CHAPTER XXX. Contains a Letter to Virginia
Having repaired one day to his accustomed dinner at the White Horseordinary, Mr. Warrington was pleased to see amongst the faces round thetable the jolly, good-looking countenance of Parson Sampson, who wasregaling the company when Harry entered, with stories and bons-mots,which kept them in roars of laughter. Though he had not been in Londonfor some months, the parson had the latest London news, or what passedfor such with the folks at the ordinary: what was doing in the King'shouse at Kensington; and what in the Duke's in Pall Mall: how Mr. Byngwas behaving in prison, and who came to him: what were the odds atNewmarket, and who was the last reigning toast in Covent Garden;--thejolly chaplain could give the company news upon all these points,--newsthat might not be very accurate indeed, but was as good as if itwere for the country gentlemen who heard it. For suppose that my LordViscount Squanderfield was ruining himself for Mrs. Polly, and Sampsoncalled her Mrs. Lucy? that it was Lady Jane who was in love withthe actor, and not Lady Mary? that it was Harry Hilton, of the HorseGrenadiers, who had the quarrel with Chevalier Solingen, at MaryboneGarden, and not Tommy Ruffler, of the Foot Guards? The names and datesdid not matter much. Provided the stories were lively and wicked, theircorrectness was of no great importance; and Mr. Sampson laughed andchattered away amongst his country gentlemen, charmed them with hisspirits and talk, and drank his share of one bottle after another, forwhich his delighted auditory persisted in calling. A hundred years ago,the Abbe Parson, the clergyman who frequented the theatre, the tavern,the racecourse, the world of fashion, was no uncommon characterin English society: his voice might be heard the loudest in thehunting-field; he could sing the jolliest song at the Rose or theBedford Head, after the play was over at Covent Garden, and could call amain as well as any at the gaming-table.
It may have been modesty, or it may have been claret, which caused hisreverence's rosy face to redden deeper, but when he saw Mr. Warringtonenter, he whispered "Maxima debetur" to the laughing country squire whosat next him in his drab coat and gold-laced red waistcoat, and rose upfrom his chair and ran, nay, stumbled forward, in his haste to greet theVirginian: "My dear sir, my very dear sir, my conqueror of spades, andclubs, and hearts, too, I am delighted to see your honour looking sofresh and well," cries the chaplain.
Harry returned the clergyman's greeting with great pleasure: he was gladto see Mr. Sampson; he could also justly compliment his reverence uponhis cheerful looks and rosy gills.
The squire in the drab coat knew Mr. Warrington; he made a place besidehimself; he called out to the parson to return to his seat on the otherside, and to continue his story about Lord Ogle and the grocer's wifein------. Where he did not say, for his sentence was interrupted by ashout and an oath addressed to the parson for treading on his gouty toe.
The chaplain asked pardon, hurriedly turned round to Mr. Warrington,and informed him, and the rest of the company indeed, that my LordCastlewood sent his affectionate remembrances to his cousin, and hadgiven special orders to him (Mr. Sampson) to come to Tunbridge Wells andlook after the young gentleman's morals; that my Lady Viscountess and myLady Fanny were gone to Harrogate for the waters; that Mr. Will had wonhis 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 itsneighbourhood. Mr. Warrington was beloved by all the country round,Mr. Sampson told the company, managing to introduce the names of somepersons of the very highest rank into his discourse. "All Hampshire hadheard of his successes at Tunbridge, successes of every kind," saysMr. Sampson, looking particularly arch; my lord hoped, their ladyshipshoped, Harry would not be spoilt for his quiet Hampshire home.
The guests dropped off one by one, leaving the young Virginian to hisbottle of wine and the chaplain.
"Though I have had plenty," says the jolly chaplain, "that is no reasonwhy I should not have plenty more," and he drank toast after toast, andbumper after bumper, to the amusement of Harry, who always enjoyed hissociety.
