoils
of Morris and March.




THE VIRGINIANS.


223


"We can go to the toy-shop, my dear, and buy a couple
of dolls fbr the children," says Lady Maria. "You would
offend the parents by offering anythiug like payment for their
kindness."
" Dolls for Hester and Theo! Why, do you think a woman
is not woman till she is forty, Maria?"  (The arm under
Harry's here gave a wince perhaps, -ever so slight a wince.)
" I can tell you Miss Ilester by no means considers herself' a
child, and Miss Theo is older than her sister. They know ever
so many languages.  They have read books —oh! piles and
piles of books! They play on the harpsichord and sing together admirable; and Theo composes, and sings songs of her
own."
"Indeed! I scarcely saw them.    I thought they were
children.  They looked quite childish. I had no idea they
had all these perfections, 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 I-arry.
" I am sure I would find fault with no one who is kind to
yon, 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 ou? "
"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 teagarden, and get tipsy like their masters. That dreadful Mr.
Morris was perfectly tipsy when I came to you, and frightened
oull SO."
' I hlad just won great bets fiom both of them. What shall
I buy for you, my dear cousin?" And Harry narrated the
triumphs which he had just aclieved. He was in high spirits:
he laughed, he bragged a little. "For the honor of Virginia
I was determined to show them what jumping was," he said.
" With a litle practice I think I could leap two foot further."
Maria was pleased with the victories of her young champion.
"But you must beware about play, child," she said. "You
know it hath been the ruin of our family..My brother Castlewood, Will, our poor father. our aunt, Lady Castlewood herself, they have all been victims to it: as for my Lord March,




THE VIRGINIANS.


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 -larry, again fingering the delightfill notes. 'lWhat do you play at Aunt Bernstein's?  Cribbagce, all-fours, brag, whist, commerce, piquet, quadrille? I'm
readyc at any of 'em. What o'clock is that striking- sure 'tis
seven! "
' And you want to begin now," said the plaintive Maria.
l'You don't care about walking with your poor cousin. Not
lolng ago you did."
" Ilev! Youth is youth, cousin " cried Mr. Harry, tossing
lup his leald, and a young fellow must have his fling! " and
lie strutted by his partner's side, confident, happy, and eager
for pleasure.  Not long ago lie did like to walk with her.
Only yesterday he liked to be with Theo and Hester, and good
Mrs. Lambert; but l)leasure, life, gayety, the desire to shine
andl 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 lie and his.cousin were talking, the fiddles from the open orchestra on the
Parade made a great tuning and squeaking, prel)aratory to
their usual evening concert. Maria knew her aunt was awake
again, and( that she must go i)ack to her slavery. Harry never
asked about that slavery, though he must have known it, had
he taken the trouble to think. He never pitied his cousin.
He was not thinking about her at all. Yet when his mishap
befell him, she hlad been wounded far more cruelly than he was.
I-Ie liad scarce ever been out of her thoughts, which of course
she had had to bury under smiling hypocrisies, as is tile way
with her sex. I know, my dear Mrs. Grundy, you think she
was an old fool?  Ah! do you suppose fools' caps do not
cover gray hair, as well as jet or auburn?  Bear gently with
our elderlyfredaines, 0 you Minerva of a woman! Or perhaps
you are so good and wise that you don't read novels at all?
This I know, that there are late crops of wild oats, as well as
early harvests of them; and (from observation of self and
neighbor) I have an idea that the avenafatua grows up to the
-very last days of the year.
Like worldly parents anxious to get rid of a troublesome
child, and go out to their evening party, Madame Bernstein
and her attendants had put the sun to bed, whilst it was as yet
light, and had drawn the curtains over it, and were busy about
their cards and their candles, and their tea and negus, and




THE VIRGINIANS.


225


other refreshments. One chair after another landed ladies at
the Baroness's door, more or less painted, patched, brocaded.
To these came gentlemen in gala raiment. 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
Iarry had made acquaintance at the C" White Horse."  His
tight brown scratch was exchanged for a neatly curled feather
top, with a bag and gray powder, his jockey-dress and leather
breeches replaced by a rich and elegant French suit. Mr. Jack
Morris had just such another wig and a suit of stuff as closely
as possible resembling his lordship's.  Mr. Wolfc came in
attendance upon his beautiful mistress, Miss Lowther, and her
aunt who loved cards, as all the world did. When my Lady
Maria Esmond made her appearance, 'tis certain that her looks
belied Madame Bernstein's account of her. Her shape was
very fine, and her dress showed a great deal of it. H-Ier complexion was by nature exceeding fair, and a dark frilled rilbbon,
clasped by a jewel, round her neck, enhanced its snowy whiteness. iHer cheeks were not redder than those of otller ladies
present, and the roses were pretty openly plurchased by everybody at the perfumery-shops. An artful patch or two, it was
supposed, added to the lustre of her charms. IIer 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 in some points, was pleasing altogether.
Suppose our ladies took to wearing of bangles and nose-rings?
I dare say we should laugh at the ornaments, and not dislike
them, and lovers would make no difficulty about lifting up the
ring to be able to approach the rosy lips underneath.
As for the Baroness de Bernstein, when that lady took the
pains of making a grand toilette, she appeared as an object,
handsome still, and magnificent, but melancholy, and even
somewhat terrifying to behold. You read the past ill some old
faces, while some others lapse into mere meekness and con-tent. The fires go quite out of some eyes, as the crow's-feet
l)ucker round them; they flash no longer witl scorn, or with
anger, or love: they gaze, and no one is melted by their sapphire glances; they look, and no one is dazzled. My fair young
reader, if you are not so perfect a beauty as the peerless Lindamira, Queen of the Ball; if at the end of it, as you retire to
bed, you meekly own that you have had but two or three partners, whilst Lindamira has had a crowd round her all night -
console yourself with thinking that, at fifty, you will look as
15




226


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


kind and pleasant as you appear now at eighteen. You will
not have to lay down your coach and six of beautv and sec
another step into it, and walk yourself through the rest of life.
You will have to forego no long-accustorned homage; you will
not witness and own the depreciation of your smiles. You
will not sec fashion forsake your quarter; and remain all dust,
gloom, and cobwebs within your once splendid saloons, with
pilacards in your sad windows, gaunt, lonely, and to kt! You
may not have known any grandeur, but you won't fcel any
desertion. You will not have enjoyed millions, hut you will
have escaped bankruptcy.  "Our hostess," said my Lord
Chesterfield to Ihis friend in a confidential whisper, of which
the utterer did not in the least know the loudness, " pults 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 nolleman's house is a gaming-house, or you may go in
with a friend and call for a bottle."
H tey! a bottle and a tavern are good things in their way,"
says my Lord March, with a shrug of his shoulders. " I was
not born before the Georges came in, though I intend to live
to a hundred.  I never knew the Bernstein but as an old
woman; and if she ever had beauty, hang me if I know how
she spent it."
" No, hang me, how did she spend it?" laughs out Jack
Morris.
" Here's a table! Shall we sit down and have a game?Don't let the German come in. He won't pay. Mr. Warrington, will you take a card?"  Mr. Warrington 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?"
" 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 MrI. Warrington," said the Baron with much presence of mind. "Warrington, Dorrington, Harrington? We of the continent cannot
retain your insular names. I certify tlat this gentleman is not
the individual of whom I spoke at dinner." And, glancing
kindly upon him, the old beau sidled away to a farther end of
the room, where Mr. Wolfe and Miss Lowther were engaged in
deep conversation in the embrasure of a window. H-ere the




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


227


Baron thonght fit to engage the Lieutenant-Colonel upon the
Prussian -manual exercise, which had lately been introduced
into King George II.'s army -a siubject with which Mr. 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 thouglht
he plerfectly charmed the two persons to whom ihe 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 tie rooms and tables filled,
and the parties were made upl, Madame de Bernstein became
more and mnore restless, and finally retreated with three fiiends
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 (lutifilly
did the honors of the house to her aunt's guests, and often
rustled by tlhe 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. "C Cut
the cards, and bring us luck, Lady Maria! We have had none
to-night, and Mr. Warrington is wninning everything."
"I hope you are not playing high, HIarry," 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 onel
could say, by inspecting that calm physiognomy, whether good
or ill fortune was attending his lordship.
Some word, not altogether indicative of delight, slipped rut
of 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 sec his cards, and that a whole covey of
truml)s was ranged in one corner. She had not taken away
his luck. She was pleased to think'she had cut that pack which




228


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


had dealt him   all those pretty trumps.   As Lord March was
dealing, he had said in a quict voice to Mr. Warrington, " The
bet as before, Mr. Warrington, or shall we double it? "
' Anything you like, my lord," said Mr. Warrington, very
quietly.
4c We will say, then -shillings."
" Yes, shillings," says Mr. Warrington, and the game proceeded.
The end of the day's, and some succeeding days' sport may
be gathered from the following letter, which was never delivered
to the person to whom it was addressed, but found its way to
America in the papers of IMr. Henry Warrington:"TJUNBRIDGE WELLS, August 10, 1756.
" DEAr 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 fresl
'haystacks. This will be delivered to you by a young gentleman with wlhom
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 tlhe
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 tle Pulli Advertiser and otler prints. lie has an
estate in Virginia as big as Yorkslire, with the incumbrance of a mother,
the reigning Sovereign; but, as tile country is unwholesome, and fevers
plentiful, let us liope tlat Mrs. Esmond will die soon, and leave tllis virtuous lad in undisturbed possession. Sle is aunt of tliat pofisson of a Castlewood, who never pays his play-debts, unless he is more honorable in ihis
dealings with you than he has been with me. Mr. W. is de bonne race.
We must have him of our society, if it be only that I may win my money
back from hili.
" He has had the devil's luck here, and has been winning everything,
whilst his old card-playing beldam of an aunt has been losing. A few nights
ago, when I first h1ad tlhe ill luck to make his acquaintance, he beat me in
jumping (having practised tle art amongst tlhe savages, and running away
from bears in his native woods); hle won bets of me and Jack Morris aboutt
my weight; and at night, wlen we sat down to play, at old Bernstein's,
he won from us all round. If you can settle our last Epsom account, please
hand over to Mr. Warrington 350/., which I still owe him, after pretty well
emptying my pocket-book. Chesterfield has dropped six hundred to hinl,
too; but lis lordship does not wish to have it known, having sworn to give
up play, and live cleanly. Jack Morris, wlho 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 BasIhan about his losses. We had a second night's play, en
pet/i conite, 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 tie whole place does, for us. Yesterday the Cattarina looked as sulky as thunder, because I would not give ler a diamond
necklace, and says I refuse her, because I have lost five tlousand to the
Virginian. My old l)uchess of Q. has the very sane story, besides knowing to a fraction what Chesterfield and Jack have lost.




THlE VIRGINIANS.


229


" Warrington treated the company to breakfast and music at the rooms;
and you should [lave seen how tle womlen tore huin to pieces. That fiend
of a Cattarina ogled llim out of ily vis-a-vis, and under nly very nose, yesterlay, as we were driving to Penslhurst, and I have no doubt lias sent him
a b/llet-dolx ere this. He shot Jack Morris all to pieces at a mark: we shal
try him with partridges when the season comes.
I-e is a fortunate fellow, certainly. lie llas youth (wliicli is not deboslled 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 nmnner; and, as I like him, and wish to win some of it back again, I
put him under your worship's saintly guardiansiip. Adieu! I am going
to the North, and shall be back for Doncaster.
"Yours ever, dear George,
" M. & R.
"To GEORGE AUGUSTUS SELWYN, Esq., at White's Chocolate House,
St. James's Street."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE WAY OF THE WORLD.
OUR young Virginian found himself, after two or three days
at Tunbridge Wells, by far the most important personage in
tlhat merry little watering-place.  No nobleman in the place
inspired so much curiosity.  My Lord Bishop of Salisbury himself was scarce treated with more respect. People turned round
to look after Harry as he passed, and country-folks stared at
him as they came into market. At the rooms, matrons encouraged him to come round to them, and found means to leave
him alone with their daughters, most of whom smiled upon him.
Everybody knew, to an acre and a shilling, the extent of his
Virginian property, and the amount of his income. At every
tea-table in the Wells, his winnings at play were told and calculated.  Wonderful is the knowledge which our neighbors
have of our affairs! So great was the interest and curiosity
which Harry inspired, that people even smiled upon his servant,
and took Gumbo aside and treated him with ale and cold meat,
in order to get news of the young Virginian.     Mr. Gumbo
fattened under the diet, became a leading member of the Society
of Valets in the place, and lied more enormously than ever.
No party was complete unless Mr. Warrington attended it.
The lad was not a little amused and astonished by this prosperity, and bore his new honors pretty well.  He had been bred




230


TIE VIRGINIANS.


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. H-le did not brag about his victories or give himself any particular airs. In engaging in play
with the gentlemen who challenged him, lie had acted up to his
queer code of honor. He felt as if he was bound to meet them
when they sumlnoned 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. I-He had a strong head, a skilful hand, a firm seat, an
unIlinching nerve. The representative of Old Virginia came off
very well in his friendly rivalry with the lmother-country.
Madame de Bernstein, who got her fill of cards every night,
and, no doubt, repaired the ill fortune of which we heard in the
last chapter, was delighted with her nephew's victories and
reputation. I-Ie had shot with Jack Morris and beat him: lie
had ridlen a niatcll with Mr. Scamper and won it. I-e played
tennis with Captain Batts, and, though the boy had never tried
the game before, in a few days he held his own uncommonly
well. Ie 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 lie could write as
well as a great number of men of fashion; and the naivete of
his ignorance amused tlle old lady. She had read books in her
time, and could talk very well about them with bookish people:
she had a relish for humor and (lelighted in Moliere and Mr.
Fielding, but she loved the world far better than the library,
and was never so interested in any novel but that she would
leave it for a game of cards. She superintended with fond
pleasure the improvements of Harry's toilette: rummaged out
fine laces for his ruffles and shirt, and found a pretty diamondbrooch for his frill. He attained the post of prime favorite of
all her nephews and kinsfolk. I fear Lady Maria was only too
well pleased at the lad's successes, and did not grudge him his
superiority over her brothers; but those gentlemen must have
quaked with fear and envy when they heard of Mr. Warrington's prodigious successes, and the advance which he had made
in their wealthy aunt's favor.
After a fortnight of Tunbridge, Mr. Harry had become quite
a personage. He knew all the good company in the place.
Was it his fault if he became acquainted witth e had likewise?
Was he very wrong in taking the world as he found it, and




._ I)
-- -;~c
i I
-i
- 'i


--------- ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~ i!!  -  I.4
z
0
a
t,
t4
cl


w     ~~ 2- 0t_ -. 
_  _   --- I:.ll l  --  \<r ~i~, a-m~~7 l....
-,....... I
*_ A_,  -;-.. -— ~~
If —:-::.at,,.,.  
Of. -..   -              _~~~~~~~~~~~~~
_        _'f' 








TIE VIRGINIANS.


2t31


drinking from that sweet sparkling pleasure-cup, which was
tilled for him to tile brim? The old aunt enjoyed his triumphs,
and for her part only bade him pursue his enjoyments. She
was not a rigorous old moralist, nor, perhaps, a very wholesome preceptress for youth. If the Cattarina wrote him billets(oux, I fear Aullt Bernstein would have bade him accept the
invitations: but the lad had brought with him from his colonial
home a stock of modesty which he still wore along with tlle
honest home-spun linen. Libertinism was rare in those thinlyl)opled regions from which he came. The vices of great cities
were scarce known or practised in the rough towns of the
Americanl Continent. Harry Warrington blushed like a girl at
the (Iaring talk of his new European associates: even Aunt
Bernstein's conversation and jokes astounded the young Virginian, so that the worldly old woman would call him Joseph,
or simpleton.
But, however innocent 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 Cattarina?  He had seen
my Lord March driving her about in his lordship's phaeton.
HIarry -thought there was no harm in giving her his arm, and
parading openly witl lher in the pubtlic walks.  She took a
fancy to a trinket at the toy-shop; and, as his pockets were full
of moneyi, lie was delighted to make her a present of the locket,
which she coveted. The next day it was a piece of lace: again
Iarry gratified ler.  Thle next day it was something else:
tlere was no end to Madam Cattarina's fancies: but here the
young gentleman stopped, turning off her request with a joke
and( a laugh. He was shrewd enough, and not reckless or
pirodigal, though generous. IHe had no idea of purchasing diamond drops for the petulant little lady's pretty ears.
But who was to give him credit for his modesty? Old Bernstein insisted upon believing that her nephew was playing Don
Juan's part, and supplanting my Lord March. She insisted
the more when poor Maria was by; loving to stab the tender
lieart of that spinster, and enjoying her niece's piteous silence
and discomfiture.
"Why, my dear," says the Baroness, "boys will be boys,
and I don't want Harry to be the first milksop in his family!"
The bread which Maria ate at her aunt's expense choked her
sometimes. 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




232


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


was entirely engage1d in that pursuit, Mr. Warrington scarcely
explcted( to see n mch of him, however much he liked that offierl's coiversation and society. It was different from the talk
ol' the rihal(l people round about Iarry.  Mr. Wolfe never
sl)oke of cards, or horses' pedigrees; or bragged of his performances in the hunting-field, or boasted of the favors of
wolmen; or retailed any of the innumerable scandals of the
time. It was not a good time. That old world was more
(lissoltte than ours. There was an old king with mistresses
openly in his train, to whom the great fblks of the land (lid
hlonor. There was a nobility, many of whom were mad and
reckless in the pursuit of l)leasure; 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 peol)le, and had found an old relative who
lived in the very midst of the rout.
Halrr then did not remark how Colonel Wolfe avoided him,
or when they casually met, at first notice the Colonel's cold and
altered demeanor. He did not know the stories that were told
of him. Who does know the stories that are told of him? Who
makes them? Who are the fathers of those wondrous lies?
Poor Harry dlid not know the reputation he was getting; and
that, whilst he was riding his horse and playing his game and
taking llis frolic, lie was passing amongst many respectable
persons for being the most abandoned and profligate and godless of young men.
Alas, and alas! to think that the lad whom we liked so, and
who was so gentle and quiet when with us, so simple and so
easily pleased, should be a hardened profligate, a spendthrift,
a confirmed gamester, a frequenter of abandoned women!
These stories came to worthy Colonel Lambert at Oakhurst:
first one bad story, then another, then crowds of them, till the
good man's kind heart was quite filled with grief and care, so
that his family saw that something annoyed him. At first le
would not speak on the matter at all, and put aside the wife's
fond queries. Mrs. Lambert thought a great misfortune had
happened; that her husband had been ruined; tlat 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
tile cross-examination of the conjugal pillow? Lambert was
obliged to tell a part of what lie knew alout Harry Warrington.
The wife was as mluch grieved and amazed as her husband had
been.  Frolm  papa's an1d mamma's bedroom the grief, after




THE VIRGINIANS.


233


being stifled for a while under the bed-pillows there, came
down stairs. Theo and Hester took the complaint after their
parents, and had it very bad. O kind little wounded hearts!
At first Hester turned red, flew into a great passion, clenched
her little fists, and vowed she would not believe a word of the
wicked stories; but she ended by believing them.  Scandal
almost always does master people: especially good and innocent people. Oh, the serpent they had nursed by their lire!
Oh, the wretched, wretched boy!  To think of his walking
about with that horrible painted Frenchwoman, and giving her
diamond necklaces, and parading his shame before all the society at the Wells! The three ladies having cried over the
story, and the father being deeply moved by it, took the parson
into their confidence.  In vain he preached at church next
Sunday his favorite sermon about scandal, and inveighed against
our propensity to think evil. We repent; we )promisc to do so
no more; but when the next bad story comes about our neighbor 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 I1irn, and
was pursuing a very idle and pleasant, if unprofitable, life, without having the least notion of the hubbub he was creating, and
the dreadful repute in which he was held by many good men.
Coming out from a match at tennis with Mr. Batts, an(d pleased
with his play and all the world, Iarry overtook Colonel Wolfe,
who had been on one of his visits to the lady of his heart.
HIarry 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 remaining behind to talk with
his friend of Westerham. Mr. Wolfe walked by him for a
while, very erect, silent, and cold.
"I have not seen you these many days," says Harry.
"You have had other companions," remarks Mr. Wolfe,
curtly.
"But I had rather be with you than any of them," cries the
young man.
"Indeed I might be better company for you than some of
them." says the other.
" Is it Captain Batts you mean?" asked Harry.
' He is no favorite of mine, I own; he bore a rascally repu



234


THE VIRGINIANS.


tation 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.
"Friend! he is no friend: he only teaches me to play
tennis: he is hand-in-glove with my lord, and all the people of
fashion here who play."
"I am not a man of fashion," says Mr. Wolfe.
" My dear Colonel, what is the matter? Iave I angered
you in any way? You speak almost as if I had, and I am not
conscious of having done anything to forfeit your regard," said
Mr. Warrington.
" I will be fiee with you, Mr. Warrington," said the Colonel,
gravely, " and tell you with frankness that I don't like some of
your friends."
" Why, sure, they are men of the first rank and fashion in
England," cries Harry, not choosing to be offended with his
companion's bluntness.
" Exactly! They are men of too high rank and too great 
fashion for a hard-working poor soldier like me; and if' you
continue to live with such, believe me, you will find numbers of
us humdrum people can't afford to keep such company. I am
here, Mr. Warrington, paying my addresses to an honorable
lady. I met you yesterday openly walking with a French
ballet-dancer, and you took off your hat. I must frankly tell
you that I had rather you would not take off your hat when you
go out in such company.."
"Sir," said Mr. Warrington, growing very red, " do you
mean that I am to forego the honor of Colonel Wolfe's acquaintance altogether?"
" I certainly shall request you to do so when you are in company with that person," said Colonel Wolfe, angrily; but he
used a word not to be written at present, though Shakspeare
puts it in the mouth of Othello.
"Great heavens! what a shame it is to speak so of any
woman!" cries Mr. Warrington.   "I-low dare any man say
that that poor creature is not honest? "
"You ought to know best, sir," says the other, looking
at Harry with some surprise, " or the world belies you very
much."
"What ought I to know best?  I see a poor little French
dancer who is come hither with her mother, and is ordered by
the doctors to drink the waters. I know that a person of my
ralnk in life does not ordinarily keep company with people of




TIE VIRGINIANS.


235


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 ought to be equal? Why should 1 not give this
little unprotected woman my arm? there are scarce half a dozen
l)eople 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 walkilng
with her, by George! he may leave it alone," cried HIarry,
flushing up.
"You don't mean to say," says Mr. Wolfe, eying him,
"that you don't know the woman's character?"
" Of course, sir, she is a dancer, and, I suppose, no better
or worse than her neighbors. But I mean to say that, had she
been a duchess, or your grandmother, I couldn't have respected
her more."
" You don't mean to say that you did not win her at dice,
from Lord March."
" At what!
" At dice, fiom Lord March. Everybody knows the story.
Not a person at the Wells is ignorant of it. I heard it but
now, in the company of that good old Mr. Richardson, and the
ladies were saying that you would be a character for a colonial
Lovelace."
" What on earth else have they said about me?." asked
Harry Warrington; and such stories as he knew the Colonel
told. The most alarming accounts of his OWn wickedness and
profligacy were laid before him. He was a corrupter of virtue,
an habitual drunkard and gamester, a notorious bllasl)hemer and
freethinker, a fitting companion for my Lord March, finally,
and the company into wlose society lie had fallen. "I tell
you these things," said Mr. Wolfe, " because it is fair that you
should know what is said of you, and because I do heartily
believe, from your manner of meeting the last charge brought
against you, that you are innocent on most of the other counts.
I feel, Mr. Warrington, that I, for one, have been doing you
a wrong; and sincerely ask you to lardon me."
Of course, Harry was eager to accept his friend's apology,
and they slook hands witl sincere cordiality this.time. In
respect of most of the charges brought against him, Harry
relbutted them easily enough: as for the play, he owned to it.
lie thought that a gentleman should not refuse a fair cllallenge
fiomt other gentlemen, if' his means allowed hlimn: and lie never
would play beyond his means. After winning considerably at
first, lie could afford to )lay large stakes, for he was playing
>




236


THE VIRGINIANS.


with other people's money. Play, he thought, was fair, -it
certainly was pleasant. Why, did not all England, except the
Methodists, play? Had lie not seen the best company at the
Wells over the cards - his aunt amongst them?
Mr. Wolfe made no immediate comment upon Harry's opiIlion
as to the persons who formed the best company at the Wells,
but he frankly talked with the young man, whose own franlkness
had won him, and warned him that the life he was leading might
be the pleasantest, but surely was not the most prolitablle of
'lives.  " It can't be, sir," said the Colonel, " that a man is to
pass his days at horse-racing and tennis, and his nights carousing or at cards. Sure every man was made to (lo some work;
and a gentleman, if he has none, must make some. Do you
know the laws of your country, Mr. Warrington?  Being a
great proprietor, you will doubtless one day be a magistrate at
home. Have you travelled over the country, and made yourself acquainted with its trades and manufactures? These are
fit things for a gentleman to study, and may occupy him as well
as a cock-fight or a cricket-match. Do you know anything of
our profession? That, at least, you will allow is a noble one,
and, believe me, there is plenty in it to learn, and slited, I
should think, to you. 1 speak of it rather than of books and
the learned professions, because, as far as I can judge, your
genius does not lie that way. But honor is the aim of lifc," cried
Mr. Wolfc, " and every man can serve his country one way or
the other. Be sure, sir, that idle bread is the most dangerous
of all that is eaten; that cards and pleasure may be-taken by
way of pastime after work, but not instead of work, and all 1day.
And do you know, Mr. Warrington, instead of being the Fortunate Youth, as all the world calls you, I think you are rather
Warrington the Unlucky, for you are followed by daily idleness,
daily flattery, daily temptation, and the Lord, I say, send you
a good deliverance out of your good fortune."
Harry did not like to tell his aunt that afternoon why it was
he looked so grave. He thought he would not drink, but there
were some jolly fellows at the ordinary who passed the bottle
round; and he meant not to play in the evening, but a fourth
was wanted at his aunlt's table, and how could hle resist?  He
was the old lady's lartner several times during the night, and
lie had Somebody's own luck to be sure; and once more lie saw
the dawn, and feasted on chickens and champagne at sunrise.




THE VIRGINIANS.


237


CHAPTER XXIX.
IN WHICH HARRY CONTINUES TO ENJOY OTIUM SINE DIGNITATE.
WIILST there were card-players enough to meet her at her
lodgings and the assembly-rooms, Madare de Bernstein remained l)retty contentedll at the Wells, scolding her niece, and
playing her rubl)er. At Harry's age almost all places are pleasant, where you can have lively company, fresh air, and your
slare of sport and diversion. Even all pleasure is pleasant at
twenty. We go out to meet it with alacrity, speculate upon its
coming, and when its visit is announced, count the days until
it and we shall come together. How very gently and coolly
we regard it towards the close of Life's long season! Madam,
don't you recollect your first ball; and does not your memory
stray towards that happy past, sometimes, as you sit ornamenting the wall whilst your daughters are dancing?  I, for my
part, can remember when I thought it was delightful to walk
three miles and back in the country to dine with old Captain
Jones. Fancy liking to walk three miles, now, to dine with
Jones and drink his half-pay port! No doubt it was bought
from the little country-town wine-merchant, and cost but a
small sum; but 'twas offered with a kindly welcome, and youth
gave it a flavor which no age of wine or man can impart to it
now-a-days.  Vixinmus nuper. I am not disposed to look so
severely upon young I-arry's conduct and idleness, as his
friend the stern Colonel of the Twentieth Regiment. O blessed
Idleness! Divine lazy Nymph! Reach me a novel as I lie in
my dressing-gown at three o'clock in the afternoon; compound
a sherry-cobbler for me, and bring me a cigar!  Dear slatternly, smiling Enchantress! They may assail thee with bad
names - swear thy character away, and call thee the Mother
of Evil; but, for all that, thou art the best company in the
world!
My Lord of March went away to the North; and my Lord
Chesterfield, finding the Tnnbridge waters did no good to his
deafness, returned to his solitude at Blackheath; but other
gentlemen remained to sport and take their pleasure, and Mr.
VWarrington had quite enough of complanions at his ordinary at
the " White Horse."  He soon learned to order a French dinner as well as the best man of fashion out of St. James's; could




238


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


talk to Monsieur Barbeau, in Monsieur B.'s native language,
lImuchl more fluently than most other folks, -discovered a very
elegant and decided taste in wines, and could distinguish between Clos Vougeot and Romande with remarkable skill. He
wtas tlhe young King of the Wells, of which the general fiequenters  e were easy-going ien of the world, who were by no
means shocked at that reputation for gallantry and extravagalnee which Harry had got, and which had so frightened Mr.
Wolf!e.
Though our Virginian lived amongst the revellers, and swam
and sported in the same waters with the loose fish, the boy had
a natural shrewdness and honesty which kept him clear' of the
sIiares and baits which are commonly set for the unwary. IHe
madie very few foolish bets with the jolly idle fellows round
about him, and the oldest hands found it difficult to take him
in. IHe engaged in games out-doors and in, because lie had
a natural skill and aptitude for them, and was good to hold
almost any match with any fair competitor. He was serul)ulous
to )play only with those gentlemen whom lie knew, and always
to settle his own debts on the spot.  lIe would have ma(le but
a very l)oor figure at a college examination; though lie possesseld prudence and fidelity, keen, shrewd perception, great
generosity, and dauntless personal courage.
And he was not without occasions for showing of wlat stuff
he was made. For instance, when that unhappy little Cattarina,
whlo had brlought imn into so much trouble, carried her importlnities beyond.the mark at which I-arry thougllt his generosity
sllotld stop; lie withdrew fiom the advances of the OperaIouse siren with perfect coolness and skill, leaving her to exercise her blan(lishmlents upon some more easy victim. In vain
tlie mermaid's hysterical mother waite(l upon 1Iarry, and vowed
that a crulel bailiff had seized all her daughter's goods for debt,
annd that her venerable father was at present languishing in a
London gaol. Ilarry declared that between himself andt the
bailiff there could be no (lealings, and tliat lecause lie had had
the good fortune to become known to Mademoiselle Cattarina,
and to gratilfy her calrices res l renting iher with various
trinkets and knick-knacks for which shle had a fancy, lie was not
bound to pay the past debts of hler family, and must decline
being bail for her papa in London, or settling lher outstanding
accounts at Tunbridge. The Cattarina's mother first called
him a monster and an ing(rate, and then asked him with a
veteran smirk, why lie (lid not take pay lor the services lie had
ren(dered to the young person? At lirst, Mr. Warrington could
0                   ~~~~~~0




THE VIRGINIANS.


239


not understand what tile nature of tle payment might be: but
when that matter was explainied by tile old woman, the simple
lad rose up il hiorror, to think that a wollanll shold traffic in
her child's dishonor, told tier that lie came from a country
where the velr savages would recoil from such a bargain; and,
having bowed the old lady ceremoniously to the door, ordered
Gumlbo to mark her well, and never admit her to his lodginlgs
again. No doubt she retired breathingl vengeance against the
Iroquois: no Turk or Persian, she declared, would treat a lady
so: and she and her dalughter retreated to London as soon as
their anxious landlord would let them. Then Harry had his
perils of gaming, as well as his perils of gallantry. A man
wlho plays at bowls, as the phrase is, must expect to lneet wit
rubbers. After (linner at the ordinary, having declined to play
piquet any further with Captain Batts, and being roughly
asked his reason for refusiug, Harry fairly told the Captain
that lie only played witll gentlemen who paid, like himlself:
but expressed himlself so ready to satisfy Mr. Batts, as soon as
their outstanding little account was settled, tliat the Captain
declared himself satisfied d'avance, and straightway left the
Wells without paying Iarry or any other creditor. Also lhe
had an occasion to show his spirit by beating a chairman wh1o
was rude to old Miss WhlitHer one evening as she was going to
the assembly: and finding that the 'alulnny regarding himself
and that unlucky opera-dancer was repeated by Mr. Hector
Buckler, one of the fiercest fiequenters of the Wells, Mr.
Warrington stepped up to Mr. Buckler in the pump-rooml,
where the latter was regaling a number of water-dlrinkers witli
the very calumnny, and publicly informed Mr. Buckler tlat the
story was a falsehood, and that he should hold any perlson
accountable to himself who henceforth uttered it.  So tllht
though our friend, being at Rome, certainly did as Romle did,
yet he showed himself to be a valorous and worthy Romanl;
and, hurlant avec les loups, was acknowledged by Mr. W'olfl
himself to be as brave as the best of the wolves.
If that officer had told Colonel Lambert the stories which
had given the latter so much pain, we may be sure tlat 1whel
Mr. Wolfe found his young friend was innocent, lie took time
first opportunity to withdraw the odious charges against him.
And there was joy among the Lamberts, in consequence of the
lad's acquittal - something, (oubtless, of that pleasure, whlich
is felt by higher natures tianl ours, at the recovery of sinners.
Never had the little family been so happ1y - no, not even when
they got the news of Brother Tom winning his scholarship - as




240


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


when Colonel Wolfe rode over with the account of tlhe conversation which he had with Harry Warringtou. " Hadst thou
brought me a regiment, James, I think I should not have been
better pleased," said Mr. Lambert. Mrs. Lambert called to
her daughters who were in the garden, and kissed them  both
when they came in, and cried out the good news to them.
Hetty junlped for joy, and Theo performed some uncommonly
brilliant operations upon the harpsichord that niight; and wheli
Dr. Boyle came in for his backgammon, he could not, at first,
account for the illumination in all their faces, until tile three
ladies, in a hapl)y chorus, told him how right he had been il
his sermon, and how dreadfully they had wronged that poor
dear, good young Mr. Warrington.
"What shall we do, my dear?" says the Colonel to his wife.
"The hay is in, the corn won't be cut for a fortnight, - tile
horses have nothing to (lo. Suppose we..." And here he
leans over the table and whispers il her ear.
" My (learest Martin! The very thing! " cries Mrs. Lambert, taking her husband's hand and pressing it.
"What's the very tiling, lother?" cries young Charley,
who is home for his Bartlemytide holidays.
"The very thing is to go to supper. Come, Doctor! We
will have a bottle of wine to-night, and drink repentance to
all who think evil."
Amen," says the Doctor; "with all my heart!" And
with this the worthy family went to their supper.
CHAPTER XXX.
CONTAINS A LETTER TO VIRGINIA.
HAVING repaired one day to his accustomed dinner at the
"White Horse" ordinary, Mr. Warrington was pleased to see
amongst the faces round the table the jolly good-looking countenance of Parson Sampson, who was regaling the company,
when Henry entered, with stories and bons mots, which kept theln
in roars of laughter. Though lie had not been in London for
some months, the Parson had the latest London news, or wlat
passed for such with the folks at the ordinary: what was doing
in the King's liouse at Kensington; and what in the Duke's in
Pall Mall: how Mr. Byng was behaving in prison, and who




THE VIRGINIANS.


241


came to him: what were the odds at Newmarket, and who was
the last reigning toast in Covent Garden; -the jolly Chaplain
could give the company news upon all these points, -'news
that might not be very accurate indeed, but was as good as if
it were for the country gentlemen who heard it. For suppose
that my Lord Viscount Squanderfield was ruining himself for
Mrs. Polly, and Sampson called her Mrs. Lucy? that it was
Lady Jane who was in love with the actor, and not Lady Mary?
that it was Harry Hilton, of the Horse Grenadiers, who had
the quarrel with Chevalier Solingen, at Marybone Garden, and
not Tommy Ruffler, of the Foot Guards? The names and
(ates did not matter much. Provided the stories were lively
and wicked, their correctness was of no great importance; and
Mr. Sampson laughed and chattered away amongst his country
gentlemen, charmed them with his spirits and talk, and drank
his share of one bottle after another, for which his delighted
auditory persisted in calling. A hundred years ago, the Abbe
Parson, the clergyman who frequented the theatre, the tavern,
the race-course, the world of fashion, was no uncommon character in English society; his voice might be heard the loudest in
the hunting-field: lie could sing the jolliest song at the " Rose"
or the "Bedford IHead," after the play was over at Covent
Garden, and could call a main as well as any at the gamingtable.
It may have been modesty, or it may have been claret,
which caused his reverence's rosy face to redden deeper, but
when he saw Mr. Warrington enter, he whispered "Maxima
debetur" to the laughing country squire who sat next him
in his drab coat and gold-laced red waistcoat, and rose up
from his chair and ran - nay, stumbled forward - in his haste
to greet the Virginian: ' My dear sir, my very dear sir, my
conqueror of spades, and clubs, and hearts too, I am delighted
to see your honor looking so fresh and well," cries the Chaplain.
Harry returned the clergyman's greeting with great pleasure:
he was glad to see Mr. Sampson; he could also justly compliment his reverence upon his cheerful looks and rosy gills.
The squire in the drab coat knew Mr. Warrington; he made
a place beside himself; he called out to the parson to return to
his seat on the other side, and to continue his story about Lord
Ogle and the grocer's wife in —, where he did not say, for
his sentence was interrupted by a shout and an oath addressed
to the parson for treading on his gouty toe.
The Chaplain asked pardon, hurriedly turned round to Mr,
e%      -~16




242


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


Warrington, and informed him, and the rest of the company
indeed, that my Lord Castlewood sent his affectionate remembrances to his cousin, and had given special orders to him
(Mr. Sampson) to come to Tunbridge Wells and look after the
young gentleman's morals; that my Lady Viscountess and my
Lady Fanny were gone to Harrogate for the waters; that Mr.
Will had won his money at Newmarket, and was going on a
visit to my Lord Duke; that Molly the housemaid was crying
her eyes out about Gumbo, Mr. Warrington's valet;- in fine,
all the news of Castlewood and its neighborhood. Mr. Warrington was beloved by all the country round, Mr. Sampson told
the company, managing to introduce the names of some persons
of the very highest rank into his discourse. "All Hampshire
had heard of his successes at Tunbridge, successes of every
kind," says Mr. Sampson, looking particularly arch; my lord
hoped, their ladyships hoped, Harry would not be spoilt for his
quiet Hampshire home.
The guests dropped off one by one, leaving the young Virginian to his bottle of wine and the Chaplain.
"Though I have had plenty," says the jolly Chaplain, " that
is no reason why I should not have plenty more," and lie drank
toast after toast, and bumper after bumper, to the amusement
of Harry, who always enjoyed his society.
By the time when Sampson had had his "plenty more,"
Harry, too, was become specially generous, warm-hearted, and
friendly. A lodging? - why should Mr. Sampson go to the expense of an inn, when there was a room at Harry's quarters?
The Chaplain's trunk was ordered thither, Gumbo was bidden
to make Mr. Sampson comfortable -most comfortable; nothing would satisfy Mr. Warrington but that Sampson should go
down to his stables and see his horses: he had several horses
now; and when at the stable Sampson recognized his own horse,
which Harry had won from him; and the fond beast whinnied
with pleasure, and rubbed his nose against his old master's coat.
Harry rapped out a brisk energetic expression or two, and
vowed by Jupiter that Sampson should have his old horse back
again: he would give him to Sampson, that he would; a gift
which the Chaplain accepted by seizing Harry's hand, and
blessing him,-by flinging his arms round the horse's neck,
and weeping for joy there, weeping tears of Bordeaux and gratitude. Arm-in-arm the friends walked to Madame Bernstein's
from the stable, of which they brought the odors into her ladyship's apartment. Their flushed cheeks and brightened eyes
showed what their amusement had been. Many gentlemen's.




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


243


cheeks were in the habit of flushing in those days, and.from the
same cause.
Madame Bernstein received her nephew's chaplain kindly
enough. The old lady relished Sampson's broad jokes and
rattling talk from time to time, as she liked a highly spiced dish
or a new entree composed by her cook, upon its two or three
first appearances. The only amusement of which she did not
grow tired, she owned, was cards. "The cards don't cheat,"
she used to say. " A bad hand tells you the truth to your face:
and there is nothing so flattering in the world as a good suite
of trumps." And when she was in a good humor, and sitting
down to her favorite pastime, she would laughingly bid her
nephew's cllaplain say grace before the meal. Honest Sampson
did not at first care to take a hand at Tunbridge Wells. Her
ladyship's play was too high for him, he would own, slapping
Ils pocket with a comical piteous look, and its contents had
already been handed over to the fortunate youth at Castlewood.
Like most persons of her age and indeed her sex, Madame
Bernstein was not prodigal of money. I suppose it must have
been from Harry Warrington, whose heart was overflowing with
generosity as his purse with guineas, that the Chaplain procured
a small stock of ready coin, with which he was presently enabled
to appear at the card-table.
Our young gentleman welcomed Mr. Sampson to his coin, as
to all the rest of the good things which he had gathered about
him. 'Twas surprising how quickly the young Virginian adapted
himself to the habits of life of the folks amongst whom he lived.
His suits were still black, but of the finest cut and quality.
"With a star and ribbon, and his stocking down, and his hair
over his shoulder, he would make a pretty Hamlet," said the
gay old Duchess Queensberry. " And I make no doubt he has
been the death of a dozen Ophelias already, here and amongst
the Indians," she added, thinking not at all the worse of Harry
for his supposed successes among the fair. Harry's lace and
linen were as fine as his aunt could desire. He purchased fine
shaving-plate of the toy-shop women, and a couple of magnificent brocade bed-gowns, in which his worship lolled at ease, 
and sipped his chocolate of a morning. He had swords and 
walking-canes, and French watches with painted backs and
diamond settings, and snuff-boxes enamelled by artists of the
same cunning nation. He had a levee of grooms, jockeys, 
tradesmen, daily waiting in his ante-room, and admitted one by. 
one to him and Parson Sampson, over his chocolate, by Gumbo 
the groom of the chambers. We have no account of the num



244


THE VIRGINIANS.


her of men whom Mr. Gumbo now had under him. Certain it
is that no single negro could have taken care of all thle fine
things which Mr. Warrington now possessed, let alone the
horses and the post-chaise which his honor had bought. Also
Harry instructed himself in the arts which became a gentleman
in those (ays. A French fencing-master, and a dancing-lmaster of tle same nation, resided at Tunbridge during that season
when larry made his appearance: these men of science tle
young Virginian sedulously frequented, and acquired consider.
able skill and grace in the peaceful and warlike accomplishments
which they taught. Ere many weeks were over he could handle
the foils against his master or any frequenter of the fencingschool,- and, with a sigh, Lady Maria (who danced very elegantly herself) owned that there was no gentleman at Court
who could walk a minuet more gracefully than Mr. Warrington.
As for riding, though Mr. Warrington took a few lessons on the
great horse from a riding-master who came to Tunbridge, he
declared that their own Virginian manner was well enough for
him, and that lie saw no one amongst the fine folks and the
jockeys who could ride better than his friend Colonel George
Waishington of Mount Vernon.
Tlle obsequious Sampson found himself in better quarters
than lie had enjoyed for ever so long a time. He knew a great
deal of the world, and told a great deal more, and Harry was
delighted with his stories, real or fancied. The man of twenty
looks up to the man of thirty, admires the latter's old jokes,
stale puns, and tarnished anecdotes, that are slopped with the
wine of a hundred dinner-tables. Sampson's town and college
pleasantries were all new and charming to the young Virginian.
A hundred years ago, - no doubt there are no such people left
in the world now, - there used to be grown men in London
who loved to consort with fashionable youths entering life; to
tickle their young fancies with merry stories; to act as Covent
Garden Mentors and masters of ceremonies at the Roundhouse; to accompany lads to the gaming-table, and perhaps
have an understanding with the punters; to drink lemonade to
Master Hopeful's Burgundy, and to stagger into the streets
with perfectly cool heads when my young lord reeled out to
beat the watch. Of this, no doubt extinct race, Mr. Sampson
was a specimen: and a great comfort it is to think (to those
who choose to believe the statement) that in Queen Victoria's
reign there are no flatterers left, such as existed in the reign of
her royal great-grandfather, no parasites pandering to the follies
of young men; in fact, that all the toads have been eaten off




THE VIRGINIANS.


