CHAPTER LXII. Arma Virumque
Indeed, if Harry Warrington had a passion for military pursuits andstudies, there was enough of war stirring in Europe, and enough talk inall societies which he frequented in London, to excite and inflame him.Though our own gracious Prince of the house of Hanover had been beaten,the Protestant Hero, the King of Prussia, was filling the world withhis glory, and winning those astonishing victories in which I deem itfortunate on my own account that my poor Harry took no part; forthen his veracious biographer would have had to narrate battles thedescription whereof has been undertaken by another pen. I am glad, Isay, that Harry Warrington was not at Rossbach on that famous GunpowderFete-day, on the 5th of November, in the year 1757; nor at thattremendous slaughtering-match of Leuthen, which the Prussian king playeda month afterwards; for these prodigious actions will presently benarrated in other volumes, which I and all the world are eager tobehold. Would you have this history compete with yonder book? Couldmy jaunty, yellow park-phaeton run counter to that grim chariot ofthundering war? Could my meek little jog-trot Pegasus meet the shock ofyon steed of foaming bit and flaming nostril? Dear, kind reader (withwhom I love to talk from time to time, stepping down from the stagewhere our figures are performing, attired in the habits and using theparlance of past ages),--my kind, patient reader! it is a mercy for bothof us that Harry Warrington did not follow the King of the Borussians,as he was minded to do, for then I should have had to describe battleswhich Carlyle is going to paint; and I don't wish you should make odiouscomparisons between me and that master.
Harry Warrington not only did not join the King of the Borussians, buthe pined and chafed at not going. He led a sulky useless life, that isthe fact. He dangled about the military coffee-houses. He did not carefor reading anything save a newspaper. His turn was not literary. Heeven thought novels were stupid; and, as for the ladies crying theireyes out over Mr. Richardson, he could not imagine how they could bemoved by any such nonsense. He used to laugh in a very hearty jollyway, but a little late, and some time after the joke was over. Pray, whyshould all gentlemen have a literary turn? And do we like some of ourfriends the worse because they never turned a couplet in their lives?Ruined, perforce idle, dependent on his brother for supplies, if he reada book falling asleep over it, with no fitting work for his great stronghands to do--how lucky it is that he did not get into more trouble! Why,in the case of Achilles himself, when he was sent by his mamma to thecourt of King What-d'ye-call-'em in order to be put out of harm's reach,what happened to him amongst a parcel of women with whom he was made toidle his life away? And how did Pyrrhus come into the world? A powerfulmettlesome young Achilles ought not to be leading-stringed by women toomuch; is out of his place dawdling by distaffs or handing coffee-cups;and when he is not fighting, depend on it, is likely to fall into muchworse mischief.
Those soft-hearted women, the two elder ladies of the Lambert family,with whom he mainly consorted, had an untiring pity and kindness forHarry, such as women only--and only a few of those--can give. If a manis in grief, who cheers him; in trouble, who consoles him; in wrath,who soothes him; in joy, who makes him doubly happy; in prosperity, whorejoices; in disgrace, who backs him against the world, and dresseswith gentle unguents and warm poultices the rankling wounds made by theslings and arrows of outrageous Fortune? Who but woman, if you please?You who are ill and sore from the buffets of Fate, have you one or twoof these sweet physicians? Return thanks to the gods that they haveleft you so much of consolation. What gentleman is not more or less aPrometheus? Who has not his rock (ai, ai), his chain (ea, ea), and hisliver in a deuce of a condition? But the sea-nymphs come--the gentle,the sympathising; they kiss our writhing feet; they moisten our parchedlips with their tears; they do their blessed best to console us Titans;they don't turn their backs upon us after our overthrow.
Now Theo and her mother were full of pity for Harry; but Hetty's heartwas rather hard and seemingly savage towards him. She chafed thathis position was not more glorious; she was angry that he was stilldependent and idle. The whole world was in arms, and could he not carrya musket? It was harvest-time, and hundreds of thousands of reapers wereout with their flashing sickles; could he not use his, and cut down hissheaf or two of glory?
"Why, how savage the little thing is with him!" says papa, after a scenein which, according to her wont, Miss Hetty had been firing littleshots into that quivering target which came and set itself up in Mrs.Lambert's drawing-room every day.
"Her conduct is perfectly abominable!" cries mamma; "she deserves to bewhipped, and sent to bed."
"Perhaps, mother, it is because she likes him better than any of us do,"says Theo, "and it is for his sake that Hetty is angry. If I were fondof--of some one, I should like to be able to admire and respect himalways--to think everything he did right--and my gentleman better thanall the gentlemen in the world."