By the time when Sampson had had his "plenty more," Harry, too, wasbecome specially generous, warm-hearted, and friendly. A lodging--whyshould Mr. Sampson go to the expense of an inn, when there was a roomat Harry's quarters? The chaplain's trunk was ordered thither, Gumbo wasbidden to make Mr. Sampson comfortable--most comfortable; nothing wouldsatisfy Mr. Warrington but that Sampson should go down to his stablesand see his horses; he had several horses now; and when at the stableSampson recognised his own horse which Harry had won from him; and thefond beast whinnied with pleasure, and rubbed his nose against his oldmaster's coat; Harry rapped out a brisk energetic expression or two, andvowed by Jupiter that Sampson should have his old horse back again:he would give him to Sampson, that he would; a gift which the chaplainaccepted by seizing Harry's hand, and blessing him,--by flinging hisarms round the horse's neck, and weeping for joy there, weeping tearsof Bordeaux and gratitude. Arm-in-arm the friends walked to MadameBernstein's from the stable, of which they brought the odours into herladyship's apartment. Their flushed cheeks and brightened eyes showedwhat their amusement had been. Many gentlemen's cheeks were in the habitof flushing in those days, and from the same cause.
Madame Bernstein received her nephew's chaplain kindly enough. The oldlady 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 shedid not grow tired, she owned, was cards. "The cards don't cheat," sheused to say. "A bad hand tells you the truth to your face: and there isnothing so flattering in the world as a good suite of trumps." And whenshe was in a good humour, and sitting down to her favourite pastime, shewould laughingly bid her nephew's chaplain 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 hispocket with a comical piteous look, and its contents had already beenhanded over to the fortunate youth at Castlewood. Like most persons ofher age, and indeed her sex, Madame Bernstein was not prodigal of money.I suppose it must have been from Harry Warrington, whose heart wasoverflowing with generosity as his purse with guineas, that the chaplainprocured a small stock of ready coin, with which he was presentlyenabled to appear at the card-table.
Our young gentleman welcomed Mr. Sampson to his coin, as to all the restof the good things which he had gathered about him. 'Twas surprising howquickly the young Virginian adapted himself to the habits of life ofthe folks amongst whom he lived. His suits were still black, but of thefinest 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 thegay old Duchess Queensberry. "And I make no doubt he has been the deathof a dozen Ophelias already, here and amongst the Indians," she added,thinking not at all the worse of Harry for his supposed successes amongthe 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 ofmagnificent brocade bedgowns, in which his worship lolled at ease, andsipped his chocolate of a morning. He had swords and walking-canes, andFrench watches with painted backs and diamond settings, and snuff boxesenamelled by artists of the same cunning nation. He had a levee ofgrooms, jockeys, tradesmen, daily waiting in his anteroom, and admittedone by one to him and Parson Sampson, over his chocolate, by Gumbo, thegroom of the chambers. We have no account of the number of men whom Mr.Gumbo now had under him. Certain it is that no single negro could havetaken care of all the fine things which Mr. Warrington now possessed,let alone the horses and the postchaise which his honour had bought.Also Harry instructed himself in the arts which became a gentleman inthose days. A French fencing-master, and a dancing-master of the samenation, resided at Tunbridge during that season when Harry madehis appearance: these men of science the young Virginian sedulouslyfrequented, and acquired considerable skill and grace in the peacefuland warlike accomplishments which they taught. Ere m
any weeks were overhe could handle the foils against his master or any frequenter of thefencing-school,--and, with a sigh, Lady Maria (who danced very elegantlyherself) owned that there was no gentleman at court who could walk aminuet more gracefully than Mr. Warrington. As for riding, though Mr.Warrington took a few lessons on the great horse from a riding-masterwho came to Tunbridge, he declared that their own Virginian manner waswell enough for him, and that he saw no one amongst the fine folksand the jockeys who could ride better than his friend Colonel GeorgeWashington of Mount Vernon.
The obsequious Sampson found himself in better quarters than he hadenjoyed for ever so long a time. He knew a great deal of the world, andtold a great deal more, and Harry was delighted with his stories, realor fancied. The man of twenty looks up to the man of thirty, admiresthe latter's old jokes, stale puns, and tarnished anecdotes, that areslopped with the wine of a hundred dinner-tables. Sampson's town andcollege pleasantries were all new and charming to the young Virginian. Ahundred years ago,--no doubt there are no such people left in the worldnow,--there used to be grown men in London who loved to consort withfashionable youths entering life; to tickle their young fancies withmerry stories; to act as Covent Garden Mentors and masters of ceremoniesat the Round-house; to accompany lads to the gaming-table, and perhapshave an understanding with the punters; to drink lemonade to MasterHopeful's Burgundy, and to stagger into the streets with perfectlycool heads when my young lord reeled out to beat the watch. Of this, nodoubt, extinct race, Mr. Sampson was a specimen: and a great comfort itis to think (to those who choose to believe the statement) that in QueenVictoria's reign there are no flatterers left, such as existed in thereign of her royal great-grandfather, no parasites pandering to thefollies of young men; in fact, that all the toads have been eaten offthe face of the island (except one or two that are found in stones,where they have lain perdus these hundred years), and the toad-eatershave perished for lack of nourishment.