245


the face of the islar,, (except one or two that are found in
stones, where they I:nve lain perdus these hundred years,) and
the toad-eaters have perished for lack of nourishment.
With some sauce, as r read, the above-mentioned animals
are said to be exceedingly fragrant, wholesome, and savory
eating. Indeed, no man could look more rosy and healthy, or
flourish more cheerfuilly, than friend Sampson upon the diet.
He became our young friend's confidential leader, and, fiom
the following letter, which is preserved in the Warrington c(rrespondence, it will be seen that Mr. Harry not only had dancing and fencing-masters, but likewise a tutor, chaplain, and
secretary: -
" TO MRS. ESMOND WARRINGTON, OF CASTLEWOOD,
"AT HER HOUSE AT RICHMOND; VIRGINIA.
"MRS. BLIGII'S LODGINGS, PANTILES, TUNBRIDGE WELLS,
August 25th, 1756.
" HONORED MADAM, - Your honored letter of 20 June, per Mr. Trail of
Bristol, has been forwarded to me duly, and I have to thank your goodness
and kindness for the good advice which you are pleased to give me, as also
for the remembrances of dear home, wlich I shall love never tile worse for
having been to the home of our ancestors in England.
"I writ you a letter by the last monthly packet, informing my honored
mother of tile little accident I hiad on the road hither, and of tile kind friends
who I found and whom took me in. Since then I have been profiting of
the fine weather and the good company here, and have made many friends
among our nobility, whose acquaintance I am sure you will not be sorry
that I should make. Among their lordships I may mention tile famous
Earl of Chesterfield, late Ambassador to Holland, and Viceroy of the Kingdonl of Ireland; the Earl df March and Ruglen, who will be Iuke of Queensberry at the death of his Grace; and her Grace tile Duchess, a celebrated
beauty of the Queen's time, when she remembers my grandpapa at Court.
These and many more persons of the first fashion attend my aunt's assemblies, which are the most crowded at this crowded place. Also on my way
hither I stayed at Westerham, at the house of an officer, Lieut.-Gen. Wolfe,
who served with my grandfather and General Webb in the famous wars of
the Duke of Marlborough. Mr. Wolfe has a son, Lieut.-Col. James Wolfe,
engaged to be married to a beautiful lady now in this place, Miss Lowther
of the North- and though but 30 years old he is looked up to as much as
any officer in the whole army, and hath served with honor under his Royal
Highness the Duke wherever our arms have been employed.
" I thank my honored mother for announcing to me that a quarter's
allowance of ~52.10 will be paid me by Mr. Trail. I am in no present
want of cash, and by practising a rigid economy, which will be necessary
(as I do not disguise) for the maintenance of horses, Gumbo, and tihe
equipage and apparel requisite for a young gentleman of good familby, hope to
be able to maintain my credit witliout unduly trespassing upon yours. The
linnen and clothes which I brought with mnewill with due care last for some
years -as you say. 'Tis not quite so fine as worn here by persons of
fashion, and I mayhave to purchase a few very fine shirts for great days:
but those I have are excellent for daily wear.




246


THE VIRGINIANS.


" I am thankful that I have been quite without occasion to use your excellent family pills. Gumbo hath taken them with great benefit, who
grows fat and saucy upon English beef, ale, and air. He sends his hulmble
duty to his mistress, and prays Mrs. Mountain to remember hilm to all his
fellow-servants, especially Dinah and Lily, for whom lie has bought poseyrings at Tunbridge Fair.
" Besides partaking of all the pleasures of the place, I hope my lonored
mother will believe that I have not been unmindful of my education. I lave
had masters in fencing and dancing, and my Lord Castlewood's chaplain,
the Reverend Mr. Sampson, having come hither to drink the waters, has
been so good as to take a vacant room at my lodging. Mr. S. breakfasts
with me, and we read together of a morning - lie saying that I am not quite
such a dunce as I used to appear at home. We have read in Mr. Rapin's
History, l)r. Barrow's Sermons, and for amusement, Slakspeare, Mr. Pope's
Homer, and (in French) the translation of an Arabian Work of Tales, very
diverting. Several men of letarninq have been staying here besides the persons of fashion; and amongst the former was Mr. Richardson, the autior
of the famous books which you and Mountain and my dearest brother used
-to love so. He was pleased hwlen I told him that his works were in your
closet in Virginia, anl begged mIe to convey his respectful compli)ments to
my lady mother. Mr. R. is a short fat man, with little of thejire of yeJlius
visible in his eye or person.
"My aunt and my cousin, the Lady Maria, desire their affectionate
compliments to you, and with best regards for Mountain, to whomi I enclose a note, I am,
" Honored Madam, your dutiful Son,
" H. ESMOND WARRINGTON."
Note in Madam Esmond's Htandwriting.
"From my son. Received October 15 at Richmond. Sent 16 jars preserved peaches, 224 Ibs. best tobacco, 24 finest hams, per 'Royal Willianm'
of Liverpool, 8 jars peaches, 12 hams for my nephew, the Rt. lonorable
the Earl of Castlewood. 4 jars, 6 hams for the Baroness Bernstein, ditto
ditto for Mrs. Lambert of Oakhurst, Surrey, antl 4 cwt. tobacco. Packet
of Infallible Family Pills for Gumbo. Mv Papa's large silver-gilt shoebuckles for H., and red silver-laced saddle-cloth."
II. (enclosed in No. I.)
"For Mrs. Mountain.
"What do you mien, you silly old Mountain, by sending an order for
your poor old divadends dew at Xmas? I'd have you to know I don't want
your ~7.10, and have toar your order up into 1000 bitts. I've plenty of money.
But I'm ableaged to you all same. A kiss to Fanny from
"Your loving
" HARRY."
Note in Madam Esmond's Handwriting.
"This note, which I desired M. to show to me, proves that she hath a good
heart, and that she wished to show her gratitude to the family, by giving tip
her half-yearly divd. (on 5001. 3 per ct.) to my boy. Hiwce I reprimanded
her very slightly for daring to send money to Mr. E. Watrrington, unknown
to his mother. Note to Mountain not so well spelt as letter to me.
"Mem. to write to Revd. Mr. Sampson desire to know what theolo..
books he reads with H. Recommend Law, Baxter, Drelincourt. - Request
H. to say his catechism to Mr. S., which he has never quite been able to
master. By next ship peaches (3), tobacco J cwt. Hams for Mr. S."




THE VIRGINIANS.


247


The mother of the Virginians and her sons have long long since
passed away. So how are we to account for the fact,'that of a
couple of letters sent under one enclosure and by one packet,
one should be well spelt, and tle other not entirely orthographical?  Had Harry found some wonderful instructor, such
as exists in the present lucky times, and who would improve
his writing in six lessons? My view of the case, after deliberately examining the two notes, is this: No. 1, in which there
appears a trifling grammatical slip (" the kind friends who I
found and whom took me in,") must have been re-written from
a rough copy which had probably undergone the supervision of
a tutor or friend. The more artless composition, No. 2, was
not referred to the scholar wlo prepared No. 1 for tlhe maternal
eye, and to whose corrections of " who" and "whom" Mr.
Warrington did not pay very close attention. Who knows how
he may have been disturbed? A pretty milliner may have attracte(l Harry's attention out of window -a dancing bear with
pipe and tabor may have passed along the common - a jockey
come under his windows to show off a horse there? There are
some days when any of us may be ungrammatical and spell ill.
Finally, suppose IHarry did not care to spell so elegantly for
Mrs. Mountain as for his lady-mother, what affair is that of the
present biographer, century, reader?  And as for your objection that Mr. Warrington, in the above communication to his
mother, showed some little hypocrisy and reticence in his dealings with that venerable person, I dare say, young folks, you
in your time have written more than one prim letter to your
papas and mammas in which not quite all the transactions of
your lives were narrated, or if narrated, were exhibited in the
most favorable light for yourselves -I dare say, old folks!
you, in your time, were not altogether more candid. There
must be a certain distance between me and my son Jacky.
There must be a respectful, an amiable, a virtuous hypocrisy
between us. I (do not in the least wish that lhe should treat me
as his equal, that he should contradict me, take my arm-chair,
read the newspaper first at breakfast, ask unlimited friends to
line when I have a party of my own, and so forth. No; where
there is not equality, there must be hypocrisy. Continue to be
blind to my faults; to hush still as mice when I fall asleep after
dinner; to laugh at my old jokes; to admire my sayings; to
be astonished at the impudence of those unbelieving reviewers;
to be dear filial humbugs, O my children! In my castle I am
king. Let all my royal household back before me. 'Tis not
their natural way of walking, I know: but a decorous, becom



248


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


ing, and modest behavior highly agreeable to me. Away from
me they may (to, nay, they do do, what they like. 'They may
jump, skip, dance, trot, tumble over head and heels, and kick
about freely, when they are out of the presence of my majesty.
Do not then, my (lear young friends, be surprised at your
nother and aunt when they cry out, " Oh, it was highly inmoral and improper of Mr. Warrington to be writing home
humdrum demure letters to his dear mamma, when he was
playing all sorts of melrry lranks!" - but drop a curtsy, and
say, " Yes, dear grandmamma, (or aunt, as may be,) it was
very wrong of him: and I suppose you never had your fun
when you were young." Of course, she didn't. And the sun
never shone, and the blossoms never budded, and the blood
never danced, and the fiddles never sang, in her spring-time.
Eha, Babet! mon larit de poule et mon bonnet de nuit! -lo, Betty!
my gruel and my slippers! And go, ye frisky, merry little
souls! and dance, and have your merry little supper of cakes
and ale!
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE BEAR AND THE LEADER.
OUR candid readers know thle real state of the case regarding Harry Warrington and that luckless Cattarina; but a number of the old ladies at Tunbridge Wells suplosed the Virginian
to be as dissipated as any young English nobleman of the highest quality, and Madame de Bernstein was especially incred(ulous about her nephew's innocence. It was the old lady's firm
belief that Harry was leading not only a merry life but a wicked
one, and her wish was father to the thought that the lad might
be no better than his neighbors. An old Roman herself, she
liked her nephew to do as Rome did. All the scandal regarding Mr. Warrington's Lovelace adventures she eagerly and
complacently accepted. We have seen how, on one or two
occasions, he gave tea and music to the company at the Wells;
and lie was so gallant and amiable to the ladies (to ladies of a
much better figure and character than the unfortunate Cattarina), that Madame Bernstein ceased to be disquieted regarding the silly love affair which had had a commencement at
Castlewood, and relaxed in her vigilance over Lady Maria.
Some folks - many old folks - are too selfish to interest them



THE VIRGINIANS.


249


selves long about the affairs of tleir neighbors. The Baroness
had her trumps to tllink of, her dinneis, her twinges of rheumatism: and hler suspicions regarding Maria and Harry, lately
so lively, now dozed, and kept a careless, unobservant watch.
She may have thought that the danger was over, or she may
have ceased to care whether it existed or not, or tlat artful
Maria, by her conduct, may have quite cajoled, soothed, and
misguided the old Dragon, to whose charge she was given over.
At Maria's age, nay, earlier indeed, maidens have learnt to be
very sly, and at Madame Bernstein's time of life, dragons are
not so fierce and alert. They cannot turn so readily, some of
their old teeth have dropped out, and their eyes require more
sleep than they needed in days whien they were more active,
venomous, and dangerous.  I, for my part, know a few female
dragons de par le monde, and as I watch thelm land remember
what tley were, admire the softening influence of years upon
these whilom destroyers of man and womankind. Tlleir scales
are so soft that any knight with a moderate plower of thrust
can strike them: their claws, once strong enough to tear out a
thousand eves, only fall with a feeble pat that scarce raises
the skin: their tongues, from their tootllelss old gums, dart a
venom which is rather disagreeable than ldeal(lv. See them
trailing their languid tails, and crawling homne to their caverns
at roosting time! How weak are tleir l)owCers of doing injury!
their maleficence how feeble! I-ow changed are they since the
brisk days when their eyes shot wicked lire; their tiongue spat
poison; their breath blasted reputation; and they gobbled up
a daily victim at least!
If the good folks at Oakhurst could not resist the testimony
which was brought to them regardling Harry's ill-doings, why
should Madame Bernstein, who in the course of her long days
had had more experience of evil than all the Oakhurst family
put together, be less credulous than they?  Of course every
single old woman of her ladyship's society believed every story
that was told about Mr. Harry Warrington's dissipated habits,
and was ready to believe as much more ill of him as you please.
When the little dancer went back to London, as she did, it
was because that heartless Harry deserted her. He deserted
her for somebody else, whose name was confidently given,whose name! - whose half-dozen names the society at Tunbridge Wells would whisper about; where there congregated
people of all ranks and degrees, women of fashion, women of
reputation, of demi-reputation, of virtue, of no virtue,- all
mingling in the same rooms, dancing to the same fiddles, drink



250


THE VIRGINIANS.


ing out of the same glasses at the Wells, and alike in search of
health, or society, or pleasure. A century ago, and our ancestors, the most fiee or the most strait-laced, met together at
a score of such merry places as that where our present scene
lies, and danced, and frisked, and gamed, and drank at Epsom,
Bath, Tunbridge, Ilarrogate, as they do at Hombourg and
Baden now.
Harry's bad reputation then comforted his old aunt exceedingly, and eased her mind in respect to the boy's passion for
Lady Maria. So easy was she in her mind, that when the
Chaplain said he came to escort her ladyship home, Madame
Bernstein did not even care to part from her niece. She preferred rather to keep her under her eye, to talk to her about
her wicked young cousin's wild extravagances, to whisper to
her that boys would be boys, to confide to Maria her intention
of getting a proper wife for Harry, - some one of a suitable
age, - some one with a suitable fortune, - all which pleasantries poor Maria had to bear with as much fortitude as she
could muster.
There lived, during the last century, a certain French duke
and marquis, who distinguished himself in Europe, and America
likewise, and has obliged posterity by leaving behind him a
choice volume of memoirs, which the gentle reader is specially warned not to consult. -lHaving performed the part of
Don Juan in his own country, in ours, and in other parts of
Europe, he has kindly noted down the names of many courtbeauties who fell victims to his powers of fascination; and
very pleasant reading no doubt it must be for the grandsons
and descendants of the fashionable persons amongst whom our
brilliant nobleman moved, to find the names of their ancestresses adorning M. le Due's sprightly pages, and their frailties
recorded by the candid writer who caused them.
- In the course of the peregrinations of this nobleman, he
visited North America, and, as had been his custom in Europe,
proceeded straightway to fall in love. And curious it is to
contrast the elegant refinements of European society, where,
according to Monseigneur, he had but to lay siege to a woman
in order to vanquish her, with the simple lives and habits of
the colonial folks, amongst whom this European enslaver of
hearts did not, it appears, make a single conquest. I-ad he
done so, he would as certainly have narrated his victories
in Pennsylvania and New England, as he described his successes in this and his own country. Travellers in America
have cried out quite loudly enough against the rudeness and




THE VIRGINIANS.


251


barbarism of Transatlantic manners; let the present writer give
the humble testimony of his experience that the conversation of
American gentlemen is generally modest, and, to the best of his
belief, the lives of the women pure.
We have said that Mr. Harry Warrington brought his
colonial modesty along with him to the old country; and
though he could not help hearing the free talk of the persons
amongst whom he lived, and who were men of pleasure and
the world, he sat pretty silent himself in the midst of their
rattle; never indulged in double entendre in his conversation
with women; had no victories over the sex to boast of; and
was shy and awkward when he heard such narrated by others.
This youthful modesty Mr. Sampson had remarked during his
intercourse with the lad at Castlewood, where Mr. Warrington
had more than once shown himself quite uneasy whilst Cousin
Will was telling some of his choice stories; and my lord had
curtly rebuked his brother, bidding him keep his jokes for the
usher's table at Kensington, and not give needless offence
to their kinsman. Hence the exclamation of "' Reverentia
pueris," which the Chaplain had addressed to his neighbor at
the ordinary on Harry's first appearance there. Mr. Sampson,
if he had not strength sufficient to do right himself, at least
had grace enough not to offend innocent young gentlemen by
his cynicism.
The Chaplain was touched by Harry's gift of the horse;
and felt a genuine friendliness towards the lad. "You see,
sir," says he, " I am of the world, and must do as the rest of
the world does. I have led a rough life, Mr. Warrington, and
can't afford to be more particular than my neighbors. Video
meliora, deteriora sequor, as we said at college. I have got
a little sister, who is at boarding-school, not very far from
here, and, as I keep a decent tongue in my head when I am
talking with my little Patty, and expect others to do as much,
sure I may try and do as much by you."
The Chaplain was loud in his praises of Harry to his aunt,
the old Baroness. She liked to hear him praised. She was
as fond of him as she could be of anything; was pleased in his
company, with his good looks, his manly courageous bearing,
his blushes, which came so readily, his bright eyes, his deep
yputhful voice.  His shrewdness and simplicity constantly
amused her; she would have wearied of him long before, had
he been clever, or learned, or witty, or other than he was.
" We must find a good wife for him, Chaplain," she said to
Mr. Sampson. " 1 have one or two in my eye, who, I think,




252


THE VIRGINIANS.


will suit him. We must set him up here; he never will bear
going back to his savages again, or to live with his little
Methodist of a mother."
Now about this point Mr. Sampson, too, was personally
anxious, and had also a wife in his eye for Harry. I suppose
he must have had some conversations with his lord at Castlewood, whom we have heard expressing some intention of complimenting his chaplain with a good living or other provision,
in event of his being able to carry out his lordship's wishes
regarding a marriage for Lady Maria. If his good offices
could help that anxious lady to a husband, Sampson was ready
to employ them: and he now waited to see in what most effectual manner he could bring his influence to bear.
Sampson's society was most agreeable, and he and his
young friend were intimate in the course of a few hours. The
parson rejoiced in high spirits, good appetite, good humor;
pretended to no sort of squeamishness, and indulged in no sanctified hypocritical conversation; nevertheless, he took care not
to shock his young friend by any needless outbreaks of levity or
immorality of talk, initiating his pupil, perhaps from policy, perhaps from compunction, only into the minor mysteries, as it
were; and not telling him the secrets with which the unlucky adept
himself was only too familiar. With Harry, Sampson was only
a brisk, lively, jolly companion, ready for any drinking bout, or
any sport, a cock-fight, a shooting-match, a game at cards, or
a gallop across the common; but his conversation was decent,
and he tried much more to amuse the young man, than to lead
him astray. The Chaplain was quite successful: he had immense animal spirits as well as natural wit, and aptitude as
well as experience in that business of toad-eater which had
been his calling and livelihood from his very earliest years, -
ever since he first entered college as a servitor, and cast about
to see by whose means he could make his fortune in life. That
was but satire just now, when we said there were no toadeaters left in the world. There are many men of Sampson's
profession now, doubtless; nay, little boys at our public
schools are sent thither at the earliest age, instructed by their
parents, and put out apprentices to toad-eating.  But the
flattery is not so manifest as it used to be a hundred years
since. Young men and old have hangers-on, and led-captains, but they assume an appearance of equality, bolTro
money, or swallow their toads in private, and walk abroad
arm-in-arm with the great man, and call him by his name
without his title. In those good old times, when Harry War



THE VIRGINIANS.


253


rington first came to Europe, a gentleman's toad.eater pretended to no airs of equality at all; openly paid court to his
patron, called him by that name to other folks, went on his
errands for him, - any sort of errands which the patron might
devise, —called him Sir in speaking to him, stood up in his
presence until bidden to sit down, and flattered him ex officio.
Mr. Sampson did not take the least shame in speaking of
H-arry as his young patron, - as a young Virginian nobleman
recommended to him by his other noble patron, the Earl of Castlewood. IHe was proud of appearing at IHarry's side, and as
his humble retainer, in public talked about him to the company,
gave orders to Harry's tradesmen, from whom, let us hope,
he received a percentage in return for his recommendations,
performed all the finctions of aide-de-camp - others, if our
young gentleman demanded them fiom the obsequious divine,
who had gayly discharged the duties of ami du prince to ever
so many young men of fashion, since his own entrance into
the world. It must be confessed that, since his arrival in
Europe, Mr. Warrington had not been uniformly lucky in the
friendships which he had made.
"What a reputation, sir, they have made for you in this
place!" cries Mr. Sampson, coming back from the coffeehouse to his patron. "Monsieur de Richelieu was nothing to
you!"
" How do you mean, Monsieur de Richelieu? —Never was
at Minorca in my life," says downright Harry, who had not
heard of those victories at home which made the French duke
famous.
Mr. Sampson explained. The pretty widow Patcham who
had just arrived was certainly desperate about Mr. Wxarrington: her way of going on at the rooms, the night before,
proved tlat. As for Mrs. Hooper, that was a known case,
and the Alderman had fetched his wife back to London for no
other reason. It was the talk of the whole Wells.
" Who says so?" cries out Harry, indignantly. "I should
like to meet the man who dares say so, and confound the
villain "
" I should not like to show him to you," says Mr. Sampson,
laughing. " It might be the worse for him."
"' It's a shame to speak with such levity about the character
of ladies or of gentlemen, either," continues Mr. Warrington,
pacing up and down the room in a fume.
"So I told them," says the Chaplain, wagging his head
and looking very much moved and very grave, though, if the




254


THE VIRGINIANS.


truth were known, it had never come into his mind at all to be
angry at hearing charges of this nature against Harry.
'It's a shame, I say, to talk away the reputation of any
man or woman as people do here. Do you know, in our country, a fellow's ears would not be safe; and a little before I left
home, three brothers shot down a man, for having spoken ill
of their sister."
"Serve the villain right! " cries Sampson.
" Already they have had that calumny about me set a-going
here, Sampson, - about me and the poor little French dancinggirl."
"I have heard," says Mr. Sampson, shaking powder out
of his wig.
"Wicked; wasn't it?"
"Abominable."
"They said the very same thing about my Lord March.
Isn't it shameful?"
"Indeed it is," says Mr. Sampson, preserving a face of
wonderful gravity.
I don't know what I should do if these stories were to
come to my mother's ears. It would break her heart, I do
believe it would. Why, only a few days before you came, a
military fiiend of mine, Mr. Wolfe, told me how the most
horrible lies were circulated about me. Good heavens! What
do they think a gentleman of my name and country can be
capable of- I a seducer of women? They might as well say
I was a horse-stealer or a housebreaker. I vow if I hear any
man say so, I'll have his ears! "
"I have read, sir, that the Grand Seignior of Turkey has
bushels of ears sometimes sent in to him," says Mr. Sampson,
laughing.   If you took all those that had heard scandal
against you or others, what baskets you would fill! "
" And so I would, Sampson, as soon as look at 'em:- any
fellow's who said a word against a lady or a gentleman of
honor! " cries the Virginian.
" If you'll go down to the Well, you'll find a harvest of 'em.
I just came from there. It was the high tide of Scandal.
Detraction was at its height. And you may see the nymprnas
discentes and the aures satyrorum acutas," cries the Chaplain,
with a shrug of his shoulders.
"That may be as you say, Sampson," Mr. Warrington replies; " but if ever I hear any man speak against my character
I'll punish him. Malrk that."
- " I shall be very sorry for his sake, that I should; for you'll




THE VIRGINIANS.


255


mark him in the way he won't like, sir; and I know you are a
man of your word."
"You may be sure of that, Sampson. And now shall we
go to dinner, and afterwards to my Lady Trumpington's tea?"
" You know, sir, I can't resist a clar( or a bottle'," says Mr.
Sampson. "Let us have the last first and then the tirst shall
come last."  And with this the two gentlemen went off to their
accustomed place of refection.
That was an age in which wine-bibbing was more common
than in our )oliter time; and, especially since the arrival of
General Braddock's army in his native country, our young Virginian had acquired rather a liking for the filling of bumpers
and the calling of toasts; having heard- that it was a point of
honor among the officers never to decline a toast or a challenge.
So Harry and his chaplain drank their claret in peace and l)lenty,
naming, as the simple custom was, some favorite lady with each
glass.
The Chaplain had reasons of his own for desiring to know
how far the affair between Harry and my Lady Maria had gone;
whether it was advancing, or whether it was ended; and he and
his young friend were just warm enough with the claret to be
able to talk with that great eloquence, that candor, that admirable friendliness, which good wine taken in a rather injudicious quantity inspires. 0 kindly harvests of the Acquitanian
grape! 0 sunny banks of Garonne! 0 friendly caves of
Gledstane, where the dusky flasks lie recondite! May we not
say a word of thanks for all the pleasure we owe you? Are
the Temperance men to be allowed to shout in the public
places? are the Vegetarians to bellow "Cabbage for ever?"
and may we modest (Enophilists not sing the praises of our
favorite plant? After the drinking of good Bordeaux wine,
there is a point (I do not say a pint) at which men arrive, when
all the generous faculties of the soul are awakened and in full
vigor; when the wit brightens and breaks out in sudden flashes;
when the intellects are keenest; when the pent-up wofts and
confined thoughts get a night-rule, and rush abroad and disport
themselves; when the kindest affections come out and shake
hands with mankind, and the timid Truth jumps up naked out
of his well and proclaims himself to all the world. I-low, by
the kind influence of the wine-cup, we succor the poor and
humble! How bravely we rush to the rescue of the oppressed!
I say, in the face of all the pumps which ever spouted, that
there is a moment in a bout of good wine at which, if a man
could but remain, wit, wisdom, courage, generosity, eloquence,




256


THE VIRGINIANS.


happiness, were his; but the moment passes, and that other
glass somehow spoils the state of beatitude. There is a headache in the morning; we are not going into Parliament for our
native town; we are not going to shoot those French officers
who have been speaking disresplectfully of our country; and
poor Jeremy Diddler calls about eleven o'clock for another
half-sovereign, and we are unwell in bed, and can't see him,
and send him empty away.
Well, then, as they sat over their generous cups, the company having departed, and the -th bottle of 'claret -being
brought in by Monsieur Barbeau, the Chaplain found himself
in an eloquent state, with a strong desire for inculcating sublime
moral precepts, whilst Harry was moved by an extreme longing to explain his whole private history, and impart all his
present feelings to his new friend. Mark that fact. Why must
a man say everything that comes uppermost in his noble mind
because, forsooth, he has swallowed a half-pint more of wine
than he ordinarily drinks? Suppose I had committed a murder
(of course I allow the sherry and champagne at dinner), should
I announce that homicide somewhere about the third bottle (in
a small party of men) of claret at dessert?  Of course: and
hence the fidelity of water-gruel announced a few pages back.
"I am glad to hear what your conduct has really been with
regard to the Cattarina, Mr. Warrington; I am glad fiom my
soul," says the impetuous Chaplain. "The wine is with you.
You have shown that you can bear down calumny, and resist
temptation. Ah! my dear sir, men are not all so fortunate.
What famous good wine this is!" and he sucks up a glass with
"A toast from you, my dear sir, if you please!"
"I give you ' Miss Fanny Mountain, of Virginia,"' says
Mr. Warrington, filling a bumper as his thoughts fly straightway, ever so many thousand miles, to home.
" One of your American conquests, I suppose?" says the
Chaplain.
" Nay, she is but ten years old, and I have never made any
conquests at all in Virginia, Mr. Sampson," says the young
gentleman.
"You are like a true gentleman, and don't kiss and tell,
si'."
"I neither kiss nor tell. It isn't the custom of our country,
Sampson, to ruiA girls, or frequent the society of low women.
We Virginian gentlemen honor women: we don't wish to bring
them to shame," cries the young toper, looking very proud and
handsome. "The young lady whose name I mentioned hath
^' ', ^ -   * *   * *,,...^




THE VIRGINIANS.


25T


lived in our family since her infancy, and I would shoot the
mal who did her a wrong; - by heaven, I would!"
"Your sentiments do you honor! Let me shake hands with
you! I will shake hands with you, Mr. Warrington," cried the
enthusiastic Sampson. " And let me tell you, 'tis the grasp of 
honest friendship offered you, and not merely the poor retainer
paying court to the wealthy patron. No! with such liquor as
this, all men are equal; - faith, all men are rich, whilst it lasts!
and Tom Sampson is as wealthy with his bottle as your honor
with all the acres of your principality! "
" Let us have another bottle of riches," says H-arry, with a
laugh. "Encore du cachet jaune, mon bon Monsieur Barbeau! " and exit Monsieur Barbeau to the caves below.
" Another bottle of riches! Capital, capital! Ilow beautifully you speak French, Mr. Harry."
"I do speak it well," says larry. "At least, when I speak
Monsieur Barbeau understands me well enough."
"You do everything well, I think. You succeed in whatever
you try. That is why they have fancied here you have won the
hearts of so many women, sir."
"There yon go again about the women! I tell you I don't
like these stories about women. Confound me, Sampson, why
is a gentleman's character to be blackened so?"
" Well, at any rate, there is one, unless my eyes deceive me
very much indeed, sir! " cries the Chaplain.
"Whom do you mean? " asked Harry, flushing very red.
"Nay. I name no names. It isn't for a poor chaplain to
meddle with his betters' doings, or to know their thoughts,"
says Mr. Sampson.
"Thoughts! what thoughts, Sampson? "
"I fancied I saw, on the part of a certain lovely and respected lady at Castlewood, a preference exhibited. I fancied,
on the side of a certain distinguished young gentleman, a strong
liking manifested itself: but I may have been wrong, and ask
pardon."
" Oh, Sampson, Sampson! " broke out the young man.." I
tell you I am miserable. I tell you I have been longing for
some one to confide in, or ask advice of. You do know, then,
that there has been something going on - something between
me and - help Mr. Sampson, Monsieur Barbeau - and- some
one else?"
"I have watched it this month past," says the Chaplain.
"Confound me, sir, do you mean you have been a spy on
me? " says the other hotly.
v.         17




258


THE VIRGINIANS.


1" A spy! You made little disguise of the matter, Mr. Warrington, and her ladyship wasn't a much better hand at deceiving. You were always together. In the shrubberies, in the
walks, in the village, in the galleries of the house, -you always
found a pretext for being together, and plenty of eyes besides
mine watched you."
"Gracious powers! What did you see, Sampson?" cries
the lad.
" Nay, sir, 'tis forbidden to kiss and tell. I say so again,"
says the Chaplain.
The young man turned very red.  "Oh, Sampson!" he
cried, " can I-can I confide in you? "
"Dearest sir -dear generous youth- you know I would
shed my heart's blood for you!" exclaims the Chaplain, squeezing his patron's hand, and turning a brilliant pair of eyes ceiling-wards.
"Oh, Sampson! I tell you I am miserable. With all this
play and wine, whilst I have been here, I tell you I have been
trying to drive away care. I own to you that when we were
at Castlewood there was things passed between a certain lady
and me."
The parson gave a slight whistle over his glass of Bordeaux.
"And they've made me wretched, those things have. I
mean, you see, that if a gentleman has given his word, why, it's
his word, and he must stand by it, you know. I mean that I
thought I loved her, - and so I do very much, and she's a
most dear, kind, darling, affectionate creature, and very handsome, too, - quite beautiful; but then, you know, our ages,
Sampson! Think of our ages, Sampson! She's as old as my
mother!"
" Who would never forgive you?"
" I don't intend to let anybody meddle in my affairs, not
Madam Esmond nor anybody else," cries Harry: "but you
see, Sampson, she is old- and, oh, hang it! Why did Aunt
Bernstein tell me-? "
"Tell you what?"
" Something I can't divulge to anybody, something that tortures me! "
" Not about the —the-" the Chaplain paused: he was
going to say about her ladyship's little affair with the French
dancing-master; about other little anecdotes affecting her character. But he had not drunk wine enough to be quite candid,
or too much, and was past the real moment of virtue.
lia.:5. n V




THE VIRGINIANS.


259


"Yes, yes, every one of 'em false - every one of 'em!"
shrieks out Harry.
"Great powers, what do you mean? " asks his friend.
"These, sir, these!" says Harry, beating a tattoo on his
own white teeth. "I didn't know it when I asked her. I
swear I didn't know it. Oh, it's horrible! — it's horrible! and  "
it has caused me nights of agony, Sampson. My dear old
grandfather had a set, a Frenchman at Charleston made them
for him, and we used to look at 'em grinning in a tumbler, and
when they were out, his jaws used to fall in - I never thought
she had 'em."
"Had what, sir?" again asked the Chaplain.
"Confound it, sir, don't you see I mean teeth?" says Harry,
rapping the table.
" Nay, only two."
"And how the devil do you know, sir?" asks the young
man, fiercely.
"I - I had it from her maid. She had two teeth knocked
out by a stone which cut her lip a little, and they have been
replaced."
"Oh, Sampson, do you mean to say they ain't all sham
ones?" cries the boy.
"But two, sir, at least so Peggy told me, and she would just
as soon have blabbed about the whole two-and-thirty - the rest
are as sound as yours, which are beautiful."
"And her hair, Sampson, is that all right, too?" asks the
young gentleman.
"'Tis lovely -I have seen that. I can take my oath to
that. Her ladyship can sit upon it; and her figure is very
fine; and her skin is as white as snow; and her heart is the
kindest that ever was; and I know, that is I feel sure, it is
very tender about you, Mr. Warrington."
"Oh, Sampson! heaven- heaven bless you! What a
weight you've taken off my mind with those -those- never
mind them! Oh, Sam! How haply - that is, no, no - oh,
how miserable I am! She's as old as MadamI Esmond - by
George she is - she's as old as my mother. You wouldn't
have a fellow marry a woman as old as his mother? It's too
bad: by George it is. It's too bad." And here, I am sorry
to say, Harry Esmond Warrington, Esquire, of Castlewood, in
Virginia, began to cry. The delectable point, you see, must
have been passed several glasses ago.
" You don't want to marry her, then? " asks the Chaplain.
"What's that to you, sir? I've promised her, and an Es



260


THE VIRGINIANS.


mond- a Virginia Esmond, mind that — Mr. What's your
name - Samlson - has but his word " The sentiment was
noble, but delivered by Harry with rather a doubtful articulation.
" Mind you, I said a Virginia Esmond," continued poor
Harry, lifting up his finger, " I don't mean the younger branch
here. I don't mean Will, who robbed me about the horse, and
whose bones I'll break. I give you Lady Maria - heaven bless
her, and heaven bless you, Sampson, and you deserve to be a
bishop, old boy! "
"There are letters between you, I suppose?" says Sampson.
"Letters! Dammy, she's always writing me letters!never gets me into a window but she sticks one in my cuff.
Letters, that is a good idea. Look here! Here's letters!"
And he threw down a pocket-book containing a heap of papers
of the poor lady's composition.
"Those are letters, indeed. What a post-bag!" says the
Chaplain.
"But any man who touches them -dies —dies on the
spot!" shrieks Harry, starting from his seat, and reeling towards his sword; which he draws, and then stamps with his foot,
and says, " Ha! ha!" and then lunges at M. Barbeau, who
skips away from the lunge behind the Chaplain, who looks
rather alarmed. And in my mind I behold an exciting picture
of the lad, with his hair dishevelled, ranging about the room
flamberge au vent, and pinking the affriglted innkeeper and
chaplain. But oh, to think of him stumbling over a stool, and
prostrated by an enemy who has stole away his brains! Come,
Gumbo! and help your master to bed!
CHAPTER XXXII.
IN WHICH A FAMILY COACH IS ORDERED.
OUR pleasing duty now is to divulge the secret which Mr.
Lambert whispered in his wife's ear at the close of the antepenultimate chapter, and the publication of which caused such
-great pleasure to the whole of the Oakhurst family. As the
hay was in, the corn not ready for cutting, and by consequence
the farm horses disengaged, why, asked Colonel Laimbert,




THE VIRGINIANS.


261


should theynot be put into the coach, and should we not all pay
a visit to Tunbridge Wells, taking friend Wolfe at Westerham
on our way?
Mamma embraced this proposal, and I dare say the gentleman who made it. All the children jumped for joy. The girls
went off straightway to get their best calamancoes, padlasovs,
falbalas, furbellows, capes, cardinals, sacks, negligees, solitaires,
caps, ribbons, mantuas, clocked stockings, and highl-lhled
shoes, and I know not what articles of toilette. Malmma's best
robes were taken fiom the presses, whence they only issued on
rare solemnl occasions, retiringl immediately afterwards to lavender and seclusion; the blrave Colonel produced his laced lat
and waistcoat and silver-hilted hanger; Charley rejoiced in a
rasee holiday suit of his father's, in which the Colonel had l)een
married, and which Mrs. Lambert cut up, not without a pang.
Ball and Dumpling had their tails and manes tied with iibbon,
and Chump, the old white cart-horse, went as unicorn leader,
to help the carriage horses up the first hilly five miles of the
road from Oakhurst to Westerham. The carriage was an ancient vehicle, and was believed to have served in the procession
which had brought George I. from Greenwicll to London, on his
first arrival to assume the sovereignty of these realms. It had
belonged to Ir. Lambert's father, and the family had been in
the habit of regarding it, ever since they could remember anything, as one of the nost splendid coacles in the three kingdoms.   Brian, coachman, and —must it also be owned?ploughman, of the Oakhurst family, had a place on the box,
with Mr. Charley by his side.  The precious. clothes were
packed in imperials on the roof. The Colonel's pistols were put
in the pockets of the carriage, and the blunderbuss hung behind
the box, in reach of Brian, who was an old soldier. No highwaymen, however, molested the convoy; not even an innkeeper
levied contributions on Colonel Lambert, who, with a slender
purse and a large family, was not to be plundered by those or
any other depredators on the king's highway; and a reasonable
cheap modest lodging h-ad been engaged for them by young
Colonel Wolfe, at the house where he was in the habit oi
putting up, and whither he himself accompanied them on horseback.
It happened that these lodgings were opposite Madame
Bernstein's; and as the Oakhurst family reached their quarters
on a Saturday evening, they could see chair after chair discharging powdered beaux and patched and brocaded beauties
at the Baroness's door, who was holding one of her many card



262


THE VIRGINIANS.


parties. The sun was not yet down, (for our ancestors began
their dissipations at early hours, and were at meat, drink, or
cards, any time after three o'clock in the afternoon until any
time in the nilght or morning,) and tlle young country ladies
and their mother from their window could see the various personages as they passed into the Bernstein rout. Colonel Wolfe
told the ladies who most of tile characters were. 'Twas almost
as delightful as going to the party themselves, I-etty and Theo
thought, for they not only could see the guests arriving, but
look into the Baroness's open casements and watch many of
them there. Of a few of the personages we have before had
a glimpse. When the Duchess of Queensberry passed, and
Mr. Wolfe explained who she was, Martin Lambert was ready
with a score of lines about " Kitty, beautiful and young," from
his favorite Mat Prior.
" Think that that old lady was once like you, girls!" cries
the Colonel.
"Like us, papa? Well, certainly we never set up for being
beauties! " says Miss Ietty, tossing up her little head.
"Yes, like you, you little baggag(re; like you at this moment,
who want to go to that drum yonder:'Inflamed with rage at sad restraint
Which wise mamma ordained,
And sorely vexed to play the saint
Whilst wit and beauty reigned.'"
"We were never invited, papa; and I am sure if there's no
beauty more worth seeing than that, the wit can't be much
worth the hearing," again says the satirist of the family.
" Oh, but he's a rare poet, Mat Prior! " continues the Colonel; "though, mind you, girls, you'll skip over all the poems
I have marked with a cross. A rare poet! and to think you
should see one of his heroines!  ' Fondness prevailed, mamma
gave way' (she always will, Mrs. Lambert!) -
'Fondness prevailed, mamma gave way, -
Kitty at heart's desire
Obtained the chariot for a (lay,
And set thle world on fire!'"
"I am sure it must have been very inflammable," says
mamma.
"So it was, my dear, twenty years ago, much more inflammable than it is now," remarks the Colonel.
" Nonsense, Mr. Lambert," is mamma's answer.
' Look, look! " cried Hetty, running forward and pointing




THE VIRGINIANS.


26G3


to the little square, and the covered gallery, where was the
door leading to Madame Bernstein's apartment, and round
which stood a crowd of street urchins, idlers and yokels,
watching the company.
"It's HIarry Warrington!" exclaims Theo, waving a handkerchief to the young Virginian: but Warrington. did not see
Miss Lambert. The Virginian was walking arm-in-arm with
a portly clergyman in a crisp rustling silk gown, and the two
went into Madame de Bernstein's door.
"f I heard him preach a most admirable sermon here last
Sunday," says Mr. Wolfe; "' a little theatrical, but most striking and eloquent."
You seem to be here most Sundays, James," says Mrs.
Lambert.
" And Monday, and so on till Saturday," adds the Colonel.
"See, Harry has beautified himself already, hath his hair in
buckle, and I have no doubt is going to the drum too."
"I had rather sit quiet generally of a Saturday evening,"
says sober Mr. Wolfe; " at any rate away fiom card-playing
and scandal; but I own, dear Mrs. Lambert, I am under
orders. Shall I go across the way and send Mr. Warrington
to you?"
" No, let him have his sport. We shall see him to-morrow.
He won't care to be disturbed amidst his fine folks by us country people," said meek Mrs. Lambert.
" I am glad he is with a clergyman who preaches so well,"
says Theo, softly; and her eyes seemed to say, You see, good
people, he is not so bad as you thought him, and as I, for my
part, never believed him to be. "'The clergyman has a very
kind, handsome face."
' Here comes a greater clergyman," cries Mr. Wolfe.  It
is my Lord of Salisbury, with his blue ribbon, and a chaplain
behind him."
"And whom a mercy's name have we here?" breaks in
Mrs. Lambert, as a sedan-chair, covered with gilding, topped
with no less than five earl's coronets, carried by bearers in
richly laced clothes, and preceded by three footmen in the
same splendid livery, now came up to Madame de Bernstein's
door. The Bishop, who had been about to enter, stopped,
and ran back with the most respectful bows and curtsies to the
sedan-chair, giving his hand to the lady who stepped thence.
" Who on earth is this? " asks Mrs. Lambert.
Sprechen sie Deutsch. Ja, Meinherr. Nichts verstand,"
says the waggish Colonel.




264


THE VIRGINIANS.


