The History of Henry Esmond, Esq., a Colonel in the Service of Her Majesty Queen Anne

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER V.

  MOHUN APPEARS FOR THE LAST TIME IN THIS HISTORY.

  Besides my Lord Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, who for family reasons hadkindly promised his protection and patronage to Colonel Esmond, he hadother great friends in power now, both able and willing to assist him,and he might, with such allies, look forward to as fortunate advancementin civil life at home as he had got rapid promotion abroad. His Gracewas magnanimous enough to offer to take Mr. Esmond as secretary onhis Paris embassy, but no doubt he intended that proposal should berejected; at any rate, Esmond could not bear the thoughts of attendinghis mistress farther than the church-door after her marriage, and sodeclined that offer which his generous rival made him.

  Other gentlemen in power were liberal at least of compliments andpromises to Colonel Esmond. Mr. Harley, now become my Lord Oxford andMortimer, and installed Knight of the Garter on the same day as hisGrace of Hamilton had received the same honor, sent to the Colonel tosay that a seat in Parliament should be at his disposal presently,and Mr. St. John held out many flattering hopes of advancement tothe Colonel when he should enter the House. Esmond's friends were allsuccessful, and the most successful and triumphant of all was his dearold commander, General Webb, who was now appointed Lieutenant-General ofthe Land Forces, and received with particular honor by the Ministry, bythe Queen, and the people out of doors, who huzza'd the brave chiefwhen they used to see him in his chariot going to the House or to theDrawing-room, or hobbling on foot to his coach from St. Stephen's uponhis glorious old crutch and stick, and cheered him as loud as they hadever done Marlborough.

  That great Duke was utterly disgraced; and honest old Webb dated allhis Grace's misfortunes from Wynendael, and vowed that Fate served thetraitor right. Duchess Sarah had also gone to ruin; she had been forcedto give up her keys, and her places, and her pensions:--"Ah, ah!" saysWebb, "she would have locked up three millions of French crowns with herkeys had I but been knocked on the head, but I stopped that convoy atWynendael." Our enemy Cardonnel was turned out of the House of Commons(along with Mr. Walpole) for malversation of public money. Cadogan losthis place of Lieutenant of the Tower. Marlborough's daughters resignedtheir posts of ladies of the bedchamber; and so complete was the Duke'sdisgrace, that his son-in-law, Lord Bridgewater, was absolutely obligedto give up his lodgings at St. James's, and had his half-pension,as Master of the Horse, taken away. But I think the lowest depth ofMarlborough's fall was when he humbly sent to ask General Webb when hemight wait upon him; he who had commanded the stout old General, whohad injured him and sneered at him, who had kept him dangling in hisante-chamber, who could not even after his great service condescend towrite him a letter in his own hand. The nation was as eager for peace asever it had been hot for war. The Prince of Savoy came amongst us, hadhis audience of the Queen, and got his famous Sword of Honor, and strovewith all his force to form a Whig party together, to bring over theyoung Prince of Hanover to do anything which might prolong the war, andconsummate the ruin of the old sovereign whom he hated so implacably.But the nation was tired of the struggle: so completely wearied of itthat not even our defeat at Denain could rouse us into any anger, thoughsuch an action so lost two years before would have set all England ina fury. 'Twas easy to see that the great Marlborough was not with thearmy. Eugene was obliged to fall back in a rage, and forego the dazzlingrevenge of his life. 'Twas in vain the Duke's side asked, "Would wesuffer our arms to be insulted? Would we not send back the onlychampion who could repair our honor?" The nation had had its bellyful offighting; nor could taunts or outcries goad up our Britons any more.