"The truth is, my dear," answers Mrs. Lambert, "that your father is somuch better than all the world, he has spoiled us. Did you ever see anyone to compare with him?"
"Very few, indeed," owns Theo, with a blush.
"Very few. Who is so good-tempered?"
"I think nobody, mamma," Theo acknowledges.
"Or so brave?"
"Why, I dare say Mr. Wolfe, or Harry, or Mr. George, are very brave."
"Or so learned and witty?"
"I am sure Mr. George seems very learned, and witty too, in his way,"says Theo; "and his manners are very fine--you own they are. Madame deBernstein says they are, and she hath seen the world. Indeed, Mr. Georgehas a lofty way with him, which I don't see in other people; and, inreading books, I find he chooses the fine noble things always, and lovesthem in spite of all his satire. He certainly is of a satirical turn,but then he is only bitter against mean things and people. No gentlemanhath a more tender heart I am sure; and but yesterday, after he had beentalking so bitterly as you said, I happened to look out of window, andsaw him stop and treat a whole crowd of little children to apples at thestall at the corner. And the day before yesterday, when he was comingand brought me the Moliere, he stopped and gave money to a beggar, andhow charmingly, sure, he reads the French! I agree with him though aboutTartuffe, though 'tis so wonderfully clever and lively, that a merevillain and hypocrite is a figure too mean to be made the chief of agreat piece. Iago, Mr. George said, is near as great a villain; but thenhe is not the first character of the tragedy, which is Othello, withhis noble weakness. But what fine ladies and gentlemen Moliererepresents--so Mr. George thinks--and--but oh, I don't dare to repeatthe verses after him."
"But you know them by heart, my dear?" asks Mrs. Lambert.
And Theo replies, "Oh yes, mamma! I know them by... Nonsense!"
I here fancy osculations, palpitations, and exit Miss Theo, blushinglike a rose. Why had she stopped in her sentence? Because mamma waslooking at her so oddly. And why was mamma looking at her so oddly? Andwhy had she looked after Mr. George when he was going away, and lookedfor him when he was coming? Ah, and why do cheeks blush, and why doroses bloom? Old Time is still a-flying. Old spring and bud time; oldsummer and bloom time; old autumn and seed time; old winter time, whenthe cracking, shivering old tree-tops are bald or covered with snow.
A few minutes after George arrived, Theo would come downstairs witha fluttering heart, may be, and a sweet nosegay in her cheeks, justculled, as it were, fresh in his honour; and I suppose she must havebeen constantly at that window which commanded the street, and whenceshe could espy his generosity to the sweep, or his purchases from theapple-woman. But if it was Harry who knocked, she remained in her ownapartment with her work or her books, sending her sister to receivethe young gentleman, or her brothers when the elder was at home fromcollege, or Doctor Crusius from the Chartreux gave the younger leaveto go home. And what good eyes Theo must have had--and often in theevening, too--to note the difference between Harry's yellow hair andGeorge's dark locks--and between their figures, though they were so likethat people continually were mistaking one for the other br
other. Now itis certain that Theo never mistook one or t'other; and that Hetty, forher part, was not in the least excited, or rude, or pert, when she foundthe black-haired gentleman in her mother's drawing-room.
Our friends could come when they liked to Mr. Lambert's house, and stayas long as they chose; and, one day, he of the golden locks was sittingon a couch there, in an attitude of more than ordinary idleness anddespondency, when who should come down to him but Miss Hetty? I say itwas a most curious thing (though the girls would have gone to the rackrather than own any collusion), that when Harry called, Hetty appeared;when George arrived, Theo somehow came; and so, according to the usualdispensation, it was Miss Lambert, junior, who now arrived to entertainthe younger Virginian.
After usual ceremonies and compliments we may imagine that the lady saysto the gentleman:
"And pray, sir, what makes your honour look so glum this morning?"
"Ah, Hetty!" says he, "I have nothing else to do but to look glum. Iremember when we were boys--and I a rare idle one, you may be sure--Iwould always be asking my tutor for a holiday, which I would pass verylikely swinging on a gate, or making ducks and drakes over the pond, andthose do-nothing days were always the most melancholy. What have I gotto do now from morning till night?"
"Breakfast, walk--dinner, walk--tea, supper, I suppose; and a pipe ofyour Virginia," says Miss Hetty, tossing her head.