"Pooh, Martin."
" Well, if you can't understand Iigh Dutch, my love, how
can I help it? Your education was neglected at school. Can
you understand heraldry- I know you can? "
I make," cries Charley, reciting the shield, '' three merions on a field or, with an carl's coronet."
"'A countess's coronet, my son. The Countess of Yarmouth, my son."
"And pray who is she?"
" It hath ever been the custom of our sovereigns to advance
-   persons of distinction to honor," continues the Colonel, gravely,
"and this eminent lady hath been so l)romoted by our gracious
monarch to the rank of Countess of this kingdom."
" But why, papa? " asked the daughters together.
" Never mind, girls! " said mamma.
But tlat incorrigible Colonel would go on.
t Y, my chilcdren, is one of the last and the most awkward
letters of the whole alphabet. When I tell you stories, you are
always saying Wh. Why should my Lord Bishop be cringing to that lady?  Look at him rubbing his fat hands together,
and smiling into her face! It's not a handsome ftce any longer.
It is all painted red and white like Scaramouch's in the pantomime. See, there comes another blue ribbon, as I live. MIy
Lord Bamborouglh. The descendant of the IHotspurs. Thle
proudest man in England. He stops, lie bows, lie smiles; he
is hat in hand, too. See, she taps him with her fan. Get
away, you crowd of little blackguard boys, and don't tread
on the robe of the lady whom the King delights to honor."
" But why does the King honor her?" asked the girls, once
more.
" There goes that odious last letter but one! Did you ever
hear of her Grace the Duchess of Kendal? No. Of the Duchess of Portsmouth! Non plus. Of the Duchess of La Valliere? Of Fair Rosamond, then?"
"Hush, papa! There is no need to bring blushes on the
cheeks of my dear ones, Martin Lambert! " said the mother,
putting her finger to her husband's lip.
" 'Tis not I; it is their sacred Majesties who are the caluse
of the shame," cries the son of the old republican. " Think of
the bishops of the Church and the proudest nobility of tle
world cringing and bowing betore that painted High Dutch
Jezebel. Oh, it's a shame, a shame!"
( Confusion!" here broke out Colonel Wolfe, and, making
a dash at his hat. ran from the room. He had seen the young




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


265


lady whom he admired and her guardian walking across the
Pantiles on foot to the Baroness's party, and they came up
whilst the Countess of Yarmouth-Walmoden was engaged in
conversation with the two lords spiritual and temporal, and
these two made the lowest reverences and bows to the Countess, and waited until she had passed in at the door on the
Bishop's arm.
Theo turned away fiom the window with a sad, almost
awe-stricken face. Hetty still remained there, looking firon
it with indignation in her eyes, and a little red spot on each
cheek.
A penny for little Hetty's thoughts," says mamma, coming
to the window to lead the child away.
"I am thinking what I should do if I saw papa bowing to
that woman," says Hetty.
Tea and(l a hissing kettle here made their appearance, and
the family sat down to partake of their evening meal, - leaving,
however. Miss Hetty, from their place, command of the window, whlicl she begged her brother not to close. That young
gentleman ibad been down amongst the crowd to inspect the
armorial bearings of tlle Countess's and other sedans, no doubt,
and also to invest sixpence in a cheese-cake, by mamma's order
and his own desire, and he returned presently with this delicacy
wrapped up in a paper.
"Look, mother," he comes back and says, "do you see
that big man in brown beating all the pillars with a stick?
That is the learned Mr. Johnson. He comes to the Friars
sometimes to see our master. He was sitting with some friends
just now at the tea-table before Mrs. Brown's tart-shop. They
have tea there, twopence a cup; I heard Mr. Johnson say he
had had seventeen cups - that makes two-and-tenpence - what
a sight of money for tea! "
"What would you have, Charley?" asks Theo.
"I think I would have cheese-cakes," says Charley, sighing,
as his teeth closed on a large slice, " and the gentleman whom
Mr. Johnson was with," continues Charley, with his mouth
quite full, " was Mr. Richardson who wrote-"
" Clarissa! " cry all the women in a breath, and run to the
window to see their favorite writer. By this time the sun was
sunk, the stars were twinkling overhead, and the footman came
and lighted the candles in the Baroness's room opposite our
spies.
Theo and her mother were standing together looking from
their place of observation. There was a small illumination at




266


THE VIRGINIANS.


Mrs. Brown's tart and tea-shop, by which our friends could see
one lady getting Mr. Richardson's hat and stick, and another
tying a shawl round his neck, after which he walked home.
"Oh dear me! he does not look like Grandison!" cries
Theo.
"I rather think I wish we had not seen him, my dear,"
says mamma, who has been described as a most sentimental
woman and eager novel-reader; and here again they were interrupted by Miss Hetty, who cried:
"Never mind that little fat man, but look yonder, mamma."
And they looked yonder. And they saw, in the first place,
Mr. Warrington undergoing the honor of a presentation to the
Countess of Yarmouth, who was still followed by the obsequious
peer and prelate with the blue ribbons. And now the Countess
graciously sat down to a card-table, the Bishop and the Earl
and a fourth person being her partners. And now Mr. Warrington came into the embrasure of the window with a lady
whom they recognized as the lady whom they had seen for a
few minutes at Oakhurst.
"How much finer lie is," remarks mamma.
"How he is improved in his looks. What has he done to
himself? " asks Theo.
"Look at his grand lace frills and ruffles! My dear, he
has not got on our shirts any more," cries the matron.
"What are you talking about, girls?" asks papa, reclining
on his sofa, where, perhaps, lie was dozing after the fashion of
honest house-fathers.
The girls said how Harry Warrington was in the window,
talking with his cousin Lady Maria Esmond.
"Come aw'ay!" cries papa. "You have no right to be
spying the young fellow. Down with the curtains, I say! "
And down the curtains went, so that the girls saw no more
of Madame Bernstein's guests or doings for that night.
I pray you not be angry at my remarkingi if only by way
of contrast between these two opposite houses, that while
Madame Bernstein and her guests- bishop, dignitaries, noblemen, and what not-were gambling or talking scandal, or
devouring champagne and chickens (which I hold to be venial
sin), or doing honor to her ladyship the king's favorite, the
Countess of Yarmouth-Walmoden, our country friends in their
lodgings knelt round their table, whither Mr. Brian the coachman came as silently as his creaking slloes would let him, whilst
Mr. Lambert, standing up, read in a low voice, a prayer that
heaven would lighten their darkness and defend them from the




THE VIRGINIANS.


267


perils of that night, and a supplication that it would grant the
request of those two or three gathered together.
Our young folks were up betimes on Sunday morning, and
arrayed themselves in those smart new dresses wlich were to
fascinate the Tunbridge folks, and, with the escort of brother
Charley, paced the little town, and the quaint Pantiles, and tile
pretty common, long ere the company was at breakfast, or the
bells had rung to church. It was Hester who found out where
Harry Warrington's lodging must be, by remarking Mr. Gumbo
in an undress, with his lovely hair in curl-papers, drawing a
pair of red curtains aside, and opening a window-sash, whence
he thrust his head and inhaled the sweet morning breeze. Mr.
Gumbo did not happen to see the young people fiom Oakhurst,
though they beheld him clearly enough. He leaned gracefully
from the window; he waved a large feather-brush with which
he condescended to dust the furniture of the apartment within;
lie affably engaged in conversation with a cherry-cheeked milkmaid, who was lingering under the casement, and kissed his
lily hand to her. Gumbo's hand sparkled with rings, and his
person was decorated with a Iproflsion of jewellery - gifts, no
doubt, of the fair who appreciated the young African. Once
or twice more before breakfast-time the girls passed near that
window. It remained open, but the room behind it was blank.
No face of Harry Warrington appeared there. Neither spoke
to the other of the subject on which both were brooding. Hetty
was a little provoked with Charley, who was clamorous about
breakfast, and told him lie was always thinking of eating. In
reply to ler sarcastic inquiry, he artlessly owned he should like
another cheese-cake, and good-natured Thco, laughing, said
she had a sixpence, and if the cake-shop were open of a Sunday
morning Charley should have one. The cake-shop was open:
and Theo took out her little purse, netted by her dearest fiiend
at school, and containing her pocket-piece, her grandmother's
guinea, her slender little store of shillings - nay, some copper
money at one end; and she treated Charley to the meal which
he loved.
A great deal of fine company was at church. There was
that funny old Duchess, and old Madame Bernstein, with Lady
Maria at her side; and Mr. Wolfe, of course, by the side of
Miss Lowther, and singing with her out of the same psalmbook; and Mr. Richardson with a bevy of ladies. One of
them is Miss Fielding, papa tells them after church, Harry
Fielding's sister. "Oh, girls, what good company he was I




268


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


And his books are worth a dozen of your milksop ' Pamelas'
anld 'Clarissas,' Mrs. Lambert: but what woman ever loved
true humor?"   And there was Mr. Johnson sitting amongst
the charity children. Did you see how he turne(l round to the
altar at the Belief, and upset two or three of the scared little
urchins in leather-breechles?  And what a lamous sermon
Harrny's parson gave, didn't he? A  sermon about scandal.
Hlow he touched up some of the old harridans who were seated
round   Why wasn't Mr. Warrington at church? It was a
shame he wasn't at church.
' I really (lid not remark whether he was there or not," says
Miss Hetty, tossing her head up.
But Theo, who was all truth, said, " Yes, I thought of him,
and was sorry he was not there; and so did you think of him,
H-etty."
"I did no such thing, Miss," persists Hetty.
" Then why did you whisper to me it was -Harry's clergyman
who preached?"
" To think of Mr. Warrington's clergyman is not to think of
Mr. Warrington. It was a most excellent sermon, certainly,
and the children sang most dreadfully out of tune. And there
is Lady NMaria at the win(low oll)osite, smelling at the roses;
and that is Mr. Wolfe's step, I know his great military tramp.
Right left —right left!  -low do you lo, Colonel Wolfe! "
"Why (o you look so glum, James? " asks Colonel Lambert, good-naturedlv. " Has the charmer been scolding thee.
or is thy conscience pricked by the sermon. Mr. Sampson.
isn't the parson's name?  A famous preacher, on my word! "
"A pretty preacher, and a pretty practitioner!" says Mr.
Wolfe, witlh shrug of his shoulders.
"Why, I thought the discourse did not last ten minutes,
and madam did not sleep one single wink during the sermon,
didst thou, Moll y?"
" I)id you see when the fellow came into church?" asked
the indignant Colonel Wolfe. " He came in at the open door
of the common, just in time, and as the l)salm was over."
"Well, he had been reading the service prolably to some
sick person; there are many here," remarks Mrs. Lambert.
"Reading the service! Oh, my good Mrs. Lambert! Do
you know where I found himl?  went to look for your young
scapegrace of a Virginian."
' His own name is a very pretty name, I'm sure," cries out
Hetty. " It isn't Scapegrace! It is Henry Esmond Warring-:   ton, Esquire."




THE VIRGINIANS.


269


" Miss Hester, I found the parson in his cassock, and Henry
E3mond Warrington, Esquire, in his bed-gown, at a quarter
before eleven o'clock in the morning, when all the Sunday bells
were ringing, and they were playing over a game of piquet they
had had tile night before! "
" Well, numbers of good people play at cards of a Sunday.
The King plays at cards of a Sunday."
" Iush, nmy dear! "
" I know he does," says Iletty, "with 'that painted person
we saw yesterday, that Countess what d'you call her?"
"I think, my dear Miss Ilester, a clergyman had best take
to God's books instead of the Devil's books on that day - and
so I took the liberty of telling your parson."  Hetty looked
as if she thought it was a liberty which Mr. Wolfe had
taken.  "And I told our young fiiend that I thought he
had better have been on his way to church than there in his
bed-gown."
"You wouldn't have Harry go to church in a dressing-gown
and nightcap, Colonel Wolfe? That would be a pretty sight,
indeed!" again says IIetty fiercely.
"I would have my little girl's tongue not wag quite so fast,"
remarks papa, patting the girl's flushed little cheek.
"Not speak when a friend is attacked, and nobody says a
word in his favor? No; nobody! "
IIere the two lips of the little mouth closed on each other:
the whole little frame shook: the child flung a p)arting look of
defiance at Mr. Wolfe, and went out of the room, just in time
to close the door, and burst out crying on the stair.
Mr. Wolfe looked very much d(iscomforted. "I am sure,
Aunt Lambert, I did not intend to hurt Hester's feelings."
"No, James," she said, very kindly-the young officer
used to call her Aunt Lambert in quite early days - and she
gave him her hand.
Mr. Lambert whistled his favorite tune of "Over the hills
and far away," with a drum accompaniment performed by his
fingers on the window. " I say, you mustn't whistle on Sunday, papa!" cried the artless young gown-boy from Grey
Friars; and then suggeste(l that it was three hours from breakfast, and he should like to finish Theo's cheese-cake.
"Oh, you greedy child!" cries Theo. But here, hearing a
little exclamatory noise outside, sle ran out of the room, closing the door behind her. And we will not pursue her. The
noise was tlat sob which broke fiom Hester's panting, overloaded heart; and, though we cannot see, I am sure the little




270


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


maid flung herself on her sister's neck, and wept upon Theo's
kind bosom.
Hetty did not walk out in the afternoon when the family
took the air on the common, but had a hea;lache and lay on
her bed, where her mother watched her. Charley had discovered a comlrade from Grey Friars: Mr. Volofe of course
paired off with Miss Lowther: and Thco and 'ier father, taking their sober walk in the Sabbath sunshine, ibund Madame
Bernstein basking on a bench under a tree, Ler niece and
nephew in attendance. Harry ran up to greet his vlear fiiends:
he was radiant with pleasure at beholding thenm —4.le elder
ladies were most gracious to the Colonel and his wife, who had
so kindly welcomed their Harry.
How noble and handsome he looked, Theo thought: she
called him by his Christian name, as if he were really her
brother. "IWhy did we not see you sooner to-day, Hatry?"
she asked.
' I never thought you were here, Theo."
" But you might have seen us if you wished."
" Where?" asked Harry.
" There, sir," she said, pointing to the church. And she
held her hand up as if in reproof; but a sweet kindness beamed
in her face. Ah, friendly young reader, wandering on the
world and struggling with temptation, may you also have one
or two pure hearts to love and pray for you!
CHAPTER XXXIII.:i.l
$,
i




CONTAINS A SOLILOQUY BY HESTER.


MARTIN LAMBERT'S first feeling, upon learning the little
secret which his younger daughter's emotion had revealed, was
to be angry with the lad who had robbed his child's heart away
from him and her family. "A plague upon all scapegraces,
English or Indian! " cried the Colonel to his wife.  ' I wish
this one had broke his nose against any door-post but ours."
"Perhalps we are to cure him of being a scapelrace, I1ly
dear," says Mrs. Lambert, mildly interposing, "a and. the fall at
our door hath somethling providential in it. You laughed at
me, Mr. Lambert, wlen I said so before; but if heaven did
not send the young gentleman to us, who did? And it may




THE VIRGINIANS.


271


be for the blessing and happiness of us all that he came,
too."
"It's hird, Molly!" groaned thle Colonel. "We cherish
and fondl, and rear 'em: we tend them through sickness and
health: we toil and we scheme: we hoard away money in the
stocking, and patch our own old coats: if they've a headache,
we can't sleep for thinking of their ailment; if they have a wish
or fancy, we work day and night to compass it, and 'tis darling
daddy tnd dearest pappy, and whose father is like ours? and
so forth. On Tuesday morning I am king of my house and
family. On Tuesday evening Prince Whippersnapper makes
his aLpearance, and my reign is over. A whole life is forgotten
and forsworn for a pair of blue eves, a pair of lean shanks, and
a bead of yellow hair."
"'Tis written that we women should leave all to follow our
husband. I think our courtship was not very long, (lear Martin!" said the matron, laying ler hand on her husband's arm.
" 'Tis human nature, and what can you expect of the jade? "
sighed the Colonel.
"And I think I did my duty to my husband, though I own
I left my papa for him," added Mrs. Lambert, softly.
"Excellent wench! Perdition catch my soul! but I do love
thee, Molly!" says the good Colonel; "but, then, mind you, your
father never (id me; and if ever I am to have sons-in-law - "
" Ever, indeed! Of course, my girls are to have husbands,
Mr. Lambert! " cries mamma.
"' Well, when they come, I'll hate them, Madam, as your
father did mne; and quite right too, for taking his treasure away
from him."
"Don't be irreligious and unnatural, Martin Lambert! I
say you are unnatural, sir! " continues the matron.
"Nay, my dear, I have an old tooth in my left jaw, here;
and 'tis natural that the tooth should come out. But when the
tooth-drawer pulls it, 'tis natural that I should feel pain. Do
you suppose, Madam, that I don't love Hetty better than any
tooth in my head?" asks Mr. Lambert. But no woman was
ever averse to the idea of her daughter getting a husband,
however fathers revolt against the invasion of the son-in-law.
As for mothers and grandmothers, those good folks are married
over again in the marriage of their young ones; and their souls
attire themselves in the laces and muslins of twenty- forty
years ago; the postilion's white ribbons bloom again, and they
flutter into the post-chaise, and drive away. What woman,
however old, has not the bridal-favors and raiment stowed




272


THE VIRGINIANS.


away, and packed in lavender, in the inmost cupboards of her
heart?
"It will be a sad thing parting with her," continued Mrs.
Lambert, with a sigh.
"You have settled that point already, Molly," laughs the
Colonel.  "Had I not best go out and order raisins and
corinths for the wedding-cake?"
"And then I shall have to leave the house in their charge
when I go to her, you know, in Virginia. How many miles is
it to Virginia, Martin? I should think it must be thousands of
miles."
"A hundred and seventy-three thousand three hundred and
ninety-one and three quarters, my dear, by the near way," answers Lambert, gravely; " that through Prester John's country.
By the other route, through Persia-"
"Oh, give me the one where there is the least of the sea,
and your horrid ships, which I can't bear! " cries the Colonel's
spouse. "I hope Rachel Esmond and I shall be better friends.
She had a very high spirit when we were girls at school."
" Had we not best go about the baby-linen, Mrs. Martin
Lambert?" here interposed her wondering husband.  Now,
Mrs. Lambert, I dare say, thought there was no matter for
wonderment at all, and had remarked some very pretty lace
caps and bibs in Mrs. Bobbinit's toy-shop. And on that Sunday afternoon, when the discovery was made, and while little
Hetty was lying upon her pillow with feverish cheeks, closed
eyes, and a piteous face, lher mother looked at the child with
the most perfect ease of mind, and seemed to be rather pleased
than otherwise at Hetty's woe.
The girl was not only unhappy, but enraged with herself
for having published her secret. Perlaps she had not known
it until the sudden emotion acquainted her with her own state
of mind; and now the little maid chose to be as much ashamed
as if she had done a wrong, and been discovered in it. She
was indignant with her own weakness, and broke into transports of wrath against herself. She vowed she never would
forgive herself for submitting to such a humiliation. So the
young pard, wounded by the hunter's dart, chafes with rage in
the forest, is angry with the surprise of the rankling steel in hier
side, and snarls and bites at her sister-cubs, and the leopardess,
her spotted mother.
Little I-letty tore and gnawed, and growled, so that I should
not like to have been her fraternal cub, or her spotted dam or
sire. "What business has any young woman," she cried out,




THE VIRGINIANS.


273


"to indulge in any such nonsense?  Mamma, I ought to be
whipped, and sent to bed. I know perfectly well that Mr. Warrington does not care a fig about me. I dare say le likes
French actresses and the commonest little milliner-girl in the
toy-shop better than me. And so he ought, and so they are
better than me. Why, what a fool I am to burst out crying
like a ninny about nothing, and because Mr. Wolfe said Harry
played cards of a Sunday! I know he is not clever, like papa.
I believe he is stupid -I am certain he is stupid: but he is
not so stupid as I am. Why, of course, I can't marry him.
How am I to go to America, and leave you and Theo? Of
course, he likes somebody else, at America, or at Tunbridge,
or at Jericho, or somewhere. He is a prince in his own country,
and can't think of marrying a poor half-pay officer's daughter,
with twopence to her fortune. Used not you to tell me how,
when I was a baby, I cried and wanted the moon? I am a baby
now a most absurd, silly little baby - don't talk to me, Mrs.
Lambert, I am. Only there is this to be said, he don't know
anything about it, and I would rather cut my tongue out than
tell him."
Dire were the threats with which Hetty menaced Theo, in
case her sister should betray her. As for the infantile Charley,
his mind being altogether set on cheese-cakes, he had not
remarked or been moved by Miss Hester's emotion; and the
parents and the kind sister of course all promised not to reveal
the little maid's secret.
" I begin to think it had been best for us to stay at home,"
sighed Mrs. Lambert to her husband.
"Nay, my dear," replied the other. "Human nature will
be human nature; surely Hetty's mother told me herself that
she had the beginning of a liking for a certain young curate
before she fell over head and heels in love with a certain young
officer of Kingsley's. And as for me, my heart was wounded
in a dozen places ere Miss Molly Benson took entire possession
of it. Our sons and daughters must follow in the way of their
parents before them, I suppose. Why, but yesterday, you were
scolding me for grumbling at Miss Het's precocious fancies.
To do the child justice she disguises her feelings entirely, and
I defy Mr. Warrington to know from her behavior how she is
disposed towards him."
" A daughter of mine and yours, Martin," cries the mother
with great dignity, "is not going to fling herself at a gentleman's head!"
"Neither herself nor the teacup, my dear," answers the
18




274


THE VIRGINIANS.


Colonel. " Little Miss Het treats Mr. Warrington like a vixen.
He never comes to us, but she boxes his ears in one fashion or
t'other. I protest she is barely civil to him; but, knowing what
is going on in the young hypocrite's mind, I am not going to
be angry at her rudeness."
"She hath no need to be rude at all, Martin; and our girl
is good enough for any gentleman in England or America.
Why, if their ages suit, shouldn't they marry after all, sir?"
" Why, if he wants her, shouldn't he ask her, my dear?  I
am sorry we came. I am for putting the horses into the carriage, and turning their heads towards home again."
But mamma fondly said, "Depend on it, my dear, that
these matters are wisely ordained for us.  Depend upon it,
Martin, it was not for nothing that Harry Warrington was
brought to our gate in that way; and that he and our children
are thus brought together again. If that marriage has been
decreed in heaven, a marriage it will be."
"At what age, Molly, I wonder, do women begin and leave
off match-making?  If our little chit falls in love and falls out
again, she will not be the first of her sex, Mrs. Lambert. I
wish we were on our way home again, and, if I had my will,
would trot off this very night."
" He has promised to drink his tea here to-night. You
would not take away our child's pleasure, Martin?" asked the
mother, softly.
In his fashion, the father was not less good-natured. "You
know, my dear," says Lambert, "that if either of 'em had a
fancy to our ears, we would cut them off and serve them in a
fricassee."
Mary Lambert laughed at the idea of her pretty little delicate ears being so served. When her husband was most tender-hearted, his habit was to be most grotesque. When lie
pulled the pretty little delicate ear, behind which the matron's
fine hair was combed back, wherein twinkled a shining line or
two of silver, I dare say he did not hurt her much. I dare say
she was thinking of the soft, well-remembered times of her
own modest youth and sweet courtship.  Hallowed remembrances of sacred times!  If the sight of youthful love is
pleasant to behold, how much more charming the aspect of the
affection that has survived years, sorrows, faded beauty perhaps, and life's doubts, differences, trouble!
In regard of her promise to disguise her feelings for Mr.
Warrington in that gentleman's presence, Miss Hester was
better, or worse, if you will, than her word. Harry not only,~




THE VIRGINIANS.


275


came to take tea with his fiiends, but invited them for the next
day to an entertainment at the Rooms, to be given in their
special honor.
A dance, and given for us!" cries Theo. "Oh, Harry,
how delightful; I wish we could begin this very minute "
"Why, for a savage Virginian, I declare, Hlarry Warrington, thou art the most civilized young man possible! " says the
Colonel. "My dear, shall we dance a minuet together?"
"We have done such a thing before, Martin Lambert!"
says the soldier's fond wife.  Her husband hums a minuet
tune; whips a plate fiom the tea-table, and makes a preparatory bow and flourish with it as if it were a hat, whilst madam
performs her best curtsy.
Only Hetty, of the party, persists in looking glum and displeased. "Why, child, have you not a word of thanks to
throw to Mr. Warrington? " asks Theo of her sister.
"I never did care for dancing much," says Iletty. " What
is the use of standing up opposite a stupid man, and dancing
down a room with him? "
' Merci du compliment! " says Mr. Warrington.
" I don't say that you are stupid - that is - that is, I — I
only meant country dances," says H-letty, biting her lips, as she
caught her sister's eye. She rmeembered she had said Harry
was strpid, and Theo's droll humorous glance was her only
reminder.
But with this Miss Hetty chose to be as angry as if it had
been quite a cruel rebuke. "I hate dancing - there - I own
it," she says, with a toss of her head.
" Nay, you used to like it well enough, child! " interposes
her mother.
" That was when she was a clild: don't you see she is
grown up to be an old woman? " remarks Hetty's father. " Or
perhaps Miss I-ester has got the gout?"
"Fiddle! " says Hester, snappishly, drubbing with her little
feet.
" What's a dance without a fiddle?" says imperturbed papa.
Darkness has come over Harry Warrington's face.  "I
come to try my best, and give them pleasure and a dance," he
thinks, "and the little thing tells me she hates dancing. We
don't practise kindness, or acknowledge hospitality so in our
country. No -nor speak to our parents so, neither." I am
afraid, in this particular, usages have changed in the United
States during the last hundred years, and that the young folks
there are considerably Hettified.




276


THE VIRGINIANS.


Not content with this, Miss Hester must proceed to make
such fun of all the company at tie Wells, and especially of
Harry's own immediate lursuits and companions, that the honest lad was still farther pained at her behavior; and, when he
saw Mrs. Lambert alone, asked how or in what he had again
offended, that Hester was so angry with him? The kind matron felt more than ever well disposed towards the boy, after
her daughter's conduct to him. She would have liked to tell the
secret which Hester hid so fiercely. Theo, too, remonstrated
with her sister in private; but Hester would not listen to the
subject, and was as angry in her bedroom, when the girls were
alone, as she had been in the parlor before her mother's company. "Suppose he hates me?" says she. " I expect he will.
I hate myself, I do, and scorn myself for being such an idiot.
How ought he to do otherwise than hate me?  Didn't I abuse
him, call him goose, all sorts of names? And I know lie is not
clever all the time. I know I have better wits than he has. It
is only because he is tall, and has blue eyes, and a pretty nose
that I like him. What an absurd fool a girl must be to like a
man merely because he has a blue nose and hooked eyes! So
I am a fool, and I won't have you say a word to the contrary,
Theo!"
Now Theo thought that her little sister, far fiom being a fool,
was a wonder of wonders, and that if any girl was worthy of
any prince in Christendom, Hetty was that spinster. " You
are silly sometimes, Hletty," says Theo, " that is, when you
speak unkindly to people who mean you well, as you (id to
Mr. Warrington at tea to-night. When he proposed to us his
party at the 'Assembly Rooms,' and nothing could be more
gallant of him, why did you say you didn't care for music, or
dancing, or tea? You know you love them all! "
I said it merely to vex myself, Thlleo, and annoy myself,
and whip myself, as I deserve, child. And, besides, how can
you expect such an idiot as I am to say anything but idiotic
things?  Do you know it quite pleased me to see him angry.
I thought, Ah! now I have hurt his feelings! Now he will say,
H-etty Lambert is an odious little set-up, sour-tempered vixen.
And that will teach him, and you, and mamma, and papa, at
any rate, that I am not going to set my cap at Mr. Harry.
No; our papa is ten times as good as he is. I will stay by our
papa; and if he asked me to go to Virginia with him to-morrow
I wouldn't, Theo. My sister is worth all the Virginians that
ever were made since the world began."
And here, I suppose, follow osculations between the sisters,




THE VIRGINIANS.


277


and mother's knock comes to the door, who has overheard their
talk through the wainscot, and calls out, " Children, 'tis time to
go to sleep."  Theo's eyes close speedily, and she is at rest;
but oh, poor little Hetty! Think of the hours tolling one after
another, and the child's eyes wide open, as she lies tossing and
wakeful with the anguish of the new wound!
' It is a juldgment upon me," she says, "' for having thought
and spoke scornfully of him. Only, why should there be a
judgment upon me? I was only in fun. I knew I liked him
very much all the time: but I thought Theo liked him too, and
I would give up anything for my darling Theo. If she had, no
tortures should ever have drawn a word from me -I would
have got a rope-ladder to help her to run away with IHarry, that
I would, or fetched the clergyman to marry them. And then I
would have retired alone, and alone, and alone, and taken care
of papa and mamma, and of the poor in the village, and have
read sermons, though I hate 'em, and have died witlout telling
a word - not a word - and I shall die soon, I know I shall."
But when the dawn rises, the little maid is asleep, nestling by
her sister, the stain of a tear or two upon her flushed downy
cheek.
Most of us play with edged tools at some period of our lives,
and cut ourselves accordingly. At first the cut hurts and stings,
and down drops the knife, and we cry out like wounded little
babies as we are. Some very very few and unlucky folks at the
game cut their heads sheer off, or stab themselves mortally, and
perish outright, and there is an end of them. But, - heaven help
us!-many people have fingered those ardentes sagittas which
Love sharpens on his whetstone, and are stabbed, scarred,
pricked, perforated, tattooed all over with the wounds, who recover, and live to be quite lively.  Wir auch have tasted das
irdische Gluck; we also have gelebt und -und so weiter. Warble your death-song, sweet Thekla! Perish off the face of the
earth, poor pulmonary victim, if so minded! Had vou survived to a later period of life, my (ear, you would have thought
of a sentimental disappointment without any reference to the
undertaker. Let us trust there is no present need of a sexton
for Miss Ietty. But meanwhile, the very instant she wakes,
there, tearing at her little heart, will that Care be, which has
given her a few hours' respite, melted, no doubt, by her youth
and her tears.




278


THE VIRGINIANS.


CHAPTER XXXIV.
IN WHICH MR. WARRINGTON TREATS THE COMPANY WITH TEA
AND A BALL.
GENEROUS with his very easily gotten money, hospitable and
cordial tb all, our young Virginian, in his capacity of man of
fashion, could not do less than treat his country friends to an
entertainment at the Assembly Rooms, whither, according to
the custom of the day, he invited almost all the remaiining company at the Wells. Card-tables were set in one apartment, for
all those who could not spend an evening without the pastime
then common to all European society: a supper with champagne in some profusion and bowls of negus was prepared in
another chamber: the large assembly room was set apart for
the dance, of which enjoyment Harry Warrington's guests partook in our ancestors' homely fashion. I cannot fancy that the
amusement was especially lively. First, minuets were called;
two or three of which were performed by as many couple. The
spinsters of the highest rank in the assembly went out for the
minuet, and my Lady Maria Esmond being an earl's daughter,
and the person of the highest rank present (with the exception
of Lady Augusta CrutchleV, who was lame), Mr. W-arrington
danced the first minuet with his cousin, acquitting himself to
the satisfaction of the whole room, and l)erforming much more
elegantly than Mr. Wolfe, who stood up with Miss Lowther.
Having completed the (lance with Lady Maria, Mr. Warrington begged Miss Hetty to do him the honor of walking the next
minuet, and accordingly Miss Hetty, blushing and looking very
happy, went through her exercise to the great delight of her
parents and the rage of Miss Humpleby, Sir John Humpleby's
daughter, of Liphook, who expected, at least, to have stood up
next after my Lady Maria. Then, after the minuets, came country dances, the music being performed by a harp, fiddle, and
flageolet; perched in a little balcony, and thrumming through
the evening rather feeble and melancholy tunes. Take up an
old book of music, and play a few of those tunes now, and one
wonders how people at any time could have found the airs
otherwise than melancholy. And yet they loved and frisked
and laughed and courted to that sad accompaniment. There is
scarce one of the airs that has not an amari aliquid, a tang of
S 1!:?..- i.:1 




THE VIRGINIANS.


279


sadness. Perhaps it is because they are old and defunct, and
their plaintive echoes call out to us from the limbo of the past,
whither they have been consigned for this century. IPerhaps
they were gay when they were alive; and our descendants when
they hear - well, never mind names - when they hear tlle
works of certain maestri now popular, will say: Bon Dieu, is
this the music which amused our forefathers?
Mr. Warrington had the honor of a duchess's company at
his tea-drinking-Colonel Lambert's and Mr. Prior's heroine,
the Duchess of Queensberry. And though tle Ducless carefully
turned her back upon a countess who was present, laughe(l
loudly, glanced at the latter over her shoulder, andl pointed at
her with her fan, yet almost all the company pushed, and bowed,
and cringed, and smiled, and backed before tllis countess,
scarcely taking any notice of her Grace of Queensberry and her
jokes, and her fan, and her airs. Now this countess was no
other than the Countess of Yarmouth-Walmoden, the lady whom
his Majesty George the Second, of Great Bi,. tin, France, and
Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, delighted to honor. She
had met Harry Warrington in the walks that morning, and had
been mighty gracious to the young Virginian. She had told him
they would have a game at cards that night; and purllind old
Colonel Blinkinsop, who fancied the invitation had been addressed to him, had made the profoundest of bows. "Pooh!
pooll!" said the Countess of England and I-anover, " I don't
mean you. I mean the young Firshinian! "  And everybody
congratulated the youth on his good fortune. At night, all the
world, in order to show their loyalty doubtless, thronged round
my Lady Yarmouth; my Lord Bamborough was eager to make
her pnrtie at quadrille; my Lady Blanche Pendragon, that model
of virtue; Sir Lancelot Quintain, that pattern of knighthood
and valor; Mr. Dean of Ealing, tlat exemplary divine and
preacher; numerous gentlemen, noblemen, generals, colonels,
matrons, and slpinsters of the highest rank, were on the watch
for a smile from her, or eager to jump up and join her cardtable. Lady Maria waited upon her with meek respect, and
Madame de Bernstein treated the Hanoverian lady with profounl gravity and courtesy.
Harry's bow had been no lower than hospitality required;
but such as it was, Miss Hester chose to be indignant with it.
She scarce spoke a word to her partner during their dance together; and when he took her to the supper-room for refreshment she was little more communicative. To enter that room
they had to pass by Madame Walmoden's card-table, who good



280


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


naturedly called out to her host as he was passing, and asked
him if hlis "' breddy lle ba e liddle bar(lne li   tanzing?"
"I thank your la(lyslhi), I don't like tanzing, and I don't
like cards," says MIiss IIester, tossing ur l her head; and, dropping, a curtsy like a " cheese," she strutted away froml the
Countess's table.
Mr. Warrington was very much offended. Sarcasm fiom
the young to the old pained himn: flilppant behavior towardls
himself hurt hlim. Courteous in his simple way to all persons
1whom he met, he expected a like politeness from them. lletty
pertfctly well knew wlhat offence sle was giving; could mark
tle (lispleasure reddening on her l)artner's honest faee, with a
side-long glance of her eye; nevertheless she triedl to wear her
most ingenuous smile; and, as she came up to the side-board
where the refieshments were set, artlessly said —
" VWhat a horrid, vulgar old woman that is; don't you think
so?
"' W/hat woman? " asked the young man.
"That German woman - my Lady Yarmouth - to whom all
the men are bowing and cringing."
"Her ladyship has been very kind to me," says larry,
grimly. " Won't you have some of this custard?"
"And you have been bowing to her, too! You look as if
your negus was not nice," harmlessly continues Miss Iletty.
"It is not very good negus," says Iarry, with a gulp.
" And the custard is bad too! I declare 'tis made with bad
eggs!" cries Miss Lambert.
"I wish, Hester, that the entertainment and the company
had been better to your liking," says poor Harry.
"'Tis very unfortunate; but I dare say you could not help
it," cries the young woman, tossing her little curly head.
Mr. Warrington groaned in spirit, perhaps in nbody, and
clenched his fists and his teeth. The little torturer artlessly
continued, '"You seem disturbed: shall we go to my mamma?"
"Yes, let us go to your mamma," cries Mr. Warrington,
with glaring eyes and a " Curse you, why are you always standing in the way?" to an unlucky waiter.
"La! Is that the way you speak in Virginia?" asks Miss
Pertness.
"We are rough there sometimes, madam, and can't hell
being disturbed," he says slowly, and with a quiver in his
whole frame, looking down upon her with fire flashing out of
his eyes. Hetty saw nothing distinctly afterwards, and until




THE VIRGINIANS.


281


she came to her mother. Never had she seen Harry look so
handsome or so noble.
" You look pale, child!" cries mamma, anxious, like all
pavid e matres.
"'Tis the cold-no, I mean the heat. Thank you, Mr.
Warrington." And she makes him a faint curtsy, as Harry
bows a tremendous bow, and walks elsewhere amongst his
guests. lIe hardly knows what is happening at first, so angry
is he.
lHe is aroused by another altercation between his aunt and
the Duchess of Quecnsberry. When the royal favorite l)assed
the Duchess, her grace gave her ladyshi) an awful stare out of
eyes that were not so bright now as tlley hl( been in tle youlng
days when they 'i set the world on fire;" turneCd r1oun( with an
affetbed laugh to her neighbor, andl shot at the jolly lalloverian
la(d a ceaselefie f iles     d seer.           tss fire of iles and  C t  ur
sued her game at cards, not knowing, or not choosing, l)erlhaps,
to know how her enemy was jibing at her. There hlad I)een a
feud of many years' date between their Graces of Queensberry
and the family on the throne.
" Iow you all bow down to the idol! Don't tell me! You
are as bad as the rest, my good M1ad(amne Bernstein!" the
Duchess says. "' Ah, what a trule Christian coultry this is!
and how your dcear first husband, the Bishop, would have liked
to see such a sight! "
" Forgive me, if I fail quite to understand your Grace."
" We are both of us growing old, my good Bernstein, or,
perhaps, we won't understand when we (don't choose to understand.  That is the way with us women, my good young
Iroquois."
Your Grace remarked, that it was a Christian country,"
said Madame de Bernstein, " and I fild to perieive the point
of the remark."
" Indeed, my good creature, there is very little point in it!
I meant we were such good Christians, because we were so forgiving. Don't you remember reading, when you were young,
or your husband the Bishop reading, when lie was in the pulpit,
how, when a woman amongst the Jews was caught doing wrong,
the Pharisees were for stoning her out of hand?  Far from
stoning sucli a woan now, look, how fond we are of her! Any
man in this room would go roun( it on his knees if yonder
woman bade him. Yes, Madame Waalmoden, you may look up
firom your cards with your great painted face, and frown with
3your g(reat painted eyebrows at me. You know I am talking




282


THE VIRGINIANS.


about you; and I intend to go on talking about you, too. I
say any man here would go round the room on his knees, if you
bade him! "
"I think, Madam, I know two or three who wouldn't!"
says Mr. Warrington, with some spirit.
" Quick, let me hug them to my heart of hearts! " cries the
old Duchess. " Which are the! Bring 'cm to me, my dear
Iroquois! Let us have a game of four -of honest men and
women; that is to say, if we can find a couple more partners,
3Ir. Warrington! "
" Here are we three," says the Baroness Bernstein, with a
forced laugh; " let us play a dummy."
"Pray, Madam, where is the third? " asks the old Duchess,
looking rounl.
"Madam! " cries out the other elderly lady, " I leave your
Grace to boast of your honesty, which I have no doubt is spotless: but I will thank you not to doubt mine before my own
relatives and children! "
"See how she fires up at a word! I am sure, my dear
creature, you are quite as honest as most of the company," says
the l)uchess.
"Which may not be good enough for her Grace the Duchess
of Quecnsberry and Dover, who, to be sure, might have stayed
away in such a case, but it is the best my nephew could get,
Madam, and his best he has given you. You look astonished,
Harry, my dear- and well you may. Ile is not used to our
ways, Madam."
" Madam, he has found an aunt wh( can teach him our
ways, and a great deal more! " cries the Duchess, rapping
her fan.
" She will teach him to try and make all his guests welcome,
old or young, rich or poor. That is the Virginian way, isn't it,
Harry? She will tell him, when Catherine Hyde is angry with
his old aunt, tlat they were friends as girls, and ought not to
quarrel now they are old women. And she will not be wrong,
will she, Duchess?"  And herewith the one dowager made a
superb curtsy to the other, and the battle just impending between
them passed away.
"Egad, it was like Byng and Galissoniere " cried Chaplain
Sampson, as Harry talked over the night's transactions with his
tutor next morning. " No power on earth, I thought, could
have prevented those two from going into action! "
Seventy-fours at least - both of 'em  " laughs Harry.
" But the Baroness declined the battle, and sailed out of fire
with inimitable skill."




THE VIRGINIANS.


283


"Why should she be afraid? I have heard you say my
aunt is as witty as any woman alive, and need fear'the tongue
of no dowager in Enlland."
"Iem! Perhaps she had good reasons for being peaceable!" Sampson knew very well what they were, and that poor
Bernstein's reputation was so hopelessly flawed and cracked,
that any sarcasms levelled at Madame Walmoden were equally
applicable to her.
Sir," cried Harry, in great amazement, "you don't mean
to say there is anything against the character of my aunt, the
Baroness de Bernstein!"
The Chaplain looked at the young Virginian with such an
air of utter wonderment, that the latter saw there must be some
history against his aunt, and some charge which Sampson did
not choose to reveal. iGreat heavens! ' Harry groaned out,
" are there two then in the family, who are-"
t" Which two? " asked the Chaplain.
But here Harry stopped, blushing very red. He remembered, and we shall presently have to state, whence he had got
his information regarding the other family culprit, and bit his
lip, and was silent.
" Bygones are always unpleasant things, Mr. Warrington,"
said the Chaplain; " and we had best hold our peace regarding them. No man or woman can live long in this wicked
world of ours without some scandal attaching to them, and I
fear our excellent Baroness has been no more fortunate than
her neighbors. We cannot escape calumny, my dear young
friend! You have had sad proof enough of that in your brief
stay amongst us. But we can have clear consciences, and that
is the main point!" And herewith the Chaplain threw his
handsome eyes upward, and tried to look as if his conscience
was as white as the ceiling.
"Has there been anything very wrong, then, about my Aunt
Bernstein?" continued Harry, remembering how at home his
mother had never spoken of the Baroness.
" 0 sancta simplicitas! " the Chaplain muttered to himself.
' Stories, my dear sir, much older than your time or mine.
Stories such as were told about everybody, de me, de te; you
know with what degree of truth in your own case."
" Confound the villain! I should like to hear any scoundrel
say a word against the dear old lady," cries the young gentleman. " Why, this world, parson, is full of lies and scandal! "
" And you are just beginning to find it out, my dear sir," cries
the clergyman, with his most beatified air. " Whose character




284


THIE VIRGINIANS.


has not been attacked? My lord's, yours, mine - every one's.
We must bear as well as we can, and pardon to the utmost of
our power."
"You may. It's your cloth, you know; but, by George,
1 won't!" cries Mr. Warrington, and again goes down the list
with a thump on the table. " Let any fellow say a word in my
hearing against that dear old creature, and Il1 pull his nose, as
sure as my name is H-enry Esmond. I-ow do you do, Colonel
Lambert? You find us late again, sir. Me and his Reverence
kept it up pretty late with some of the young fellows, after tle
ladies went away. I hope the dear ladies are well, sir?" and
here larry rose, greeting his fiiend the Colonel very kindly,
who had come to pay him a morning visit, anCd had entered the
room followed by Mr. Gumbo (the latter l)referre(l walking very
leisurely about all the affairs of lite), just as Harry -suliting
the action to the worl - was tweaking the nose of Calumny.
' The ladies are purely. Whose nose were you pulling
when I came in, Mr. Warrington?" says the Colonel, laughing.
"Isn't it a shame, sir? The parson, here, was telling me,;hat there are villains here who attack the character of my
t'unt, the Baroness of Bernstein! "
" You don't mean to say so! " cries Mr. Lambert.
" I tell Mr. Iarry that everybody is calumniated! " says the
Chaplain, with a clerical intonation; but, at the same time, he
looks at Colonel Lambert and winks, as much as to say, " Ie
knows nothing- keep him in the (lark."
The Colonel tool the hint. "Yes," says he, "the jaws
of slander are for ever wagging. Witness that story about
the dancing-girl, that we all believed against you, I-arry
Warrington."
" What all, sir?"
"No, not all. One didn't-Hetty didn't. You should
have heard her standing up for you, Harry, t'other day, when
somebody -a little bird - brought us another story about you;
about a game of cards on Sunday morning, when you and
a friend of yours miglit have been better employed."  And
lhere there was a look of mingled humor and reproof at the
clergyman.
"Faith, I own it, sir!" says the Chaplain. "It was mea
culpa, mea maxima - no, mea mininma culpa, only the rehearsal
of an old game at piquet, which we had been talking over."
" And did Miss Hester stand up for me?" says Harry.: " Miss Hester did. But why that wondering look?" asks
the Colonel.