  For a statesman that was always prating of liberty, and had the grandestphilosophic maxims in his mouth, it must be owned that Mr. St. Johnsometimes rather acted like a Turkish than a Greek philosopher, andespecially fell foul of one unfortunate set of men, the men of letters,with a tyranny a little extraordinary in a man who professed to respecttheir calling so much. The literary controversy at this time was verybitter, the Government side was the winning one, the popular one, andI think might have been the merciful one. 'Twas natural that theopposition should be peevish and cry out: some men did so from theirhearts, admiring the Duke of Marlborough's prodigious talents, anddeploring the disgrace of the greatest general the world ever knew:'twas the stomach that caused other patriots to grumble, and such mencried out because they were poor, and paid to do so. Against these myLord Bolingbroke never showed the slightest mercy, whipping a dozen intoprison or into the pillory without the least commiseration.

  From having been a man of arms Mr. Esmond had now come to be a man ofletters, but on a safer side than that in which the above-cited poorfellows ventured their liberties and ears. There was no danger on ours,which was the winning side; besides, Mr. Esmond pleased himself bythinking that he writ like a gentleman if he did not always succeed as awit.

  Of the famous wits of that age, who have rendered Queen Anne's reignillustrious, and whose works will be in all Englishmen's hands in agesyet to come, Mr. Esmond saw many, but at public places chiefly; neverhaving a great intimacy with any of them, except with honest Dick Steeleand Mr. Addison, who parted company with Esmond, however, when thatgentleman became a declared Tory, and lived on close terms with theleading persons of that party. Addison kept himself to a few friends,and very rarely opened himself except in their company. A man moreupright and conscientious than he it was not possible to find in publiclife, and one whose conversation was so various, easy, and delightful.Writing now in my mature years, I own that I think Addison's politicswere the right, and were my time to come over again, I would be a Whigin England and not a Tory; but with people that take a side in politics,'tis men rather than principles that commonly bind them. A kindness or aslight puts a man under one flag or the other, and he marches with itto the end of the campaign. Esmond's master in war was injured byMarlborough, and hated him: and the lieutenant fought the quarrels ofhis leader. Webb coming to London was used as a weapon by Marlborough'senemies (and true steel he was, that honest chief); nor was hisaide-de-camp, Mr. Esmond, an unfaithful or unworthy partisan. 'Tisstrange here, and on a foreign soil, and in a land that is independentin all but the name, (for that the North American colonies shall remaindependants on yonder little island for twenty years more, I never canthink,) to remember how the nation at home seemed to give itself up tothe domination of one or other aristocratic party, and took a Hanoverianking, or a French one, according as either prevailed. And while theTories, the October club gentlemen, the High Church parsons that held bythe Church of England, were for having a Papist king, for whom many oftheir Scottish and English leaders, firm churchmen all, laid down theirlives with admirable loyalty and devotion; they were governed by men whohad notoriously no religion at all, but used it as they would use anyopinion for the purpose of forwarding their own ambition. The Whigs, onthe other hand, who professed attachment to religion and liberty too,were compelled to send to Holland or Hanover for a monarch aroundwhom they could rally. A strange series of compromises is that EnglishHistory; compromise of principle, compromise of party, compromise ofworship! The lovers of English freedom and independence submitted theirreligious consciences to an Act of Parliament; could not consolidatetheir liberty without sending to Zell or the Hague for a king to liveunder; and could not find amongst the proudest people in the world aman speaking their own language, and understanding their laws, to governthem. The Tory and High Church patriots were ready to die in defence ofa Papist family that had sold us to France; the great Whig nobles, thesturdy republican recusants who had cut off Charles Stuart's head fortreason, were fain to accept a king whose title came to him through aroyal grandmother, whose own royal grandmother's head had fallen underQueen Bess's hatchet. And our proud English nobles sent to a pettyGerman town for a monarch to come and reign in London and our prelateskissed the ugly hands of his Dutch mistresses, and thought it nodishonor. In England you can but belong to one party or t'other, and youtake the house you live in with all its encumbrances, its retainers, i
tsantique discomforts, and ruins even; you patch up, but you never buildup anew. Will we of the new world submit much longer, even nominally,to this ancient British superstition? There are signs of the times whichmake me think that ere long we shall care as little about King Georgehere, and peers temporal and peers spiritual, as we do for King Canuteor the Druids.