"I tell you what, when I went back with Charley to the Chartreux,t'other night, I had a mind to say to the master, 'Teach me, sir. Here'sa boy knows a deal more Latin and Greek, at thirteen, than I do, whoam ten years older. I have nothing to do from morning till night, and Imight as well go to my books again, and see if I can repair my idlenessas a boy.' Why do you laugh, Hetty?"
"I laugh to fancy you at the head of a class, and called up by themaster!" cries Hetty.
"I shouldn't be at the head of the class," Harry says, humbly. "Georgemight be at the head of any class, but I am not a bookman, you see; andwhen I was young neglected myself, and was very idle. We would not letour tutors cane us much at home, but, if we had, it might have done megood."
Hetty drubbed with her little foot, and looked at the young man sittingbefore her--strong, idle, melancholy.
"Upon my word, it might do you good now!" she was minded to say. "Whatdoes Tom say about the caning at school? Does his account of it set youlonging for it, pray?" she asked.
"His account of his school," Harry answered simply, "makes me see that Ihave been idle when I ought to have worked, and that I have not a geniusfor books, and for what am I good? Only to spend my patrimony when Icome abroad, or to lounge at coffee-houses or racecourses, or to gallopbehind dogs when I am at home. I am good for nothing, I am."
"What, such a great, brave, strong fellow as you good for nothing?"cries Het. "I would not confess as much to any woman, if I were twice asgood for nothing!"
"What am I to do? I ask for leave to go into the army, and Madam Esmonddoes not answer me. 'Tis the only thing I am fit for. I have no money tobuy. Having spent all my own, and so much of my brother's, I cannot andwon't ask for more. If my mother would but send me to the army, you knowI would jump to go."
"Eh! A gentleman of spirit does not want a woman to buckle his sword onfor him or to clean his firelock! What was that our papa told us of theyoung gentleman at court yesterday?--Sir John Armytage----"
"Sir John Armytage? I used to know him when I frequented White's andthe club-houses--a fine, noble young gentleman, of a great estate in theNorth."
"And engaged to be married to a famous beauty, too--Miss Howe, my LordHowe's sister--but that, I suppose, is not an obstacle to gentlemen?"
"An obstacle to what?" asks the gentleman.
"An obstacle to glory!" says Miss Hetty. "I think no woman of spiritwould say 'Stay!' though she adored her lover ever so much, when hiscountry said 'Go!' Sir John had volunteered for the expedition which ispreparing, and being at court yesterday his Majesty asked him when hewould be ready to go? 'Tomorrow, please your Majesty,' replies Sir John,and the king said, that was a soldier's answer. My father himself islonging to go, though he has mamma and all us brats at home. Oh dear,oh dear! Why wasn't I a man myself? Both my brothers are for the Church;but, as for me, I know I should have made a famous little soldier!" And,so speaking, this young person strode about the room, wearing a mostcourageous military aspect, and looking as bold as Joan of Arc.
Harry beheld her with a tender admiration. "I think," says he, "I wouldhardly like to see a musket on that little shoulder, nor a wound on thatpretty face, Hetty."
"Wounds! who fears wounds?" cries the little maid. "Muskets? If I couldcarry one, I would use it. You men fancy that we women are good fornothing but to make puddings or stitch samplers. Why wasn't I a man, Isay? George was reading to us yesterday out of Tasso--look, here it is,and I thought the verses applied to me. See! Here is the book, with themark in it where we left off."
"With the mark in it?" says Harry dutifully.
"Yes! it is about a woman who is disappointed because--because herbrother does not go to war, and she says of herself--
"'Alas! why did not Heaven these members frail With lively force and vigour strengthen, so That I this silken gown...'"
"Silken gown?" says downright Harry, with a look of inquiry.
"Well, sir, I know 'tis but Calimanco;--but so it is in the book--
"'... this silken gown and slender veil Might for a breastplate and a helm forgo; Then should not heat, nor cold, nor rain, nor hail, Nor storms that fall, nor blust'ring winds that blow, Withhold me; but I would, both day and night, In pitched field or private combat, fight--'
"Fight? Yes, that I would! Why are both my brothers to be parsons, Isay? One of my papa's children ought to be a soldier!"
Harry laughed, a very gentle, kind laugh, as he looked at her. He feltthat he would not like much to hit such a tender little warrior as that.
"Why," says he, holding a finger out, "I think here is a finger nigh asbig as your arm. How would you stand up before a great, strong man? Ishould like to see a man try and injure you, though; I should just liketo see him! You little, delicate, tender creature! Do you suppose anyscoundrel would dare to do anything unkind to you?" And, excited by thisflight of his imagination, Harry fell to walking up and down the room,too, chafing at the idea of any rogue of a Frenchman daring to be rudeto Miss Hester Lambert.