~i:^~ ~            THE VIRGINIANS.                   285:      "She scolded me last night like — like anything," says
downright I-larry.  I never heard a young girl go on so. She
made fun of everybody - hit about at young and old - so that
I couldn't hell telling her, sir, that in our country, leastways in
rVirgia (they say the Yankees are very pert), young l)eople
don't speak of their elders so. And, do you know,, si, we liad
a sort of a quarrel, and I'm very glad you've told me she slolke
kindly of me?" says H-arry, shaking his friend's hand, a ready
boyish emotion glowing in his cheeks and in his eyes.
You won't come to much hurt if you find no worse enemy
than Hester, Mr. Warringtn, said the girl's fatllhr, gravely,
looking not witlout a (ceep thrill of interest at the flushe(d flce
and moist eyes of his young friend. " Is he fond of lier?
thought the Colonel. 'k And how fond? 'Tis evident lie knows
nothling, and Miss I-et ias been plerforming sonme of' her tricks.
lie is a fine honest lad, and God bless him." And Colonel
Lambert looked towards Ilarry witl tliat manly, fiiendly kindlness which our lucky young Virginian was not unaccustomed to
insire, for lie was comely to look at, prone to bllush, to kindle,
nay, to melt, at a kind story. Ilis laughter was cheery to
hear: his eyes shone confidently: his voice spoke truth..
And the young lady of the minuet?   Sile distinguished
herself to perlection: thle whole room admired," asked the
courtly Chaplain.  ' I trust Miss-Miss-"
"Miss Theodosia is perfectly well, and ready to dance Cat
this minute with your Reverence," says her father. " Or stay,
Chaplain, l)erlial)s you only dance on Sunday?"  The Coloell
then turned to Ilarry again.    1 You l)aid your court very
neatly to the great lady, Mr. Flatterer. My Lady Yarmouth lias
been trumpeting your praises at the Pump Room. Slei says
she has got a leedel boy in Hanover dat is wery like you, and
you are a sharming young mans."
"If her ladyship were a queen, people could scarcely be
more respectful to her," says the Chaplain.
" Let us call her a vice-queen, parson," says the Colonel,
with a twinkle of his eye.
" Her Majesty pocketed forty of my guineas at quadrille,"
cries Mr. Warrington, with a laugh.
" She will play you on the same terms another day. The
Countess is fond of play, and she wins from most people,"
said tlhe Colonel, dryly. " Why don't you bet her ladyship live
thousand on a bishopric, parson?  I have heard of a clergyman who made such a bet, and who lost it, and who paid it,
and who got the bishopric."




t
i -
i
i:!:~;-I
`.
i
G
i::
j:: ~
I;c ~I ~
j i
iX':
i~Qi
~~ci~
- ~~ -
c;-
-— r;~ ----.i:!=c:i
r-s~;~.
LL


286


THE VIRGINIANS.


" Ah! who will lend me the five thousand? Will you, sir?"
asked the Chaplain.
" No, sir. I won't give her five thousand to be made Commander-in-Chief or Pope of Rome," says the Colonel, stoutly.
"II shall fling no stones at the woman; but I shall bow no
knee to her, as I see a pack of rascals do. No offence - I
don't mean you. And I don't mean Harry Warrington, who
was quite right to be civil to her, and to lose his money with
good humor. Harry, I am come to bid thee farewell, my boy.
We have had our pleasuring — my money is run out, and we
must jog back to Oakhurst. Will you ever come and see the
old place again?"
'"Now, sir, now! I'll ride back with you!" cries tIarry,
eagerly.
" Why —no -not now," says the Colonel, in a hurried
manner. "We haven't got room - that is, we're- we're
expecting some friends."  ["' The Lord forgive mforor the lie!"
he mutters.]  "But-but you'll come to us when-when
Tom's at home-yes, when Tom's at home. That will be
famous fun-and I'd have you to know, sir, that my wife
and I love you sincerely, sir - and so do the girls, however
much they scold you. And if you ever are in a scrape- and
such things have happened, Mr. Chaplain! you will please to
count upon me. Mind that, sir! "
And the Colonel was for taking leave of Harry then and
there, on the spot, but the young man followed him down the
stairs, and insisted upon saying good-by to his dear ladies.
Instead, however, of proceeding immediately to Mr. Lambert's lodging, the two gentlemen took the direction of the
common, where, looking from Harry's windows, Mr. Sampson
saw the pair in earnest conversation. First, Lambert smiled
and looked roguish. Then, presently, at a farther stage of the
talk, he flung up both his hands and performed other gestures
indicating surprise and agitation.
"The boy is telling him," thought the Chaplain. When
Mr. Warrington came back in an hour, he found his Reverence
deep in the composition of a sermon. I-larry's face was grave
and melancholy; he flung down his hat, buried himnself in a
great chair, and then came from his lips something like an
execration.
"The young ladies are going, and our heart is affected?"
said the Chaplain, looking up friom his manuscript.
" Heart!" sneered Harry.
" Which of the young ladies is the conqueror, sir? I
A>                                       ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.



THE VIRGINIANS.


287


thought the youngest's eyes followed you about at yourball."
"Confound the little termagant!" broke out Harry.
"Wlhat does she mean by being so pert to me? She treats
me as if I was a fool! "
"And no man is, sir, with a woman!" said the scribe of
the sermon.
"Ain't they, Chaplain?"  And Harry growled out more
naughty words expressive of inward disquiet.
"By the way, have you heard anything of your lost property?" asked the Chaplain, presently looking up from his pages.
I Harry said, "No!" with another word which 1 would not
print for the world.
"I begin to suspect, sir, that there was more money than
you like to own in that book. I wish I could find some."
"There were notes in it," said Harry, very gloomily, " and
- and l)apers that I am very sorry to lose. WXhat the deuce has
come of it? I had it when we dined together."
"I saw you put it in your pocket!" cried the Chaplain.
" I saw you take it out and pay at the toy-shop a bill for a gold
thimble and work-box for one of your young ladies. Of course
you have asked there, sir?"
"Of course I have," says Mr. Warrington, plunged in
melancholy.
"Gumbo put you to bed, at least, if I remember righlt. I
was so cut myself tllat I scarce remember anything. Can you
trust those black fellows, sir?"
"I can trust him with my head. With my head?" groaned
out Mr. Warrington, bitterly. "I can't trust myself with it."
j      "' 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?"




1


288                THE VIRGINIANS.
Mr. Warrington looked, for a moment, askance at the       L
clergyman.  "Confound all women, I say!" muttered the
young misogynist.   For which sentiment every well-conditioned person will surely rebuke lim. 
CHAPTER XXXV.
ENTANGLEMENTS. 
OuR 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 that under which the poor little maiden was
supposed to be suffering, the remedy of absence and distance
often acts effectually with men; but I believe women are not so
easily cured by the alibi treatment. Some of them will go 
away ever so far, and for ever so long, and the obstinate disease hangs by them, spite of distance or climate. You may
whip, abuse, torture, insult them, and still the little deluded
creatures will persist in their fidelity. Nay, if I may speak,
after profound and extensive study and observation, there are
few better vways of securing the filitlfulness and admiration of
the beautiful l)artners of our existence than a little judicious ill
treatment, a brisk dose of occasional violence as an alterative,
and, for general and wholesome diet, a cooling but pretty constant neglect. At 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 tlose who
are cloyed by too much surfeiting of the sugarplulms and lollipops of Love. I have known a young being, with every wish 
gratified, yawn in her adoring husband's face, andc Ireter tlhe
conversation and petits soins of the merest booby and idiot;
whilst, on the other hand, I have seen Chloe, - at whom Strephon has flung his bootjack in the morning, or whom he has
cursed before 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 favorite tunes; and, when old John the butler, or old
Mary the maid, comes in with the bed-candles, look round
proudly, as much as to say, Now, John, look how good my 




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


289


dearest Henry is! Make your game, gentlemen, then! There
is the coaxing, folndling, adoring line, when you 'are henpecked, and Louisa is indifferenlt, and bored out of her existence. There is the manly, selfish, etlectual system, where she
alnswers to tlhe whistle; and comes in at ' D)own Char1ge " and
knows her master; and(l fisks and fawns alout hlill; and nuzzles at his knees; and * licks the lhand that's iaised" - that's
raisedl to do her good, as (I quote from memory) Mr. Pope
ilnely observes. What used tihe late lamented O'Connell to saly,
over whom a gratetfl countiry has raised suchl a mnagnificent testimonial? " Hereditary bon(dsien," lie used to remlark, "l 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 y3our cudgels, my enslaved, injured boys!
Women will be pleased with these remarks, because they
have such a taste for humor and understandi irony: land I should
not be surprised if young Grubstreet. who corresponds with
three penny papers and describes tlhe l)ersolls and conversation
of gentlemen wlhom he meets at his h  cllubs," will say, " I told
you so! lie ad(vocates the thrashing of womnen! I-e has no
nobility of soul! Ile has no heart! " Nor have I, my eminent
young Grubstreet! any more thlan you have ears. Dear ladies!
I assure vonI I am only joking in tile above remarks, - I do not
advocate tihe tlhrashing of your sex at all, -and, as you can't
understand thle commonest bit of fiun, beg leave flatly to tell
you, that I consider your sex a hundred times more loving and
faithlful than ours.
So, what is the use of I-etty's parents taking her home, if
the little maaid intends to be just as fond of Harry absent as of
I-arry present? WAhy not let her see him before Ball and Dobbin are put to, and say " Good-by, Iarry! I was very wilful
and fiactious last night, andl you were very kind: but good-by,
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. Hie does not know what
grief is lying behind H-etty's glances, or hidden under the artifice of her innocent young smiles  H-e has, p(rhaps, a care of
his own. He will l)art from her calmly, and fancy she is
halpy to get back to her music and her poultry and her flowerga rden.
He (id not even ride part of the way homewards by the side
of his friend's carringe. IIe hadl soln other party arranged for
that afternoon, and when he returned thence, the good Lamberts
were gone from Tunbridge Wells. There were their windows
19




290                   TIE VIRGINIANS.
open, and the card in one of them signifying that the apartnents were once more to let. A little passing sorrow at the
blank aspect of tlhe roots lately enlivened by countenances so
frank and friendly, may have crossed the young gentleman's
mind; but he dines at the I' White  orse"'' at four o'clock, and
eats his dinner and calls fiercely for his bottle. Poor little
H-ester will choke over her tea about the same hour, when the
Lamberts arrive to sleep at the house of their friends at Westerham. The young roses will be wan in her cheeks in the
morning, and there will be black circles round her eyes. It
was the thunder: the night was hot: she could not sleep: she
will be better when she gets home again the next day. And
home they come. 'There is tile 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 I-ester Lambert? Why, she is ever so much older than Theo now - Theo,
who has always been so composed, and so clever, and so old
for her age. But in a night or two Hester has lived - oh, long,
long years! So have many besides: and poppy and mandragora 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
wine. lHe laughs, rattles in reply to his aunt, who asks him
which of the girls is his sweetleart?  He gayly says he loves
them both like sisters. He has never seen a bettel gentleman,
nor better people, than the Lamberts. Why is Lambert not a
general? He has been a most distinguished officer: his Royal
Highness the Duke is very fond of him. Madame Bernstein
says that Harry must make interest with Lady Yarmouth for
his protege.
"  Elle ravvole fous, cher bedid anche!" says Madame Bernstein, mimicking the Countess's German accent. The Baroness
is delighted with her boy's success.  "You carry off the hearts
of all the old women, doesn't he, Maria?" she says, with a
sneer at her niece, who quivers 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.
|1|     'l Did she cheat?" cries Harry astonished. "I am sure,
Ma'am, I saw no unfair play."




THE VIRGINIANS.


1" No more did I, my dear, but I am sure she cheated. Bah!
every woman cheats, I and Maria included, whell we can get a
chance. But when you play with the Walhnodcn, you don't do
wrong to lose in moderation: and many men cheat ill that way.
Cultivate her. She has taken a fancy to your beaux yeux.
Why should your Excellency not be Governor of Virginia, sir?
You must 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 HIarry.
The old lady's rouged check grew a little redder. " I am not
in favor at Kensington," she said. "I may have been once;
and( there are no faces so unwelcome to kings as those they
wish to forget. All of us want to forget something or somcbody. I dare say our ingtnu here would like to wipe a sum or
two off the slate. Wouldst thou not, Harry? "
I-arTry turned red, too, and so'did Maria, and his aunt
laughed one of those wicked laughs which are not altogether
pleasant to hear.  What meant those guilty signals on the
cheeks of her nephew and niece?  What account was scored
upon the memory of either, which they were desirous to efface?
I fear Madame Bernstein was right, and that most folks have
some ugly reckonings written up on their consciences, which we
were glad to be quit of.
H-ad Maria known one of the causes of Iarry's disquiet,
that middle-aged spinster would have been more unquiet still.
For some days he had missed a pocket-book. He had remembered it in his possession on that day when he drank so much
claret at the " White Horse," and Gumbo carried him to bed.
-He sought for it in the morning, but none of his servants had
seen it. IIe had inquired for it at the " White lorse," but
there were no traces of it. HIe could not cry the book, and
could only make very cautious inquiries respecting it. He must
not have it known that the book was lost. A pretty condition
of mind Lady Maria Esmond would be in, if she knew that the
outpourings of her heart were in the hands of the piublic! The
letters contained all sorts of disclosures: a hundred family secrets were narrated by the artless correspondent: there was ever
so much satire and abuse of persons with whom she and Mr.
Warrington came in contact. There were expostulations about
his attentions to other ladies. There was scorn, scandal, jokes,
appeals, protests of eternal fidelity; the usual farrago, dear
MIadam, which you may remember you wrote to your Edward,
wherlyou were engaged to him, and before you became Mrs.




292                   THE VIRGINIANS.
Jones. Would you like those letters to be read by any one
else? Do you recollect what you said about the Miss Browns
in two or three of those letters, and tile unfavorable olinion
you expressed of Mrs. Thompson's character? I)o you halppen
to recall the words which you used regarding,Jones himself,
whom you subsequently married (for in consequence of' lisputes
abolt the settlements your engagement withl E(dward was broken
off)? and would you like Mr. J. to see those remarks? You
i   know you wouldn't. Then be pleased to withdraw that ilmputation which you have already east 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 anything wrong in them. They are foolish when written by young
folks to one another, and how much more foolish when written
by an old man to a young lass, or by an old lass to a young
lad   No wonder Lady Maria should not like lier letters to be
read. Why, tie 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 anyblody. I intend to say of every woman
that she is chaste and handsome; of every man that he is handsome, clever, and richl; of every book tlhat it is delightfully
interesting; of Snobnore's manners that they are gentlemanlike; of Screwby's dinners that they are luxurious; of Jawkins's
conversation that it is lively and anamusing; of Xantippe, that
she has a sweet temper! of Jezebel, that her color is natural;
of Bluebeard tlat 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 unfavorable view ot
human nature! What? King Cheops was not a perfect monarch? 0 you railer at royalty and slanderer of all that is noble
and good! When this book is concluded, I slall change the
jaundiced livery which my books have worn since I began to
lisp in numbers, have rose-colored 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 spl)outcd as yet, and who,
without any manner of doubt, have their little failings. There
is Madame Bernstein: she has fallen asleep after dinner, and
eating and drinking too much, -those are her ladyship's little
failings. Mr. Harry Warrington has gone to play a match at




TIlE VIRGINIANS.


293


billiards with Count Caramboli: I suspect idleness is 7is failing.
Thait is wllat lMr. Chllanlinl Samnl)Son reImarlks to Lady Maria,
I    as tl(v a re talkino' to.thi(er in a low tone, so as not to interruipt
I     Atunt Be wrnstein's doze ill tle neihoring roolm.
|         k* A,,entleminll oft' Mr. \narll ringtoll's 1ne('nsll can afrord to b)e
ille," savs Lad1-y Maria.  WVly, sur1ne vyo  love cards  il billit11rds yoill(sell', mny roo(l oMr. S'6al)son(  "
"I   )lon't say, Malldaml, my practice is good, only my doctrine is solundl," says 1Mr. Chapl)till with a sigh.  Tllis.yotng
gentleman should have some employment. lie should alppeat r
at Court, and enter the se(rice( of his coilntry, as bIefits a man
of his station.  IIe sho-uld settle down, and choose n womanl of
a suitable ranki as his wile."  Saimpson looks in her lad(yshilp's
face as lie speaks.
"Indeed, my cousin is wasting his time," says Lady Maria,
bluslling slightly.
" Mr. Warrington might see his relatives of his father's
famlily," suggests Mr. C:laplain.
" '** Suffolk colintrv boolies (drinking beer and hallooing after
foxes! I don't see anything to be gained by his frequenting
thelm   Mr. Sampson!"
" They are of an ancient family, of which the chief has been
knight of the shire te ese hlllndled years," says the Chaplain.
' I have heard Sir Miles hath a dau ghter of Mr. Iarry's ageand a beauty, too."
"I know notliing, sir, about Sir Miles Warrington, and his
dauighters, and his beauties!" cries Maria, in a fluster.
'i The laroness stirred- no —her ladyship is in a sweet
sleep," says the Chaplalin, in a very soft voice.  "I fear,
Madam, for your ladyslilp's cousin, Mr. Warrington. I fear
for his youth; for designing persons who may get about him;
for extravagances, follies, intrigues even into wllich le will be
led, and into whliicl everybody will try to templt himl. hIis
lordsllil, my kind patron, bade me to come an(l watchl over
him, and I am here accord(ingly, as your ladyship knoweth. I
know the follies of' votng mlen. Perhatps I have lractised them
myself. I own it witli a blush," adds iMr1. Sampson with much
unction - not, however, bringing the promised blush forward
to corroborate the asserted repentance.
"B13etween ourselves, I tfear Mr. Warrington is in some
trouble now. Madam," continues the Chaplain, steadily looking
k!'     at Lady Maria.
" What, ag(ain?" shrieks the lady.
I Hush! Your ladyship's dear invalid! " whispers the ChapI. *
I




294


THE VIRGINIANS.


lain, again pointing towards Madame Bernstein. " Do you think
your cousin has any partiality tor any -- any member of Mr.
Lambert's f1imily? for examl)le, Miss Lambert?"
"There is nothingt between him and Miss Lambert," says
Lady Maria.
Your ladyship is certain? "
Women are said to have good eyes in such matters, my
good Sampson," says my lady, with an easy air. "I thought
the little girl seemed to be following him."
"Then I am at fault once more," the frank Chaplain said.
" Mr. Warrington said of the young lady, that she ought to go
back to her doll, and called her a pert, stuck-up little hussy."
"' Ah! " sigled Lady MIaria, as if relieved by the news.
"Then, Madam, there must be somel)ody else," said the
Chaplain. " Ilas he confided nothing to your ladyship?"
"To me, n3r. Sampson? What? Where? Iow?" exclaims
Maria.
iSome six days ago, after we had bebn dining at the' llWhite
Horse,' anid drinking too freely, Mr. Warrington lost a pocketbook containing letters."
" Letters! " gasps Lady Maria.
" And probably more money than he likes to own," continnes Mr. Sampson, with a grave nod of the head.  I-lie is very
much disturbed about the book. We have both made cautious
inquiries albout it. We have-   Gracious powers, is your
ladyship ill?"
H-ere my Lady Maria gave three remarkably shrill screams,
and tumlled off her chair.
I will see the Prince. I have a right to see him. What's
this?  Where am I? -What's the matter?" cries Madame
Bernstein, waking up fiomn 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 tortoise-shell cane.
W       Wlhat —what's the matter? " she asked again. " Iave you
killed her, sir?"
Some sudden qualm must have come over her ladyship.
Shall I cut her laces, Mladam? or send for a doctor?" cries
the Clhaplain, with every look of innocence and alarm.
' What has passed betwee:n you, sir?" asked the old lady,
fiercely.
"I give you my honor, Madam, I have done I don't know
what. I but mentioned that Mr. Warrington had lost a pocketbook contaiing letters, and my lady swooned, as you see."
IK..:




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


295


Madame Bernstein dashed water on her niece's face. A
feeble moan told presently that tle 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 ol
waking up from her swoon.
What las happened?" asked the younger lady, bewildered
and gasping.
"IHm! You know best what has happened, Madam, I suppose. What hath happened before in our family?" cried the
ol B3aroness, glaring at her niece with savage eyes.
A' All, 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 tie old story of the Esmonds," cried the elder,
bitterly.
"Seal broken, letters lost?  What do you mean, aunt?"
asked Maria, faintly.
} "I mean that my mother was the only honest woman that
ever entered tile family!" cried the Baroness, stamping her
foot. " And she was a parson's daughter of no family in particular, or she would have gone wrong, too. Good heavens!
is it decreed that we are all to be...?"
" To be what, Madam? " cried Maria.
" To be what my Ladc Queensberry said we were last night.
To be what we are! You know the word for it!" cried the
indignant old woman. "I say, what has come to the whole
race?  Your father's mother was an honest woman, Maria.
Why did I leave her?  Why couldn't you remain so?"
"Madam!" exclaims Maria, "I (declare, before heaven, I
am as   "
" Balh! Don't madam me! Don't call heaven to witnessthere's nobody by! And if you swore to your innocence till
the rest of your teeth dropped out of your mouth, my Lady
Maria Esmond, I would not believe you! "
"Ah! it was you told him!" gasped Maria. She recognized 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!
I)o you suppose I am going to let Henry Esmond's boy fling
himself and his wealth away upon such a battered old rock as
you?  The boy shan't be robbed and cheated in our family.




296


TIlE VIRGINIANS.


Not a shilling of mine shall any of you have if he comes to
any harmn amongst you."
Ali! you told him! " cried Maria, with a sudden burst of
rebellion. * Well, then! I'd have you to know tlhat I don't
care a penln, iMtadam, for your paltry money  I lhave 31r.
larry WVarrington's word - yes, and his letters  and I know
he will die rather than break it."
" le will die if lie 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( utLpo
her perisecutor.
Allh! Why did not I marry an honest manl? " said the old
lady, shaking her head sadly. ' IIenry Esmond was lnoble and
good, and perhapls might have made me so. But no, no - we
have all got tle taint in us - all! You don't mean to sacrifice
this boy, Maria?"
a" fidame l ia tante, do you take me for a fool at my age?"
asks Maria.
"I Set him fiee! I'll give you five tlousand pounds - in my
— in my will, Maria. 1 will, on my honor! "
"i When you were youlng, and you liked Colonel Esmond,
you thlrew him aside for an earl, and the earl for a duke?"
"Yes."
"Ehl    Bon sang ne peut mentir! 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 IMaria with a wave of her hand. " Suppose my letters
are published to all the world to-morrow?  Apres?  I know
they contain things I would as lieve not tell. Things not about
me alone.  Coomment! Do you suplpose there are no stories but
mine in the famnily?  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 lhae 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?"




THE VIRGINIANS.


297


" Offer me ten thousand pounds, Madame 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.
Al, if lie heard you?"
" Apr s? 1 have his word. I know he will keep it. I can
afford to wait, Madall," and she flung out of the room, just as
tlhe Chapllain returned. It was Madaine Bernsteiln w1lo wanted
cordials now. She was immiensely moved and shocked by the
news whichh had been thus suddenly brought to her.
CHAPTER XXXVI.
WHICI 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 rancor or an!er. "Of course, my Lady
Maria," she said, " you can't sulppose that I, as Iarry Warrington's near relative, can be pleased at the idea of his marrying a woman who is as old as his mother, and has not a penny
to her fortune; but if he chooses to do so silly a thing, the
affair is none of mine; and I doubt whether I should have been
much inclined to be taken au serieux with regard to that offer
of five thousan( pounds which I made in the heat of our talk.
So it was already at Castlewood that this pretty affair was
arranged? I-lad I known how faar it had gone, my dear, I
should have spared some needless opposition. When a pitcher
is broken, what railing can mend it?"
"Madam! " here interposed Maria.
" P:ardon me - I mean notling against your ladyship's honor
or character, which, no doubt, are quite safe. Harry says so,
and you say so - wlat more can one ask?"
" You have talked to Mr. Warrington, Madam?"
"And he has owned that he made you a promise at Castlewood: that you have it in his writing."
" Certainly I have, Mada! " says Lady Maria.
"Ah!" (the elder lady did not wince at this.)  "And' 1
own, too, that at first I put a wrong construction upon the




298


THE VIRGINIANS.


tenor of your letters to him. They implicate other members
of the family - "
" Who have spoken most wickedly of me, and endeavored
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. "From Mr. Warrington
I could have nothing concealed henceforth, and spoke freely to
him. But that is a very different thing from wishing all the
world to know the disputes of a noble falnily."
" 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 calumnyand I shall beg to decline living any longer with any one who
utters it," continued Maria, with great spirit.
" You wish to go home? I can fancy you won't like Tunbridge. It will be very hot for you if those letters are found."
"There was not a word against you in them, Madam: about
that I can make your mind easy."
" So Harry said, and did your ladyship justice. Well, my
dear, we are tired of one another, and shall be better apart for
a while."
"That is precisely my own opinion," said Lady Maria,
dropping a curtsy.
"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."


I
1 




THE VIRGINIANS.


299


"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? Delilah! Well, they can be no good to me,
and I trust you may get them. When will you go? The sooner
the better, you say? We are women of the world, Maria. We
only call names when we are in a passion. We don't want
each other's company; and we part on good terms. Shall we
go to my Lady Yarmouth's? 'Tis her night. There is nothing
like a change of scene after one of those little nervous attacks
you have had, and cards drive away unpleasant thoughts better
than aly doctor."
Lady Maria agreed to go to Lady Yarmouth's cards, and
was dressed and ready first, awaiting her aunt in the drawingroom.   Madame Bernstein, as she came down, remarked
Maria's door was left open. " She has the letters upon her,"
thought the old lady. And the pair went off to their entertainment in their respective chairs, and exhibited towards each
other that charming cordiality and respect which women can
show after, and even during the bitterest quarrels.
That night, on their return from the Countess's drum, Mrs.
Brett, Madame Bernstein's maid, presented herself to my Lady
Maria's call, when that lady rang her hand-bell upon retiring
to her room. Betty, Mrs. Brett was ashamed to say, was not
in a fit state to come before my lady. Betty had been a-junketing and merry-making with Mr. Warrington's black gentleman, with my Lord Bamborough's valet, and several more ladies
and gentlemen of that station, and the liquor-Mrs. Brett
was shocked to own it-had proved too much for Mrs. Betty.
Should Mrs. Brett undress my lady? My lady said she would
undress without a maid, and gave Mrs. Brett leave to withdraw. "She has the letters in her stays," thought Madame
Bernstein. They had bidden each other an amicable goodnight on the stairs.
Mrs. Betty had a scolding the next morning, when she came
to wait on her mistress, from the closet adjoining Lady Maria's 
apartment in which Betty lay. She owned, with contrition, her
partiality for rum-punch, which Mr. Gumbo had the knack of
brewing most delicate. She took her scolding with meekness,  '
and, having performed her usual duties about her lady's person,
retired. 
Now Betty was one of the Castlewood girls who had been 
-::




300


THE VIRGINIANS.


so fascinated by Gumbo, and was a very good-looking blueeyed lass, upon whom Mr. Case, Madame Bernstein's confidential man, had also cast the eyes of affection. Hence, between
Messrs. Gumbo and Case, there had been jealousies and even
quarrels; which hadl caused Gumbo, wlo was of a peaceful
disposition, to be rather shy of the Baroness's gentlemen, the
chief of whoml vowed lie would break the bones, or have the
life of Gumbo, if lie persisted in his attentions to Mrs. Betty.
But on the nilght of the rum-punch,I though Mr. Case found
Gumbo and Mrs. Betty whispering in the doorway, in tlhe cool
breeze, and Glmblo would have turned pale with fear had tle
been able so to do, no one could be more gracious than Mr.
Case. It was he who proposed the bowl of l)unch, which was
brewed and drunk in Mrs. Betty's room, anld wllich Gumbo
concocted with exquisite skill. He comllimented Gumbno on
his music. Thoulgh a sober man ordinarily, lie insisted upon
more and more drinking, until poor Mrs. Betty was reduced to
the state which occasioned her lady's just censure.
As for Mr. Case himself, who lay out of the house, he was
so ill with the punch, that lie kept hlis bed the whole of the
next day, an( dlid not (get strengthl to make his alpearanlce, and
wait on his ladies, until supll)er-tinme; when his mistress goodnaturedly rebuked him, saying that it was not often he sinned
in that way.
"W \i-hy, 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 sulpping with his relatives.
" Me! law bless you, sir! I was a-bed, and I thought my
head would come off with the acling. I ate a bit at six o'clock,
and drunk a deal of small beer, and I am almost Imy own man
again now. But that Gumbo, saving your honor's presence, I
won't taste none of his punch lagain."  And the holiest majordomo went on with his duties among the bottles and glasses.
As they sat ater their meal, MIadame 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
plhysician, and to send up an account of her case by Harry.
By Harry? asked the lady. Yes. Harry was going for two
(lays on an errand for his aunt to London. " I 1do not care to
tell you, my dear, that it is on business which will do him good.
I wish Mr. Draper to put him into my will, and as I am going
travelling upon a round of visits when you and I part, I think,
for security, I shall ask Mr. Warrington to take my trinket-box


I
i 




THE VIRGINIANS.


301


in his post-cliaise to London with him, for there have been robberies of late, and I have no falncy for being stopped by highMaria looked blank at the notion of the young gentleman's
departure, but lloped tlhat she might lhave his escort back to
Castlewood, whither her elder brother had now rtetlurned.
N" Nay," says his aunt, '" the lad liatl been tied to our apronstrings long enough. A day in London will d(o him no harm.
I-Ic call lerform my errand for me and be back witl you by
Saturday."
"I would offer to accompany Mr. Warrington, but I preach
on Friday before her ladyshil)," says 1Mr. Saimpson. Ie was
anxious that my Lady Yarmmouth should judge of his powers as
a preacher; and Madamre Bernstein had exerted her influence
with the king's favorite to inllluce her to hear the Chaplain.
Harry relished the notion of a rattling journey to London
and a day or two of sport there. I-Ic prolmised tiat his pistols
were good, andt that he would hand the diamonds over in safety
to the banker's strong-rool. AWould lie occulpy his aunt's
London house? No, that would be a dreary lodging with only
a housemaid and a groom in charge of it. He would go to the
" Star alnd Garter" in Pall Mall, or to an inn in Covent Garden. " Ah! I have often talked over that journcy," said Htarry,
his countenance sa(ldening.
" And witl whom, sir? " asked Lady Maria.
'( Witl one who l)proised to make it with me," said the
young man, thinkill, as hle always did, with an extreme tenderness of the lost brother.
" IIe has more heart, my good Maria, than some of us! "
says Harry's aunt, witnessing his emotion.  Uncontrollable
gusts of grief would, not unfirequently,   still pass over our young
man. The parting fiom his brother; the scenes and circumstances of George's fall last year; the recollection of his words,
or of some excursion at home which they had planned together;
would recur to him and overcome him. ' I doubt, Madaln,"
whispered the Chaplain, demurely, to Madame Bernstein. after
one of these bursts of sorrow, " wwhether 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 was no help
for it. At Castlewood, on one unlucky evening, he had made




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


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. I-e must consult his mother. She was
the mistress for life of the Virginian )property. Otf course, she
wouldl refuse her consent to such a union. The thouglit of it
was (leferred to a late period. Meanwhile, it hung like a weight
round the young man's neck, and caused him no small remorse
tnd disquiet.
No wonder that his spirits rose more gayly as he came near
tondon, and that he looked with delight from his post-chaise
windows upon the city as he advanced towards it. No highwayman stopped our traveller on Blackheath. Yonder are the
gleaming domes of Greenwich, canopied with woods. There is
the famous Thames with its countless shipping; there actually
is tile Tower of London. "Look, Gumbo!     There is the
Tower!"   " Yes, master," says Gumbo, who has never heard
of the Tower; but Harry has, and remembers how he has read.
about it in Howell's "C Medulla," and how lie and his brother
used to play at the Tower, and he thinks with delight now, how
he is actually going to see the armor and the jewels and the
lions. They pass through Southwark and over that famous
London Bridge which was all covered with houses like a street
two years ago. Now there is only a single gate left, and that
is coming down. Then the chaise rolls through the city; and,
"Look, Gumbo, that is Saint Paul's! "  "Yes, master; Saint
Paul's," says Gumbo, obsequiously, but little struck by the
beauties of the architecture. And so by the well-known course
we reach the Temple, and Gumbo and his master look up with
awe at the rebel heads on Temple Bar.
The chaise drives to Mr. Draper's chambers in Middle
Temple Lane, where Harry handed the precious box over to
Mr. Draper, and a letter from his aunt, which the gentleman
read with some interest seemingly, and carefully put away.
-He then consigned the trinket-box to his strong closet, went
into the adjoining room, taking his clerk with him, and then
was at Mr. Warrington's service to take him to an hotel. An
hotel in Covent Garden was fixed upon as the best place for
his residence. "4I shall have to keep you for two or three
days, Mr. Warrington," the lawyer said.  ' I don't think the
papers which the Baroness wants can be ready until then.
Meanwhile I am at your service to see the town. I live out of
it myself, and have a little box at Camberwell, where I shall be
proud to have the honor of entertaining Mr. Warrington; but
a young man, I suppose, will like his inn and his liberty best,
sir?"




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


303


Harry said yes, he thought the inn would be best; and tlhe
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 talke1d 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 youngt
gentleman numerous stories regarding his ancestors of' Castlewood. Of the present Earl Mr. Draper was no longer the
agent: his father and his lordship had had differences. and his
lordship's business had been taken elsewhere: but the Baroness
was still their honored client, and very happy in(leed 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 tile old fox
to London?"   Wherewith, not choosing to be inquisitive about
other folks' affairs, lie dismissed the sulbject from his mind.
Whither should they go first? First, Ilarry was for going
to see the place where his grandfather and Lord Castlewood
had fought a duel fifty-six years ago, in Leicester Field. Mr.
I)raper knew the place well, and all about the story. They
might take Covent Garden on their way to Leicester Pield, and
sec that Mr. Warrington was comfortably lodged.   "And
order (linner," says Mr. Warrington. No, Mr. Draper could
not consent to that. Mr. Warrington must be so obliging as
to honor him on that day. In fact, he had made so bold as to
order a collation from the " Cock." Mr. Warrington could not
decline an invitation so pressing, and walked away gayly with
his friend, passing under that arch where the heads were, and
taking off his hat to them, much to the lawyer's astonishment.
"They were gentlemen who died for their king, sir. My
dear brother George and I always said we would salute 'em
when we saw 'em," Mr. Warrington said.




304


THE VIRGINIANS.


" You'll have a mob at your heels if you do, sir," said the
alarmed lawyer.
"Confouind the mob, sir," said Mr. Harry, loftily, but the
passers-by, thinkingl abOllt their own affairs, did not take any
notice of Mr. Warrington's conduct; and lie walked up the
thronging Strand, gazin(r with deliglit upon aLll lie saw, rememblo)ringr, I dare say, for all his life after, the sights and impression.sthere presented to him, but maintaining a discreet reserve;
for lie didl not care to let the lawyer lknow how much he was
moved, or the public perceive that he was a stranger. I-e did
not hear much of his companion's talk, though the latter chattere(l ceaselessly on the way. Nor was Mr. I)raper displeased
1b the young Virginian's silent and haughty demeanor. A
hundred years agro a gentleman was a gentleman, andl his
attorney his very humble servant.
The chamberl:ain at the '" Bed(lord" showed Mr. Warrington
to his rooms, bowing before hiin with delightful obsequiousness,
for G(lmbo had already trumpeted his master's greatness, and
Mr. I)raper's clerk alnmounced that the new comer was a " high
fellar." T'hen, the rooms surveyed, the two gentlemen went to
Leicester Fiell, Mr. Glumnbo strutting behind his master: and,
having look!(dl at tle scene of his grandsire's wound, and poor
Lord Castle woo('s tragedy, they returned to the Temple to Mr.
Draper's chanmbers.
Who was tlat shabby-looking big man Mr. Warrington
bowed to as they went oult after (linner for a walk in the gardenls? That was Mr. Johnson, an author, whom lie had Inet
at Tunbdlll ge Wells. " Take the advice of a man of tle worll,
sir," says Mr. D)raper, eying the shabby man of letters very superciliously; " the less you have to do with that kind of person,
the better. The business we have into our office about them
literary men is not very pleasant, I can tell you."  " Indeed "
says Mr. Warrington. He did not like his new friend the more
as the latter grew more familiar.  The theatres were shut.
Should they go to Sadler's Wells? or Marybone Gardens? or
IRanelagh? or how?  " Not Ranelagh," says Mr. Draper, "l because there's none of the nobility in town;" but, seeing in tlhe
newspaper that at the entertainment at Sadler's Wells, Islington, there woul(d be the most singlular kind of diversion on eiglit
hand-bells by Mr. Franklyn, as well as tlhe surprising l)erformances of Signora Cattarina, IHarry wisely determined that lie
would go to Marybone Gardens, where they had a colicert of
music, a choice of tea, coffee, and all sorts of wines, and the
benefit of Mr. Draper's ceaseless conversation. The lawyer's




THE VIRGINIANS.


305


obsequiousness only ended at Harry's bedroom door, where,
with hatuglty 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 newsl)aper, and enjoyed
his ease in his inn.  ie read in the paper news fiom his own
country.  And when lie saw the words, Williamsburg, Virginia, June 7th, his eyes grew dim somehow. lie 1hadt just had
letters by that packet of Jule 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
Honorablle Peyton Randolp)h, 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 l)lain blue frock, nankin or brown
waistcoats and breeches, and plain hats.  They are armed
eaclh with a lighlt firelock, a brace of pistols, and a cutting
sword."
All, why ain't we there, Gumbo?" cried out Harry.
WhyN 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
Iarry! " says the materialistic Gumbo, who was also very little
affected by some fuirther 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 Ilatton Garden, Harry determined to go and look at the animals, and inquired his way to
the place. I-Ie then and there bought the genteel bay geldings,
and paid for them with easy generosity. HIe 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 coachman drive him to the
Tower, then to Mrs. Salmon's Waxwork, then to -Hyde Park
and Kensington Palace; then lie had given orders to go to
tlie Royal Exchange, but catching a glimpse of Covent Garden, on his way to the Exchange, he bade Jehu take him to
his inn, and cut short his enumeration of places to which he
had been, by flinging the fellow a guinea.
Mr. Draper had called in his absence, and said he would
come again; but Mr. Warrington, having dined sumptuously
20




THE VIRGINIANS.


by himself, went off nimbly to Marybone Gardens again, in
the same noble company.
As he issued forth the next day, the bells of St. Paul's,
Covent Garden, were ringing for morning prayers, and reminded him that friend Sampson was going to preach his
sermon. Harry smiled.  He had begun to have a shrewd
and just opinion of the value of Mr. Sampson's sermons.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
IN WHICH VARIOUS MATCIES ARE FOUGHT.
READING in the London Advertiser, which was served to his
worship with his breakfast, an invitation to all lovers of manly
British sport to come and witness a trial of skill between the
great champions Sutton and Figg, Mr. Warrington determined
upon attending these performances, and accordingly proceeded
to the Wooden House, in Marybone Fields, driving thither the
pair of horses which he had purchased on the previous day.
'he young charioteer did not know the road very well, and
veered and tacked very much more than was needful upon his
journey from Covent Garden, losing himself in the green lanes
behind Mr. Whitfield's round Tabernacle of Tottenham Road,
and the fields in the midst of which Middlesex Hospital stood.
Hle reached his destination 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 valor; together with the horses
and equipages of a few persons of fashion, who came, like Mr.
Warrington, to patronize the sport. A variety of beggars and
cripples hustled round the young gentleman, and whined to
him for charity. Shoe-black boys tumbled over each other
for the privilege of blacking his honor'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 hornblower, a manager repeatedly issued to announce to the crowd
that the noble English sports were just about to begin.
Mr. Warrington paid his money, and was accommodated with
j::. 




THE VIRGINIANS.


307


a seat in the gallery commanding a perfect view of the platform whereon the sports were performed; Mr. Gumbo tooli
his seat in the amphitheatre below; or, when tired, issue(l
forth into the outer world to drink a pot of beer, or play a
game at carlds with his brother lackeys, and the gentlemen's
coachmen on the boxes of the carriages waiting without. Lackeys, liveries, footmen -the old society was encumbered with
a prodigious quantity of these. Gentle men or women could
scarce move without one, sometimes two or three, vassals in
attendance. Every theatre had its footman's gallery: an army
of the liveried race hustled around every chapel-door: they
swarmed in ante-rooms: they sprawled in halls and on landings: they guzzled, devoured, debauched, cheated, played cards,
bullied visitors for vails:- that noble old race of footmen
is wellnigh gone. A few thousand of them may still be left
among us. Grand, tall, beautiful, melancholy, we still behold them  on levee days, with their nosegays and their
buckles, their llush 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,
tlhat 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, who
was seemingly a person of importance. Sutton was sleedily
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




308


THE VIRGINIANS.


color. And now the gladiators shook hands, and, as a contemporary poet says: " The word it was bilboc." *
At the commencement of the combat the great Fi(gg 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 l)rake in his
hands, less constant than the heart of him who wielded it.
Other swords were now delivered to the warriors. The first
blood drawn spouted fiom the panting side of Figg amidst a
yell of delight fiom Sutton's supporters; but the veteran appealing to his audience, and especially, as it seemed, to the
stout individual in the private gallery, showed that his sword
broken in the previous encounter had caused the wound.
Whilst the parley occasioned by this incident was going on,
Mr. Warrington saw a gentleman in a riding-frock and plain
scratch-wig enter the box devoted to the stout personage, and
recognized 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 -larry 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, Lord 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 valor on both sides. After
the warriors had sufficiently fought with swords, they fell to
witl the quarter-staff, and the result of this long and delightful
battle was, that victory remained with her ancient champion
Figg.
Whilst the warriors were at battle, a thunllerstorm had
broken over the building, and Mr. Warrington gladly enough
accelted 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 sighlt he had witnessed: lie 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 boyhood should share the amusement in
* The antiquarian reader knows the pleasant poem in the sixth volume
of Dodsley's Collection, in which the above combat is described.