  This chapter began about the wits, my grandson may say, and hathwandered very far from their company. The pleasantest of the wits Iknew were the Doctors Garth and Arbuthnot, and Mr. Gay, the author of"Trivia," the most charming kind soul that ever laughed at a joke orcracked a bottle. Mr. Prior I saw, and he was the earthen pot swimmingwith the pots of brass down the stream, and always and justly frightenedlest he should break in the voyage. I met him both at London and Paris,where he was performing piteous congees to the Duke of Shrewsbury, nothaving courage to support the dignity which his undeniable genius andtalent had won him, and writing coaxing letters to Secretary St. John,and thinking about his plate and his place, and what on earth shouldbecome of him should his party go out. The famous Mr. Congreve I sawa dozen of times at Button's, a splendid wreck of a man, magnificentlyattired, and though gouty, and almost blind, bearing a brave faceagainst fortune.

  The great Mr. Pope (of whose prodigious genius I have no words toexpress my admiration) was quite a puny lad at this time, appearingseldom in public places. There were hundreds of men, wits, and prettyfellows frequenting the theatres and coffee-houses of that day--whom"nunc perscribere longum est." Indeed I think the most brilliant of thatsort I ever saw was not till fifteen years afterwards, when I paid mylast visit in England, and met young Harry Fielding, son of the Fieldingthat served in Spain and afterwards in Flanders with us, and who for funand humor seemed to top them all. As for the famous Dr. Swift, I can sayof him, "Vidi tantum." He was in London all these years up to the deathof the Queen; and in a hundred public places where I saw him, but nomore; he never missed Court of a Sunday, where once or twice he waspointed out to your grandfather. He would have sought me out eagerlyenough had I been a great man with a title to my name, or a star on mycoat. At Court the Doctor had no eyes but for the very greatest. LordTreasurer and St. John used to call him Jonathan, and they paid himwith this cheap coin for the service they took of him. He writ theirlampoons, fought their enemies, flogged and bullied in their service,and it must be owned with a consummate skill and fierceness. 'Tis saidhe hath lost his intellect now, and forgotten his wrongs and his rageagainst mankind. I have always thought of him and of Marlborough as thetwo greatest men of that age. I have read his books (who doth not knowthem?) here in our calm woods, and imagine a giant to myself as I thinkof him, a lonely fallen Prometheus, groaning as the vulture tears him.Prometheus I saw, but when first I ever had any words with him, thegiant stepped out of a sedan chair in the Poultry, whither he had comewith a tipsy Irish servant parading before him, who announced him,bawling out his Reverence's name, whilst his master below was as yethaggling with the chairman. I disliked this Mr. Swift, and heard many astory about him, of his conduct to men, and his words to women. He couldflatter the great as much as he could bully the weak; and Mr. Esmond,being younger and hotter in that day than now, was determined, should heever meet this dragon, not to run away from his teeth and his fire.