It was a belief in this silent courage of his which subjugated Hetty,and this quality which she supposed him to possess, which caused herspecially to admire him. Miss Hetty was no more bold, in reality, thanMadam Erminia, whose speech she had been reading out of the book, andabout whom Mr. Harry Warrington never heard one single word. He may havebeen in the room when brother George was reading his poetry out to theladies, but his thoughts were busy with his own affairs, and he wasentirely bewildered with your Clotildas and Erminias, and giants, andenchanters, and nonsense. No, Miss Hetty, I say and believe, had nothingof the virago in her composition; else, no doubt, she would have takena fancy to a soft young fellow with a literary turn, or a genius forplaying the flute, according to the laws of contrast and nature providedin those cases; and who has not heard how great, strong men have anaffinity for frail, tender little women; how tender little women areattracted by great, honest, strong men; and how your burly heroes andchampions of war are constantly henpecked? If Mr. Harry Warrington fallsin love with a woman who is like Miss Lambert in disposition, and if hemarries her--without being conjurers, I think we may all see what theend will be.
So, whilst Hetty was firing her little sarcasms into Harry, he for awhile scarcely felt that they were stinging him, and let her shoot onwithout so much as taking the trouble to shake the little arrows out ofhis hide. Did she mean by her sneers and innuendoes to rouse him intoaction? He was too magnanimous to understand such small hints. Did shemean to shame him by saying that she, a weak woman, would don the casqueand breastplate? The simple fellow either melted at the
idea of herbeing in danger, or at the notion of her fighting fell a-laughing.
"Pray what is the use of having a strong hand if you only use it to holda skein of silk for my mother?" cries Miss Hester; "and what is the goodof being ever so strong in a drawing-room? Nobody wants you to throwanybody out of window, Harry! A strong man, indeed! I suppose there's astronger at Bartholomew Fair. James Wolfe is not a strong man. He seemsquite weakly and ill. When he was here last he was coughing the wholetime, and as pale as if he had seen a ghost."
"I never could understand why a man should be frightened at a ghost,"says Harry.
"Pray, have you seen one, sir?" asks the pert young lady.
"No. I thought I did once at home--when we were boys; but it was onlyNathan in his night-shirt; but I wasn't frightened when I thought hewas a ghost. I believe there's no such things. Our nurses tell a pack oflies about 'em," says Harry, gravely. "George was a little frightened;but then he's----" Here he paused.
"Then George is what?" asked Hetty.
"George is different from me, that's all. Our mother's a bold woman asever you saw, but she screams at seeing a mouse--always does--can't helpit. It's her nature. So, you see, perhaps my brother can't bear ghosts.I don't mind 'em."
"George always says you would have made a better soldier than he."
"So I think I should, if I had been allowed to try. But he can do athousand things better than me, or anybody else in the world. Why didn'the let me volunteer on Braddock's expedition? I might have got knockedon the head, and then I should have been pretty much as useful as Iam now, and then I shouldn't have ruined myself, and brought people topoint at me and say that I had disgraced the name of Warrington. Whymayn't I go on this expedition, and volunteer like Sir John Armytage?Oh, Hetty! I'm a miserable fellow--that's what I am," and the miserablefellow paced the room at double quick time. "I wish I had never come toEurope," he groaned out.
"What a compliment to us! Thank you, Harry!" But presently, on anappealing look from the gentleman, she added, "Are you--are you thinkingof going home?"
"And have all Virginia jeering at me! There's not a gentleman therethat wouldn't, except one, and him my mother doesn't like. I shouldbe ashamed to go home now, I think. You don't know my mother, Hetty. Iain't afraid of most things; but, somehow, I am of her. What shall I sayto her, when she says, 'Harry, where's your patrimony?' 'Spent, mother,'I shall have to say. 'What have you done with it?' 'Wasted it, mother,and went to prison after.' 'Who took you out of prison?' 'BrotherGeorge, ma'am, he took me out of prison; and now I'm come back,having done no good for myself, with no profession, no prospects, nonothing--only to look after negroes, and be scolded at home; or to go tosleep at sermons; or to play at cards, and drink, and fight cocks at thetaverns about.' How can I look the gentlemen of the country in the face?I'm ashamed to go home in this way, I say. I must and will do something!What shall I do, Hetty? Ah! what shall I do?"