With some sauces, as I read, the above-mentioned animals are said tobe exceedingly fragrant, wholesome, and savoury eating. Indeed, no mancould look more rosy and healthy, or flourish more cheerfully, thanfriend Sampson upon the diet. He became our young friend's confidentialleader, and, from the following letter, which is preserved in theWarrington correspondence, it will be seen that Mr. Harry not onlyhad dancing and fencing masters, but likewise a tutor, chaplain, andsecretary:--
TO MRS. ESMOND WARRINGTON OF CASTLEWOOD AT HER HOUSE AT RICHMOND,VIRGINIA
Mrs. Bligh's Lodgings, Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells,
"August 25th, 1756.
"HONOURED MADAM--Your honoured letter of 20 June, per Mr. Trail ofBristol, has been forwarded to me duly, and I have to thank yourgoodness and kindness for the good advice which you are pleased to giveme, as also for the remembrances of dear home, which I shall love neverthe worse for having been to the home of our ancestors in England.
"I writ you a letter by the last monthly packet, informing my honouredmother of the little accident I had on the road hither, and of thekind friends who I found and whom took me in. Since then I have beenprofiting of the fine weather and the good company here, and have mademany friends among our nobility, whose acquaintance I am sure you willnot be sorry that I should make. Among their lordships I may mention thefamous Earl of Chesterfield, late Ambassador to Holland, and Viceroy ofthe Kingdom of Ireland; the Earl of March and Ruglen, who will be Dukeof Queensberry at the death of his Grace; and her Grace the Duchess, acelebrated beauty of the Queen's time, when she remembers my grandpapaat Court. These and many more persons of the first fashion attend myaunt'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 Webbin 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 nowin this place, Miss Lowther of the North--and though but 30 years old heis looked up to as much as any officer in the whole army, and has servedwith honour under his Royal Highness the Duke wherever our arms havebeen employed.
"I thank my honoured mother for announcing to me that a quarter'sallowance of 52l. 10s. will be paid me by Mr. Trail. I am in no presentwant of cash, and by practising a rigid economy, which will be necessary(as I do not disguise) for the maintenance of horses, Gumbo, and theequipage and apparel requisite for a young gentleman of good family,hope to be able to maintain my credit without unduly trespassing uponyours. The linnen and clothes which I brought with me will with due carelast for some years--as you say. 'Tis not quite so fine as worn here bypersons of fashion, and I may have to purchase a few very fine shirtsfor great days: but those I have are excellent for daily wear.
"I am thankful that I have been quite without occasion to use yourexcellent family pills. Gumbo hath taken them with great benefit, whogrows fat and saucy upon English beef, ale, and air. He sends his humbleduty to his mistress, and prays Mrs. Mountain to remember him to allhis fellow-servants, especially Dinah and Lily, for whom he has boughtposey-rings at Tunbridge Fair.
"Besides partaking of all the pleasures of the place, I hope my honouredmother will believe that I have not been unmindful of my education.I have had masters in fencing and dancing, and my Lord Castlewood'schaplain, the Reverend Mr. Sampson, having come hither to drink thewaters, has been so good as to take a vacant room at my lodging. Mr. S.breakfasts with me, and we read together of a morning--he saying that Iam not quite such a dunce as I used to appear at home. We have readin Mr. Rapin's History, Dr. Barrow's Sermons, and, for amusement,Shakspeare, Mr. Pope's Homer, and (in French) the translation of anArabian Work of Tales, very diverting. Several men of learning have beenstaying here besides the persons of fashion; and amongst the former wasMr. Richardson, the author of the famous books which you and Mountainand my dearest brother used to love so. He was pleased when I told himthat his works were in your closet in Virginia, and begged me to conveyhis respectful compliments to my lady-mother. Mr. R. is a short fat man,with little of the fire of genius visible in his eye or person.
"My aunt and my cousin, the Lady Maria, desire their affectionatecompliments to you, and with best regards for Mountain, to whom Ienclose a note, I am,--Honoured madam, your dutiful son, H. ESMONDWARRINGTON."