  Men have all sorts of motives which carry them onwards in life, and aredriven into acts of desperation, or it may be of distinction, from ahundred different causes. There was one comrade of Esmond's, an honestlittle Irish lieutenant of Handyside's, who owed so much money to a campsutler, that he began to make love to the man's daughter, intending topay his debt that way; and at the battle of Malplaquet, flying away fromthe debt and lady too, he rushed so desperately on the French lines,that he got his company; and came a captain out of the action, and hadto marry the sutler's daughter after all, who brought him his cancelleddebt to her father as poor Roger's fortune. To run out of the reach ofbill and marriage, he ran on the enemy's pikes; and as these did notkill him he was thrown back upon t'other horn of his dilemma. Our greatDuke at the same battle was fighting, not the French, but the Tories inEngland; and risking his life and the army's, not for his country butfor his pay and places; and for fear of his wife at home, that onlybeing in life whom he dreaded. I have asked about men in my own company,(new drafts of poor country boys were perpetually coming over to usduring the wars, and brought from the ploughshare to the sword,) andfound that a half of them under the flags were driven thither on accountof a woman: one fellow was jilted by his mistress and took the shillingin despair; another jilted the girl, and fled from her and the parishto the tents where the law could not disturb him. Why go onparticularizing? What can the sons of Adam and Eve expect, but tocontinue in that course of love and trouble their father and mother setout on? Oh, my grandson! I am drawing nigh to the end of that period ofmy history, when I was acquainted with the great world of England andEurope; my years are past the Hebrew poet's limit, and I say unto thee,all my troubles and joys too, for that matter, have come from a woman;as thine will when thy destined course begins. 'Twas a woman that made asoldier of me, that set me intriguing afterwards; I believe I would havespun smocks for her had she so bidden me; what strength I had in my headI would have given her; hath not every man in his degree had his Omphaleand Delilah? Mine befooled me on the banks of the Thames, and in dearold England; thou mayest find thine own by Rappahannock.

  To please that woman then I tried to distinguish myself as a soldier,and afterwards as a wit and a politician; as to please another I wouldhave put on a black cassock and a pair of bands, and had done so butthat a superior fate intervened to defeat that project. And I say, Ithink the world is like Captain Esmond's company I spoke of anon;and could you see every man's career in life, you would find a womanclogging him; or clinging round his march and stopping him; or cheeringhim and goading him: or beckoning him out of her chariot, so that hegoes up to her, and leaves the race to be run without him or bringinghim the apple, and saying "Eat;" or fetching him the daggers andwhispering "Kill! yonder lies Duncan, and a crown, and an opportunity."

  Your grandfather fought with more effect as a politician than as awit: and having private animosities and grievances of his own andhis General's against the great Duke in command of the army, and moreinformation on military matters than most writers, who had never seenbeyond the fire of a tobacco-pipe at "Wills's," he was enabled to dogood service for that cause which he embarked in, and for Mr. St. Johnand his party. But he disdained the abuse in which some of the Torywriters indulged; for instance, Dr. Swift, who actually chose to doubtthe Duke of Marlborough's courage, and was pleased to hint that hisGrace's military capacity was doubtful: nor were Esmond's performancesworse for the effect they were intended to produce, (though no doubtthey could not injure the Duke of Marlborough nearly so much in thepublic eyes as the malignant attacks of Swift did, which were carefullydirected so as to blacken and degrade him,) because they were writopenly and fairly by Mr. Esmond, who made no disguise of them, who wasnow out of the army, and who never attacked the prodigious courage andtalents, only the selfishness and rapacity, of the chief.

  The Colonel then, having writ a paper for one of the Tory journals,called the Post-Boy, (a letter upon Bouchain, that the town talked aboutfor two whole days, when the appearance of an Italian singer supplieda fresh subject for conversation,) and having business at the Exchange,where Mistress Beatrix wanted a pair of gloves or a fan very likely,Esmond went to correct his paper, and was sitting at the printer's, whenthe famous Doctor Swift came in, his Irish fellow with him that usedto walk before his chair, and bawled out his master's name with greatdignity.

  Mr. Esmond was waiting for the printer too, whose wife had gone to thetavern to fetch him, and was meantime engaged in drawing a picture ofa soldier on horseback for a dirty little pretty boy of the printer'swife, whom she had left behind her.

  "I presume you are the editor of the Post-Boy, sir?" says the Doctor,in a grating voice that had an Irish twang; and he looked at the Colonelfrom u
nder his two bushy eyebrows with a pair of very clear blue eyes.His complexion was muddy, his figure rather fat, his chin double. Hewore a shabby cassock, and a shabby hat over his black wig, and hepulled out a great gold watch, at which he looks very fierce.