"Do? What did Mr. Wolfe do at Louisbourg? Ill as he was, and in love aswe knew him to be, he didn't stop to be nursed by his mother, Harry, orto dawdle with his sweetheart. He went on the King's service, and hathcome back covered with honour. If there is to be another great campaignin America, papa says he is sure of a great command."
"I wish he would take me with him, and that a ball would knock me on thehead and finish me," groaned Harry. "You speak to me, Hetty, as thoughit were my fault that I am not in the army, when you know I wouldgive--give, forsooth, what have I to give?--yes! my life to go onservice!"
"Life indeed!" says Miss Hetty, with a shrug of her shoulders.
"You don't seem to think that of much value, Hetty," remarked Harry,sadly. "No more it is--to anybody. I'm a poor useless fellow. I'm noteven free to throw it away as I would like, being under orders here andat home."
"Orders indeed! Why under orders?" cries Miss Hetty. "Aren't you tallenough, and old enough, to act for yourself, and must you have Georgefor a master here, and your mother for a schoolmistress at home? IfI were a man, I would do something famous before I was two-and-twentyyears old, that I would! I would have the world speak of me. I wouldn'tdawdle at apron-strings. I wouldn't curse my fortune--I'd make it. I vowand declare I would!"
Now, for the first time, Harry began to wince at the words of his younglecturer.
"No negro on our estate is more a slave than I am, Hetty," he said,turning very red as he addressed her; "but then, Miss Lambert, we don'treproach the poor fellow for not being free. That isn't generous. Atleast, that isn't the way I understand honour. Perhaps with women it'sdifferent, or I may be wrong, and have no right to be hurt at a younggirl telling me what my faults are. Perhaps my faults are not myfaults--only my cursed luck. You have been talking ever so long aboutthis gentleman volunteering, and that man winning glory, and cracking uptheir courage as if I had none of my own. I suppose, for the matter ofthat, I'm as well provided as other gentlemen. I don't brag but I'm notafraid of Mr. Wolfe, nor of Sir John Armytage, nor of anybody else thatever I saw. How can I buy a commission when I've spent my last shilling,or ask my brother for more who has already halved with me? A gentlemanof my rank can't go a common soldier--else, by Jupiter, I would! And ifa ball finished me, I suppose Miss Hetty Lambert wouldn't be very sorry.It isn't kind, Hetty--I didn't think it of you."
"What is it I have said?" asks the young lady. "I have only said SirJohn Armytage has volunteered, and Mr. Wolfe has covered himself withhonour, and you begin to scold me! How can I help it if Mr. Wolfe isbrave and famous? Is that any reason you should be angry, pray?"
"I didn't say angry," said Harry, gravely. "I said I was hurt."
"Oh, indeed! I thought such a little creature as I am couldn't hurtanybody! I'm sure 'tis mighty complimentary to me to say that a younglady whose arm is no bigger than your little finger can hurt such agreat strong man as you!"
"I scarce thought you would try, Hetty," the young man said. You see,I'm not used to this kind of welcome in this house."
"What is it, my poor boy?" asks kind Mrs. Lambert, looking in atthe door at this juncture, and finding the youth with a very woeworncountenance.
"Oh, we have heard the story before, mamma!" says Hetty, hurriedly."Harry is making his old complaint of having nothing to do. And he isquite unhappy; and he is telling us so over and over again, that's all."
"So are you hungry over and over again, my dear! Is that a reason whyyour papa and I should leave off giving you dinner?" cries mamma, withsome emotion. "Will you stay and have ours, Harry? 'Tis just threeo'clock!" Harry agreed to stay, after a few faint negations. "My husbanddines abroad. We are but three women, so you will have a dull dinner,"remarks Mrs. Lambert.
"We shall have a gentleman to enliven us, mamma, I dare say!" says MadamPert, and then looked in mamma's face with that admirable gaze ofblank innocence which Madam Pert knows how to assume when she has beenspecially and successfully wicked.
When the dinner appeared. Miss Hetty came downstairs, and wasexceedingly chatty, lively, and entertaining. Theo did not know that anylittle difference had occurred (such, alas, my Christian friends,will happen in the most charming families), did not know, I say, thatanything had happened until Hetty's uncommon sprightliness andgaiety roused her suspicions. Hetty would start a dozen subjects ofconversation--the King of Prussia, and the news from America; the lastmasquerade, and the highwayman shot near Barnet; and when her sister,admiring this volubility, inquired the reason of it, with her eyes,--
"Oh, my dear, you need not nod and wink at me!" cries Hetty. "Mammaasked Harry on purpose to enliven us, and I am talking until he begins,just like the fiddles at the playhouse, you know, Theo! First thefiddles. Then the play. Pray begin, Harry!"