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


o09


common with him, he began by sighing out, "I wish"..
then lie stopl)ed. '' No, 1 don't," says he.
' What (o you wish and what don't you wish?" asked
Lord March.
" I was thinking, my lord, of my elder brother, and wisled
lie had lbeen with mne. We had promised to have our sport
together, at lhome, you see; andl man's the time we talked of
it. But he wouldn't have liked this rough sort of sport, and
dlidn't care for fighting, though lie was tle bravest lad alive."
"O 1! he was the bravest lad alive, was lie?" asks my
lord, lolling oil his cushion, and eying his Virginian fiiend
with some curiosity.
" You shoulld have seen him in a quarrel with a very gallant officer, our friend -- a  absurd affair, lbt it was llar'd to
keep George off him. I never saw a fellow so cool, nor more
savage and determined, God hell) ne. All! I wish for the
honor of the countryl, you know, tliat lie could have come here
instead of me, and shown you a real Virginian rgentleman."
"Nay, sir, you'll do very well. What is tis I hear of
Lady Yarmouth taking you into favor?" 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 lad the
head, sir, the head!" says I-arry, tapping his own honest
skull. " Why, I give you my word, my lord, that he had
read almost every book that was ever written; could play both
on the iddle and harpsichord, could complnlose )oetry and sermons most elegant.  What can I do?    I am only good to
ride and play at cards, and drink Burgundy." And tlle penitent llung (lown his head. " But them I can do as well as
most fellows, you see. In fact, my lord, I'll back myself," he
resumed, to the other's great amusement.
Lord Mar(ch relished the young man's nai'rete, as the jaded
voluptuary still to the end always can relish the juicy wholesome mutton-chop. " By gad, Mr. Warrington," says lie,
" 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 1my honor and conscience, I believe that you
would like to have him back again."
"Believe!" cries the Virginian, growing red in the face.
" That is, you believe you believe you would like him bacd




310


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 lity
they do nothing better with this great empty space of Cavendish Square than fence it with these unsightly boards. By
George! I don't know where the town's running. There's
Montagu House made into a confounded Don Saltero's museum,
with books and stuffed birds and rlinoceroses. 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 pocket. I
don't know where the town will stop.  Shall we go down
Tyburn Road and the Park, or through Swallow Street, and
into the habitable quarter of the town? We can dine at Pall
Mall, or, if you like, with you; and we can spend the evening
as you like- with the Queen of Spades, or.... "
" With the Queen of Spades, if your lordship pleases," says
Mr. Warrington, blushing. So the equipage drove to his
hotel in Covent Garden, where the landlord came forward with
his usual obsequiousness, and recognizing 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 English peer in the
reign of George the Second; a wealthy l)atrician in the reign
of Augustus  which would you rather have been?  There is
a question for any young gentlemen's debating-clubs of the
present day.
The best English dinner which could be produced, of course,
was at the service of the young Virginian and his noble fiiend.
After dinner came wine in plenty, and of quality good enough
even for the elicurean Earl. Over the wine there was talk of
going to see the fireworks at Vauxhall, or else of cards.
Harry, who had never seen a firework beyond an exhibition of
a dozen squibs at Williamsburg on the fifth of November
(which he thought a sublime display), would have liked the
Vauxhall, but yielded to his guest's preference for piquet;
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 favored my Lord Mlarch, who
was at first very surly, when Mr. Draper, Mr. Warrington's
man of business, came bowing into the roonl, where lie accepted
Harry's invitation to sit and drink. Mr. Warrington always
asked everybody to sit and drink, and partake of his best.
Had he a crust,'he would divide it; had he a haunch he would




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


311


share it; had he a jug of water, he would drink about witll a
kindly spirit; had he a bottle of Burgundy, it was gayly d(rulll
with a thirsty friend. And don't fancy the virtue is common.
You read of it in books, my dear sir, and fancey 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 then with us from the
country when we are young1, 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 piquet played
by two consummate p)layers and men of fashion; and, taking
a seat, undismayed by the sidelong scowls of his lordship, surveyed the game between the gentlemen. Iarry was not near
a match for the experienced player of the London clubs. Tonight, too, Lord March held better cards to aid his skill.
What their stakes were was no business of Mr. Draper's.
The gentlemen said they would play for shillings, and afterwards counted up their gains and losses, with scarce any talking, and tlat in an under tone. A bow on both sides, a
perfectly grave and polite manner on the part of eacl, and the
game went on.
But it was destined to a second interruption, which brought
an execration fiom Lord March's lips. First was heard a
scuffling without -then a whispering -then an outcry as of
a woman in tears, and then, finally, a female rushed into the
room, and produced that explosion of naughty language from
Lord March.
"I wish your women would take some other time for coming, confound 'erm," says my lord, laying his cards down in a
pet.
" What, Mrs. Betty!" cried Harry.
Indeed it was no other than Mrs. Betty, Lady Maria's maid;
and Gumbo stood behind her, his fine countenance beslobbered
with tears.
W lhat has happened?" asks Mr. Warrington, in no little
perturbation of spirit. " Thi Baroness is well?"
"I -elp! hell! sir, your honor!" ejaculates Mrs. Betty,
and proceeds to fall on ler knees.
" Help whom?"
A howl ensues fiom Gumbo.




312


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


"Gumbo, you scoundrel! has anything happened between
Mrs. Betty and you?" asks the black's master.
Mr. Gumbo steps back with great dignity, laying his hand
on his heart, and saying,  "No, sir; nothing hab happened
'twix' this lady and me."
"1 It's my mistress, sir," cries Betty. "Hcell)! help! here's
the letter she have wrote, sir! They have gone and took her,
sir!"
Is it only that old Molly Esmond?  She's known to be
over head and heels in debt! Dry your eyes in the next room,
Mrs. Betty, and let me and Mr. WVarrington go on with our
game," says my lord, taking up his cards.
"Ielp! 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 honor used to come
quick enough when my lady used to send mc to fetcl 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 bell, saying:
"My dear lord, the game must be over for to-niglit. My
relative writes to me in great distress, and I am bound to go to
her."
" Curse her! Why couldn't she wait till to-morrow?"
cries my lord, testily.
Mr. Warrington ordered a post-chaise instantly. Iis own
horses would take him to Bromlcy.
"Bet you, you don't do it within the hour! bet you, you
don't (10 it within five quarters of an hour! bet you four to one
-or I'll take your bet, which you please- that you're not
robbed on Blackheath! Bet you, you are not at Tunbridge
Wells before midnight!" cries Lord March.
"Done!" says Mr. Warrington. And my lord carefully
notes down the terms of the three wagers in his pocket-book.
Lady Maria's letter ran as follows: -
" MY DEAR COUSIN, - I am fell into a trapp, wch I perceive the machinations of iillians. I am a prisner. Betty will tell you all. A1l, my Hlenrico! 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 succor his kinswoman.




~~I  ( ~,,!i  i ~ i,,'  1   '!
/^k;. ^^~4
^1^1^!^ ^I


/,/      


(I


`e
"I, A\


L
-


AnB. 
-' -=...                 — _.
7.
=..~ ~  ~   -S —


__                                                          I
-—: 7                                      1


BAD NEWS FROM TUNBRIDGE,




I




THE VIRGINIANS.


313


CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SAMPSON AND TIIE PIIILISTINES.
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 wllo
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 'urpin scarce
ever perpetrated;- were by my infornmalt accurately remnembered, and freely related, respecting his nearest kindred to anly
one who chose to hear himl. It was a wonlder how any of the
family still lived out of the hulks.  ' tMe 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 will, 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'yecall'emn, from which my fiiend sprung; 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," an(l for
months at a time living on the most amicable terms! With
hands reeking with the blood of his murdered parents, Tim
would mix a screeching tumbler, and give Maria a glass from
it. With lips black with the lerjuries 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'yc-call'em, where they were born, and the fight



314


TIHE VIRGINIANS.


ing Onetyoneth being quarthered there, and the Major proposing for Cyaroloine, and the tomb of their scented mother (who
had chayted them out of the propertec), heaven blless her soul!
They used to weep and kiss so profusely at meeting and l)arting, that it was touching to behold them. At the sight of their
embraces one forgot tllosc painful little stories, and those repeated previous assurances that, did they tell all, they could
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 apologize, regret hasty expressions, and so forth, withdraw the decanter (say) which you have flung at your enemy 's
head, and be fiicnds as before?  Some folks possess this adinirable, this angel-like gift of forgiveness. It was beautiful,
for instance, to see our two ladies at Tunbridlge 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 pacable, Christian spirit. IMy belief is that you may learn
to forgive bad language employed to you; but, then, you must
have a deal of p)ractice, 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 the
chicken, and pulled a bone of the merry-thought, and (in conversation) scratched tleir neighbors', not each other's, eyes out.
Thus we have read how the Peninsular warriors, when the
bugles sang truce, fraternized 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 gayly 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 votre sante, mon camarade!
Here's to you, Mounseer! and everything is as pleasant as
possible. Regarding Aunt Bernstein's threatened gout?  The
twinges had gone off. Maria was so glad! Maria's fainting
fits?  She had no return of them.  A slight recurrence last
night. The Baroness was so sorry! Her niece must see the
best doctor, take everything to fortify her, continue to take the




THE VIRGINIANS.


315


steel, even after she left Tunbridge. How kind of Aunt Bernstein to offer to send some of the bottled waters aftel her!
Suppose Madame Bernstein says in confidence to her own woman, " Fainting fits! - pooh! - epilepsy! inherited fiom that
horrible scrofulous German mother!"  What means have we
of knowing the private conversation of the old lady and her
attendant? Suppose Lady Maria orders Mrs. Betty, her ladyship's maid, to taste every glass of medicinal water, first declaring that her aunt is capable of poisoning her?  Very likely such
conversations take place. These are but precautions - these
are the fire-locks which our old soldiers have at their sides,
loaded and cocked, but at present lying quiet on the grass.
1-aving I-arry'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 dayrule, and leave of absence on parole. It was not her object
needlessly to chafe and anger her young slave. She knew the
difference of ages, and that Harry must have his pleasures and
diversions. "Take your ease and amusement, cousin," says
Lady- Maria.  ' Frisk about, pretty little mousekin," says gray
Grimalkin, purring in the corner, and keeping watch with her
green eyes. About all that Harry was to see and do on his
first visit to London, his female relatives had of course talked
and joked. Both of the ladies knew perfectly what were a
young 'geltleman's ordinary amusements in those days, and
spoke of them  with the frankness which characterized those
easy times.
Our wily Calypso consoled herself, then, perfectly, in the
absence of her young wanderer, and took any diversion which
came to hand. Mr. Jack Morris, the gentleman whom we
have mentioned as rejoicing in the company of Lord March
and Mr. Warrington, was one of these diversions. To live
with titled personages was the delight of Jack Morris's life.;
and to lose money at cards to an earl's daughter was almost a
pleasure to him. Now, the Lady Maria Esmond was an earl's
daughter, who was very glad to win money. She obtained
permission to take Mr. Morris to the Countess of Yarmouth's
assembly, and played cards with him- and so everybody was
pleased.
Thus the first eight-and-forty hours after Mr. Warrington's
departure passed pretty cheerily at Tunbridge Wells, and Friday
arrived, when the sermon was to be delivered which we have
seen Mr. Sampson preparing. The company at the Wells were
ready enough to listen to it. Sampson had a reputation for




316


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 remarkable confidence in her ladyship's opinion upon these matters; - and so we may be sure
that Mr. Sampson prepared his very best discourse for herhearing. When the Great Man is at home at the Castle, and
walks over to the little country church in the park, bringing
the Duke, the Marquis, and a couple of Cabinet Ministers with
him, has it ever been your lot to sit among the 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 effect of papa's discourse - the well-known
favorite discourse -upon the big-wigs assembled. Papja'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 hob-nailed
Melibceus to grin at smock-frocked Tityrus?  It is the Right
Honorable Lord Naseby, snoring in the pew by the fire'! And
poor Trotter's visionary mitre disappears with the music.
Sampson was the domestic chaplain of Madame Bernstein's
nephew. The two ladies of the Esmond family patronized the
preacher. On the day of the sermon, the Baroness had a little
breakfast in his honor, at which Sampson made his appearance,
rosy and handsome, with a fiesh-flowered wig, and a smart,
rustling new cassock, which he had on credit fiom some churchadmiring mercer at the Wells. By the side of his patronesses,
their ladyships' lackeys walking behind them with their great
gilt prayer-books, Mr. Sampson marched from breakfast to
church. Every one remarked how well the Baroness Bernstein
looked; she laughed, and was particularly fiiendly with her
niece; she had a bow and a stately smile for all, as she moved
on, with her tortoise-shell cane. At the door there was a dazzling conflux of rank and fashion - all the fine company of the
Wells trooping in; and her ladyship of Yarmouth, conspicuous
with vermilion cheeks, and a robe of flame-colored taffeta.
There were shabby people present, besides the fine company,
though these latter were by far the most numerous. What an




THE VIRGINIANS.


317


odd-looking pair, for instance, were those in ragged coats, one
of them with his carroty hair afpearing under his' scratch-wig,
and who entered the church just as the organ stopped! Nay,
he could not have been a Protestant, for he mechanically crossed
himself as he entered the place, saying to his 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. Wherever they go, a rich fragrance of whiskey
spreads itself. A man may be a heretic, but possess genius:
these Catholic gentlemen have come to pay homage to Mr.
Sampson.
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 slips money into his hand, —Mr. Beadle lifts
up the mace with which he was barring the doorway, and the
Hebrew gentlemen enter. There goes the organ! the doors
have closed. Shall we go in, and listen to Mr. Sampson's
sermon, or lie on the grass without?
Preceded by that beadle in gold lace, Sampson walked up
to tile 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? Hle looked to
the western church-door- there, on each side of it, were those
horrible Hebrew Caryatides. He then looked to the vestrydoor, 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. I-ow 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. MaIdame
Walmoden, who was in the next pew to our friends, said it was
bewdiful, and made her dremble all over. Madame Bernstein
said it was excellent. Lady Maria was pleased to think that




31'8


THE VIRGINIANS.


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.
T'he stream of people passed by them -in a rush, when they
were lost to sight, -in a throng-in a march of twos and
threes-in a dribble of one at a time. Everybody was gone.
The two Hebrews were still there by the door.
The Baroness de Bernstein and her niece still lingered in
the rector's pew, where the old lady was deep in conversation
with that gentleman.
"'Who are those horrible men at the door? and what a
smell of spirits there is," cries Lady Maria to Mrs. Brett, her
aunt's woman, who had attended the two ladies.
"Farewell, doctor; you have a darling little boy: is he to
be a clergyman, too?" asks Madame de Bernstein. "Are you
ready, my dear?"  And the pew is thrown open, and Madame
Bernstein, whose father was only a viscount, insists that her
niece, Lady Maria, who was an earl's daughter, should go first
out of the pew.
As she steps forward, those individuals whom her ladyship
designated as two horrible men, advance. One of them lulls
a long strip of paper out of his pocket, and her ladyshil starts
and turns pale. She makes for the vestry, in a vague hope
that she can clear the door and close it behind her. The two
whiskeyfied gentlemen are up with her, however; one of them
actually lays his hand on her shoulder, and says:"At the shuit of Misthress Pincott of Kinsington, mercer,
I have the honor of arresting your leedyship. Me neem is
Costigan, Madam, a poor gentleman of Oireland, binding to
circumstances, and forced to follow a disagrayable profession.
Will your leedyship walk, or shall me man go fetch a cheer?"
For reply Lady Maria Esmond.gives three shrieks, and falls
swooning to the ground.  Keep the door, Mick! " shouts Mr.
Costigan. "Best let in no one else, Madam," he says, very
politely, to Madame de Bernstein. " Ier 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; annd, as soon as that operation is performed, Madame
Bernstein seizes a little bag suspended by a hair chail, which
Lady Maria wears round her neck, and snips the necklace in
twain. "Dash some cold water over her face, it always re-;s..




THE VIRGINIANS.


319


covers her! " says the Baroness. " You stay with her, Brett.
How much is your suit, gentlemen?"
Mr. Costigan says, " The cleem we have against her leed —
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
unerring gunner fiom 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?" lie sadly asked. Sampson knew
Simons: they had met many a time before.
"Buckleby Cordwainer," says Mr. Simons.
"Forty-eight pound and charges, I know," says Mr. Sampson, with a sigh. "I haven't got the money. What officer
is there here?"  Mr. Simons's companion, Mr. Lyons, here
stepped forward, and said his house was most convenient, and
often used by gentlemen, and he should be most happy and
proud to accommodate his Reverence.
Two chairs happened to be in waiting outside the chapel.
In those two chairs my Lady Maria Esmond and Mr. Sampson
placed themselves, and went to Mr. Lyons's residence, escorted
by the gentlemen to whom we have just been introduced.
Very soon after the capture the Baroness Bernstein sent Mr.
Case, her confidential servant, with a note to her niece, full of
expressions of the most ardent affection: but regretting that
her heavy losses at cards rendered the payment of such a sum
as that in which Lady Maria stood indebted quite impossible.
She had written off to Mrs. Pincott by that very post, however,
to entreat her to grant time, and as soon as ever she had an
answer, would not fail to acquaint her dear unhappy niece.
Mrs. Betty came over to console her mistress: and the two
poor women cast about for money enough to provide a horse
and chaise for Mrs. Betty, who had very nearly come to misfortune, too. Both my Lady Maria and her maid had been
unlucky at cards, and could not muster more than eighteen
shillings between them: so it was agreed that Betty should
sell a gold chain belonging to her lady, and with the money
travel to London. Now Betty took the chain to the very toyshop man who had sold it to Mr. Warrington, who had given
it to his cousin: and the toy-shop man, supposing that she had
stolen the chain, was for bringing in a constable to Betty, Hence,
she had to make explanations, and to say how her mistress was
in (lurance; and, ere the night closed, all Tunbridge Wells knew
that, my Lady Maria Esmond was in the hands of bailiffs.




THE VIRGINIANS.


Meanwhile, however, the money was found, and Mrs. Betty
whisked up to London in search of the champion in whom the
poor prisoner confided.
CL Don't say anything about that paper being gone! Oh, the
wretch, the wretch! She shall pay it me! " I presume that
Lady Maria meant her aunt by the word "wretch."    Mr.
Sampson read a sermon to her ladyship, and they passed the
evening over 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 happened to Lady Maria, and a great deal
more; though they knew she was taken in execution, the house
where she lay, the amount-nay, ten times the amount —for
which she was captured, and that she was obliged to pawn her
trinkets to get a little money to keep her in jail; though everybody said that old fiend of a Bernstein was 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
Madame Bernstein appeared, and as long as she was within
hearing, not a word was said regarding the morning's transactions.  Lady Yarmouth asked the Baroness news of her
breddy nephew, and heard Mr. Warrington was in London.
My Lady Maria was not coming to Lady Trumpington's that
evening? My Lady Maria was indisposed, had fainted at
church that morning, and was obliged to keep her room. The
cards were dealt, the fiddles sang, the wine went round, the
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! IHe that hath ears to hear, let
him stuff them with cotton. Madame Bernstein might have
heard folks say it was heartless of her to come abroad, and play
at cards, and make merry when her niece was in trouble. As
if she could help Maria by staying at home, indeed! At
her age, it is dangerous to disturb an old lady's tranquillity.
"Don't tell me!" says Lady Yarmouth.   "The Bernstein
would play at cards over her niece's coffin. Talk about her
heart! who ever said she had one? The old spy lost it to &e




THE VIRGINIANS.                   321
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 faitliful
Fuchs bowed, and promised to do her excellency's will.
Meanwhile, about midnight, Madame (de Bernstein went home,
and presently fell into a sound sleep, fiom which she did not
wake up until a late hour of the morning, when she summoned
her usual attendant, who arrived with her ladyship's morning
dish of tea. If I told you she took a draln 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!'?"  As surely as Mr. Gough is alive now, our
ancestresses were accustomed to partake pretty freely of strong
waters.
So, having tipped off the cordial, Madame Bernstein rouses
and asks Mrs. Brett the news.
"He can give it you," says the waiting-woman, sulkily.
"He?   Who?"
Mrs. Brett names Harry, and says Mr. Warrington arrived
about midnight yesterday -and Betty, my lady'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?"
"No; she is here," says Mrs. Brett.
" Let me see her directly," cries the old lady.
" I'll tell her," replies the obsequious Brett, and goes away
upon her mistress's errand, leaving the old lady placidly reposing on her pillows. Presently, two pairs of high-heeled shoes
are heard pattering over the deal floor of the bed-chamber.
Carpets were luxuries scarcely known in bedrooms of those
days.
"So, Mrs. Betty, you were in London yesterday?" calls
Bernstein from her curtains.
" It is not Betty - it is I! Good morning, dear aunt! I
hope you slept well?" cries a voice which made old Bernstein
start on her pillow. It was the voice of Lady Maria, who drew
the curtains aside, and dropped her aunt a low curtsy. Lady
Maria looked very pretty, rosy, and happy.  And with the
little surprise incident at her appearance through Madame Bern.
stein's curtains, I think we may bring this chapter to a close.
21
I:r 




322


THE V ITGINIANS.


CHAPTER XXXIX.
HARRY TO THE RESCUE.
"My dear Lord March," (wrote Mr. Warrington from Tunbridge Wells, on Saturday morning, the 25th August, 1756):
" This is to inform you (with satisfaction) that I have won all
our three betts. I was at Bromley two minutes within the hour;
my new horses kep a-going at a capital rate. I drove them
myself; having the postilion by me to show me the way, and
my black man inside with Mrs. Betty. Hope they found the
drive very pleasant.  We were not stopped on Ilackheath,
though two fellows on horseback rode up to us, but not liking
the looks of our countenantses, rode off again; and we got into,
Tunbridge Wells (where I transacted my business) at forty-five
minutes after eleven. This makes me quitts with your lordship
after yesterday's piquet, which I shall be very happy to give
you your revenge, and am
"Your most obliged, faithful servant,
1-1. ESMOND WARRINGTON."
And now, perhaps, the reader will understand by what
means Lady Maria Esmond was enabled to surprise her dear
aunt in her bed on Saturday morning, and walk out of the
house of captivity. Having despatched Mrs. Betty to London,
she scarcely expected that her 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 gentle'man 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?
How many kisses did he give her? If they were mille, deinde




THE VIRGINIANS.


323


centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum, and so on, I am
not going to cry out. -Ie 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 ul)oll his'
shoulder, and as she reclines there, giving way to a hearty emotion, I protest I think she looks handsomer than she lhas looked
during the whole course of this history. She did not faint this
time: she went home, leaning lovingly on her cousin's arn1,
and may have had one or two hysterical outbreaks in the night;
but Madame Bernstein slept soundly, andl id not hear her.
" You are both free to go home," were the first words
Harry said.   Get my lady's hat and cardinal, Betty, an1d,
Chaplain, we'll smoke a pipe together at our lodgings, it will
refiesh 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 1)leasure thrill throlugh his frame.
It is good to be able to help the sufflering and the poor; it is
good to be able to turn sorrow into joy. Not a little prou(l
and elated was our youig chanmlion, as, with his hat cocked,
he marched by the side of his rescued princess. His feelings
came out to meet him, as it were, and beautifiul happinesses
with kind eyes and smiles danced before him, and clad him in
a robe of honor, and scattered flowers on his path, and blew
trumpets and shawms of sweet gratulation, calling, " 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 complacency, upon the cushions of comfort. And yet it was
not nuch he hadl clone. Only a kindness. IIe had but to put
his hand in hi's pocket, and with an easy talisman, drive off the
dragon which kept the gate, and cause tie tyrant to lay down
his axe, who had got Lady Mlaria in execution. Never mind
if his vlnity is puffed ul; lie is very good-natured; he has
rescued two unfortunate people, and pumled tears of good will
and happiness out of their eyes- and if he brags a little tonight, and swaggers somewhat to the Chaplain, and talks about
London and Lord March, and White's, and Almack's, with the
air of a macaroni, I don't think we need like him much the
less.
Sampson continued to be prodigiously affected. This man
had a nature most easily worked upon, and extraordinarily quick
to receive pain and pleasure, to tears, gratitude, laughter,
hatred, liking. In his preaching profession he had educated




324


THE VIRGINIANS.


and trained his sensibilities so that they were of great use to
him; he was for the moment what he acted. I-e wept quite
genuine tears, finding that he could produce them freely. He
loved you whilst he was with you; he had a real pang of grief
as he mingled his sorrow with the widow or orphan; and, meeting Jack as he came out of the door, went to the tavern opposite, and laughed and roared over the bottle. He gave money
very readily, but never repaid when he borrowed.  He was
on this night in a rapture of gratitude and flattery towards
Harry Warrington.  In all London, perhaps, the unlucky
Fortunate Youth could not have found a more dangerous
companion.
To-night Sampson was in his grateful mood, and full of
enthusiasm for the benefactor who had released him from durance. With each bumper his admiration grew stronger. Ile
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. IHarry 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 splendor
of his family. " I am very glad I was enabled to hell) you in
your strait. Count on me whenever you want me, Sampson.
Did you not say you had a sister at boarding-school? You will
want money for her, sir. Here is a little bill which may help
to pay her schooling." And the liberal young fellow passed a
bank-note across to the Chaplain.
Again the man was affected to tears. H.arry's generosity
smote him.
" Mr. Warrington," he said, putting the bank-note a short
distance from him, "I 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, sil'. There was no money!" says Mr. Sampson,
dropping his head.
"Hallo! How do you know, Mr. Chaplain?" asks the
young gentleman.
"I know because I am a villain, sir. I am not worthy of
your kindness. I told you so. I found the book, sir, that
night, when you had too much wine at Barbeau's.".?.




THE VIRGINIANS.


325


"And read the letters?" asked Mr. Warrington, starting up
and turning very red.
' The told me nothing I did not know, sir," said the
Chaplain. " You have hlad spies about you whlom you little
suspect  from whom you are much too young and simple to be
able to keep) your secret."
" Are those stories about Lady Fanny, and my Cousin Will
and his doings, true tlen? " inquired IHarry.
Yes, they are true," sighed the Chaplain.  ' Tile house
of Castlewood has not been fortunate, sir, since your honor's
branch, the elder branch, left it."
"Sir, you don't dare for to breathe a word against my Lady
Maria? " Harrv 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
honor, 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 sle 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? " says Harry, with an imperious air.
The Chaplain held out a pocket-book. "With your name
in it, sir," lie said.
"My brother's name in it," says Harry; "it was George
who gave it to me."
" I kept it in a locked chest, sir, in which I left it this morning before I was taken by those people. Here is the book, sir,
but the letters are gone. My trunk and valise have also been
tampered with. And I am a miserable, 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 togetler, and almost knelt before Harry in an attitude
the most pathetic.
Who had been in the rooms in Mr. Sampson's and Mr.
Warrington's absence?  The landlady was ready to go on her
knees, and declare that nobody had come in: nor, indeed, was
Mr. Warrington's chamber in the least disturbed, nor anything




326


THE VIRGINIANS.


abstracted from Mr. Sampson's scanty wardrobe and possessions, except those papers of which he deplored the absence.
Whose interest was it to seize them? Lady Maria's?.he
pIoor woman had( been a prisoner all day, a(nd during tle 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 lodged in London, and all the secret affairs of
the Esmond family, - these points, considered together and
separately, might make Mr. Sampson think that the Baroness
Bernstein was at the bottom of this mischief. But why arrest
Lady Maria?  The Chaplain knew nothing as yet about that
letter which her ladyship had lost; for poor M\aria had not
thought it necessary to confide her secret.to him.
As for tile 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 caplital cold supper of partridges and ancient Burgundy which obsequious
Monsieur Barbeau had sent over to the young gentleman's
loldings, 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 Harr.y's
truest, humblest friend and follower, and at any moment would
be ready to (lie 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 'cm - and to reward 'em too.
The wine's with you, Chaplain. What toast do you call, sir?"
" I call a blessing on the house of Esmond-Warrington!"
cries the Chaplain, with real tears in his eyes.
"We are the elder branch, sir. IMy grandfather was the
Marquis of Esmond," says Mr. HaIrry, in a voice noble but
somewhat indistinct. " Iere's to you, Challain - and I forgive you, sir —and God bless you, sir- and if you had been
took for three times as much, I'd have )aid it. Why, what's
tlat I see through the shutters? I am blest if the sun hasn't
risen again! We have no need of candles to go to bed, ha,
ha! "  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 fiiend




THE VIRGINIANS.


327


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 tra(lesmen.
Aunt Bernstein called him "' my dearest child," and thanked
him for his noble, his generous behavior to dear Maria. What
a shock that seizure in church had been to her! A still greater
shock that she had lost three hundred only on the Wednesday
night to Lady Yarmouth, and was quite a sec. "Why," said
the Baroness, " I had to send Case to London to my agent to
get me money to pay — I could not leave Tunbridge in her
debt."
"So Case did go to London?" says Mr. Iarry.
"Of course he did: the Baroness de Bernstein can't afford
to say she wants money. Canst thou lend me some, child?"
"I can give your laldyship twenty-two pounds," said Ilarry,
l)lusling very red: " I have but forty-four left till I get my
Virginian remittances. I have bought horses and clothes, and
been very extravagant, aunt."
"And rescued your poor relations in distress, you prodigal
good boy. No, child, I (lo not want thy money. I can give
thee some. Here is a note upon my agent for fifty pounds,
vaurien! Go and spend it, and be merry! I dare say 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 your mother's father
did once. Mind, 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-humor. '"I can't help loving you,
child," she continued, " and yet I am so angry with you that I
have scarce the patience to speak to you. So you have actually
engaged yourself to poor Maria, who is as old as your mother?
what will Madam Esmond say?   She may live 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 Maria is capable of. She will pawn the




328


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 enlgage
himself to a woman of forty-two - to write letters on his knlees
and signed with his heart's blood (which lie slells like hartshorn), and say that he will marry no other woman than his
adiorable cousin, Lady MIaria Esmond.  Oh! it's cruelcruel!"
"Great heavens! Madam, who showed you my letter?"
asked Harry, burning with a blush again.
"An accident. She fainted when she was taken by those
bailiffs. Brett cut her laces for her; and when she was carried off, poor thing, we found a little sachet on tlhe floor, which
I opened, not knowing in the least what it contained. And in
it was Mr. Harry Warrington's precious letter. And here, sir,
is the case."
A pang shot through I-Harry's heart. "Great heavens why
didn't she destroy it?" lie 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, I-arry Esmond, I had rather never see thee
again. Will you keep my secret?  Will you believe an old
woman who loves you and knows the world better than you do?
I tell you, if you keep that foolish promise, misery and ruin are
surely in store for you. What is a lad like you in the hands of
a wily woman of the world, who makes a toy of you? She has
entrapped you into a promise, and your old aunt has cut the
strings and set you free. Go back again! Betray me if you
will, Harry."
"I am not angry with you aunt-I wish I were," said Mr.
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 she has it."
"But I am sure she - she is very fond of me; you should
have seen her last night," faltered Harry.
"Must I tell more stories against my own flesh and blood?"
sobs out the Baroness. "' Child, you do not know her past
life!"
"And I must not, and I will not!" cries Harry, starting




THE VIRGINIANS.


329.


up. "Written or said -it does not matter which! But my
word is given; they may play with such things in England,
but we gentlemen of Virginia don't break 'em. If. she holds
me to my word, she shall have me. If we are miserable, as, I
dare say, we shall be, I'll take a firelock, and go join the King
of Prussia, or let a ball put an end to me."
"I —I have no more to say. Will you be pleased to ring
that bell? I-I wish you good morning, Mr. Warrington."
And, dropping a very stately curtsy, the old lady rose on her
tortoise-shell stick, and turned towards the door. But, as she
made her first step, she put her hand to her heart, sank on the
solfa again, and shed the first tears that had dropped for long
years from Beatrix Esmond's eyes.
I-arry was greatly moved, too. He knelt down by her.
Ile seized her cold hand, and kissed it. lie told her, in his
artless way, how very keenly he had felt her love for him, and
how, with all his heart, lie returned it. "Alh, aunt! " said he,
"you don't know what a villain I feel myself. When you told
me, just now, how that paper was burned -oh! I was aslamed
to think how glad I was." Iie bowed his comely head over
her hand. She felt hot drops fiom his eyes raining on it. She
had loved this boy. For half a century past - never, perhaps,
in the course of her whole worldly life - had she felt a sensation
so tender and so pure. The hard heart was wounded now,
softened, overcome. She put her two hands on his shoulders,
and lightly kissed his forelead.
"You will not tell her what I have done, child?" she said.
IHe declared "Never! never!"  And demure Mrs. Brett,
entering at her mistress's summons, found the nephew and aunt
in this sentimental attitude.








CHAPTER XL.


IN WHICH 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,;;
'I
R;:~
~;~:i;r
~:n.
~-: ir
— I~
-t7;~~
1




THE VIRGINIANS.


with rather a bad grace, to ride with Lady MIaria and the
Chaplain to Castlewood.  Again they passed by Oakhurst
village, and the hospitable house where -larry 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 friends' 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 goodhumor to Harry's face; her tears (which her ladyship hlad at
command) did not seem to create the least sympathy fiom
Mr. Warrington; to her querulous remarks he growled a surly
reply; and my lady was obliged to go to bed at length without
getting a single tete-a-tete with her cousin, —that obstinate
chaplain, as if by order, persisting in staying in the room.
Had Harry given Sampson orders to remain?  She del)arted
with a sigh. He bowed her to the door with an obstinate politeness, and consigned her to the care of the landlady and her maid.
What horse was that which galloped out of the inn-yard
ten minutes after Lady Maria had gone to her chamber? An
hour after her departure fiom their supper-room, Mrs. Betty
came in for her lady's bottle of smelling-salts, and found Parson Sampson smoking a pipe alone.   Mr. Warrington was
gone to bed -was gone to fetch a walk in the moonlight —
how should he know where Mr. Harry was, Sampson answered,
in reply to the maid's interrogatories. Mr. Warrington was
ready to set forward the next morning, and took his place by
the side of Lady Maria's carriage. But his brow was black -
the dark spirit was still on him. IHe hardly sloke to her during the journey. "Great heavens! she must have told himl
that she stole it! " thought Lady Maria withil her own mind.
The fact is that, as they were walking up that steel) 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 grew fonder, he grew colder! As she looked
up in his face, the sun shone down upon hers, which, fresh and
well-preserved as it was, yet showed some of the lines and
wrinkles of twoscore years; and poor Harry, with that arm
leaning on his, felt it intolerably weighty, and by no means
relished his walk up the hill. To think that all his life that




THE VIRGINIANS.


331


drag was to be upon him! It was a dreary look forward; and
lie cursed the moonlight walk, and the hot evening, and the hot
wine which had made him give that silly pledge by which he
was fatally bound.
Maria's praises and raptures annoyed Harry beyond measure. The poor thing poured out scraps of the few plays whicK
she knew that had reference to her case, and strove with hei
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? " she said,
looking in his face. " Shall it not go with me to the grave?
It would, sir, were I to meet with unkindness from my Enrico! "
she sighed out.
Here was a strange story! Madame Bernstein had given him
the little silken case -she had burned the hair and the note
which the case contained, and Maria had it still on her heart!
It was then, at the start which Harry gave, as she was leaning
on his arm, - at the sudden 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 telling lies,
would they ever be out of sackcloth and ashes?
Arrived at Castlewood, Mr. Harry's good-humor was not
increased. My lord was fiom home; the ladies also were away;
the only member of the family whom Harry found, was Mr.
Will, who returned from partridge-shooting just as the chaise
and cavalcade reached the gate, and who turned very pale when
he saw his cousin, and received a sulky scowl of recognition
from the young Virginian.
Nevertheless, he thought to put a good face on the matter,
and they met at supper, where, before my Lady Maria, their
conversation was at first civil, but not lively. Mr. Will had
been to some races? to several. He had been pretty successful in his bets? Mr. Warrington hopes. Pretty well.
"And you have brought back my horse sound?" asked Mr.
Warrington.
"Your horse? what horse?" asked Mr. 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.::1 
'.*




332               THIE VIRGINIANS.
Warrington, sternly.  "You remember the horse, Mr. Esmond."
"Mr. Warrington, I perfectly well remember playing you
for a horse, which my servant handed over to you on the day
of your departure."
"The Chaplain was present at our play. Mr. Sampson,
will you be umpire between us?" Mr. Warrington said, with
much gentleness.
"I am bound to decide that Mr. Warrington played for the
brown horse," says Mr. Sampson.
" VWell, 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-kneed old rip. Ha, ha! "
" Not a word more. 'Tis only a question about a bet, my
dear Lady Maria. Shall I serve you some more chicken?"
Nothing could be more studiously courteous and gay than Mr.
Warrington was, so long as the lady remained in the room.
When she rose to go, Harry followed her to the door, and
closed it upon her with the most courtly bow of fhrewell. He
stood at the closed door for a moment, and then lie 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. Will
fifty guineas against his brown horse?"
"Against his horse! " bawls out Mr. Will.
" I am not such a fool as you take me for," says Mr. Warrington, "although I do come from Virginia!"   And he
repeated his question: "Mr. Sampson, you were here when
I played the Honorable William Esmond, Esquire, fifty guineas
against his brown horse?"
"I must own it, sir," says the Chaplain, with a deprecatory
look towards his lord's brother. 




TIE VIRGINIANS.


333


" Idon't own no such a thing," says Mr. Will, 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.
h Iands off, 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.  L 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 witl
his left, as he had seen the boxers do at Marybone; and
delivered a rapid blow upon Mr. Esmond's nose, which sent
him reeling up against the oak panels, and I dare say caused
him to see ten thousand illuminations. He dropped his knife
in his retreat against the wall, which his rapid antagonist kicked
under the table.
Now Will, too, had been to Marybone and Ilockley-in-theI-ole, an(l, 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 storach.
This manoeuvre Harry had seen, too, on his visit to Marybone, and amongst the negroes upon the maternal estate, who
would meet in combat like two concutient cannon-balls, each
harder than the other. But Harry had seen and marked the
civilized 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 combat, but striving with all his might to restrain
himself and look cool. And he drew the key fiom 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




334


THE VIRGINIANS.


shout, an 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
Ionorable William Esmond, Esquire, stretched il his own
gore.
" Mr. Sampson will bear witness that I struck fair, and tlat
Mr. Esmond hit the first blow," said Mr. Warrington. "c Undo
his neck-cloth, somebody — he may be dead; and get a fiean,
Gumbo, and bleed him. Stop! Hie is coming to himself!
Lift him up, you, and tell a maid to wash the floor."
Indeed, in a minute Mr. Will (lid 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 eve rolled about; then he gasped and uttered an inarticulate moan or two, then he began to swear and curse very
freely and articulately.
t He is getting well," said Mr. Warrington.
L Oh, praise be Mussy! " sighs the sentimental Betty.
"Ask him, Gumbo, whether he would like any more? " said
Mr. Warrington, with a stern humor.
"' Massa H-arry say, Wool you like any maw?" asked obedient Gumbo, bowing over the prostrate gentleman.
" No, curse you, you black devil! " says Mr. Will, hitting
up at the black object before him. (" So he nearly cut my
tongue in tu in my mouf! " Gumbo explained to the pitying
Betty.) "'No, that is, yes! You infernal Mohock! Why
does not somebody kick him out of the place?"
"' Because nobody dares, Mr. Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, with great state, arranging his ruffles - his ruffled ruffles.
' And nobody won't neither," growled the men. They had
all grown to love Harry, whereas Mr. Will had nobody's good
word. "We know all's fair, sir. It ain't the first time Master
William have been served so."
' And I hope it won't be the last," cries shrill Betty. " To
go for to strike a poor black gentleman so! "
Mr. Will had gathered himself up by this time, had wiped
his bleeding face with a napkin, and was skulking off to
bed.
"Surely it's manners to say good-night to the company.
Good-night, Mr. Esmond," says Mr. Warrington, whosejokes,
though few, were not very brilliant; but the honest lad relished
the brilliant sally, and laughed at it inwardly.
"He's 'ad his zopper, and lie goos to baid!" says Betty, in
her native dialect, at which everybody laughed outright, except


/




THE VIRGINIANS.