Note in Madam Esmond's Handwriting,
"From my son. Received October 15 at Richmond. Sent 16 jars preservedpeaches, 224 lbs. best tobacco, 24 finest hams, per Royal William ofLiverpool, 8 jars peaches, 12 hams for my nephew, the Rt. Honourablethe Earl of Castlewood. 4 jars, 6 hams for the Baroness Bernstein, dittoditto for Mrs. Lambert of Oakhurst, Surrey, and 1/2 cwt. tobacco.Packet of Infallible Family Pills for Gumbo. My Papa's large silver-giltshoe-buckles 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 yourpoor old divadends dew at Xmas? I'd have you to know I don't want your7l. 10, and have toar your order up into 1000 bitts. I've plenty ofmoney. But I'm obleaged to you all same. A kiss to Fanny from--Yourloving HARRY."
Note in Madam Esmond's Handwriting
"This note, which I desired M. to show to me, proves that she hath agood heart, and that she wished to show her gratitude to the family, bygiving up her half-yearly divd. (on L500 3 per ct.) to my boy. HenceI reprimanded her very slightly for daring to send money to Mr. E.Warrington, unknown to his mother. Note to Mountain not so well spelt asletter to me.
"Mem. to write to Revd. Mr. Sampson desire to know what theolog. bookshe reads with H. Recommend Law, Baxter, Drelincourt.--Request H. to sayhis catechism to Mr. S., which he has never quite been able to master.By next ship peaches (3), tobacco 1/2 cwt. Hams for Mr. S."
The mother of the Virginians and her sons have long long since passedaway. So how are we to account for the fact, that of a couple of letterssent under one enclosure and by one packet, one should be well spelt,and the other not entirely orthographical? Had Harry found som
ewonderful instructor, such as exists in the present lucky times, andwho would improve his writing in six lessons? My view of the case, afterdeliberately examining the two notes, is this: No. 1, in which thereappears a trifling grammatical slip ("the kind, friends who I found andwhom took me in"), must have been re-written from a rough copy whichhad probably undergone the supervision of a tutor or friend. The moreartless composition, No. 2, was not referred to the scholar who preparedNo. 1 for the maternal eye, and to whose corrections of "who" and "whom"Mr. Warrington did not pay very close attention. Who knows how hemay have been disturbed? A pretty milliner may have attracted Harry'sattention out of window--a dancing bear with pipe and tabor may havepassed along the common--a jockey come under his windows to show off ahorse there? There are some days when any of us may be ungrammatical andspell ill. Finally, suppose Harry did not care to spell so elegantly forMrs. Mountain as for his lady-mother, what affair is that of thepresent biographer, century, reader? And as for your objection that Mr.Warrington, in the above communication to his mother, showed some littlehypocrisy and reticence in his dealings with that venerable person, Idare say, young folks, you in your time have written more than one primletter to your papas and mammas in which not quite all the transactionsof your lives were narrated, or if narrated, were exhibited in the mostfavourable light for yourselves--I dare say, old folks! you, in yourtime, were not altogether more candid. There must be a certain distancebetween me and my son Jacky. There must be a respectful, an amiable, avirtuous hypocrisy between us. I do not in the least wish that he shouldtreat me as his equal, that he should contradict me, take my arm-chair,read the newspaper first at breakfast, ask unlimited friends to dinewhen I have a party of my own, and so forth. No; where there is notequality there must be hypocrisy. Continue to be blind to my faults; tohush still as mice when I fall asleep after dinner; to laugh at my oldjokes; to admire my sayings; to be astonished at the impudence of thoseunbelieving reviewers; to be dear filial humbugs, O my children! In mycastle I am king. Let all my royal household back before me. 'Tis nottheir natural way of walking, I know: but a decorous, becoming, andmodest behaviour highly agreeable to me. Away from me they may do, nay,they do do, what they like. They may jump, skip, dance, trot, tumbleover heads and heels, and kick about freely, when they are out of thepresence of my majesty. Do not then, my dear young friends, be surprisedat your mother and aunt when they cry out, "Oh, it was highly immoraland improper of Mr. Warrington to be writing home humdrum demure lettersto his dear mamma, when he was playing all sorts of merry pranks!"--butdrop a curtsey, 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 youwere young." Of course, she didn't! And the sun never shone, and theblossoms never budded, and the blood never danced, and the fiddles neversang, in her spring-time. Eh, Babet! mon lait de poule et mon bonnetde nuit! Ho, Betty! my gruel and my slippers! And go, ye frisky, merrylittle souls! and dance, and have your merry little supper of cakes andale!
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