"Hester!" cries mamma.
"I merely asked Harry to entertain us. You said yourself, mother, thatwe were only three women, and the dinner would be dull for a gentleman;unless, indeed, he chose to be very lively."
"I'm not that on most days--and, Heaven knows, on this day less thanmost," says poor Harry.
"Why o
n this day less than another? Tuesday is as good a day to belively as Wednesday. The only day when we mustn't be lively is Sunday.Well, you know it is, ma'am! We mustn't sing, nor dance, nor do anythingon Sunday."
And in this naughty way the young woman went on for the rest of theevening, and was complimented by her mother and sister when poor Harrytook his leave. He was not ready of wit, and could not fling back thetaunts which Hetty cast against him. Nay, had he been able to retort, hewould have been silent. He was too generous to engage in that small war,and chose to take all Hester's sarcasms without an attempt to parryor evade them. Very likely the young lady watched and admired thatmagnanimity, while she tried it so cruelly. And after one of her fits ofill-behaviour, her parents and friends had not the least need to scoldher, as she candidly told them, because she suffered a great deal morethan they would ever have had her, and her conscience punished her agreat deal more severely than her kind elders would have thought ofdoing. I suppose she lies awake all that night, and tosses and tumblesin her bed. I suppose she wets her pillow with tears, and should notmind about her sobbing: unless it kept her sister awake; unless she wasunwell the next day, and the doctor had to be fetched; unless the wholefamily is to be put to discomfort; mother to choke over her dinner influrry and indignation; father to eat his roast-beef in silence and withbitter sauce; everybody to look at the door each time it opens, with avague hope that Harry is coming in. If Harry does not come, why at leastdoes not George come? thinks Miss Theo.
Some time in the course of the evening comes a billet from GeorgeWarrington, with a large nosegay of lilacs, per Mr. Gumbo. "'I send mybest duty and regards to Mrs. Lambert and the ladies,'" George says,"'and humbly beg to present to Miss Theo this nosegay of lilacs, whichshe says she loves in the early spring. You must not thank me for them,please, but the gardener of Bedford House, with whom I have made greatfriends by presenting him with some dried specimens of a Virginian plantwhich some ladies don't think as fragrant as lilacs.
"'I have been in the garden almost all the day. It is alive withsunshine and spring; and I have been composing two scenes of you knowwhat, and polishing the verses which the Page sings in the fourth act,under Sybilla's window, which she cannot hear, poor thing, because shehas just had her head off.'"
"Provoking! I wish he would not always sneer and laugh! The verses arebeautiful," says Theo.
"You really think so, my dear? How very odd!" remarks papa.
Little Het looks up from her dismal corner with a faint smile of humour.Theo's secret is a secret for nobody in the house, it seems. Can anyyoung people guess what it is? Our young lady continues to read:
"'Spencer has asked the famous Mr. Johnson to breakfast to-morrow,who condescends to hear the play, and who won't, I hope, be too angrybecause my heroine undergoes the fate of his in Irene. I have heard hecame up to London himself as a young man with only his tragedy in hiswallet. Shall I ever be able to get mine played? Can you fancy thecatcall music beginning, and the pit hissing at that perilous part ofthe fourth act, where my executioner comes out from the closet with hisgreat sword, at the awful moment when he is called upon to amputate?They say Mr. Fielding, when the pit hissed at a part of one of hispieces, about which Mr. Garrick had warned him, said, 'Hang them, theyhave found it out, have they?' and finished his punch in tranquillity.I suppose his wife was not in the boxes. There are some women to whom Iwould be very unwilling to give pain, and there are some to whom I wouldgive the best I have.'"
"Whom can he mean? The letter is to you, my dear. I protest he is makinglove to your mother before my face!" cries papa to Hetty, who only givesa little sigh, puts her hand in her father's hand, and then withdrawsit.
"'To whom I would give the best I have. To-day it is only a bunch oflilacs. To-morrow it may be what?--a branch of rue--a sprig of bays,perhaps--anything, so it be my best and my all.
"'I have had a fine long day, and all to myself. What do you think ofHarry playing truant?'" (Here we may imagine, what they call in France,or what they used to call, when men dared to speak or citizens to hear,sensation dans l'auditoire.)