335


Mr. William, who went away leaving a black fume of curses,
as it were, rolling out of that funnel, his mouth.
It must be owned that Mr. Warrington continued to be witty
the next morning. Ile sent a note to Mr. Will beggring to
know whether he was for a ride to town or anyw/heres else. If
he was for London, that he would friten the highwaymen on
Hounslow Heath, and look a very genteel Jiqar at the 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 Will and Harry, there comes
a maiden simpering to Mr. Warrington's door, and Gumbo
advances, holding something white and triangular in his ebon
fingers.
Harry knew what it was well enough. "Of course it's a
letter," groans he. Molinda greets her Enrico, &c. &c. &c.
No sleep has she known that night, and so forth, and so forth,
and so forth. Has Enrico slept well in the halls of his fathers?
und so weiter, und so weiter. He must never never quaril and
be so cruel again. Kai ta loipa. And I protest I shan't quote
any more of this letter. Ah, tablets, golden once, - are ye
now faded leaves? Where is the juggler who transmuted you,
and why is the glamour over?
After the little scandal with Cousin Will, Harry's dignity
would not allow him to stay longer at Castlewood: he wrote a
majestic letter to the lord of the mansion, explaining the circumstances which had occurred, and, as he called in Parson
Sampson to supervise the document, no doubt it contained none
of those eccentricities in spelling which figured in his ordinary
correspondence at this period. I-e represented to poor Maria,
that after blackening the eye and damaging the nose of a son of
the house, he should remain in it with a very bad grace; and
she was forced to acquiesce in the opinion that, for the present,
his absence would best become him. Of course, she wept plentiful tears at parting with him. He would go to London, and
see younger beauties: he would find none, none who would love
him like his fond Maria. I fear Mr. Warrington did not exhibit
any profound emotion on leaving her: nay, he cheered up immediately after he crossed Castlewood Bridge, and made his
horses whisk over the road at ten miles an hour: he sang to
them to go along: he nodded to the pretty girls by the roadside: lhe chucked my landlady under the chin: lie certainly was
not inconsolable. Truth is, he longed to be back in London
again, to make a figure at St. James's, at Newmarket, wherever




836


THE VIRGINIANS.


the men of fashion congregated. All that petty Tunbridge
society of women and card-playing seemed child's-play to him
now    he had tasted the delight of London life.
By the time he reached London again, almost all the fourand-forty pounds which we have seen that he possessed at Tunbridge had slipped out of his pocket, and farther supplies were
necessary. Regarding these he made himself presently easy.
There were the two sums of 5,0001. 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 neighboring 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-andtwenty, 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 (lined 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




THE   VIRGINIANS.                      337
fn 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 Prodigal Son was away
carousing, were not love and forgiveness still on the watch for
him?
Amongst the inedited letters of the late Lord Orford, there
is one which the present learned editor, Mr. Peter Cunningham,
has omitted from   his collection, doubting possibly the authenticity of the document.  Nay, I myself have only seen a copy of
it in the Warrington papers in Madam      Esmond's prim    handwriting, and noted "' Mr. H. Walpole's account of my son Henry
at London, and of Baroness Tusher, -   wrote to Genl Conway."
ARLINGTON STREET. Friday Night.
"I have come away, child, for a day or two from my devotions to our
Lady of Strawberry. Have I liot been on my knees to her these three
weeks, and aren't the poor old joints full of rheumatism? A fit took me
that 1 would pay London a visit, that I would go to Vauxhall and Ranelagh. Quoi! May I not have my rattle as well as other ellerly babies?
Suppose, after being so long virtuous, I take a fancy to cakes and ale,
shall your reverence say nay to me? George Selwyn and Tony Storer
and your humbnlle servant took boat at Westminster t'other night. Was it
Tuesday? - no, Tuesday I was with their Graces of Norfolk, who are just
from Tunbridge -it was Wednesday. How should I know?     Wasn't I
dead drunk with a whole pint of lemonade I took at White's?
"'The Norfolk folk had been entertaining me on Tuesday with the account of a young savage Iroquois, Choctaw, or Virginian, who has lately
been making a little noise in our quarter of the globe. He is an offshoot
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,
t7e Esmond- a great beauty, too, of her day, a favorite 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 lIanoverian house at present reigning over us. 'Will Horace Walpole's tongue never stop scandal? ' says your wife over your shoulder. I
kiss your ladyship's hand. I am dumb. The Bernstein is a model of virtue. She had no good reasons for marrying her father's chaplain. Many
of the nobility omit the marriage altogether. Sle wasn't ashamed of being
Mrs. Tusher, and didn't take a German Baroncino for a second husband,
whom nobody out of Hanover ever saw. The Yarmouth bears no malice.
Esther and Vashti are very good friends, and have been cheating each
other at Tunbridge at cards all the summer.
"And what has all this to do with the Iroquois? ' says your ladyship.
The Iroquois has been at Tunbridge, too —not cheating, perhaps, but 
winning vastly. They say he has bled Lord March of thousands- Lord
March, by whom so much blood hath been shed, that hle has quarrelled
22,,,:




338


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 lie was leaning, and who appeared hugely
delighted with the enchantments of the garden. Lord, how he stared at
the fireworks! Gods, how he huzzayed at the singing of a horrible painted
wench who shrieked the ears off my head! A twopenny string of glass
beads and a strip of tawdry cloth are 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 liere lie was bellowing and huzzaying over
the music so as to do you good to hear. I do not love a puppet-show, but
I love to treat children to one, Miss Conway! I present your ladyship my
compliments, and hope we slall go and see the dolls together.
" When the singing-woman came down from her throne, Jack Morris
must introduce my Virginian to her. I saw him blush up to the eyes, and
make ler, upon my word, a very fine bow, such as I had no idea was practised in wigwams. 'There is a certain jenny squaw about her, and that's
why the savage likes her,' George said- a joke certainly not as brilliant
as a firework. After which it seemed to me that the savage and the savagess retired together.
" Having had a great deal too much to eat and drink three hours before, my partners must have chicken and rack-punch at 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 history of another elderly beauty of the
family, a certain Lady Maria, who was au mieux with the late Prince of
Wales. What did I say? I protest not half of what I knew, and of
course not a tenth part of what I was going to tell, fcrr who should start
out upon us but my savage, this time quite red in the face; and in his warpaint. 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 I 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 apologize 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 ill-fortune to mislay.
George has put him up for the club, it appears,4n 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!
" XI. W."
"To the Honble. H. S. CONWAY."




THE VIRGINIANS.


339


CHAPTER XLI.
RAKE'S PROGRESS.
PEOPLE were still very busy in I-larry Warrington's time
(not that our young gentleman took much heed of tle controversy) in determining the relative literary merits of the ancients
and the moderns; and the learned, and the worl(d with them,
indeed, pretty generally pronounced in favor 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 huld(red years hence, will give their judgment about us. As
for your book-learning, 0 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 Atlens, if such an one existed. As for science, you were scarce more advanced than those heathen to
whom in literature you owned yourselves inferior. And in
public and private morality? Which is the better, this actual
year 1858, or its predecessor a century back? Gentlemen of
Mr. Disraeli's House of Commons! has every one of you his
price, as in Walpole's or Newcastle's time, -or (and that is
the delicate question) have you almost all of you had it?  Ladies, I do not say that you are a society of Vestals - but the
chronicle of a hundred years since contains such an amount of
scandal, that you may be thankful you did not live in such
dangerous times. No: on my conscience I believe that men
and women are both better; not only that the Susannahs are
more numerous, but that the Elders are not nearly so wicked.
Did you ever hear of such books as " Clarissa," "Tom Jones,"
"Roderick Random;" paintings by contemporary artists, of
the men and women, the life and society, of their day?  Suppose we were to describe the doings of such a person as Mr.
Lovelace, pr my Lady Bellaston, or that wonderful "Lady of
Quality" who lent her memoirs to the author of "Peregrine
Pickle."  I-ow the pure and outraged Nineteenth Century
would blush, scream, run out of the room, call away the young
ladies, and order Mr. Mudie never to send one of that odious
author's books again! You are fifty-eight years-old, Madam,




340


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 spoiled 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 advantage without the tin drapery; we may
plead that the moral were better might we recite the whole
fable. Away with him - not a word! I never saw the 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? I am thinking of
Harry Warrington, Esquire, in his lodgings in Bond Street,
London, and of the life which he and many of the young bucks
of fashion led in those times, and how I can no more take my
fair young reader into them, than Lady Squeams can take her
daughter to Cremorne Gardens on an ordinary evening. My
dear Miss Diana (Psha! I know you are eight-and-thirty, although you are so wonderfully shy, and want to make us believe
you have just left off school-room dinners and a pinafore), when
your grandfather was a young man about town, and a member
of one of the Clubs at White's, and dined at Pontac's off the
feasts provided by Braund and Lebeck, and rode to Newmarket
with March and Rockingham, and toasted the best in England
with Gillv Williams and George Selwyn (and didn't understand
George's jokes, of which, indeed, the flavor has very much
evaporated since the bottling) - the old gentleman led a life
of which your noble aunt (author of " Legends of the Squeams's:
or, Fair Fruits off a Family Tree,") has not given you the
slightest idea.
It was before your grandmother adopted those serious views
for which she was distinguished during her last long residence
at Bath, and after Colonel Tibbalt married Miss Lye, the rich
soap-boiler's heiress, that her ladyship's wild oats were sown.
When she was young, she was as giddy as the rest of the genteel world. At her house in Hill Street, she had ten card-tables




THE VIRGINIANS.


341


on Wednesdays and Sunday evenings, except for a short time
when Ranelagh was open on Sundays. Every night of her life
she gambled for eight, nine, ten hours. Everybody else in
society did the like. She lost; she won; she cheated; she
pawned her jewels; who knows what else she was not ready to
pawn, so as to find funds to supply her fury for play? What
was that after-supper duel at the " Shakspeare's Head" in
Covent Garden, between your grandfather and Colonel Tibbalt:
where they drew swords and engaged only in the presence.
of Sir John Screwby, who was (drunk under the table? They
were interrupted by Mr. John Fielding's people, and your
grandfather was carried home to Hill Street wounded in a chair.
1 tell you those gentlemen in powder and ruffles, who turned
out the toes of their buckled pumps so delicately, were terrible
fellows. Swords were perpetually being drawn; bottles after
bottles were drunk; oaths roared unceasingly in conversation;
tavern-drawers and watchmen were pinked and maimed; chairmen belabored; citizens insulted by reeling pleasure-hunters.
You have been to Cremorne with proper " vouchers " of course?
Do you remember our great theatres thirty years ago? You
were too good to go to a play. Well, you have no idea what
the playhouses'were, or what the green boxes were, when
Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard were playing before them! And
I, for my children's sake, thank that good Actor in his retirement who was the first to banish that shame from the theatre.
No, Madam, you are mistaken; I (lo not plume.myself on my
superior virtue. I do not say you are naturally better than
your ancestress in her wild, rouged, gambling, flaring tearing
days; or even than poor Polly Fogle, who is just taken up for
shop-lifting, and would have been hung for it a hundred years
ago. Only, I am heartily thankful that my temptations are
less, having quite enough to do with those of the present century.
So, if Harry Warrington rides down to Newmarket to the
October meeting, and loses or wins his money there; if he
makes one of a party at the " Shakspeare" or the " Bedford
Head;" if he (lines at Wrhite's ordinary, and sits down to macco
and lansquenet afterwards; if he boxes the watch, and makes
his appearance at the Roundhouse; if he turns out for a short
space a wild, dissipated, harumn-scarum young Harry Warrington; I, knowing the weakness of human nature, am not going
to be surprised; and, quite aware of my own shortcomings,
don't intend to be very savage at my neighbor's. Mr. Sampson 
was: in his chapel in Long Acre he whipped Vice tremen-  ~'1




342


THE VIRGINIANS.


dously; gave Sin no quarter; out-cursed Blasphemy with superior anathemas; knocked Drunkenness down, and trampled
on the prostrate brute wallowing in the gutter; dragged out conjugal Infidelity, and pounded her with endless stones of rhetoric
-and, after service, came to dinner at the "1 Star and Garter,"
made a bowl of punch for Harry and his friends at the " Bedford Ilead," or took a hand at whist t Mr. Warrington's lodgings, or my Lord March's, or wherever there was a supper and
good company for him.
I often think, however, in respect of Mr. Warrington's
doings at this period of his coming to London, that I may have
taken my usual degrading and uncharitable views of him - for
you see, I have not uttered a single word of virtuous indignation against his conduct, and if it was not reprehensible, have
certainly judged him  most cruelly.   0 the Truthful, O the
Beautiful, O Modesty, 0 Benevolence, O Pudor, O Mores, O
Blushing Shame, O Namby Pamby - each with your respective
capital letters to your honored names! 0 Niminy, O Piminy!
how shall I dare for to go for to say that a young man ever
was a young man?
No doubt, dear young lady, I am calumniating Mr. Warrington, according to my heartless custom.  As a.proof, here is a
letter out of the Warrington collection, fiom   Harry to his
mother, in which tlere is not a single word that would lead you
to suppose he was leading a wild life.  And such a letter from
an only son, to a fond and exemplary parent, we know must be
true!"BOND STREET, LONDON, October 25, 1756.
"HONORD MADAM, - I take up my pen to acknowledge your honored
favor of 10 July, per 'Lively Virginia' packet, wlich has duly come to
hand, forwarded by our Bristol agent, and rejoice to hear that the prospect
of the crops is so good. 'Tis Tully who says that agriculture is the noblest
pursuit; how delightful when that pursuit is also proplletable!
" Since my last, dated from Tunbridge Wells, one or two insadence have
occurred of which it is nessasery* I should advise my honored Mother.
Our party there broke up end of August: the partridge-shooting commencing. Baroness Bernstein, whose kindness to me has been most invariable,
hlas been to Bath, her usual winter resort, and has made me a welcome
present of a fifty-pound bill. I rode back with Rev. Mr. Sampson, whose
instruction I find most valluble, and my cousin Lady Maria, to Castlewood.l
I paid a flying visit on the way to my dear kind friends Col. and Mrs. Lambert, Oakhurst House, who send my honored mother their most affectionate
* This word has been much operated upon with the penknife, but is left
sic, no doubt to the writer's satisfaction.
t Could Parson Sampson have been dictating the above remarks to Mr
Warrington?




TIHE  VIRGINIANS.                      343
remembrances. The youngest Miss Lambert, I grieve to say was dellicate;
and ler parents in some anxiety.
"At Castlewood I lament to state my stay was short, owing to a quarrel
withl my cousin Willian. HIe is a young manl of violent passions, iaid alas!
addicted to liquor, when he lias no controul over tlhem. In a trifling dispute
about a horse, high words arose between us, and lie aynmed a blow at nie,
or its equivulent —which my Grandfathers my lhonored mother's child
could not brook. I rejoyned, and feld him to the ground, whents lie was
carried almost sencells to )bedl. I sent to enquire after his lhealth in tile
morning: but having no further news of him, came away to London, where
I have been ever since witli brief intavles of absence.
"Knowing you would wish me to see liy dear Grandfathers University
of Cambridge, I rode thither lately in company witli some friends, passing
through part of Iarts, and lying at the famous bed of Ware. The October
meeting was just begun at Cambridge when I went. I saw the students in
their qownds and capps, and rode over to tile famous Newmarket Heath,
where there happened. to be some races -  y frield Lord Marchs liorse
Marrowbones by Cleaver coming off winner of a large ste(k. It was an
amusing day - tle jockeys, horses, &c., very different to our poor races at
honle- the betting awful —tlhe richest noblemen here mix witli the jox,
and bett all round.  Cambridge pleased me: especially King's College
Chapel, of a rich but elegant Gothick.
" I have been out into tlhe world, and am made member of tle Club at
Whlite's where I meet gentlemen of the first fashion. My Lords Rockinghtm, Carlisle, Orford, Bolingbroke, Coventry are of my friends, introduced
to me by my Lord March, of whom lI have often wrote before. Lady
Coventry is a fine woman, but thinn. Every lady paints liere, old and young;
so, if you and Mountain and Fanny wish to be in fashtion, I must send you
out some rooge-pots: everybody pla3 s - eight, ten, carl-tables at every
iouse on every receiving night. I ami sorry to say all do not play fair,
and some do not pay fair. I have been obliged to sit down, and do as Rome
(loes, and have actually seen ladies whom I could name take my counters
from before my face.
One day, hIis regiment the 20th, being paraded in St. James's Park, a
friend of mine, Mr. Wolfe, did me tile honor to present me to his Royal
Hliglhness thle Captain-General, wlho was most gra(ciots: a fat, jolly Prince,
if I may speak so without disrespect, reminding me in his manner of that
unhappy General Braddock, wlom we knew to our sorrow last year.
When lie heard my name, and how dearest George had served and fallen
in Braddock's unfortunate campaign, he talked a great deal with me;
asked why a young fellow like me (lid not serve too; why I did not go to
tlie King of Prussia, who was a great General, and see a campaign or
two; and wlether tlat would not be better than dawdling about at routs
and card-parties in London? I said, I would like to go witl all my leart,
but was an only son now, on leave from my mother, and belonged to our
estate in Virginia. His Royal Highness said, Mr. Braddock had wrote
home accounts of Mrs. Esmond's loyalty, and that lie would gladly serve
me. Mr. Wolfe and I have waited on lim since, at his Royal HIighness's 
house in Pall Mall. The latter, who is still quite a young man, tmade tle 
Scots campaign with Ihis Highness, wlom Mr. l)empster lores so much at:
home. To be sure, lie was too severe: if anything can be too severe
against rebels in arms.;^:
"Mr. Draper has had half the Stock, my late Papa's property, trans- 
ferred to my name. Until there'can be no doubt of that painful loss in our  -
family which 1 would give my right hand to replace, the remaining stock 
must remain in the trustees' name in behalf of him who inherited it Ah,,..~~~~~-X




344


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


dear mother! There is no day, scarce any hour, when I don't think of
hiin. I wish he were by me often. I feel like as if I was better when I
amt thinking of hi, andll would like, for tile honor of my family, tlat lie
was representing of it here instead of,
"  Honored Madam, your dutiful and affectionate Son,
" HENRY ESMOND WVARRINGTON.
"P. S. I am like Iqour sex, who always, they say, put their chief news
in a poscrip. I had somlettling to tell you about a plerson to wlhoim ml heairt
is eniqqf(led. I shall write more about it, which there is no hurry. Safice
she is a nobleman's daughter, and hIer fanily us good as our own."
" CLARGES STREET, LONDON, October 23, 1756.
" I think, my good sister, we have been all our lives a little more than
kin and less tian kind, to use tlhe words of a poet whlom your dear father
loved dearly. When you were born in our Western Principallitie, Iny
mother was not as old as Isaac's; but even tlien I was miuch more tlhan
old enough to be yours. And tilougll sihe gave you all slie could leave or
give, ilcludling tlte little portion of love that oughit to have been mlly share,
yet, if we can have good will for one antother, we may learn to do without
affection: and somie little kindness you owe me, for your son 's sake as
well as your father's, wlhoin I loved and admired mIore titan any itan I
think ever I knew in this world; lte was greater titan almost all, tihough
he made no noyse in it. I have seen ve ry mlany wllo have, and, believe mle,
have found but few with such good lheads and good tiarts as Mr. Esmond.
" Had we been better acquainted, I mtight have given you some advice
regarding your young gentleman's introduction to Europe, whlicli you,
would have taken or not, as people (lo in this world. At least you would
have sed afterwards, ' What slie counselled me was riglit, and hlad Harry
done as Madam Beatrix wislit, it had been better for lltin.' My good
sister, it was not for you to know, or for me to whom you never wrote to
tell you, but your boy in coming to England and Castlewood found but ill
friends there; except one, an old aunt, of whiom all kind of evil liatli been
spoken and sed thlese fifty years past -and not withiout cawse too,
perlaps.
" Now, I must tell Harry's mother whlat will doubtless scarce astonish
her, that almost everybody who knows him loves lhim. HI-e is prudent of
his tongue, generous of his money, as bold as a lyon, with an imperious
domineering way that sets well upon hin m; you know whether lie is handsome or not: my dear, I like him none the less for not being over witty
or wise, and never cared for your seft-/the-Thames-afire gentlemen, who are
so much more clever than their neighbors. Your father's great friend,
Mr. Addison, seemed to me but a supercilious prig, and his follower, Sir
'Dick Steele, was not pleasant in his cupps, nor out of 'cm. And (revenons
h luI/) your Master Harry will certainly not burn the river iip withl his wits.
Of book-learning he is as ignorant as any lord in England, and for this I
hold him none the worse. If heaven have not given him a turn thiat way,
'tis of no use trying to bend him.
" Considering the place lie is to hold in his own colony when lie returns,
and the stock lie comes from, let me tell you, that lie hath not means
enough allowed him to support his station, and is likely to make the more
depence from the narrowness of his income - from sheer despair breaking
out of all bounds, and becoming extravagant, which is not his turn. But
he likes to live as well as the rest of his company, and, between ourselves,
has fell into some of the finist and most rakish in England. He thinks
'tis for the honor of the family not to go back, and many a time calls for




THE   VIRGINIANS.                      345
ortolans and champaign when he would as leaf dine with a stake and a
mugg of beer. And in tis kind of spirit 1 have no doubt from what lie
lhatll told lme in lhis talk (whiich is very nalf, as the French say), that his
mannma hathl encouraged him in his high opinion of himself. We women
like our belongings to have it, hlowever little we love to pay tile cost.
Will you have your ladd make a figar il London '' Trebble ils allowance
at the very least, anld his Aunt Bernstein (with his lionored inamina's permission) will add a little more on to whateversumm you give lhill. Oilierwise lie will be spending the little capital I learn lie has in this country,
which, when a ladd once begins to manger, llhere is very soon an endl to
tlie loaf. Please God, I slall be able to leave Henry Esmond's grandson
something at my deatll; but my savings are small, and tie pension with
which my gracious Sovereign iatli endowed me (lies with me. As for fi11
M. de Bernstein, lie left only debt at his decease: the officers of Ilis
Majesty's Electoral Court of Hannover are but scantily paid.
"A lady who is at present very lligl in Ihis Maljesty's confidence hath
taken a great pliancy to your ladd, and will take an early occasion to
bring him to the Sovereign's favorable notice. Iis Royal Higlhness tlle
])uke lie hatli seen. If live in America lie must, why sliould not Mr.
Esmond Warrington return as Governor of Virginia, and witll a title to
his name?  'lTat is what I hope for him.
"' Meanwlile, I must be candid witli you, and tell you I fear lie llatli entangled hlimself here in a very silly engagement. Ev\en to marry an old
woman for money is scarce pardonable-tlie game ne ct'alait /qeres la
cha/ndele - Mr. Bernstein, when alive, more tlian once assured nle of this
fact, and I believe him, poor gentleman! But to engage yourself to an old
woman without money, and to marry her merely because you lave promised her, this seems to me a follie which only very young' ladds fall into,
and I fear Mr. Warrington is one. I]ow, or for what consideration, I know
not, but my niece Maria Esmond hatl escamote a promise from Harry. IHe
knows notling of her (tnfcedens, which I do. Slie Ilatli laid herself out for
twenty husbands these twenty years past. I care not how slhe lath got tlie
promise from him. 'Tis'a sinn and a shame tlhat a woman more thtan forty
years old sliould surprize the honor of a clild like that, and liold hirn to
his word. Sihe is not the woman sle pretends to be. A liorse-jockey (he
saitli) cannot take hin in- but a woman!
"I write this news to you advisedly, displeasant as it must be. Perhaps
'twill bring you to England: but I would be very cautious, above all, very
gentle, for the bitt will instantly make his liigli spirit reslice. I fear the
property is entailed, so that thlreats of cutting lIim off from it will not
move Maria. Otherwise I know her to be so mercenary that (though
she really hath a great phancy for this handsome ladd) without money
she would not hear of him. All I could, and more than I ought, I have
done to prevent the match. Wlhat and more I will not say in writing;
but that I am, for Henry Esmond's sake, his grandson's sincerest friend,
and, Madam,
" Your faithful sister and servant,
"BEATRIX BARONESS DE BERNSTEIN."
"To Mrs.EsMOND WARRINGTON, of Castlewood, in Virginia."
On the back of this letter is written, in Madam     Esmond's
hand, "My sister Bernstein's letter, received with Henry's
Iecember 24: on receipt of which it was determined my son
should instantly go home."




346


THE VIRGINIANS.


CHAPTER XLII.
FORTUNATUS NIMIUM.
TnoUGn Harry Warrington persisted in his determination to
keep that dismal promise which his cousin had extracted from
him, we trust no benevolent reader will think so ill of him as to
suppose that the engagement was to the young fellow's taste,
and that he would not be heartily glad to be rid of it. Very
likely the beating administered to poor Will was to this end;
and -larry may have thought, " A boxing-match between us is
sure to bring on a quarrel with the family; in the quarrel with
the family, Maria may take her brother's side. I, of course,
will make no retraction or apology. Will, in that case, may
call me to account, when I know which is the better man. In
the midst of the feud, the agreement may come to an end, and
I may be a free man once more."
So honest Harry laid his train, and fired it: but, the explosion over, no harm was found to be done, except that William
Esmond's nose was swollen, and his eye black for a week. IIe
did not send a challenge to his cousin, IHarry WVarrington;
and, in consequence, neither killed IIarry, nor was killed by
him. Will was knocked down, and he got up again. How
many men of sense would do the same, could they get their
little account settled in a private place, with nobody to tell how
the score was paid! Maria by no means took her family's side
in the quarrel, but declared for her cousin, as did my lord,
when advised of the disturbance. Will had struck the first
blow, Lord Castlewood said, by the Chaplain's showing. It
was not the first or the tenth time he had been found quarrelling
in his cups. Mr. Warrington only showed a proper spirit in
resenting the injury, and it was for Will, not for Harry, to ask
pardon.
Harry said he would accept no apology as long as his horse
was not returned or his bet paid. This chronicler has not been
able to find out, from any of the papers which have come under
his view, how that affair of the bet was finally arranged: but
'tis certain the cousins presently met in the houses of various
friends, and without mauling each other.
Maria's elder brother had been at first quite willing that his
sister, who had remained unmarried for so many years, and on




THE VIRGINIANS.


347


the train of whose robe, in her long course over the path of life,
so many briars, so much mud, so many rents and stains had
naturally gathered, should marry with any bridegroom' who
presented himself, and if with a gentleman from Virginia, so
much the better. She would retire to his wigwam in the forest,
and there be disposed of.  In the natural course of things,
Harry would survive his elderly bride, and might console himself or not, as he preferred, after her departure.
But, after an interview with Aunt Bernstein, which his
lordship had on his coming to London, he changed his opinion;
and even went so far as to try and dissuade Maxia from the
match; and to profess a pity for the young fellow who was to
be made to undergo a life of misery on account of a silly promise given at one-and-twenty!
Misery, indeed! Maria was at a loss to know why he was
to be miserable. Pity, forsooth! My lord at Castlewood had
thought it was no pity at all. Maria knew what pityn meant.
Her brother had been with Aunt Bernstein: Aunt Bernstein
had offered money to break this match off:  She understood
what my lord meant, but Mr. Warrington was a man of honor,
and she could trust him. Away, upon this, walks my lord to
White's, or to whatever haunts he frequented. It is probable
that his sister had guessed too accurately what the nature of
his conversation with Madame Bernstein had been.
" And so," thinks he, " the end of my virtue is likely to be
that the Mohock will fall a prey to others, and that there is no
earthly use in my sparing him.  Quem Deus vult' -what
was the schoolmaster's adage? If I don't have him, somebody
else will, that is clear. My brother has had a slice; my dear
sister wants to swallow the whole of him bodily. Here have I
been at home respecting his youth and innocence forsooth,
declining to play beyond the value of a sixpence, and acting
guardian and Mentor to him. Why, I am but a fool to fatten
a goose for other people to feed off! Not many a good action
have I done in this life, and here is this one, that serves to
benefit whom?-other folks. Talk of remorse! By all the
fires and furies, the remorse I have is for things I haven't done
and might have done! Why did I spare Lucretia?  She hated
me ever after, and her husband went the way for which he was
predestined. Why have I let this lad off?- that March and
the rest, who don't want him, may pluck him! And I have a
bad repute; and I am the man people point at, and call the
wicked lord, and against whom  women warn their sons!
Pardi, I am not a penny worse, only a great deal more unlucky




348


THE VIRGINIANS.


than my neighbors, and 'tis only my cursed weakness that has
been my greatest enemy! " Here, manifestly, in setting down
a speech which a gentleman only thought, a chronicler overdraws his account with the patient reader, who has a right not
to accept this draft on his credulity. But have not Livy, and
Thucydides, and a score more of historians, made speeches for
their heroes, which we know the latter never thought of delivering?  How much more may we then, knowing my Lord
Castlewood's character so intimately as we do, declare what
was passing in his mind, and transcribe his thoughts on this
paper? What? a whole pack of the wolves are on the hunt
after this lamb, and will make a meal of him presently, and
one hungry old hunter is to stand by, and not have a single
cutlet? Who has not admired that noble speech of my Lord
Clive, when reproached on his return from India with making
rather too free with jaghires, lakhs, gold mohurs, diamonds,
pearls, and what not: ' Upon my life," said the hero of Plassy,
"when I think of my opportunities, I am surprised I took so
little!"To tell disagreeable stories of a gentleman, until one is in a
manner forced to impart them, is always painful to a feeling
mind. Hence, though I have known, before the very first page
of this history was written what sort of a person my Lord
Castlewood was, and in what esteem he was held by his contemporaries, I have kept back much that was unpleasant about
him, only allowing the candid reader to perceive that he was a
nobleman who ought not to be at all of our liking. It is true
that my Lord March, and other gentlemen of whom he complained, would have thought no more of betting with Mr. Warrington for his last shilling, and taking their winnings, than they
would scruple to pick the bones of a chicken; that they would
take any advantage of the game, or their superior skill in it, of
the race, and their private knowledge of the horses engaged;
in so far, they followed the practice of all gentlemen: but
when they played, they played fair; and when they lost, they
paid.
Now Madame Bernstein was loth to tell her Virginian nephew
all she knew to his family's discredit; she was even touched by
my lord's forbearance in regard to Harry on his first arrival in
Europe; and pleased with his lordship's compliance with her
wishes in this' particular. But in the conversation which she
had with her nephew Castlewood regarding Maria's designs on
Harry, he had spoken his mind out with his usual cynicism,
voted himself a fool for having spared a lad whom no sparing




THE VIRGINIANS.                  349
would eventually keep from ruin; pointed out Mr. Harry's undeniable extravagances and spendthrift associates, his nights at
faro and hazard, and his rides to Newmarket, and asked why
he alone should keep his hands fiom the young fellow?  In
vain Madame Bernstein pleaded that Harry was pool. Bah;
he was heir to a principality which ought to have been his, Castlewood's, and might have set up their ruined family. (Indeed
Madame Bernstein thought Mr. Warrington's Virginia property
much greater than it was.) Were there not money-lenders in
the town who would give him money on post-obits in plenty?
Castlewood knew as much to his cost: he had applied to them
in his father's lifetime, and the cursed crew had eaten up twothirds of his miserable income. -He spoke with such desperate
candor and ill-humor, that Madame Bernstein began to be
alarmed for her favorite, and determined to caution him at the
first opportunity.
That evening she began to pen a billet to Mr. Warrington:
but all her life long she was slow with her pen, and disliked
using it. "I never knew any good come of writing more than
bon jour or business," she used to say. " What is the use of
writing ill, when there are so many clever people wlo can do it
well? and even then it were best left alone."  So she sent one
of her men to Mr. Harry's lodging, bidding him come and drink
a dish of tea with her next day, when she proposed to warn
him.
But the next morning she was indisposed, and could not receive Mr. Harry when he came: and she kept her chamber for
a couple of days, and the next day there was a great engagement; and the next day Mr. Harry was off on some expedition
of his own. In the whirl of London life, wlat man sees his
neighbor, what brother his sister, what schoolfellow his old
friend? Ever so many days passed before Mr. Warrington
and his aunt had that confidential conversation which the latter 
desired. 
She began by scolding him mildly about his extravagance and 
mad-cap frolics (though, in truth, she was charmed with him 
for both) - he replied that young men will be young men, and:
that it was in dutifilly waiting in attendance on his aunt, he
had made the acquaintance with whom lie mostly lived at pres- 
ent. She then, with some prelude, began to warn him regarding his cousin, Lord Castlewood; on which.he broke into a bitter:
laugh, and said the good-natured world had told him plenty,?
about Lord Castlewood already. "To say of a man of his 
lordship's rank, or of any gentleman, ' Don't play with him,' ii  '|
more than I like to do," continued the lady; "but..." 




THE VIRGINIANS.


" Oh, you may say on, aunt! " said Harry, with something
like an imprecation on his lips.
' And have you played with your cousin already?" asked
the young man's worldly old monitress.
"And lost and won, Madam!" answers Harry, gallantly.
It don't become me to say which. If we have a bout with a
neighbor in Virginia, a bottle, or a pack of cards, or a quarrel,
we don't go home and tell our mothers. I mean no offence,
aunt! " And, blushing, the handsome young fellow went up
and kissed the old lady. IIe looked very brave and brilliant,
with his rich lace, his fair face and hair, his fine new suit of
velvet and gold. On taking leave of his aunt he gave his usual
sumptuous benefactions to her servants, who crowded round
him. It was a rainy winter day, and my gentleman, to save his
fine silk stockings, must come in a chair.  " To White's!" he
called out to the chairmen, and away they carried him to the
place where he passed a great deal of his time.
Our Virginian's friends might have wished that he had been
a less sedulous frequenter of that house of entertainment! but
so much may be said in favor of Mr. Warrington that, having
engaged in play, he fought his battle like a hero. He was not
flustered by good luck, and perfectly calm when the chances
went against him. If Fortune is proverbially fickle to men at
play, how many men are fickle to Fortune, run away frightened
from her advances; and desert her, who, perhaps, had never
thought of leaving tlem but for their cowardice. "By George,
Mr. Warrington," said Mr. Selwyn, waking tp in a rare fit of
enthusiasm, "you deserve to win! You treat your luck as a
gentleman should, and as long as she remains with you, behave
to her with the most pet-fect politeness. Si celeres quatit pennas -  ou know the rest. No? Well, you are not much the
worse off —you will call her ladyship's coach, and make her
a bow at the step. Look at Lord Castlewood yonder, passing
the box. Did you ever hear a fellow curse and swear so at losing five or six pieces? She must be a jade indeed, if she long
give her favors to such a niggardly canaille as that!"
"We don't consider our family canaille, sir," says Mr. Warrington, " and my Lord Castlewood is one of them."
" I forgot  I forgot, and ask your pardon! And I make
you my compliment upon my lord, and Mr. Will Esmond his
brother," says I-Iarry's neighbor at the hazard-table. "The
box is with me.  Five's the main! Deuce Ace! my usual
luck. Virtute mea me involvo!" and he sinks back in his.hair.




THE VIRGINIANS.                  351
Whether it was upon this occasion of taking the box, that
Mr. Harry threw the fifteen mains mentioned in one of those
other letters of Mr. Walpole's, which have not come into his
present learned editor's hands, I know not; but certain it is,
that on his first appearance at " White's," Harry lhad five or six
evenings of prodligious good luck, and seemed more than ever
the Fortunate Youth. The five hundred poun(ls witldrawn fiom
his patrimonial inheritance had multiplied into thousands. I-I
bought fine clothes, purchased fine horses, gave grand entertainments, made handsome presents, lived as if he had been as
rich as Sir James Lowther, or his Grace of Bedford, and yet
the fivethousand pounds never seemed to diminish. No wonder that he gave where giving was so easy; no wonder that he.was generous witl Fortulatus's purse in his pocket. I say no
wonder tlat he gave, for such was his nature. Otler Fortunati
tie ul) the endless purse, drink small beer, and go to bed with
a tallow candle.
During this vein of his luck, what must Mr. Iarry do, but
find out from Lady Maria what her ladyship's debts were, and
pay them off to the last shilling. Her step-mother and half-sister, who did not love her, he treated to all sorts of magnificent
presents.  " I-ad you not better get yourself arrested, Will?"
my lord sardonically said to his brother. "' Although you bit
him in that affair of the horse, the Mohock will certainly take
you out of pawn." It was then that Mr. William felt a true remorse, though not of that humble kind which sent the repentant
Prodigal to his knees.  ' Confound it," lie groaned, " to think
that I have let this fellow slip for such a little matter as fifty
pound! Why, he was good for a thousand at least."
As for Maria, that generous creature accepted the good fortune sent her with a grateful heart; and was ready to accept as
much more as you pleased. IHaving paid off her debts to her
various milliners, tradesmen, and purveyors, she forthwith proceeded to contract new ones. Mrs. Betty, her ladyship's maid, 
went round informing the tradespeople that her mistress was 
about to contract a matrimonial alliance with a young gentleman  i
of immense fortune; so that they might give my lady credit to
any amount. Having heard the same story twice or tlhice 
before, the tradesfolk might not give it entire credit, but their 
bills were paid: even to Mrs. Pincott, of Kensington, my lady 
showed no rancor, and affably ordered fresh supplies from her;  A
and when she drove about from the mercer to the toy-shop, and 
from the toy-shop to the jeweller, in a coach, with her maid,
and Mr. Warrington inside, they thought her a fortunate woman l!




352


THE VIRGINIANS.


indeed, to have secured the Fortunate Youth, though they
might wonder at the taste of this latter in having selected so
elderly a beauty. Mr. Sparks, of Tavistock Street, Covent
Garden, took the liberty of waiting upon  11r. Warrington at
his lodgings in Bond Street, with the pearl necklace and the
gold etwee which lie had bought in Lady Maria's company the
(lay before; and asking whether lie, Sparks, should leave them
at his honor's lodging, or send them to her ladyship with his
honor's compliments? Harry added a rinlg out of the stock
which the jeweller happened to bring with him, to the necklace
and the etwee; and sumptuously bidding that individual to
send him in the bill, took a majestic leave of Mr. Sparls, who
retired, bowing even to Gumbo, as he quitted his honor's presence.
Nor did his bounties end here. Ere many days the pleased
young fellow drove up in his phaeton to Mr. Sparks's shop,
and took a couple of trinkets for two young ladies, whose parents had been kind to him, and for whom he entertained a sincere regard. " Ah! " thought he, " how I wish I had my poor
George's wit and genius for poetry! I would send these presents with pretty verses to H-etty and Theo. I am sure, if goodwill and real regard could make a poet of me, I should have
no difficulty in finding rhymes." And so he called in Parson
Sampson, and they concocted a billet together.
CHAPTER XLIII.
IN WHICH HARRY FLIES HIGH.
So Mr. Harry Warrington, of Virginia, had his lodgings in
Bond Street, London, England, and lived upon the fat of the
land, and drank bumpers of the best wine thereof. His title of
Fortunate Youth was pretty generally recognized.  Being
young, wealthy, good-looking, and fortunate, the fashionable
world took him by the hand and made him welcome. Harry
was liked because he was likable; because he was rich, handsome, jovial, well-born, well-bred, brave; because, with jolly
topers, he liked a jolly song and a bottle; because, with gentlemen sportsmen, he loved any game that was a-foot or a-horseback; because, with ladies, he had a modest blushing timidity
which rendered the lad interesting; because, to those humbler
f1... '




TILE VIRGINIANS.


353


than himself in degree he was always magnificently liberal, and
anxious to spare annoyance. Our Virginian was very grand,
and high and mighty, to be sure; but, in those times, when the
distinction of ranks yet obtained, to be high and distant with
his inferiors, brought no unpopularity to a gentleman.  Remember that, il those days, the Secretary of State always
knelt when he went to the king with his despatches of a morning, and the Under-Secretary never dared to sit down in his
chief's presence. If I were Secretary of State (and such there
have been amongst men of letters since Addison's days) I
should not like to kneel when I went in to my audience with my
despatch-box. If I were Under-Secretary, I should not like to
have to stand, whilst the Right Honorable Benjamin or the
Right Honorable Sir Edward looked over the papers.  But
there is a modus in rebus: there are certain lines which must be
drawn: and I am only half pleased, for my part, when Bob
Bowstreet, whose connection with letters is through Policeman
X and Y, and Tom Garbage, who is an esteemed contributor
to the Kennel Miscellany, propose to join fellowship as brother
literary men, slap me on the back, and call me old boy, or by
my Christian name.
As much pleasure as the town could give in the winter
season of 1756-57, Mr. Warrington had for the asking. There
were operas for him, in which he took but moderate delight.
(A prodigious deal of satire was brought to bear against these
Italian Operas, and they were assailed for being foolish, Popish,
unmanly, unmeaning; but people went, nevertheless.) There
were the theatres, with Mr. Garrick and Mrs. Pritchard at one
house, and Mrs. Clive at another. There were masquerades
and ridottos, fiequented by all the fine society; there were their
lordships' and ladyships' own private drums and assemblies,
which began and ended with cards, and which Mr. Warrington
did not like so well as White's, because tie play there was
neither so high nor so fair as at the club-table.
One day his kinsman, Lord Castlewood, took him to Court,
and presented -Iarry to his Majesty, who was now come to
town from Kensington. But that gracious sovereign either did
not like Harry's introducer, or had other reasons for being
sulky. His Majesty only said, " Oh, heard of you from Lady
Yarmouth. The Earl of Castlewood" (turning to his lordship,
and speaking in German,) " shall tell him that he plays too
much! " And so saying, the Defender of the Faith turned his
royal back. Lord Castlewood shrank back quite frightened at
this cold reception of his august master.
23




3:54               THE VIRGINIANS.
4' What does he say! " asked Harry.
" His Majesty thinks they play too high at White's, and is
displeased," whispered the nobleman.
If he does not want us, we had better not come again,
that is all," said I-larry, simply. "I never, somehow, considered that German fellow a real King of England."
"Hush! for heaven's sake, hold your confounded colonial
tongue! " cries out my lord. "Don't you see the walls here
have ears?"
"And what then?" asks Mr. Warrington. "Why, look at
the people! Hang me, if it is not quite a curiosity! They
Were all shaking hands with me, and bowing to me, and flattering me just now; and at present they avoid mI aas if I were the
plague!"
"Shake hands, nephew," said a broad-faced, broad-shouldered gentleman in a scarlet-laced waistcoat, and a great oldfashioned wig. "I heard what you said. I have ears like the
wall, look you. And, now, if other people show you the cold
shoulder, I'll give you my hand." And so saying, the gentleman put out a great brown hand, with which he grasped
Harry's. "Something of my, brother about your eyes and face.
Though I suppose in your island you grow more wiry and thin
like. I am thine uncle, child. My name is Sir Miles Warrington. My lord knows me well enough."
My lord looked very frightened and yellow. "Yes, my
dear Harry. This is your paternal uncle, Sir Miles Warrington."
' Might as well have come to see us in Norfolk, as dangle
about playing the fool at Tunbridge Wells, Mr. Warrington, or
Mr. Esmond, - which do you call yourself?" said the Baronet.
"The old lady calls herself Madam Esmond, don't she?"
"Mv mother is not ashamed of ler father's name, nor am I,
uncle," said Mr. Harry, rather proudly.
Well said, lad! Come home and eat a bit of mutton with
Lady Warrington, at three, in Hill Street, -that is if you
ean do without your White's kickshaws. You need not look
frightened, my Lord Castlewood! I shall tell no tales out of
school."
"I- I am sure Sir Miles Warrington will act as a gentleman!" says my lord, in much perturbation.
"Belike he will," growled the Baronet, turning on his heel.
' And thou wilt come, young man, at three; and mind, good
toast mutton waits for nobody. Thou hast a great look of thy
father. Lord bless us, how we used to beat each other! He




THE VIRGINIANS.


'355


was smaller than me, and in course younger; but many a time
lie had the best of it. Take it he was henpecked when lie married, and Madam Esmond took the spirit out of him when she
got him in her island. Virginia is an island. Ain't it an
islan? "
Harry laughed, and said " No!" And the jolly Baronet,
going off, said, ' Well, island or not, thou must come and tell
all about it to my lady. S]e'll know whether 'tis an island or
not."
" My dear Mr. Warrington," said my lord, with an appealing look, "I need not tell you that, in this great city, every
man has enemies, and that there is a great, great deal of detraction and scandal.  I never spoke to you about Sir Miles
Warrington, precisely because I,lid know him, and because we
have had differences together. Should he permit himself remarks to my disparagement, you will receive them cuzm grano,
and remember that it is fiom an enemy they come."  And the
pair walked out of the King's apartments and into Saint James's
Street. HaIrry found the news of his cold reception at Court
had already preceded him to White's. The King had turned
his back upon him. The King was jealous of Harry's favor
with the favorite. Iarry was au mieux with Lady Yarmouth.
A score of gentlemen wished him a compliment ulpon his conquest.  Before night it was a settled matter that this was
amongst the other victories of the Fortunate Youth.
Sir Miles told his wife and I-larry as much, when the young
man appeared at the appointed hour at the Baronet's dinnertable, and he rallied Harry in his simple rustic fashion. The
lady, at first a grand and stately personage, told Harry, on
their further acquaintance, that the reputation which the world
had made for him was so bad, that at first she had given him
but a firigid welcome. With the young ladies, Sir Miles's
daughters, it was, " How d'ye do, cousin?" and "I No, thank
you, cousin," and a nuniber of prim curtsies to the Virginian,
as they greeted him and took leave of him. The little boy, the 
heir of the house, dined at table, under the care of his gov- 
ernor; and, having his glass of port by papa after dinner, gave
a loose to his innocent tongue, and asked many questions of' his
cousin. At last the innocent youth said, after looking hard in
IHarry's face, "Are you wicked, Cousin Harry?  You don't
look very wicked!" 
"4My dear Master Miles!" expostulates the tutor, turning
Very red. 
^But you know you said he was wicked!" cried the child.;si




THE VIRGINIANS.