  "I am but a contributor, Doctor Swift," says Esmond, with the little boystill on his knee. He was sitting with his back in the window, so thatthe Doctor could not see him.

  "Who told you I was Dr. Swift?" says the Doctor, eying the other veryhaughtily.

  "Your Reverence's valet bawled out your name," says the Colonel. "Ishould judge you brought him from Ireland?"

  "And pray, sir, what right have you to judge whether my servant camefrom Ireland or no? I want to speak with your employer, Mr. Leach. I'llthank ye go fetch him."

  "Where's your papa, Tommy?" asks the Colonel of the child, a smuttylittle wretch in a frock.

  Instead of answering, the child begins to cry; the Doctor's appearancehad no doubt frightened the poor little imp.

  "Send that squalling little brat about his business, and do what I bidye, sir," says the Doctor.

  "I must finish, the picture first for Tommy," says the Colonel,laughing. "Here, Tommy, will you have your Pandour with whiskers orwithout?"

  "Whisters," says Tommy, quite intent on the picture.

  "Who the devil are ye, sir?" cries the Doctor; "are ye a printer's manor are ye not?" he pronounced it like NAUGHT.

  "Your reverence needn't raise the devil to ask who I am," says ColonelEsmond. "Did you ever hear of Doctor Faustus, little Tommy? or FriarBacon, who invented gunpowder, and set the Thames on fire?"

  Mr. Swift turned quite red, almost purple. "I did not intend anyoffence, sir," says he.

  "I dare say, sir, you offended without meaning," says the other, dryly.

  "Who are ye, sir? Do you know who I am, sir? You are one of the packof Grub Street scribblers that my friend Mr. Secretary hath laid by theheels. How dare ye, sir, speak to me in this tone?" cries the Doctor, ina great fume.

  "I beg your honor's humble pardon if I have offended your honor," saysEsmond in a tone of great humility. "Rather than be sent to the Compter,or be put in the pillory, there's nothing I wouldn't do. But Mrs.Leach, the printer's lady, told me to mind Tommy whilst she went for herhusband to the tavern, and I daren't leave the child lest he should fallinto the fire; but if your Reverence will hold him--"

  "I take the little beast!" says the Doctor, starting back. "I amengaged to your betters, fellow. Tell Mr. Leach that when he makes anappointment with Dr. Swift he had best keep it, do ye hear? And keep arespectful tongue in your head, sir, when you address a person like me."

  "I'm but a poor broken-down soldier," says the Colonel, "and I've seenbetter days, though I am forced now to turn my hand to writing. We can'thelp our fate, sir."

  "You're the person that Mr. Leach hath spoken to me of, I presume. Havethe goodness to speak civilly when you are spoken to--and tell Leachto call at my lodgings in Bury Street, and bring the papers with himto-night at ten o'clock. And the next time you see me, you'll know me,and be civil, Mr. Kemp."

  Poor Kemp, who had been a lieutenant at the beginning of the war, andfallen into misfortune, was the writer of the Post-Boy, and now tookhonest Mr. Leach's pay in place of her Majesty's. Esmond had seen thisgentleman, and a very ingenious, hardworking honest fellow he was,toiling to give bread to a great family, and watching up many a longwinter night to keep the wolf from his door. And Mr. St. John, who hadliberty always on his tongue, had just sent a dozen of the oppositionwriters into prison, and one actually into the pillory, for what hecalled libels, but libels not half so violent as those writ on ourside. With regard to this very piece of tyranny, Esmond had remonstratedstrongly with the Secretary, who laughed and said the rascals wereserved quite right; and told Esmond a joke of Swift's regarding thematter. Nay, more, this Irishman, when St. John was about to pardona poor wretch condemned to death for rape, absolutely prevented theSecretary from exercising this act of good-nature, and boasted that hehad had the man hanged; and great as the Doctor's genius might be, andsplendid his ability, Esmond for one would affect no love for him, andnever desired to make his acquaintance. The Doctor was at Court everySunday assiduously enough, a place the Colonel frequented but rarely,though he had a great inducement to go there in the person of a fairmaid of honor of her Majesty's; and the airs and patronage Mr.Swift gave himself, forgetting gentlemen of his country whom he knewperfectly, his loud talk at once insolent and servile, nay, perhaps hisvery intimacy with Lord Treasurer and the Secretary, who indulged allhis freaks and called him Jonathan, you may be sure, were remarked bymany a person of whom the proud priest himself took no note, during thattime of his vanity and triumph.