"'I suppose Carpezan wearied the poor fellow's existence out. Certain itis he has been miserable for weeks past; and a change of air and scenemay do him good. This morning, quite early, he came to my room, and toldme he had taken a seat in the Portsmouth machine, and proposed to go tothe Isle of Wight, to the army there.'"
The army! Hetty looks very pale at this announcement, and her mothercontinues:
"'And a little portion of it, namely, the thirty-second regiment, iscommanded by Lieutenant-Colonel Richmond Webb--the nephew of the famousold General under whom my grandfather Esmond served in the great wars ofMarlborough. Mr. Webb met us at our uncle's, accosting us very politely,and giving us an invitation to visit him at his regiment. Let my poorbrother go and listen to his darling music of fife and drum! He bade metell the ladies that they should hear from him. I kiss their hands, andgo to dress for dinner, at the Star and Garter, in Pall Mall. We are tohave Mr. Soame Jenyns, Mr. Cambridge, Mr. Walpole, possibly, if he isnot too fine to dine in a tavern; a young Irishman, a Mr. Bourke, whothey say is a wonder of eloquence and learning--in fine, all the wits ofMr. Dodsley's shop. Quick, Gumbo, a coach, and my French grey suit! Andif gentlemen ask me, 'Who gave you that sprig of lilac you wear on yourheart-side?' I shall call a bumper, and give Lilac for a toast.'"
I fear there is no more rest for Hetty on this night than on theprevious one, when she had behaved so mutinously to poor HarryWarrington. Some secret resolution must have inspired that gentleman,for, after leaving Mr. Lambert's table, he paced the streets fora while, and appeared at a late hour in the evening at Madame deBernstein's house in Clarges Street. Her ladyship's health had beensomewhat ailing of late, so that even her favourite routs were deniedher, and she was sitting over a quiet game of ecarte, with a divine ofwhom our last news were from a lock-up house hard by that in which HarryWarrington had been himself confined. George, at Harry's request, hadpaid the little debt under which Mr. Sampson had suffered temporarily.He had been at his living for a year. He may have paid and contractedever so many debts, have been in and out of jail many times since we sawhim. For some time past he had been back in London stout and heartyas usual, and ready for any invitation to cards or claret. Madame deBernstein did not care to have her game interrupted by her nephew, whoseconversation had little interest now for the fickle old woman. Next tothe very young, I suppose the very old are the most selfish. Alas, theheart hardens as the blood ceases to run. The cold snow strikes downfrom the head, and checks the glow of feeling. Who wants to surviveinto old age after abdicating all his faculties one by one, and be sansteeth, sans eyes, sans memory, sans hope, sans sympathy? How fared itwith those patriarchs of old who lived for their nine centuries, andwhen were life's conditions so changed that, after threescore years andten, it became but a vexation and a burden?
Getting no reply but Yes and No to his brief speeches, poor Harry sat awhile on a couch opposite his aunt, who shrugged her shoulders, had herback to her nephew, and continued her game with the chaplain. Sampsonsat opposite Mr. Warrington, and could see that something disturbed him.His face was very pale, and his countenance disturbed and full of gloom."Something has happened to him, ma'am," he whispered to the Baroness.
"Bah!" She shrugged her shoulders again, and continued to deal hercards. "What is the matter with you, sir," she at last said, at a pausein the game, "that you have such a dismal countenance? Chaplain, thatlast game makes us even, I think!"
Harry got up from his place. "I am going on a journey: I am come to bidyou good-bye, aunt," he said, in a very tragical voice.
"On a journey! Are you going home to America? I mark the king, Chaplain,and play him."
No, Harry said: he was not going to America yet going to the Isle ofWight for the present.
"Indeed!--a lovely spot!" says the Baroness. "Bon jour, mon ami, et bonvoyage!" And she kissed a hand to her nephew.
"I mayn't come back for some tim
e, aunt," he groaned out.
"Indeed! We shall be inconsolable without you! Unless you have a spade,Mr. Sampson, the game is mine. Good-bye, my child! No more about yourjourney at present: tell us about it when you come back!" And she gailybade him farewell. He looked for a moment piteously at her, and wasgone.
"Something grave has happened, madam," says the chaplain.
"Oh! The boy is always getting into scrapes! I suppose he has beenfalling in love with one of those country girls--what are their names,Lamberts?--with whom he is ever dawdling about. He has been doing nogood here for some time. I am disappointed in him, really quite grievedabout him--I will take two cards, if you please--again?--quite grieved.What do you think they say of his cousin--the Miss Warrington who madeeyes at him when she thought he was a prize--they say the King hasremarked her, and the Yarmouth is creving with rage. He, be!--thosemethodistical Warringtons! They are not a bit less worldly thantheir neighbours; and, old as he is, if the Grand Seignior throws hispocket-handkerchief, they will jump to catch it!"