"We are all miserable sinners, Miley," explains papa.
"Haven't you heard the clergyman say so every Sunday3?"
"Yes, but not so very wicked as Cousin Harry. Is it true
that you gamble, cousin, and drink all night with wicked men,
and frequent the company of wicked women?  You know you
said so, Mr. Walker-and mamma said so, too, that Lady
Yarmouth was a wicked woman."
"And you are a little pitcher," cries papa: " and my wife,
Nephew Harry, is a staunch Jacobite - you won't like her the
worse for that. Take Miles to his sisters, Mr. Walker, and
Topsham shall give thee a ride in the park, child, on thy little
horse." The idea of the little horse consoled Master Miles; for,
when his father ordered him away to his sisters, he had begun
to cry bitterly, bawling out that he would far rather stay with
his wicked cousin.
"They have made you a sad reputation among 'em,
nephew! " says the jolly Baronet. " My wife, you must know,
of late years, and since the death of my poor eldest son,
has taken to, — to, hum! -Tottenham Court Road and Mr.
Whitfield's preaching: and we have had one Ward about the
house, a fiiend of Mr. Walker's yonder, who has recounted sad
stories about you and your brother at home."
" About me, Sir Miles, as much as he pleases," cries Harry,
warm with port; "but I'll break any man's bones who dares
say a word against my brother! Why, sir, that fellow was not
fit to buckle my dear George's shoe; and if I find him repeating at home what he dared to say in our house in Virginia, I
promise him a second caning."
"You seem to stand up for your friends, Nephew I-arry,"
says the Baronet. "Fill thy glass, lad, thou art not as bad as
thou hast been painted. I always told my lady so. I drink
Madam Esmond Warrington's health, of Virginia, and will have
a full bumper for that toast."
Harry, as in duty bound, emptied his glass, filled again, and
drank Lady Warrington and Master Miles.
"Thou wouldst *be heir to four thousand acres in Norfolk,
did he die, though," said the Baronet.
"God forbid, sir, and be praised that I have acres enough
in Virginia of my own!" says Mr. Warrington. He went up
presently and took a dish of coffee with Lady Warrington: he
talked to the young ladies of the house. He was quite easy,
pleasant, and natural. There was one of them somewhat like
Fanny Mountain, and this young lady became his special favorite. When he went away, they all agreed their wicked cousin
\ -.                                         }~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




TIE VIRGINIANS.


357


was not near so wicked as the5l had imagined him to be: at. any
rate, my lady had strong hopes of rescuing him froml the pit.
She sent him a good book that evening, whilst MrI. lHarry was
at White's; with a l)retty note, praying that "Law's Call"
might be of service to him; an(l, this deslatched, shle and her
ldaulghters went off to a rout at the house of a minister's lady.
But Iiarry, befolre lie went to 'White's, hlad driven to his friend
Mr. Sparks, in Tavistock Street, and purchased more trinkets
for his female cousins - ' ftrom their aunlt in Virginia," he said.
Ylou see, he was full of kindness: lhe kindled and warmed with
prosperity. There are men on whom wcalth hath no such fortunate influence. It hardens base hearts: it makes tlose who
were mean and servile, mean and l)roud. If it should please
the gods to try me with tell thousand a year, I will, of course,
meekly submit myself to their (lecrees, but I will pray them
to give me strength enough to bear the trial. All the girls in
Hill Street were deligllted at getting the presents from Aunt
Warrington in Virginia, and addressed a collective note, which
must have astonished that good lady( when she received it in
Spring time, when she and Mountain and Fanny were on a
visit to grim, deserted Castlewood, when the snows had cleared
away, and a thousand peach-trees flushed with blossoms.
" Poor Boy! " the mother thought.  " Tlis is some present he
gave his cousins in my name, in the time of his prosperity —
nay, of his extravagance and folly. Iow quickly his wealth
has passed away! But lie ever had a kind heart for the poor,
Mountain; and we must not forget him in his need. It behoves us to be more than ever careful of our own expenses, my
good people!"  And so, I dare say, they warmed themselves
by one log, and ate of one dish, and worked by one candle. And the widow's servants, whom the good soul began
to pinch more and more I fear, lied, stole, and cheated more
and more: and what was saved in one way, was stole in another.
One afternoon, Mr. I-Tarry sat in his Bond Street lodgings,
arrayed in his dressing-gown, sipping his chocolate, surrounded
by luxury, encased in satin, and yet enveloled in care. A few
weeks previously, when the luck was with him, and he was
scattering lhis benefactions to and fro, he had royally told Parson Sampson to get together a list of his debts, which he, Mr.
Warrington. would pay. Accordingly, Sampson had gone to
work, and had got together a list, not of all his debts, -no
man ever does set down all, -but such a catalogue as he
thought sufficient to bring in to Mr. Warrington, at whose




358               TIE VIRGINIANS.
hreakfast-table the divine had humbly waited until his honof
should choose to attend to it.
I-arry ap)peared at length, very pale and languid, in clurlpapers, had scarce any appetite for his breakfast; and the
Chaplain, fumbling with his schedule in his pocket, humbly
asked if his patron had had a bad night? Yes, his honor had
had a very bad night. Ile had been broughlt home 'ronm White's
by two chairmen at five o'clock in the morningi; lad caulght a
conf'ounded cold, for one of the windows of the chair would not
shut, and the rain and snow came in; fiinally, was in such a
bad humor, that all poor Sampson's quirks and jokes could
scarcely extort a smile fiom him.
At last, to be sure, Mr. Warrington burst into a loud laugh.
It was when the poor Chaplain, after a sufficient discussion of
muffins, egs, tea, the news, tle theatres, and so forth, pulled
a paper out of his pocket, and in a piteous tone said, ' llere is
that schedule of debts which your honor asked for —two hundred an(l forty-three pounds - every shilling I owe in the world,
thank heaven I - that is - ahem! - every shilling of which the
payment will in the least inconvenience me - and I need not
tell miy dearest patron that I shall consider him my savior and
benefactor!"
It was then that IIarry, taking the paper and eying the
Chaplain with rather a wicked look, burst into a laouh, which
was, however, anything but jovial. Wicked execrations, moreover, accompanied this outbreak of humor, and the luckless
Chaplain felt that his l)etition had come at the wrong moment.
Confound it,                  it on Monday? " I-arry
asked.
"Confound me, why did I not bring it on Monday? " echoed
tie Chaplain's timid soul. ''It is my luck - my usual luck.
Have the cards been against you, Mr. Warrington?"
"Yes: a plague on them. Monday night, and last night,
have both gone against me. Don't be riightened, Chaplain,
there's money enough in the locker yet.- But I must go into
the City and get some."
"What, sell out, sir?" asks his Reverence, with a voice
that was re-assured, though it intended to be alarmed.
" Sell out, sir? Yes! I borrowed a hundred of Mackreth
in counters last night, and must pay him at dinner-time. I will
do your business for you nevertheless, and never fear, my good
Mr. Sampson. Come to breakfast to-morrow, and we will see
and deliver your Reverence from the Philistines."  But though
he laughed -i Sampson's presence, and strove to put a good




THE VIRGINIANS.


359


face upon the matter, Harry's head sank down on his chest
when the parson quitted him, and he sat over the fire, beating
the coals about with the poker, and giv ing utterance to many
nalughty disjointed words, wlich showed, but did not relieve
the agitattion of' his spirit.
In this mood, the young fellow was interrupted by the appearance of a friend, who on any other day - even on that one
when his conscience was so uneasy —was welcome to Mr.
Warrington. This was no other than Mr. Lambert, in his military dress, but with a cloak over him, who had come fiom the
country, had been to the Captain-General's levee that morning,
and had come thence to visit his young friend in Bond Street.
-Iarry may have thought Lamnbert's greeting rather cold;
but being occupied with his own affairs, he l)ut away that notion.
Hlow were the ladies of Oakhurst, and Miss Itetty, who was
ailing when he passed through in the autumn?  Purely? Mr.
Warrington was very glad. They were come to stay awhile
in London with their fricnd Lord Wrothamn? Mr. Iarry was
delighted - though it must be confessed his face did not exhibit any peculiar signs of pleasure when he heard the news.
"And so you live at White's, and with the great folks; and
you fare sumptuously every day, and you pay your court at St.
James's, and make one at my Lady Yarmouth's routs, and at
all the card-parties in the Court end of the town?" asks the
Colonel.
"My dear Colonel, I do what other folks do," says Harry,
with rather a high manner.
"Other folks are richer folks than some folks, my dear lad."
"Si! " says Mr. Warrington, " I would thank you to be.
lieve that I owe nothing for which I cannot pay! "
"I should never have spoken about ) our affairs," said the
other, not noticing the young man's haughty tone, "but that
you yourself confided them to me. I hear all sorts of stories
about the Fortunate Youth. Only at his Royal I-ighness's
even to-day, they were saying how rich you were already, and
I did not undeceive them-"
"Colonel Lambert, I can't help the world gossiping about
me! " cries Mr. Warrington, more and more impatient.
"-And what prodigious sums you had won.      Eighteen
hundred one night- two thousand another - six or eight thousand in all! Oh! there were gentlemen from White's at the
levee too, I can assure you, and the army can fling a main as
well as vou civilians!"
" I wish they would meddle with their own affairs," says
Harry, scowling at his old friend.


'1
'i,:fua
s




360


THE VIRGINIANS.


"And I, too, you look as if you were going to say. Well,
my boy, it is my affair, and you must let Theo's father and
Hetty's father, and Harry Warrington's father's old fiiend say
how it is my affair." Iere tile Colonel drew a l)acket out of
his pocket. " Look you, Harry. These trinkets whlich you
sent withi the kindest heart in the world to people who love
you, an(l woull cut off their little hands to spare you needless
pain, could never be bought by a young fellow with two or three
hundred a year. Why, a nobleman might buy these things, or
a rich City banker, and send them to his-to his daughters,
let us say."
"Sir, as you say, I meant only kindness," says I-arry,
blushing burning-red.
"B1ut you must not give tlem to my girls, my boy. Iester
and Theodosia Lambert must not be dressed up witl' the winnings off the gaming-table, saving your p)reselce. It goes to
my heart to bring back the trinkets. Mrs. Lambert will keep
her present, which is of small value, and sends you her love
and a God bless you - and so say I, Harry WVarrington, witl
all my heart."  Here the good Colonel's voice was much moved,
and his face grew very red, and lie passed his hand over his
eyes ere he held it out.
But the spirit of rebellion was strong in Mr. Warrington,
He rose up from his sent, never offering to take the hand which
his senior held out to him. "Give me teave to tell Colonel
Lambert," he said, "that I have had somewhat too much advice fiom him. You are for ever volunteering it, sir, and when
I don't ask it. You make it your business to inquire about my
gains at play, and about the company I keep. What right have
you to control my amusements or my companions? I strive
to show my sense of your former kindness by little presents to
your family, and you fling -you bring them back."
"I can't do otherwise, Mr. Warrington," says the Colonel,
with a very sad face.
"Such a slight may mean nothing here, sir, but in our country it means war, sir! " cries Mr. Warrington. "God forbid
I should talk of drawing a sword against the father of ladies
who have been as mother and sister to me: but you have
wounded my heart, Colonel Lambert-3-you have, I won't say
insulted, but humiliated me, and this is a treatment I will bear
from no man alive! My servants will attend you to the door,
sir!"  Saying which, ai'd rustling in his brocade dressinggown, Mr. Warrington, with much state, walked off to his
bedroom.




THE VIRGINIANS.


361


CHAPTER XLIV.
CONTAINS WHAT MIGHT, PERIAPS, HAVE BEEN EXPECTED.
ON the rejection of his peace-offerings, our warlike young
American chief chose to be in great wrath not only against
Colonel Lambert, but the whole of that gentleman's hamily.
le has humiliated me before the girls!" thought the youngl
man.   " IHe and Mr. WVolfe, who were for ever preaching
morality to ne, and giving themselves airs of superiority and
protection, have again been holding me up to the family as a
scapegrace and prodigal.  They are so virtuous that they
won't shake me by the hand, forsooth; and when I want to
show them a little common gratitude, they fling my presents in
my face!"
" VWh, sir, the things must be worth a little fortune!" says
Parson Sampson, casting an eye of covetousness on the two
morocco boxes, in which, on their white satin cushions, reposed Mr. Sparks's golden gewgaws.
"They cost me some money, Sampson," says the young
man. "Not that I would grudge ten times the amount to
people who have been kind to me."
"No, faith, sir, not if I know your honor!" interjects
Sampson, who never lost a chance of praising his young patron
to his face.
"The repeater, they told me, was a great bargain, and
worth a hundred pounds at Paris. Little Miss IIetty I remember saying that she longed to have a repeating watch."
Oh, what a love! " cries the Chaplain. "With a little
circle of pearls on the back, and a diamond knob for the handle! Why, 'twould win any woman's heart, sir! "
"There passes an apple-woman with a basket. I have a
mind to fling the thing out to her!" cries Mr. Warrington,
fiercely.
When Ilarry went out upon business, which took him to
the City and the Temple, his parasite did not follow him very
far into the Strand; but turned away, owning that he had- a
terror of Chancery Lane, its inhabitants, and precincts. Mr.
Warrington went then to his broker, and they walked to the
Bank together, where they did some little business, at the end of
which, and after the signing of a trifling signature or two, Harry




362


THE VIRGINIANS.


departed with a certain number of crisp bank-notes in his pocket.
The broker took Mr. Warrington to one of the great dininghouses for which the City was famous then as now; and afterwards showed Mr1. Warrinoton the Virginia walk upon 'Change,
through which Harry passed rather shamefacedly. What would
a certain lady in Virginia say, he thought, if she knew that lie
was carrying off in that bottomless gambler's pocket a great
portion of his father's patrimony?  Those are all Virginia merchants, thinks he, and they are all talking to one another about
me, and all saying, "That is young Esmond, of Castlewood,
on the Potomac, Madam Esmond's son; and he has been
losing his money at play, and he has been selling out so much,
and so much, and so much."
His spirits did not rise until lie had passed under the traitors'
heads of Temple Bar, and was fairlly out of the City. From
the Strand Mr. Harry walked home, looking in at St. James's
Street by the way; but there was nobody there as yet, the
company not coming to the Cllocolate I-ouse till a later houIr.
Arrived at home, Mr. Hlarry pulls out his bundle of banknotes; puts three of them into a sheet of paper, which lie seals
carefully, having previously written within the sheet the words,
Much good may they do you.. E. W."  And this packet
he directs to the Reverend Mr. Sampson, - leaving it on the
chimney-glass, with directions to his servants to give it to that
divine when he should come in.
And now his honor's phaeton is brought to the door, and he
steps in, thinking to drive round the park; but the rain coming
on, or the east wind blowing, or some other reason arising, his
honor turns his horses' heads down St. James's Street, and is
back at White's at about three o'clock. Scarce anybody has
come in yet. It is the hour when folks are at dinner. There,
however, is my cousin Castlewood, lounging over the Public
Advertiser, having just come off from his duty at Court hard
by.
Lord Castlewood is yawning over the Public Adrertiser.
What shall they do? Shall they have a little piquet? I-arry has
no objection to a little piquet. "Just for an hour," sa-ys Lord
Castlewood. "I dine at Arlington Street at four."  "Just
for an hour," says Mr. Warrington; and they call for cards.
' Or shall we have 'em in up stairs? " says my lord. " Out
of the noise?"
"Certainly, out of the noise," says I-arry.
At five o'clock a half-dozen of gentlemen have come in after
their dinner, and are at cards, or coffee, or talk. The folks




THE VIRGINIANS.


363


from the ordinary have not left the table yet. There the gentlemen of White's will often sit till past midnighlt.
One toothpick points over the coffee-house blinds into the
street. " Whose l)haeton?" asks Toothlick 1 of Toothpick 2.
"The Fortunate Youth's," says No. 2.
"Not so fortunate the last three nights. Luck confoundedly
against him. Lost, last night, thirteen hundred to the table.
Mr. Warrington been here to-day, John?"
"Mr. Warrington is in the house now, sir. In the little
tea-room with Lord Castlewood since three o'clock. They are
playing at piquet," says John.
"What fun for Castlewood," says No. 1, with a shrug.
The second gentleman growls out an execration. "Curse
the fellow! " he says. " le has no right to be in this club at
all. He doesn't pay if he loses. Gentlemen ought not to play
with him. Sir Miles Warrington told me at Court the other
day, that Castlewood has owed him money on a bet these three
years."
" Castlewood," says No. 1, " don't lose if he plays alone.
A large company flurries him, you see- that's why lhe doesn't
come to the table." And the facetious gentleman grins, and
shows all his teeth, polished perfectly clean.
" Let's go up and stop 'cm," growls No. 2.
"' Why? " asks the other. "Much better look out a-window.
Lamplighter going up the ladder-famous sport. Look at that
old putt in the chair; did you ever see such an old quiz?"
"Who is that just gone out of the house? As I live, it's
Fortunatus! l e seems to have forgotten that his phaeton has
been here, waiting all the time. I bet you two to one he has
been losing to Castlewood."
"Jack, do you take me to be a fool?" asks the one gentletnan of the other. " Pretty pair of horses the youth has got.
How lie is flogging 'em!" And they see Mr. Warrington galloping up the street, and scared coachmen and chairmen clearing before him: presently my Lord Castlewood is seen to enter
a clair, and go his way.
Harry drives up to his own door. It was but a few yards,
and those poor horses have been beating the pavement all this
while in the rain. Mr. Gumbo is engaged at the door in con- 
versation. with a countrified looking lass, who trips off with a 
curtsy. Mr. Gumbo is always engaged with some pretty maid
or other.
"Gumbo, has Mr. Sampson been here?" asks Gumbo's 
-master from his driving seat. 




364


THE VIRGINIANS.


"No, sar. Mr. Sampson have not been here!" answers
Mr. Warrington's gentleman. Harry bids him to go up stairs
and bring down a letter addressed to Mr. Sampson.
"Addressed to Mr. Sampson?    Oh, yes, sir," says Mr.
Gumbo, who can't read.
"A sealed letter, stupid! on the mantel-piece, in the glass!"
says Harry; and Gumbo leisurely retires to fetch that document. As soon as Harry has it, he turns his horses' heads
towards St. James's Street, and the two gentlemen, still yawning out of the window at White's, behold the Fortunate Youth,
in an instant, back again.
As they passed out of the little tea-room where lie and Lord
Castlewood had had their piquet together, Mr. Warrington had
seen that several gentlemen had entered the play-room, and
that there was a bank there. Some were already steadily at
work, and had their gaming jackets on: they kept such coats
at the club, which they put on when they had a mind to sit
down to a regular night's play.
Mr. Warrington goes to the clerk's desk, pays his account
of the previous night, and, sitting down at the table, calls for
fresh counters. This has been decidedly an unlucky week with
the Fortunate Youth, and to-night is no more fortunate than
previous nights have been. lIe calls for more counters, and
more presently. Ile is a little pale and silent, though very
easy and polite when talked to. But he cannot win.
At last he gets up. " H-ang it! stay and mend your luck!"
says Lord March, who is sitting by his side with a heap of
counters before him, green and white. "Take a hundred of
mine, and go on!"
"I have had enough for to-night, my lord," says Harry, and
rises and goes away, and eats a broiled bone in tle coffee-room,
and walks back to his lodgings some time about midnight. A
man aftel a great catastrophe commonly sleeps very well. It is
the waking in the morning which is sometimes queer and unpleasant. Last night you proposed to Miss Brown: you quarrelled
over your cups with Captain Jones; and valorously pulled his
nose: you played at cards with Colonel Robinson, and gave him
- oh, how many I 0 U's! These thoughts, with a fine headache, assail you in the morning watches.  What a dreary,
dreary gulf between to-day and yesterday! It seems as if you
are years older. Can't you leap back over that chasm again,
and is it not possible that Yesterday is but a dream? There
you are, in bed. No daylight in at the windows yet. Pull
your nightcap over your eyes, the blankets over your nose, and




THE VIRGINIANS..


365


sleep away Yesterday. Psha, man, it was but a dream! Oh
no, no! The sleep won't come. The watchman bawls some
hour - what hour? HIarry minds him that he has got the repeating watch under his pillow which lie had bought for Hester.
Ting, ting, ting! the repeating watch sings out six times in the
darkness, with a little supplementary performance indicating the
half-hour. Poor dear little Hester! —so bright, so gay so
innocent! he would have liked her to have that watch. What
will Maria say? (Oh, that old Maria! what a bore she is beginning to be! he thinks.)  What will Madam Esmond at
home say when she hears that he has lost every shilling of his
ready money-of his patrimony?   All his winnings, and five
thousand pounds besides, in three nights. Castlewood could
not have played him false?  No. My lord knows piquet better
than Harry does, but he would not deal unfairly with his own
flesh and blood. No, no. Harry is glad his kinsman, who
wanted the money, has got it. And for not one more shilling
than lie possessed, would he play. It was when he counted up
his losses at the gaming-table, and found they would cover all
the remainder of his patrimony, that he passed the box and
left the table. But, O cursed bad company! O extravagance
and folly! O humiliation and remorse! "' Will my mother at
home forgive me?" thinks the young prodigal. "Oh, that I
were there, and had never left it! "
The dreary London dawn peeps at length through shutters and curtains. The housemaid enters to light his honor's
fire and admit the dun morning into his windows. Her Mr.
Gumbo presently follows, who warms his master's dressinggown and sets out his shaving-plate and linen. Then arrives
the hairdresser to curl and powder his honor, whilst he reads
his morning's letters; and at breakfast-time comes tlat inevitable Parson Sampson, with eager looks and servile smiles, to
wait on his patron. The Parson would have returned yesterday
according to mutual agreement, but some jolly fellows kept
him to dinner at the "St. Alban's," and, faith, they made a
night of it.
" Oh, Parson! " groans Harry, " 'twas the worst night you
ever made in your lite! Look here, sir! "
"Here is a broken envelope with the words, ' Much good
may it do you,' written within," says the Chaplain, glancing at
the paper.
" Look on the outside, sir! " cries Mr. Warrington.  The
paper was directed to you." The poor Chaplain's countenance
exhibited great alarm. " Has some one broke it open, sir?"
he asks.




366. THE VIRGINIANS.


"Some one, yes. I broke it open, Sampson. Had you
come here as you proposed yesterday afternoon, you would have
found that envelope full of bank-notes. As it is, they were all
dropped at the infernal macco-table last night."
" What, all?" says Sampson.
Yes, all, with all the money I brought away from the City,
and all the ready money I have left in the world. In tle afternoon I played piquet with my cous -with a gentleman at
White's- and he eased me of all the money I had about me.
Remembering that there was still some money left here, unless
you had fetched it, I came hore and carried it back and left it.
at the macco-table, with every shilling besides that belongs to
me - and - great heaven, Sampson, what's the matter, man?"
"It's my luck, it's my usual luck," cries out the unfortunate
Chaplain, and fairly bursts into tears.
" lWhat! You are not whimpering like a baby at the loss
of a loan of a couple of hundred pounds? " cries out Mr. Warrington, very fierce and angry.  Leave the room, Gumbo!
Confound you! why are you always poking your woolly head in
at that door?"
" Some one below wants to see Master with a little bill,"
says Mr. Gumbo.
"Tell him to go to Jericho!" roars out Mr. Warrington.
"Let me see nobody! I am not at home, sir, at this hour of
the morning! "
A murmur or two, a scuffle is heard on the landing-place,
and silence finally ensues. Mr. Warrington's scorn and anger
are not diminished by this altercation. He turns round sav-.
agely upon unhappy Sampson, who sits with his head buried in
his breast.
"tHadn't you better take a bumper of brandy to keep your
spirits up, Mr. Sampson? " he asks. " Hang it, man! don't be
snivelling like a woman!"
"Oh, it's not me!" says Sampson, tossing his head. "I
am used to it, sir."
"Not you! Who then? Are you crying because somebody else is hurt, pray?" asked Mr. Warrington.
Yes, sir! " says the Chaplain, with some spirit; " because
somebody else is hurt, and through my fault. I have lodged
for many years in London with a bootmaker, a very honest
man: and, a few days since, having a perfect reliance upon -
upon a firiend who had promised to accommodate me with a loan
-I borrowed sixty pounds from my lan dlord which he was
about to pay to his own. I can't get the money. My poor




THE VIRGINIANS.


367


landlord's goods will be seized for rent; his wife and dear
young children will be turned into the street; and this honest
family will be ruined throlugh my fault. But, as you say, Mr.
Warrington, I ought not to snivel like a woman. I will remember that you helped me once, and will bid you farewell,
sir."
And, taking his broad-leafed hat, Mr. Chaplain walked out
of the room.
An execration and a savage laugh, I am sorry to say, burst
out of Harry's lips at this sudden movemennt of the Chaplain's.
Hle was in such a passion with himself, with circumstances,
with all people round about him, that he scarce knew where to
turn, or what he said. Sampson heard the savage laughter,
and then the voice of Harry calling from the stairs, " Sampson,
Sampson! hang you! come back! It's a mistake! I beg your
)ardon! " But the Chaplain was cut to the soul, and walked
on. Harry heard the door of the street as the Parson slammed
it. It thumped on his own breast. I-e entered his room, and
sank back on his luxurious chair there.  He was Prodigal,
amongst the swine - his foul remorses; they had tripped him
up, and were wallowing over him. Gambling, extravagance,
debauchery, dissolute life, reckless companions, dangerous
women - they were all upon him in a herd, and were trampling upon the prostrate young sinner.
Prodigal was not, however, yet utterly overcome, and had
some fight left in him. Dashing the filthy iml)ortunate brutes
aside, and, as it were, kicking his ugly remembrances away
from him, Mr. Warrington seizedl a great glass of that tirewater which he had recommended to poor humiliated Parson
Sampson, and flinging off his fine damask robe, rang for the
trembling Gumbo, and orderedl his coat. " Not that! " roars
lie, as Gumbo brings him a fine green coat with plated buttons
and a gold cord. "A plain suit —the plainer the better.
The black clothes."  And Gumbo brings the mourning-coat
which his master had discarded for some months past.
Mr. Harry then takes: —, his fine new gold watch; 2, his
repeatel (that which he had bought for Hetty), which he puts
into his other fob; 3, his necklace, which lie had purchased for
Theo; 4. his rings, of which my gentleman must have lialf a
dozen at least (with the exception of his grandfather's old seal
ring, which lie kisses and lays down on the pincushion again);
5, his three gold snuff-boxes; and 6, his purse, knitted by his
mother, and containing three shillings and sixpence and a
pocket-piece brought from Virginia: and putting on his lht,
issues from his door.




368


THE VIRGINIANS.


At the landing he is met by Mr. Ruff, his landlord, who
bows and cringes and puts into his honor's hand a strip of paper
a yard long. " Much obliged if Mr. Warrington will settle.
Mrs. Ruff has a large account to make up to-day."  Mrs. Ruff
is a milliner. Mr. Ruff is one of the head-waiters and aidesde-camp of Mr. Mackreth, the proprietor of White's Club.
The sight of the landlord does not add to the lodger's good
humor.
"Perhaps his honor will have the kindness to settle the
little account?" asks Mr. Ruff.
"Of course I will settle the account," says Harry, glumly
looking down over Mr. Ruffs head from the stair above him.
" Perhaps Mr. Warrington will settle it now?"
" No, sir, I will not settle it now! " says Mr. Warrington,
bullying forward.
" I'm very - very much in want of money, sir," pleads the
voice under him. '' Mrs. Ruff is  "
Hang you, sir, get out of the way! " cries Mr. Warrington, ferociously, and driving Mr. Ruff backward to the wall,
sending him almost topsy-turvy down his own landing, he
tramps down the stair, and walks forth into Bond Street.
The Guards were at exercise at the King's Mews at Charing
Cross, as Harry passed, and lie heard their drums and fifes,
and looked in at the gate, and saw them at drill. " I can
shoulder a musket at any rate," thought lie to himself gloomily, as lie strode on. lie crossed St. Martin's Lane (where
lie transacted some business), and so made his way into Long
Acre, and to tlle bootmaker's house where fiiend Sampson
lodged. The woman of the house said Mr. Sampson was not
at home, but had promised to ble at home at one; and, as she
knew Mr. Warrington, showed l4im up to the Parson's apartments, where lie sat down, and, for want of occupation, tried
to read an unfinished sermon of the Chaplain's. The subject
was the Prodigal Son. Mr. Harry did not take very accurate
cognizance of the sermon.
Presently he heardl.the landlady's shrill voice on the stair,
pursuing somebody who ascended, and Sampson rushed into
the room, followed by the sobbing woman.
At seeing Harry, Sampson started, and the landlady stopped.
Absorbed in her own domestic cares, she had doubtless torgot
that a visitor was awaiting her lodger. "There's only thirteen
pound in the house, and he will be lere at one, I tell you!"
she was bawling out, as she pursued her victim.
"Hush, hush! my good creature!" cries the gasping




THE VIRGINIANS.


369


Chaplain, pointing to Harry, who rose fiom the windowseat. 'Don't you see Mr. Warrington? I've business with
him-most implortant business. It will be all right, I tell
you!" And he sootled and coaxed Mrs. Landlady out of
the room, with the crowd of anxious little ones hanging at
her coats.
"Sampson, I have come to ask your lardon again," says
Mr. Warrington, rising up. "What 1 said to-day to you was
very cruel and unjust, and unlike a gentleman."
"Not a word more, sir," says the other, coldly and sadly,
bowing and scarcely pressing the hand which Harry offered
him.
"I see you are still angry witl me," I-larry continues.
"Nay, sir, an al)ology is an apology. A man of my station can ask for no more from one of yours. No doubt you
did not mean to give me pain. And what if you did? And
you are not the only one of the family who has," lie said, as lie
looked piteously round the room. " I wish I had never known
the name of Esmond or Castlewood," lie continues, " or that
place yonder of which the picture hangs over my fireplace, and
where I have buried myself these long, long years. My lord,
your cousin, took a fancy to me, said lie would make my fortune, has kept me as his dependant till fortune has passed by
me, and now refuses me my due."
" How do you mean your due, Mr. Sampson? " asks Harry.
" I mean three years' salary which he owes me as Chaplain
of Castlewood.  Seeing you could give me no money, I went
to his lordship this morning, and asked him. I fell on my
knees, and asked him, sir. But his lordship had none. He
gave me civil words, at least (saving your presence, Mr. Warrington), but no money-that is, five guineas, which he declared was all he had, and which I took. But what are five
guineas amongst so many? Oh, those poor little children!
those poor little children!"
" Lord Castlewood said he had no money?" cries out Harry.
"He won eleven hundred pounds, yesterday, of me at piquet
- which I paid him out of this pocket-book."
"I dare say, sir —I dare say, sir. One can't believe a
word his lordship says, sir," says Mr. Sampson; " but I am
thinking of execution in this house and ruin upon these poor
folks to-morrow."
"That need not happen," says Mr. Warrington. "Here
are eighty guineas, Sampson. As far as they go, God help
you! 'Tis all I have to give you. I wish to my heart I could
24




370


THE VIRGINIANS.


give more as I promised; but you did not come at the right
time, and I am a. poor devil now until I get my remittances
from Virginia."
The Chaplain gave a wild look of surprise, and turned quite
white. He flung himself down on his knees and seized Harry's
hand.
Great powers, sir!" says he, " are you a guarlian angel
that heaven hath sent me? You quarrelled with my tears this
morning, Mr. Warrington,  I can't help them now. They
burst, sir, from a grateful heart. A rock of stone would pour
them forth, sir, before such goodness as yours! May heaven
eternally bless you, and give you prosperity! May my unworthy prtayers be heard in your behalf, my friend, my best
benefactor! May -"
"Nay, nay! get up, friend-get up, Sampson!" says
Harry, whom the Chaplain's adulation and fine phrases rather
annoyed. "It am glad to have been able to do you a service
- sincerely glad. There - there! Don't be on your knees
to me! "
"To heaven who sent you to me, sir!" cries the Chaplain.
" Mrs. Weston! Mrs. Weston! "
" What is it, sir?" says the landlady instantly, who, indeed,
had been at the door the whole time. "' We are saved, Mrs.
Weston! We are saved!" cries the Chaplain. "Kneel, kneel,
woman, and thank our benefactor! Raise your innocent voices,
children, and bless him!"  A universal whimper arose round
Harry, which the Chaplain led off, whilst the young Virginian
stood, simpering and well pleased, in the midst of this congregation. They would worship, do what he might. One of the
children, not understanding the kneeling order, and standing
up, the mother fetched her a slap on the ear, crying, " Drat it,
Jane, kneel down, and bless the gentleman, I tell 'ee!".
We leave them performing this sweet benedictory service. Mr,
Harry walks off from Long Acre, forgetting almost the griefs
of the former four or five days, and tingling with the consciousness of having done a good action.
The young woman with whom Gumbo had been conversing
on that evening when Harry drove up from White's to his
lodging, was Mrs. Molly, from Oakhurst, the attendant of the
ladies there. Wherever that fascinating Gumbo went, he left
friends and admirers in the servants'-hall. I think we said it
was on a Wednesday evening he and Mrs. Molly had fetched
a walk together, and they: were performing the amiable courte



THE VIRGINIANS.                  371
sies incident upon parting, when Gumbo's master came up, and
put an end to their twilight whisperings and what not.
For many hours on Wednesday, on Thursday, on Friday, a
pale little maiden sat at a window in Lord Wrotham's house,
in Hill Street, her mother and sister wistfully watching her.
She would not go out. They knew whom she was expecting.
I-e passed the door once, and she mighlt have thought he was
comling, but he did not. I-Ie went into a neighboring house.
Papa had never told the girls of the lresents which Harry had
sent, and only whispered a word or two to their mother regarding his quarrel with the young Virginian.
On Saturday night there was an opera of Mr. Handel's, and
papa brought home tickets for the gallery. IHetty went this
evening. The change would (1o her good, Theo thought, and
-and, perhaps there might be Somebody amongst the fine
company; but Somebody was not there; and Mr. Handel's
fine music fell blank upon the poor child. It might have been
Signor Bononcini's, and she would have scarce known the
difference.
As the children are undressing, and taking off those smart
new satin sacks in which they appeared at the Opera, looking
so fiesh and so pretty amongst all the tawdry rouged folk, Theo
- emarks how very sad and woe-begone Mrs. Molly, their maid,
appears. Theo is always anxious when other people seem in
trouble; not so H-etty, now, who is suffering, poor thing, from
one of the most selfish maladies which ever visits mortals.
I-Iave you ever been amongst insane people, and remarked how
they never, never think of any but themselves?
"What is the matter, Molly?" asks kind Theo: and, indeed, Molly has been longing to tell her young ladies. " Oh,
Miss Theo! Oh, Miss IIetty! " she says. "How ever can I
tell you? Mr. Gumbo have been here, Mr. Warrington's colored gentleman, Miss; and he says Mr. Warrington have been
took by two bailiffs this evening, as he comes out of Sir Miles
Warrington's house, three doors off."
"Silence! " cries Theo, quite sternly. Who is it that gives
those three shrieks?  It is Mrs. Molly, who chooses to scream,
because Miss Hetty has fallen fainting from her chair.




372


THE VIRGINIANS.


CHAPTER XLV.
IN WHICH HARRY FINDS TWO UNCLES.
WE have all of us, no doubt, had a fine experience of the
world, and a vast variety of characters have passed under our
eyes; but there is one sort of men - not an uncommon object
of satire in novels and plays - of whom I confess to have met
with scarce any specimens at all in my intercourse with this
sinful mankind. I mean, mere religious hypocrites, preaching
for ever, and not believing a word of their own sermons;
infidels in broad brims and sables, expounding, exhorting, comminating, blessing, without any faith in their own plaradise, or
fear about their pandemonium. Look at those candid troops
of hobnails clumping to church on a Sunday evening; those
rustling maid-servants in their ribbons whom the young apprentices follow; those little regiments of schoolboys; those trim
young maidens and staid matrons, marching with their glistening
prayer-books, as the chapel bell chinks yonder (passing Ebenezer, very likely, where the congregation of umbrellas, great
bonnets, and pattens, is by this time assembled under the flaring
gas-lamps). Look at those!   -low many of them are hypocrites, think you?  Very likely the maid-servant is thinking of
her sweetheart: the grocer is casting about how lie can buy that
parcel of sugar, and whether the County Bank will take any more
of his paper: the head-schoolboy is conning Latin verses for
Monday's exercise: the young scapegrace remembers that after
this service and sermon, there will be papa's exposition at home,
but that there will be pie for supper: the clerk who calls out the
psalm has his daughter in trouble, and drones through his responses scarcely aware of their meaning: the very moment the
parson hides his face on his cushion, he may be thinking of that
bill which is coming due on Monday. These people are not
heavenly-minded; they are of the world, worldly, and- have not
yet got their feet off of it; but they are not hylJocrites, look you.
Folks have their religion in some handy mental lock-up, as it
were, - a valuable medicine, to be taken in ill health; and a man
administers his nostrum to his neighbor, and recommends his
private cure for the other's complaint. "L My dear Madam, you
have spasms? You will find these drops infallible!"  "You
have been taking too much wine, my good sir? By this pill




TIHE VIRGINIANS.


373


you may defy any evil consequences from too much mine, and
take your bottle of port daily."  Of spiritual and bodily physic,
who:are more fond and eager dispensers than women? And we
know that, especially a hundred years ago, every lady in the
country had her still-room, and her medicine-chest, her pills,
powders, potions, for all the village round.
My Lady Warrington took charge of the consciences and
the dligestions of her husband's tenants and family. She had
tlhe faith and( health of the scrvants'-hall in keeping. Heaven
can tell whether she knew how to doctor them rightly: but,
was it pill or doctrine, she administered one or the other with
equal belief in her own authority, and her disciples swallowed
both obediently. She believed herself to be one of the most
virtuous, self-denying, wise, learned women in the world; and,
dinning this opinion perpetually into the ears of all round about
her, succeeded in bringing not a few persons to join in her per
suasion.
At Sir Miles's dinner there was so fine a side-board of plate,
and such a number of men in livery, that it required some presence of mind to perceive that the beer was of the smallest
which the butler brought round in the splendid tankard, and
that there was but one joint of mutton on the grand silver dish.
When Sir Miles called the King's health, and smacked his jolly
lips over his wine, lie eyed it and tile company as if the liquor
was ambrosia. I-Ic asked Harry Warrington whether they had
port like that in Virginia? He said that was nothing to the
wine HIarry sllould taste in Norfolk. He praised the wine so,
that Harry almost believed that it was good, and winked into
his own glass, trying to see some of the merits which his uncle
perceived in the rul)y nectar.
Just as we see in many a well-regulated family of this present century, the Warringtons had their two paragons. Of the
two grown daughters, the one was the greatest beauty, the
other the greatest genius and angel of any young lady then
alive, as Ladly Warrington told Harry. The eldest, the Beauty,
was engaged to (ear Tom Claypool, the fond motler informed
her Cousin Harry in confidence. But the second daughter, the
Genius and Angel, was for ever set upon our young fiiend to
improve his wits and morals. She sang to him at the harpsichord - rather out of tune for an angel, Harry thought; she
was ready with advice, instruction, conversation - with almost
too much instruction and advice, thought Harry, who would
have far preferred the society of the little cousin who reminded
him of Fanny Mountain at home. But the last-mentioned
| 




374


THE VIRGINIANS.


young msaiden after dinner retired to her nursery commonly.
Beauty went off on her own avocations: Madam had to attend
to her poor or write her voluminous letters; Papa dozed in
his arm-chair; and the Genius remained to keep her young
cousin company.
The calm of the house somehow pleased the young man, and
he liked to take refige there away from the riot and dissipation
il which lie ordinarily lived. Certainly no welcome could b)e
kinder than that whiclh he got. The doors were open to him
at all hours. If Flora was not at home, Dora was ready to
receive him. Ere many days' acquaintance, he and his little
Cousin Miles had been to have a galloping-match in the Park,
and Harry, who was kind and generous to every man alive who
came near him, had in view the purchase of a little horse for
his cousin, far better than that which the boy rode, when the
circumstances occurred which brought all our poor Harry's
coaches and horses to a sudden breakdown.
Though Sir Miles Warrington had imagined Virginia to be
an island, the ladies were much better instructed in geography,
and anxious to hear from Harry all about his home and his
native country. HIe, on his part, was not averse to talk about
it. He described to them the length and breadth of his estate;
the rivers which it coasted; the produce which it bore. lHe had
lad with a fiiend a little practice of surveying in his boyhood.
He made a map of his county, witli some fine towns here and
there, which, in truth, were but log-huts (but, for the honor of
his country, he was desirous that they should wear as handsome
a look as possible).  Here was Potomac; here was James
River; here were the wharves whence his mother's ships and
tobacco were brought to the sea. In truth, the estate was as
large as a county. IHe did not brag about the place overmuch.
To see the handsome young fellow, in a fine suit of velvet and
silver-lace, making his draught, pointing out this hill and that
forest or town, you might have imagined him a travelling prince
describing the realms of the queen his mother. He almost
fancied himself to be so at times. He had miles where gentlemen in England had acres. Not only Dora listened, but the
beauteous Flora bowed her fair head and heard him with attention. Why, what was young Tom Claypool, their brother baronet's son in Norfolk, with his great boots, his great voice, and
his heirdom to a poor five thousand acres, compared to this
young American prince and charming stranger? Angel as she
was, Dora began to lose her angelic temper, and to twit Flora
for a flirt. Claypool, in his red waistcoat, would sit dumb




THE VIRGINIANS.