  'Twas but three days after the 15th of November, 1712 (Esmond minds himwell of the date), that he went by invitation to dine with his General,the foot of whose table he used to take on these festive occasions, ashe had done at many a board, hard and plentiful, during the campaign.This was a great feast, and of the latter sort; the honest old gentlemanloved to treat his friends splendidly: his Grace of Ormonde, before hejoined his army as generalissimo, my Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, one ofher Majesty's Secretaries of State, my Lord Orkney, that had servedwith us abroad, being of the party. His Grace of Hamilton, Master ofthe Ordnance, and in whose honor the feast had been given, upon hisapproaching departure as Ambassador to Paris, had sent an excuse toGeneral Webb at two o'clock, but an hour before the dinner: nothing butthe most immediate business, his Grace said, should have prevented himhaving the pleasure of drinking a parting glass to the health of GeneralWebb. His absence disappointed Esmond's old chief, who suffered muchfrom his wounds besides; and though the company was grand, it was rathergloomy. St. John came last, and brought a friend with him: "I'm sure,"says my General, bowing very politely, "my table hath always a place forDr. Swift."

  Mr. Esmond went up to the Doctor with a bow and a smile:--"I gave Dr.Swift's message," says he, "to the printer: I hope he brought yourpamphlet to your lodgings in time." Indeed poor Leach had come to hishouse very soon after the Doctor left it, being brought away rathertipsy from the tavern by his thrifty wife; and he talked of Cousin Swiftin a maudlin way, though of course Mr. Esmond did not allude to thisrelationship. The Doctor scowled, blushed, and was much confused, andsaid scarce a word during the whole of dinner. A very little stonewill sometimes knock down these Goliaths of wit; and this one was oftendiscomfited when met by a man of any spirit; he took his place sulkily,put water in his wine that the others drank plentifully, and scarce saida word.

  The talk was about the affairs of the day, or rather about persons thanaffairs: my Lady Marlborough's fury, her daughters in old clothes andmob-caps looking out from their windows and seeing the company pass tothe Drawing-room; the gentleman-usher's horror when the Prince ofSavoy was introduced to her Majesty in a tie-wig, no man out of afull-bottomed periwig ever having kissed the Royal hand before; aboutthe Mohawks and the damage they were doing, rushing through the town,killing and murdering. Some one said the ill-omened face of Mohun hadbeen seen at the theatre the night before, and Macartney and Meredithwith him. Meant to be a feast, the meeting, in spite of drink and talk,was as dismal as a funeral. Every topic started subsided into gloom.His Grace of Ormonde went away because the conversation got upon Denain,where we had been defeated in the last campaign. Esmond's Generalwas affected at the allusion to this action too, for his comrade ofWynendael, the Count of Nassau Woudenbourg, had been slain there. Mr.Swift, when Esmond pledged him, said he drank no wine, and took his hatfrom the peg and went away, beckoning my Lord Bolingbroke to follow him;but the other bade him take his chariot and save his coach-hire--he hadto speak with Colonel Esmond; and when the rest of the company withdrewto cards, these two remained behind in the dark.