"Ah, madam; how your ladyship knows the world!" sighs the chaplain. "Ipropose, if you please!"
"I have lived long enough in it, Mr. Sampson, to know something ofit. 'Tis sadly selfish, my dear sir, sadly selfish; and everybody isstruggling to pass his neighbour! No, I can't give you any more cards.You haven't the king? I play queen, knave, and a ten,--a sadly selfishworld, indeed. And here comes my chocolate!"
The more immediate interest of the cards entirely absorbs the old woman.The door shuts out her nephew and his cares. Under his hat, he bearsthem into the street, and paces the dark town for a while.
"Good God!" he thinks, "what a miserable fellow I am, and what aspendthrift of my life I have been! I sit silent with George and hisfriends. I am not clever and witty as he is. I am only a burthen tohim; and, if I would help him ever so much, don't know how. My dear AuntLambert's kindness never tires, but I begin to be ashamed of trying it.Why, even Hetty can't help turning on me; and when she tells me I amidle and should be doing something, ought I to be angry? The rest haveleft me. There's my cousins and uncle and my lady my aunt, they haveshown me the cold shoulder this long time. They didn't even ask me toNorfolk when they went down to the country, and offer me so much asa day's partridge-shooting. I can't go to Castlewood--after what hashappened; I should break that scoundrel William's bones; and, faith, amwell out of the place altogether."
He laughs a fierce laugh as he recalls his adventures since he has beenin Europe. Money, friends, pleasure, all have passed away, and he feelsthe past like a dream. He strolls into White's Chocolate-House, wherethe waiters have scarce seen him for a year. The parliament is up.Gentlemen are away; there is not even any play going on:--not that hewould join it, if there were.
He has but a few pieces in his pocket; George's drawer is open, and hemay take what money he likes thence; but very, very sparingly will heavail himself of his brother's repeated invitation. He sits and drinkshis glass in moody silence. Two or three officers of the Guards enterfrom St. James's. He knew them in former days, and the young men, whohave been already dining and drinking on guard, insist on more drink atthe club. The other battalion of their regiment is at Winchester: it isgoing on this great expedition, no one knows whither, which everybodyis talking about. Cursed fate that they do not belong to the otherbattalion; and must stay and do duty in London and at Kensington! Thereis Webb, who was of their regiment: he did well to exchange his companyin the Coldstreams for the lieutenant-colonelcy of the thirty-second.He will be of the expedition. Why, everybody is going; and the younggentlemen mention a score of names of men of the first birth and fashionwho have volunteered. "It ain't Hanoverians this time, commanded by thebig Prince," says one young gentleman (whose relatives may have beenTories forty years ago)--"it's Englishmen, with the Guards at the headof 'em, and a Marlborough for a leader! Will the Frenchmen ever standagainst them? No, by George, they are irresistible." And a fresh bowl iscalled, and loud toasts are drunk to the success of the expedition.
Mr. Warrington, who is a cup too low, the young Guardsmen say, walksaway when they are not steady enough to be able to follow him, thinksover the matter on his way to his lodgings, and lies thinking of it allthrough the night.
"What is it, my boy?" asks George Warrington of his brother, when thelatter enters his chamber very early on a blushing May morning.
"I want a little money out of the drawer," says Harry, looking at hisbrother. "I am sick and tired of London."
"Good heavens! Can anybody be tired of London?" George asks, who hasreasons for thinking it the most delightful place in the world.
"I am for one. I am sick and ill," says Harry.
"You and Hetty have been quarrelling?"
"She don't care a penny-piece about me, nor I for her neither," saysHarry, nodding his head. "But I am ill, and a little country air willdo me good," and he mentions how he thinks of going to visit Mr. Webb inthe Isle of Wight, and how a Portsmouth coach starts from Holborn.
"There's the till, Harry," says George, pointing from his bed. "Put yourhand in, and take what you will. What a lovely morning, and how freshthe Bedford House garden looks!"
"God bless you, brother!" Harry says.
"Have a good time, Harry!" and down goes George's head on the pillowagain, and he takes his pencil and notebook from under his bolster,and falls to polishing his verses, as Harry, with his cloak over hisshoulder and a little valise in his hand, walks to the inn in Holbornwhence the Portsmouth machine starts.
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