375


before the splendid Harry in his ruffles and laces, talliing of
March and Chesterfield, Selwyn and Bolingbroke, andt the whole
company of macaronis. Mamma began to love Harry more
and more as a son. She was anxious about the spiritual welfare of those poor Indians, of those poor negroes in Virginia.
What could she do to help dear Madam Esinond (a precious
woman, she knew!) in the good work?    She had a serious
butler and housekeeper: they were delighted with tle spiritual
behavior and sweet musical gifts of Gumbo.
"Ah! Ilarry, I-arry! you have been a sad wild boy! Why
did you not come sooner to us, sir, and not lose your time
amongst the spendlthrifts and the vain world? But 'tis not yet
too late. We must reclaim thee, dear Harry! Mustn't we,
Sir Miles? Mustn't we, Dora? Mustn't we, Flora? "
The three ladies all looked up to the ceiling. 'They will reclaim the (lear prodigal. It is which shall reclaim himn most.
Dora sits by and watches Flora. As for mamnnma, when the
girls are away, sle talks to him more and more seriousl-, more
and more tenderly. She will be a mother to him in lhe ablsence
of his own admirable parent. She gives him a hyinn-book.
She kisses him on the forehead. She is actuated by the purest
love, tenderness, religious regard, towards her dear, wayward,
wild, amiable nephew.
While these sentimentalities were going on, it is to be presumed that Mr. Warrington kept his own counsel about his
affairs out-of-doors, which we have seen were in tlie very worst
condition. He who had been favoredl b) Fortune for so many
weeks was suddenly deserted by her, and a few (lays had served
to kick down all his heap of winnings. Do we say that my
Lord Castlewood, his own kinsman, 1had dealt unfairl.y by the
young Virginian, and in the course of a couple of afternoons'
closet practice had robbed him?  We would insinuate nothing
so disrespectful to his lordship's character; butt he had won
from Harry every shilling which properly belonged to him, and
would have played him for his reversion, but that the young
man flung upl his hands when he saw himself so far beaten, and
declared that he must continue the battle no more. Remembering that there still remained a spar out of the wreck, as it
were -that portion which lie had set aside for poor Sampson
- Harry ventured it at the gaming-table; but that last resource
went down along with the rest of Harry's possessions, and
Fortune fluttered off in the storm, leaving the luckless adventurer almost naked on the shore.
When a man is young and generous and hearty the loss of




376


THE VIRGINIANS.


money scarce afflicts him. Harry would sell his horses and
carriages, and diminish his train of life. If he wanted inmcliate supplies of money, would not his Aunt Bernstein be his
banker, or his kinsman who had won so w nuch from him, or his
kind Uncle Warrington and Lady W arrington who were always
talking virtue and benevolence, and declaring that they loved.himn as a son? He would call upon these, or any one of them
whom he might choose to favor, at his leisure; meanwhilf
Sampson's story of his landlord's distress touched the young
gentleman, and, in order to raise a hasty supply for the clergyman, he carried off all his trinkets to a certain pawnbroker's
shop in St. Martin's Lane.
Now this broker was a relative or partner of that very Mr.
Sparks of Tavistock Street from whom HIarry had purchased
-purchased did we say? —no; taken the trinkets which he
had intended to present to his Oakhurst fiiends; and it chanced
that Mr.. Sparks came to visit his brother tradesman very soon
after Mr. Warrington had disposed of his goods. Recognizing
immediately the little enamelled diamond-handled repeater
which he had sold to the Fortunate Youth, the jeweller broke
out into expressions regarding Harry which I will not mention
here, being already accused of sl)eaking much too plainly. A
gentleman who is acquainted with a pawnbroker, we may be
sure has a bailiff or two amongst his acquaintances; and tlose
bailiffs have. followers who, at the bidding of the impartial Law,
will touch with equal hand the fiercest captain's epaulet or the
finest macaroni's shoulder.  The very gentlemen who had
seized upon Lady Maria at Tunbridge were set upon her cousin
in London. They easily learned from the garrulous Gumbo
that his honor was at Sir Miles Warrington's house in Hill
Street, and whilst the black was courting Mrs. Lambert's maid
at the adjoining mansion, Mr. Costigan and his assistant lay in
wait for poor Harry, who was enjoying the delights of intercourse with a virtuous family-circle assembled round his aunt's
table. Never had Uncle Miles been more cordial, never had
Aunt Warrington been more gracious, gentle, and affectionate;
Flora looked unusually lovely, Dora had been more than ordinarily amiable. At parting, my lady gave him both her hands,
and called benedictions from the ceiling down upon him. Papa
had said in his most jovial manner, " Hang it, nephew! when
I was thy age I should have kissed two such fine girls as Do
and Flo ere this, and my own flesh and blood too! Don't tell
me! I should, my Lady Warrington! Odd's-fish! 'tis the
boy blushes, and not the girls! I think —I suppose they are
used to it. He, he! 
~..




THE VIRGINIANS.


377


"Papa! " cry the virgins.
"Sir Miles!" says the august mother at the same instant.
"'There, there!" says papa. " A kiss won't do no harm,
and won't tell no tales, will it, Nephew Harry? " I suppose, during the utterance of the above three brief phrases, the harmless
little osculatory ol)eration has taken place, and blushing Cousin
Harry has touched the damask cheek of Cousin Flora and Cousin
Dora.
As he goes down stairs with his uncle, mamma makes a
speech to the girls, looking, as usual, up to the ceiling, and
saying, " What precious qualities your poor dear cousin has!
What shrewdness mingled with his simplicity, and what a fine
genteel manner, though upon nmere worldly elegance I set little
store. What a dreadful pity to think that such a vessel should
ever be lost! We must rescue him, my loves. Wre must take
him away from those wicked companions, and those horrible Castlewoods -not that I would speak ill of my neighbors. But I
shall hope, I shall pray, that he may be rescued from his evil
courses! "  And again Lady Warrington eves the cornice in a
most determined manner, as the girls wistfully look towards the
door behind which their interesting cousin has just vanished.
Iis uncle will go down stairs with him. Ile calls, "God
bless you, my boy!" most affectionately: he presses Harry's
hand, and repeats his valuable benediction at the door. As it
closes, the liglt from the hall within having sufficiently illuminated Mr. Warrington's face and figure, two gentlemen, who
have been standing on the opposite side of the way, advance
rapidly, and one of them takes a strip of paper out of his pocket,
and putting his hand upon Mr. Warrington's shoulder, declares
him his prisoner. A hackney-coach is in attendance, and poor
Harry goes to sleep in Chancery Lane.
01O, to think that a Virginian prince's back should be
slal)l)ed by a ragged bailiffs follower! - tllat Madam Esmond's
son should be in a sponging-house in Cursitor Street! I do
not envy our young prodigal his rest on tlat dismal night.
Let us hit him now he is down, my beloved young fiiends.
Let us imagine the stings of remorse keeping him wakeful on
his dingy pillow; the horrid jollifications of other hardened
inmates of the place ringing in his ears from the room hard by,
where they sit boozing; the rage and shame and discomfiture.
No pity on him, I say, my honest young gentlemen, for you, of
course, have never indulged in extravagance or folly, or paid
the reckoning of remorse.




378


THE VIRGLNIANS.


CHAPTER XLVI.
CHAINS AND SLAVERY.
REIORSE for past misdeeds and follies Harry sincerely felt,
when he found himself a prisoner in that dismal lock-up house,
and wrath and annoyance at the idea of being subjected to the
indignity of arrest; but the present unpleasantry he felt sure
could only be momentary.  tle had twenty friends who would
release him from his confinement: to which of them should he
apply, was the question. Mr. Draper, the man of business,
who had been so obsequious to him: his kind uncle the baronet, who had offered to make his house IHar3iry's home, who
loved him as a son: his Cousin Castlewood, who had won such
large sums from him: his noble fiiends at the Chocolate Iouse,
his good Aunt Bernstein - any of tlese IHarry felt sure would
give him a help in his trouble, though some of the relatives,
perhaps, might administer to him a little scolding for his
imprudence. The main point was, that the matter should be
transacted quietly, for Mr. Warrington was anxious that as
few as possible of tle public should know how a gentleman
of his prodigious importance had been subject to such a vulgar
process as an arrest.
"A pretty sensation my arrest must have created at the
club! " thought Harry. "I suppose that Mr. Selwyn will be
cutting all sorts of jokes about my misfortune, plague take him!
Everybody round the table will have heard of it. March will
tremble about the bet I have with him; and, faith, 'twill be
difficult to pay him when I lose. They will all be setting up a
whoop of congratulation at the Savage, as they call me, being
taken prisoner. I-ow shall I ever be able to appear in tle
world again? Whom shall I ask to come to my help? No,"
thought he, with his mingled acuteness and simplicity, " I will
not send in the first instance to any of my relations or my noble
friends at White's. I will have Sampson's counsel. He has
often been in a similar predicament, and will know how to
advise me."  Accordingly, as soon as the light of dawn
appeared, after an almost intolerable delay - for it seemed to
Harry as if the sun had forgotten to visit Cursitor Street in his
rounds that morning - and as soon as the inmates of the house
of bondage were stirring, Mr. Warrington despatched a mes



THE VIRGINIANS.


379


senger to his friend in Long Acre, acquainting the Chaplain
with the calamity just befallen him, and beseeching his
Reverence to give him the benefit of his advice and consolation.
Mr. Warrington did not know, t6 be sure, that to send such
a message to the parson was as if he said, "' I am fallen amongst
the lions. Come down, my dear friend, into the pit with me."
Iharry very likely thought Sampson's difficulties were over; or,
more likely still, was so much engrossed with his own affairs
and perplexities, as to bestow little thought upon his neighbor's. Having sent off his missive the captive's mind was somewhat more at ease, and he condescended to call for breakfast,
which was brought to him presently. The attendant who served
him with his morning repast, asked hiln whether he would order
dinner, or take his meal at Mrs. Bailiff's table with some other
gentlemen?  No. Mr. Warrington would not order dinner.
He should quit the place before dinner-time, he informed the
chamberlain who waited on him in that grim tavern. The man
went away, thinking no doubt that this was not the first young
gentleman who had announced that he was going away ere two
hours were over. "Well, if your honor does stay, there is good
beef and carrot at two o'clock," says the sceptic, and closes
the door on Mr. Harry and his solitary meditations.
Harry's messenger to Mr. Sampson brought hack a message
from that gentleman to say that he would be with his patron as
soon as might be: but ten o'clock came, eleven o'clock, noon,
and no Sampson. No Sampson arrived, but about twelve
Gumbo with a portmanteau of his master's clothes, who flung
himself, roaring with grief, at Harry's feet: and with a thousand vows of fidelity, expressed himself ready to die. to sell
himself into slavery over again, to do anything to rescue his beloved Master Harry fiom this calamitous position. Harry was
touched with the lad's expressions of affection, and told him to
get up from the ground where he was grovelling on his knees,
embracing his master's. " All you have to do, sir, is to give me
my clothes to dress, and to hold your tongue about this business. Mind you, not a word, sir, about it to anybody 1 " says
Mr. Warrington, severely.
" Oh, no, sir, never to nobody! " says Gumbo, looking most
solemnly, and proceeded to dress his master carefully, who had
need of a change and a toilette after his yesterday's sudden
capture, and night's dismal.rest. Accordingly Gumbo flung a
dash of powder in Harry's hair, and arrayed his master carefully
and elegantly, so that he made Mr. Warrington look as fine and




THE VIRGINIANS.


splendid as if he had been stepping into his chair to go to St.
James's.
Indeed all that love and servility could do Mr. Gumbo faithfully did for his master, for whom lie had an extreme regard
and attachment. But there'were certain things beyond Gcmbo's
power. He could not undo things which were done already;
and he could not help lying and excusing himself when pressed
upon points disagreeable to himself.
As for swearing not to say a word about his master's arrestsuch an oath as that was impossible to keep: for, with a heart
full of grief indeed, but with a tongue that never could cease
wagging, bragging, joking, and lying, Mr. Gumbo had announced the woeful circumstance to a prodigious number of his
acquaintances already, chiefly gentlemen of the shoulder-knot
and worsted lace. We have seen how he carried the news to
Colonel Lambert's and Lord Wrotham's servants: he had proclaimed it at the footman's club to which he belonged, and which
was frequented by the gentlemen of some of the first nobility.
He had subsequently condescended to partake of a mug of ale
in Sir Miles Warrington's butler's room, and there had repeated
and embellished the story. Then he had gone off to Madame
Bernstein's people, with some of whom he was on terms of
affectionate intercourse, and had informed that domestic circle
of his grief: and, his master being captured, and there being
no earthly call for his personal services that evening, Gumbo
had stepped up to Lord Castlewood's, and informed the gentry
there of the incident which had just come to pass. So when,
laying his hand on his heart, and with gushing floods of tears,
Gumbo says, in reply to his master's injunction, " Oh, no,
master! nebber to nobody!" we are in a condition to judge of
the degree of credibility which ought to be given to the lad's
statement.
The black had long completed his master's toilette: the dreary
breakfast was over: slow as the hours went to the prisoner,
still they were passing one after another, but no Sampson came
in accordance with the promise sent in the morning. At length,
some time after noon, there arrived, not Sampson, but a billet
fromi him, sealed with a moist wafer, and with the ink almost
yet wet. The unlucky divine's letter ran as follows:
"Oh, sir, dear sir, I have done all that a man can at the command and
in the behalf of his patron! You did not know, sir, to what you were subjecting me, did you? Else, if I was to go to prison, why did I not share
yours, and why am I in a lock-up house three doors off?
"Yes. Such is the fact. As I was hastening to you, knowing full well




THE VIRGINIANS.


381


the danger to which I was subject: - but what danger will I not affront at
the call of such a benefactor as Mr. Warrington hath been to me? - I was
seized by two villains who had a writ against me, and who have lodged me
at Naboth's hard by, and so close to your honor, that we could almost hear
each other across the garden-walls of the respective houses where we are
confined.
"I had much and of importance to say, which I do not care to write
down in paper, regarding your affairs. May they mend! May my cursed
fortunes, too, better themselves, is the prayer of
"Your honor's afflicted Chaplain in Ordinary,
" T. S."
And now, as Mr. Sampson refuses to speak, it will be our
duty to acquaint the reader with those matters whereof the poor
Chaplain did not care to discourse on paper.
Gumbo's loquacity had not reached so far as Long Acre,
and Mr. Sampson was ignorant of the extent of his patron's
calamity until he received Iarry's letter and messenger from
Chancery Lane. The divine was still ardent with gratitude for
the service Mr. Warrington had just conferred on him, and
eager to find some means to succor 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. Warrington. Sampson
made a very eloquent and touching speech to Lord Castlewood
about his kinsman's misfortune, and spoke with a real kindness
and sympathy, which, however, failed to touch the nobleman to
whom he addressed himself.
My lord peevishly and curtly put a stop to the Chaplain's
passionate pleading.  "Did I not tell you, two days since,
when you came for money, that I was as poor as a beggar,
Sampson," said his lordship, " and has anybody left me a fortune since? The little sum I won from my cousin was swallowed
up by others. I not only can't help Mr. Warrington, but, as
I pledge you my word, not being in the least aware of his
calamity, I had positively written to him this morning to ask
him to help me." And a letter to this effect did actually reach
Mr. Warrington from his lodgings, whither it had been despatched by the penny-post.
"I must get him money, my lord. I know he had scarcely
anything left in his pocket after relieving me. Were I to pawn 
my cassock and bands, he must have money," cried the Chaplain. 
"Amen. Go and pawn your bands, your cassock, anything;i
you please. Your enthusiasm does you credit," said my lord;;,a




382


THE VIRGINIANS.


and resumed the reading of his paper, whilst, in the deepest
despondency, poor Sampson left him.
My Lady Maria meanwhile had heard that the Chaplain was
with her brother, and conjectured what might be the subject on
which they had been talking. She seized upon the Parson as
he issued from out his fruitless interview with my lord. Slhe
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? " asked my lady. f' 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 oathl; and lie told Lady
Maria of the conversation which he had just had with Lord
Castlewood, and of the latter's refuisal to succor his cousin, after
winning great sums of money fromn him, and with much eloquence
and feeling, of Mr. Warrington's most generous behavior to
himself.
Then my Lady Maria broke out with a series of remarks regarding her own family, which were by no means complimentary
to her own kith and kin. Although not accustomed to tell truth
commonly, yet, when certain families fall out, it is wonderful,what a number of truths they will tell about one another. With.tears, imprecations, I do not like to think how much stronger
'language, Lady Maria burst into a furious and impassioned
tirade, in which she touched upon the history of almost all her
noble family. She complimented the men and the ladies alike;
she shrieked out interrogatories to heaven, inquiring why it had
made such - (never mind what names she called her brothers,
sisters, uncles, aunts, parents); and, emboldened with wrath,
she dashed at her brother's library-door, so shrill in her outcries,
so furious in her demeanor, that the alarmed Chaplain, fearing
the scene which might ensue, made for the street.
My lord, looking up from the book or other occupation which
engaged hilm, 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 Alaria




THE VIRGINIANS.


383


could be. Afraid as she was ordinarily of her brother, she was
not in a mood to be frigrhtened now by any language of abuse
or sarcasm at his command.
" So, my lord! " she called out; "you sit down with him in
private to cards, and pigeon him! You get the poor boy's last
shilling, and you won't give him a guinea out of his own winnings now he is penniless!"
" 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?" says the lady.
Effectiveent! " says my lord, with a shrug of his shoulder.
" What can we be, when our fathers and brothers are what
they are? We are bad enough, but what are you? I say, you
neither have courage - no, nor honor, nor common feeling.
As your equals won't play witl you, my Lord Castlewood, you
must tak tk 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 Virginia? Has Mr.
Harry cried off, or has your ladyship got a better offer?" cried
my lord.  " If you won't have him, one of the Warrington
girls will, I promise you; and the old Methodist woman in Hill
Street will give him the choice of either. Are you a fool, Maria
Esmond? A greater fool, I mean, than in common?"
"I should be a fool if I thought that either of my brothers
could act like an honest man, Eugene! " said Maria. "I am a
fool to expect that you will be other than you are; that if you
find any relative in distress you will help him; that if you can
meet with a victim you won't fleece him."
"Fleece him! Psha! What folly are you talking! Have
you not seen, from the course which the lad has been running
for months past, how he would end? If I had not won his
money, some other would? I never grudged thee thy little
plans regarding himn.  Why shouldst thou fly in a passion, because I liave just put out my hand to take what he was offering
to all tile world? I reason with you, I don't know why, Maria.
You should be old enough to understand reason, at any rate.




384


TIIE VIRGINIANS.


You think this money belonged of right to Lady Maria Warrington and her children? I tell you that in three months more
every shilling would have found its way to White's macco-table,
and that it is much better spent in paying my debts. So much
for your ladyship's anger, and tears, and menaces, and naughty
language. See! I am a good brother, and repay them with
reason and kind words."
t"My good brother might have given a little more than kind
words to the lad from whom he has just taken hundreds," interposed the sister of this affectionate brother.
" Great heavens, Maria! Don't you see that even out of
this affair, unpleasant as it seems, a clever woman may make
her advantage," cries my lord. Maria said she failed to comprehend.
"As thus. I name no names; I meddle in no person's
business, having quite enough to do to manage my own cursed
affairs. But suppose 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 fiiends in town - never mind from what country; never
mind to what town. An elderly female relative, who has been
dragging her spinsterhood about these - how many years shall
we say?- extorts a promise of marriage from my young gentleman, never mind on what conditions."
" My lord, do you want to insult your sister as well as to
Injure your cousin?" asks Maria.
"My good child, did I say a single word about fleecing or
cheating, or pigeoning, or did I fly into a passion when you insulted me? I 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, le 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."
"1 Yes; if he was one of us Esmonds, my Lord Castlewood.
But this is a man of honor we are speaking of," cried Maria,
who, I suppose, admired truth in others, however little she saw
it in her own family.
"I do not contradict either of my dear sister's remarks.
One of us would fling tile promise to the winds, especially as it
does not exist in writing."
"My lord!" gasps out Maria.




THE VIRGINIANS.


385


" Bah! I know all. That little coup of Tunbridge was played
by the Aunt B3ernstein with excellent skill. The old woman is
tlie 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
exlerience knows the value of a husband. What is this little
loss of two or three hundred pounds? "
"Not more than three hundred, my lord?" interposes
Maria.
" Eh!i never mind a hundred or two, more or less. What is
this loss at cards? A mere bagatelle! You are playing for a
principality. You want your kingdom in Virginia; and if you
listen to my opinion, the little misfortune which has happened
to your swain is a piece of great good fortune to you."
"I don't understand you, my lord."
C'est possible; but sit down, and I will explain what I mean
in a manner suited to your capacity."  And so Maria Esmond,
who had advanced to her brother like a raging lion, now 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 every-day occurrence, as she knew
very well as a woman of the world. Into what difficulties had
her scapegrace of a nephew fallen? How much money should
she be called upon to pay to release him? And had he run
through all his own? Provided lie had not committed himself
very deeply, she was quite disposed to aid him. She liked even
his extlavagances 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.
Madame Bernstein's messenger was despatched to the cham26




386               THE VIRGINIANS.
bers of her man of business, Mr. Draper, with an order that
Mr. D. should ascertain for what sums Mr. Warrington had
been arrested, and forthwith repair to the Baroness. Draper's
emissaries speedily found out that Mr. 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 would certainly close upon him when they were made acquainted with his imprisonment.
To Mr. Sparks, the jeweller, for those unlucky presents, so
much; to the landlord in Bond Street, for board, fire, lodging,
so much: these were at present the only claims against Mr.
Warrington, Mr. Draper found; He was ready, at a signal
from her ladyship, to settle them at a moment. The jeweller's
account ought specially to be paid, for Mr. Harry had acted
most imprudently in taking goods fiom Mr. Sparks on credit,
and pledging them with a pawnbroker. He must have been
under some immediate pressure for money; intended to redeem
the goods immediately, meant nothing but what was honorable
of course; but the afftir would have an ugly look, if made publie, and had better be settled out of hand. " There cannot be
the least difficulty regarding a thousand pounds more or less,
for a gentleman of Mr. Warrington's rank and expectations,"
said Madame de Bernstein. Not the least: her ladyship knew
very well that there were funds belonging to Mr. Warrington,
on which money could be at once raised with her ladyship's
guarantee.
Should he go that instant and settle the matter with Messrs.
Amos? Mr. Harry might be back to dine with her at two,
and to confound the people at the clubs, "who are no doubt
rejoicing over his misfortunes," said the compassionate Mr.
Draper.
But the Baroness had other views. I 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, Madame," says
Mr. Draper; " no one I ever had to deal witl."
"' 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?   About which I sent up my man Case to you?"
"When your ladyship pleases to recall it, I remember itnot otherwise," says Mr. Draper, with a bow. "A lawyer..




THE VIRGINIANS.


387


should -be like a Popish confessor, - what is told him is a
secret for ever, and for everybody."  So we must not whisper
Madame Bernstein's secret to Mr. Draper; but thl reader may
perhaps guess it fromi the lawyer's condluct subsequently.
The lawyer ftlt pretty certain that ere long ie would receive
a StIlmIOllnS 'froll the poor you(ng prlisoller in Cursitor Street,
and waited for that invitation before le visited lMr. Wa'lrrington.
Six-and-thirty hours passe(d ere the invitation came, (1urinlg which
period Harry passed tle (dreariest two days which he ever remembered to have spent.
There was no want of company in the lock-up house, the
bailiff's rooms were nearly always fill; but Harry plreferred
the dingy solitude of his own room to the society roulnd his
lad.('s table, and it was only on the second day of his arrest,
and when his purse was emptied by the heavy charges oftlhe
place, that he made up his mind to apply to Mr. Draper. I-e
despatched a letter then to the lawyer at the Temple, informing him of his pllight, and desiring him, in an emphatic postscript, not to say one word about the matter to his aunt,
Madame de eBernstein.
t  He had made up his mind not to apply to the old lady except at the very last extremity. She had treated him with so
much kindness, that he revolted fiom the notion of trespassing
on her bounty, and for a while tried to please himself with the
idea that he might get out of (lurance without her even knowing that any misfortune at all had befallen him. There seemed
to him something humiliating il 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 his way to succor 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
confidential letter to his kinsman, the Right Honorable 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 keel) my alpplication, and the cause of it, a profound
secret from the ldear ladies," wrote poolr larry.
" Was ever anything so unfortunatc?" 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




388 


TIE VIRGINIANS.


hope in heaven! - you will soon be, too. My dear Mr. Warrington, thinking you were as rich as Croesus - 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 lduns whom I don't know how else to pacitfr. My poor
fellow, every shilling of your money went to theml, and but for
my peer's privilege I might be hob-and-nob with you now in
your dungeon. MaIy you soon escape fiom it, is the prayer of
your sincere Castlewood."
This was the result of application number one: and we may
imagine that Mr. IIarry read the reply to his petition with
rather a blank face. Never mind! There was kind, jolly Uncle
Warrington. Only last night his aunlt had kissed hilm, and
loved him like a son. Ilis uncle had called dlown blessings on
his head, and plrofessed quite a l)aternal regar(l for him. With
a feeling of shyness and modesty in presence of those virtuous
parents and family, Harry liad never said a wordl tbout his
wild doings, or his horse-racings, or his gamblings, or his extravagances. It must all out now. I-He must confess himself a
Prodigal and a Sinner, and ask for their forgiveness and aid.
So Prodigal sat (lown and compnosed a penitent letter to Uncle
Warrington, and exposed his sad case, and besought lim to
come to the rescue. Was not that a bitter nut to c(rackl for our
haughty young Virginian? -Iours of mortification and protoundl
thought as to the pathos of the composition did I-arry pass over
that letter; sheet after a sheet of Mr. Amos's sixpence a sheet
letter-l)aper (lid le tear up before tlhe 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 broughtt back a thick letter in
his aunt's handwriting. Harry opened the letter witl a trembling hand. He thotught it was fill of bank-notes. All, me!
it contained a sermon (Daniel in the Lions' Den) by Mr. Whitfield, and a letter fiomr Lady Warrington saying that, in Sir
Miles's absence from London, she was in the habit of opening
his letters, and hence, perforce, was become acquainted with a
fact which she deplored from her inmost soul to learn, namely,
that her nephew Warrington lha( been extravagant and was in
debt. Of course, in the absence of Sir Miles, she could not hope
to have at command suchl a sum as that for wllicl 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 unde|.>...
b.. ',.. 




THE VIRGINIANS.


389


served) calamity. She added profuse references to particular
Scriptural chapters which would do him good.. If slc migllt
speak of things worldly she said at such a moment, slle would
hint to Mr. Warrington that his epistolary orthogralphy was
anyLthing but correct. She would not fail for ler part to comply with Ihis exlress 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
wlile with elbows on the greasy table blankly staring into tile
candle before him. Thie bailiff's servant, who was touched by
his handsome face suggested a lmug of beer for his honor, but
Harry could not drink, nor eat thle meat that was placed before
him. Gumbo, however, could, whose grief (lid not deplrive
him of appetite, anid who, blubbering the while, finished all
the beer, and all tile bread and the meat. Meanwhile, HIarlry
had finished another letter, with whichl Gumbo was comnmissioned to start again, and away the faithful creature ran upon
his errand.
Gumbo ran as far as White's Club, to which house lie was
ordered in the first instance to carry the letter. and where lie
found the person to whom  it was addressed. Even the prisoner, for whom time passed so slowly, was surprised at the
celerity witll which his negro had performed his e rrand.
At least the letter which Harry expected liad not taken long
to write. "Mv lord wrote it at the hall-porter's desk, while I
stood there then with Mr. Morris," said Gumbo, and the letter
was to this effect:" I)EAR SIR, - I am sorry I cannot comply with your wish, as I'm short
of money at present, having paid large sums to you as well as to other
gentlemen.
"Yours obediently,
"MARCH and R.
HENRY WARRINGTON, Esq."
"Did Lord March say anything?" asked Mr. Warrington,
looking very pale.
" He say it was the coolest thimg 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..~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




390


THE VIRGINIANS.


thought he had good news, and ran in in alarm lest he was about
to lose his tenant. But by this time poor HIarry'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.
lie kissed his knees and his hands.  ' Oh, master, my dear
master, what will they say at home? " lie sobbed out.
The jailer was touched at the sight of the black's grief and
fidelity, and at -larry's pale face as lie sank lack in his chair,
quite overcome and beaten by his calamity.
' Your honor 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 sickly 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 letterpaper."
"Oh, master, my master!" roared out Gumbo. "Look
here, my dear Master Harry! Iere's p)lenty of money - here's
twenty-three five-guineas. Iere's gold moi(lore from Virginia
— here- no, not that —tlhat's keepsakes 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 not, and heaven
forbid I should not take the offered help of such a fiiend as you.
Bring me some supper: but the pipe too, mind- the pipe
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.




TIIE VIRGINIANS.


391


CHAPTER XLVII.
VISITORS IN TROUBLE.
MR. GUiBO'S generous and feeling conduct soothed and softene the angry heart of his master, and Harry's second night'
in tile sponging-housc was passed more pleasantly than the first.
Somelody at least there was to help and compassionate with
him. Still, though softened in that one l)articular spot, Harry's
heart was hard and proud towards almost all the rest of the
world. They were selfish and ungenerous, he thought. HIis
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 favor of one of them again. Fool that he had been, to believe
in their promises, and confide in their fiiendship! There was
no fiiendship in this cursed, cold, selfish country. He would
leave it. IHe would trust no Englishman, great or small. IHe
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 IPolly Broaadbent, or Fanny Mountain; turn regular tobacco-grower and farmer; do anything, rather than remain
amongst these English fine gntlemen. 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 come from Bond Street, and
brought Mr. Iarry's letters thence. "I wanted to bring some
more clothes," honest Gumbo said; "but Mr. Ruff, the landlord, lie wouldn't let me bring no more."
Iarry did not care to look at the letters: he opened one,
two, three; they were all bills. Ile opened a fourth; it was
from the landlord, to say that he would allow no more of Mr.
Warrington's things to go out of the house, - that unless his
bill was paid he should sell Mr. W.'s goods and pay himself;
and that his black man must go and sleep elsewhere. He would
hardly let Gumbo take his own clothes and portmanteau away.
The black said he liad found refuge elsewhere - with some
friends at Lord Wrotham's house. "With Colonel Lambert's
people," says Mr. Gumbo, looking very hard at his master.
And Miss Hetty she fall down in a faint, when she hear you




392


THE VIRGINIANS.


taken up; and Mr. Lambert, he very good man, and he say to
me this morning, he say, ' Gumbo, you tell your master if he
want me he send to me, and I come to him.'"
I-larry was touched when he heard that Hetty had been
afflicted by his misfortune.  -le did not believe Gumbo'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 hack in my face!
If I were starving I would not ask him for a crust! " And
presently, being dressed, Mr. Warrington called for his breakfast, and despatched Gumbo witl a brief note to Mr. Draper
in the Temple requiring 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 Englisl gentleman," Draper
said; whom indee( HaI-lrry had always treated with insufferable
condescension.  ' It's all very well for a fine gentleman to give
himself airs; but for a fellow in a sponging-house! I-ang him!"
says Draper, " I've a great mind not to go!" Nevertheless,
Mr. Draper (lid go, and found Mr. Wrarrington 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 outragel attorney.
"Takea 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: he
failed in the present instance because he was piqued and angry,
or, more likely still, because he could not understand the gentleman with whom he had to deal. I presume that he who casts
his eye on the present page is the most gentle of readers.
Gentleman, as you unquestionably are then, my dear sir, have
you not remarked in your dealings with people who are no
gentlemen, that you offend them not knowing the how or the
why? So the man who is no gentleman offends you in a thousand




THE VIRGINIANS.


393


ways of which the poor creature has no idea himself. IIe does
or says something which provokes your scorn. He perceives
that scorn (being always on tile watch, and uneasy about himself, his manners and behavior) and lhe rages. You si)eak to
him naturally, and he fancies still that you are sneering at him.
You have indifference towards him, but he hates you an( li ates
you the worse because you don't care. "Gumbo, a chair to
Mr Draper! " says Mr. Warrington, folding his l)rocade(d dressing-gown round his legs as lie 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?"
Mr. Draper hald heard of the circumstance.  "Bad news
travel quick, Mr. Warrington," he said; " and I was eager to
offer my humble services as soon as ever you should require
them. Your friends, your family, will be much plained that a
gentleman of yoour rank should be in such a position."
L1 have been very imprudent, Mr. Draper. I have lived
beyond 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 sen(ing to one
or two friends, yesterday, I could havp paid my debt and gone
home without farther to do. I have been mistaken; and will
thank you to have the kindness to put me in the way of raising
the money, as soon as nay be."
Mr. Draper said "I Hm!" and pulled a very grave and long
face.
" Why, sir, it can be done! " says Mr. Warrington, staling
at the lawyer.
It not only could be done, but Mr. Draper had proposed
to Madame Bernstein on the day before instantly to pay the
money, and release Mr. Warrington. 'hat lady had declared
she intended to make the young gentleman her heir. In common with the rest of the world, lraper believed Harry's hereditary property in Virginia to be as great in money-value as in
extent. Hle had notes in his pockets, and Madame Bernstein's
order to pay them under certain conditions: nevertheless, when
Harry said, "It can be done!" Iraper 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




394                THE VIRGINIANS.
yours on Mr. George Warrington's death we must have the
event proved, the trustees released: and who is to do either?
Lady Esmond Warrington in Virginia, of course, will not allow
her son to remain in prison, but we must wait six months beftore
we hear fiom her. I-as your Bristol agent any authority to
honor your drafts?"
" Ie is only authorized to pay me two hundred pounds a
year," says Mr. Warrington. "I suppose I have no resource,
then, but to apply to my aunt, Madame de Bernstein?  She
will be my security."
' Her ladyship will do anything for you, sir; she has said
sO to me, often and often," said the lawyer; " and, if she gives
the word, at that moment you can walk out of this place."
" Go to her, then, fromn me, Mr. Draper. I (lid 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. Warrington's voice shook a little, and lie passed his hand across his
eyes.
"Sir," says Mr. Draper, eying the young man, "I was
with 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? asked I-arry.
"Every circumstance, sir; the pawning the watches, and
all."
Harry turned burning red. " It is an unfortunate business,
the pawning them watches ant 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 nothinag and
when they get a feller in the box -"
" Great heaven, sir, you don't suppose a gentleman of my
rank can't take a watch upon credit without intending to cheat
the tradesman?" cried Harry, in tle greatest agitation.
" Of course you meant everything that's honorable; only,
y,ou see, the law mayn't happen to think so," says Mr. Draper,:   winking his eye. ' (Hang the supercilious beast! I touch him:   there!) Your aunt says it's the most imprudent thing ever she
leard of- to call it by no worse name."
~1;:..




THE VIRGINIANS.


395


"You call it by no worse name yourself, Mr. Draper?" says
Harry, speaking each word very slow, and evidenlly trying to
keep a command of himsel:f
Draper did not like his looks. " Heaven forbid tlat I
should say anything as between gentleman and gentleman, -
but between me and my client, it's my duty to say, ' Sir, you
are in a very unpleasant scrape,' just as a doctor would have to
tell his patient, ' Sir, you are very ill.'"
"And you can't help me to pay this debt off, -and you
have come only to tell me that I may be accused of roguery?"
says H-arry.
"Of obtaining goods under false pretences? Most undoubtedly, yes. I can't help it, sir. Don't look as if you would
knock me down. (Curse him, I am making him wince, though.)
A young gentleman, who has only two hundred a year fiom his
Ma', orders diamonds and watches, and takes 'em to a pawnbroker. You ask me what people will think of such behaviorl,
and I tell you honestly. Don't be angry with me, Mr. Warrington."
"Go on, sir! " says Harry, with a groan.
The lawyer thought the day was his own. " But you ask if I
can't help to pay this debt' off? And I say Yes - and that here
is the money in 1my pocket to do it now, if' you like- not mine,
sir, my honored client's, your aunt, Lady Bernstein. But she
has a right to impose her conditions, and I've brought 'em with
me."
" Tell them, sir," says Mr. Iarry.
"They are not hard. They are only for your own good;
and if you say Yes, we can call a hackney-coach, and go to
Clarges Street together, wlich I have promised to go there,
whether you will or no. Mr. Warrington, I name no names,
but there 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 part-, - 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; Draper. " So my client informed me;




396


THE VIRGINIANS.


indeed her ladyship showed it me, for the matter of that. It
was wrote in bl-"
Never mind, sir!" cries Henry, turning almost as red as
the ink which he had used to write his absurd plromise, of whlich
the madness and folly had smote him with shame a thousand
times over.
" At the same time letters, wrote to you, and compromising
a noble family, were recovered," continues the lawyer. " You
had lost 'em. It was no fault of yours. You were away when
they were found again. You may say that that noble family,
that you yourself, have a friend such as few young men have.
Well, sir, there's no earthly promise to bind you —only so
many idle words said over a bottle, which very likely any gentleman may forget. Say you won't go on with this narriage -
give me and my noble friend your word of honor. Cry off, I
say, Mr. W.! Don't be such a d- fool, saving your presence,
as to marry an old woman who has jilted scores of men in ler
time. Say the word, and I step down stairs, pay every shilling
against vou 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. IIarry only
longed himself to be rid of the engagement from which his aunt
wanted to free him. His foolish flame for Maria Esmond had
died out long since. If she would release him, how thankful
would he be! "Come! give us your hand, and say done!"
says the lawyer, with a knowing wink. " Don't stand shillyshallying, 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 I-arry, who shrank from
Draper, scarcely knowing that he did so. He folded his dressing-gown round him, and stepped back from the other's proffered hand. " Give me a little time to think of the matter, if
you please, Mr. Draper," lie 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. 'l Most
parties would not want an hour to consider about such an offer
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 lie went his way, growling curses down the stairs. "Won't take my hand, won't he?
4t;




THE VIRGINIANS.


397


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 turned his steps towards the neighboring Cursitor Street. "He'll be at home when I call, the
haughty beast! " says Draper, with a sneer. " The Fortunate
Youth in his room?" the lawyer asked of the sheriffs officer's
aide-de-camp who came to open the double doors.
"Mr. Warrington is in his apartment," said the gentleman;
" but-" and here the gentleman winked at Mr. Draper, and
laid his hand on his nose.
"But what, Mr. Paddy from Cork? " said the lawyer.
"My name is Costigan; me familee is noble, and me neetive place is the Irish methrawpolis, Mr. Six-and-Eightpence!"
said the Janitor, scowling at Draper. A rich odor 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 Mr. Draper.
" I can hear you perfectly well, Six-and-Eightpence, except
your h's, which you dthrop out of your conversation. I'll thank
ye not to call neems, me good friend, or me fingers and your
nose will have to make an intimate hic-quaintance. Walk in,
sir! Be polite for the future to your shupariors in birth and
manners, though they me be your infariors in temporary station. Confound the kay?  Walk in, sir, I say! - Madam, I
have the honor of saluting ye most respectfully!"
A lady with her face covered with a capuchin, and further
hidden by her handkerchief, uttered a little exclamation as of
alarm as she came down the stairs at this instant and hurried
past the lawyer. He was pressing forward to look at herfor Mr. Draper was very cavalier in his manners to womenbut the bailiffs follower thrust his leg between Draper and
the retreating lady, crying, "Keepl your own distance, if you
plaise! This way, Madam! I at once recognized your ladysh-"   Here he closed the door on Draper's nose, and left
that attornev 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 run. 
ning to the window when the noise of a coach was heard pass*                   Or a,~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~.f
IA




398.


THE VIRGINIANS.


ing 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 boy?"
she said quickly. "I told you to bring him, sir! How dare
you come without him?"
" It is not my fault, Madam, that Mr. Warrington refuses
to come."  And Draper gave his version of the interview
which had just taken place between himself and the young
Virginian.
CHAPTER XLVIII.
AN APPARITION.
GOING Off in his wrath from his mornings conversation
with Harry, Mr. Draper thought he heard the young prisoner
speak behind him; and, indeed, Harry had risen, and uttered
a half-exclamation to call the lawyer back. But he was proud,
and the other offended: Harry checked his words, and Draper
did not choose to stop. It wounded Harry's pride to be obliged
to humble himself before the lawyer, and to have to yield from
mere lack and desire of money. " An hour hence will do as
well," thought HTarry, 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 ardor. She had taken unfair advantage of him, as her
brother had at play. They were his own flesh and blood, and
they ought to have spared him.  Instead, one and the other
had made a prey of him, and had used him for their selfish ends.
He thought how they had betrayed the rights of hospitality 
how they had made a victim of the young kinsman who came
confiding within their gates. His heart was sore wounded:
his head sank back on his pillow: bitter tears wetted it.
"' Had they come to Virginia," he thought, " I had given them
a different welcome! "




THE VIRGINIANS.


399


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. I-arry sat up,
pale and haggard, on his bed. The lady, with a sob, and
almost ere tie 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? "
He started back, scared as it seemed at her presence, but
she sank down at the bedside, and seized his feverish hand,
and embraced his knees. She had a real regard and tenderness for him. The wretched place in which she found him, his
wretched look, filled her heart with a sincere love and pity.
I - I thought none of you would come! " said poor Harry,
with a groan.
More tears, more kisses of the hot young hand, more clasps
and pressure with hers, were the lady's reply for a moment or
two.
" 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 kneeling at his feet.
"Some of the debts, I fear, were owing to my extravagance! " she said (and this was true). "You bought trinkets
and jewels in order to give me pleasure. Oh, how I hate them
now! I little thought I ever could! I have brought them all
with me, and more trinkets —here! and here! and all the
money I have in the world!"
And she poured brooches, rings, a watch, and a score or so
of guineas into Harry's lap.  The sight of which strangely
agitated and immensely touched the young man.
"Dearest, kindest cousin! " he sobbed out.
His lips found no more words to utter, but yet, no doubt,
they served to express his gratitude, his affection, his emotion.
He became quite gay presently, and smiled as he put away
some of the trinkets, his presents to Maria, and told her into
what danger he had fallen by selling other goods which he had
purchased on credit; and how a lawyer had insulted him just
now upon this very point. He would not have his dear Maria's
money- he had enough, quite enough for the present: but be




400


THE VIRGINIANS.


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 day seemed
brighter to Harry, after Maria's visit: the imprisonment not so
hard to bear. The world was not all selfish and cold. Here
was a fond creature who really and truly loved him. Even
Castlewood was not so bad as he had thought. I-le had expressed the deepest grief at not being able to assist his kinsman. HIe was hopelessly in debt. Every shilling he had won
from Harry lie had lost on the next day to others. Anything
that lay in his power he would do. I-e would come soon and
see Mr. Warrington: he was in waiting to-day, and as much a
prisoner as iHary himself. So the pair talked on cheerfully
and affectionately until the darkness began to close in, when
Maria, with a sigh, bade Iarry 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 honor. Had my dinner already. It's
you are a-going to dine with your aunt, I suppose?"
"Mr. Draper, you suppose a great deal more than you
know," says Mr. Warrington, looking very fierce and tall, as
hefolds his brocade dressing-gown round him.
"Great goodness, sir, what do you mean?" asks Draper.
"I mean, sir, that I have considered, and, that having given
my word to a faithful and honorable lady, it does not become
me to withdraw it.".e                                                   f



THE VIRGINIANS.


401


" Confound it, sir! " shrieks the lawyer. "I tell you she
has lost the paper. There's nothing to bind you- nothing.
Why, she's old enough to be -"
Enough, sir," says Mr. Warrington, with a stamp of his
foot.  " You seem to think you are talking to some other
pettifogger. I take it, Mr. Draper, you are not accustomed to
have dealings with men of honor."
"Pettifogger, indeed," cries Draper in a fury. "Men of
honor, indeed! I'd have you to know, Mr. Warrington, that
I'm as good a man of honor 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 hands clenched. "If
you utter another word," he said, " I'll-" The door was shut
rapidly - the sentence was never finished, and Draper went
away furious to Madame de Bernstein, from whom, though lhe
gave her the best version of his story, lie got still fiercer language than lie 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 majordomo, and tasted and pushed away. The man pressed his mistress at last. " It is eight o'clock," he said. " You have had
nothing all day. It is good for you to eat." She could not eat.
She would have her coffee. Let Case go get her her coffee.
The lackeys 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.
WARRINGTON!
The old woman uttered an exclamation, got up from her
26




402


THE VIRGINIANS.


arm-chair, but sank back in it trembling very much. "So you
are come, sir, are you?" she said, with a fond shaking voice.
"'Bring back the-Ah!" here she screamed.      "Gracious
God, who is it?"  Her eyes stared wildly: her white face
looked ghastly through her rouge. She clung to the arms of
her chair for support, as the visitor approached her.
A gentleman whose face and figure exactly 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 Madame Bernstein.
"Are you"- gasped out the Baroness- " are you my
nephew, that we supposed was -"
"Was killed- and is alive! I am George Warrington,
Madam, and I ask his kinsfolk, What have you done with my
brother? "
"Look, George! " said the bewildered old lady. "I expected him here to-night - that chair was set for him - I have
been waiting for him, sir, till now- till I am quite faint- I
don't like - I don't like being alone. Do stay and sup with
me!"
"Pardon me, Madam. Please God,'my supper will be with
IHarry to-night!"
"Bring him back. Bring him back here on any conditions!
It is but five hundred l)ounds! 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? Master
Harry had not opened all his letters the last day or two. Had
he received no letter announcing his brother's escape fiom
the French settlements and return to Virginia? Oh, no! No
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!