  Bolingbroke always spoke freely when he had drunk freely. His enemiescould get any secret out of him in that condition; women were evenemployed to ply him, and take his words down. I have heard that my LordStair, three years
after, when the Secretary fled to France and becamethe Pretender's Minister, got all the information he wanted by puttingfemale spies over St. John in his cups. He spoke freely now:--"Jonathanknows nothing of this for certain, though he suspects it, and by George,Webb will take an Archbishopric, and Jonathan a--no,--damme--Jonathanwill take an Arch-bishopric from James, I warrant me, gladly enough.Your Duke hath the string of the whole matter in his hand," theSecretary went on. "We have that which will force Marlborough to keephis distance, and he goes out of London in a fortnight. Prior hath hisbusiness; he left me this morning, and mark me, Harry, should fate carryoff our august, our beloved, our most gouty and plethoric Queen, andDefender of the Faith, la bonne cause triomphera. A la sante de la bonnecause! Everything good comes from France. Wine comes from France; giveus another bumper to the bonne cause." We drank it together.

  "Will the bonne cause turn Protestant?" asked Mr. Esmond.

  "No, hang it," says the other, "he'll defend our Faith as in duty bound,but he'll stick by his own. The Hind and the Panther shall run in thesame car, by Jove. Righteousness and peace shall kiss each other: andwe'll have Father Massillon to walk down the aisle of St. Paul's, cheekby jowl with Dr. Sacheverel. Give us more wine; here's a health to thebonne cause, kneeling--damme, let's drink it kneeling." He was quiteflushed and wild with wine as he was talking.

  "And suppose," says Esmond, who always had this gloomy apprehension,"the bonne cause should give us up to the French, as his father anduncle did before him?"

  "Give us up to the French!" starts up Bolingbroke; "is there any Englishgentleman that fears that? You who have seen Blenheim and Ramillies,afraid of the French! Your ancestors and mine, and brave old Webb'syonder, have met them in a hundred fields, and our children will beready to do the like. Who's he that wishes for more men from England? MyCousin Westmoreland? Give us up to the French, pshaw!"

  "His uncle did," says Mr. Esmond.

  "And what happened to his grandfather?" broke out St. John, filling outanother bumper. "Here's to the greatest monarch England ever saw; here'sto the Englishman that made a kingdom of her. Our great King came fromHuntingdon, not Hanover; our fathers didn't look for a Dutchman to ruleus. Let him come and we'll keep him, and we'll show him Whitehall. Ifhe's a traitor let us have him here to deal with him; and then there arespirits here as great as any that have gone before. There are menhere that can look at danger in the face and not be frightened at it.Traitor! treason! what names are these to scare you and me? Are allOliver's men dead, or his glorious name forgotten in fifty years? Arethere no men equal to him, think you, as good--ay, as good? God save theKing! and, if the monarchy fails us, God save the British Republic!"

  He filled another great bumper, and tossed it up and drained it wildly,just as the noise of rapid carriage-wheels approaching was stopped atour door, and after a hurried knock and a moment's interval, Mr. Swiftcame into the hall, ran up stairs to the room we were dining in, andentered it with a perturbed face. St. John, excited with drink, wasmaking some wild quotation out of Macbeth, but Swift stopped him.

  "Drink no more, my lord, for God's sake!" says he. "I come with the mostdreadful news."

  "Is the Queen dead?" cries out Bolingbroke, seizing on a water-glass.

  "No, Duke Hamilton is dead: he was murdered an hour ago by Mohun andMacartney; they had a quarrel this morning; they gave him not so muchtime as to write a letter. He went for a couple of his friends, and heis dead, and Mohun, too, the bloody villain, who was set on him. Theyfought in Hyde Park just before sunset; the Duke killed Mohun, andMacartney came up and stabbed him, and the dog is fled. I have yourchariot below; send to every part of the country and apprehend thatvillain; come to the Duke's house and see if any life be left in him."

  "Oh, Beatrix, Beatrix," thought Esmond, "and here ends my poor girl'sambition!"