The Virginians

by William Makepeace Thackeray

  CHAPTER LXXXIII. Troubles and Consolations

  In our early days at home, when Harry and I used to be so undutiful toour tutor, who would have thought that Mr. Esmond Warrington of Virginiawould turn Bearleader himself? My mother (when we came together again)never could be got to speak directly of this period of my life; butwould allude to it as "that terrible time, my love, which I can't bearto think of," "those dreadful years when there was difference betweenus," and so forth; and though my pupil, a worthy and grateful man, sentme out to Jamestown several barrels of that liquor by which his greatfortune was made, Madam Esmond spoke of him as "your friend in England,""your wealthy Lambeth friend," etc., but never by his name; nor did sheever taste a drop of his beer. We brew our own too at Warrington Manor,but our good Mr. Foker never fails to ship to Ipswich every year acouple of butts of his entire. His son is a young sprig of fashion, andhas married an earl's daughter; the father is a very worthy and kindgentleman, and it is to the luck of making his acquaintance that I owethe receipt of some of the most welcome guineas that ever I received inmy life.

  It was not so much the sum, as the occupation and hope given me by theoffice of Governor, which I took on myself, which were then so preciousto me. Mr. F.'s Brewery (the site has since been changed) then stoodnear to Pedlar's Acre in Lambeth and the surgeon who attended my wife inher confinement, likewise took care of the wealthy brewer's family.He was a Bavarian, originally named Voelker. Mr. Lance, the surgeon, Isuppose, made him acquainted with my name and history. The worthy doctorwould smoke many a pipe of Virginia in my garden, and had conceived anattachment for me and my family. He brought his patron to my house; andwhen Mr. F. found that I had a smattering of his language, and couldsing "Prinz Eugen the noble Ritter" (a song that my grandfather hadbrought home from the Marlborough wars), the German conceived a greatfriendship for me: his lady put her chair and her chariot at Mrs.Warrington's service: his little daughter took a prodigious fancy to ourbaby (and to do him justice, the Captain, who is as ugly a fellow nowas ever wore a queue, was beautiful as an infant) [The very image of theSquire at 30, everybody says so. M. W. (Note in the MS.)]: and his sonand heir, Master Foker, being much maltreated at Westminster Schoolbecause of his father's profession of brewer, the parents asked ifI would take charge of him; and paid me a not insufficient sum forsuperintending his education.

  Mr. F. was a shrewd man of business, and as he and his family reallyinterested themselves in me and mine, I laid all my pecuniary affairspretty unreservedly before him; and my statement, he was pleased to say,augmented the respect and regard which he felt for me. He laughed atour stories of the aid which my noble relatives had given me--myaunt's coverlid, my Lady Castlewood's mouldy jelly, Lady Warrington'scontemptuous treatment of us. But he wept many tears over the story oflittle Miles's moidore; and as for Sampson and Hagan, "I wow," says he,"dey shall have so much beer als ever dey can drink." He sent his wifeto call upon Lady Maria, and treated her with the utmost respect andobsequiousness, whenever she came to visit him. It was with Mr. Fokerthat Lady Maria stayed when Hagan went to Dublin to complete his collegeterms; and the good brewer's purse also ministered to our friend's wantsand supplied his outfit.

  When Mr. Foker came fully to know my own affairs and position, he waspleased to speak of me with terms of enthusiasm, and as if my conductshowed some extraordinary virtue. I have said how my mother saved moneyfor Harry, and how the two were in my debt. But when Harry spent money,he spent it fancying it to be his; Madam Esmond never could be made tounderstand she was dealing hardly with me--the money was paid and gone,and there was an end of it. Now, at the end of '62, I remember Harrysent over a considerable remittance for the purchase of his promotion,begging me at the same time to remember that he was in my debt, and todraw on his agents if I had any need. He did not know how great the needwas, or how my little capital had been swallowed.

  Well, to take my brother's money would delay his promotion, and Inaturally did not draw on him, though I own I was tempted; nor, knowingmy dear General Lambert's small means, did I care to impoverish him byasking for supplies. These simple acts of forbearance my worthy brewermust choose to consider as instances of exalted virtue. And what doesmy gentleman do but write privately to my brother in America, lauding meand my wife as the most admirable of human beings, and call uponMadame de Bernstein, who never told me of his visit indeed, but who,I perceived, about this time treated us with singular respect andgentleness, that surprised me in one whom I could not but consider asselfish and worldly. In after days I remember asking him how he hadgained admission to the Baroness? He laughed: "De Baroness!" says he."I knew de Baron when he was a walet at Munich, and I was abrewer-apprentice." I think our family had best not be too curious aboutour uncle the Baron.

  Thus, the part of my life which ought to have been most melancholy wasin truth made pleasant by many friends, happy circumstances, and strokesof lucky fortune. The bear I led was a docile little cub, and dancedto my piping very readily. Better to lead him about, than to hang roundbooksellers' doors, or wait the pleasure or caprice of managers! My wifeand I, during our exile, as we may call it, spent very many pleasantevenings with these kind friends and benefactors. Nor were we withoutintellectual enjoyments; Mrs. Foker and Mrs. Warrington sang finelytogether; and sometimes when I was in the mood, I read my own play ofPocahontas, to this friendly audience, in a manner better than Hagan'sown, Mr. Foker was pleased to say.

  After that little escapade of Miles Warrington, junior, I saw nothingof him, and heard of my paternal relatives but rarely. Sir Miles wasassiduous at court (as I believe he would have been at Nero's), andI laughed one day when Mr. Foker told me that he had heard on 'Change"that they were going to make my uncle a Beer."--"A Beer?" says I inwonder. "Can't you understand de vort, ven I say it?" says the testyold gentleman. "Vell, veil, a Lort!" Sir, Miles indeed was the obedienthumble servant of the Minister, whoever he might be. I am surprised hedid not speak English with a Scotch accent during the first favourite'sbrief reign. I saw him and his wife coming from court, when Mrs.Claypool was presented to her Majesty on her marriage. I had my littleboy on my shoulder. My uncle and aunt stared resolutely at me from theirgilt coach window. The footmen looked blank over their nosegays. Had Iworn the Fairy's cap and been invisible, my father's brother could nothave passed me with less notice.

  We did not avail ourselves much, or often, of that queer invitationof Lady Castlewood, to go and drink tea and sup with her ladyshipwhen there was no other company. Old Van den Bosch, however shrewd hisintellect, and great his skill in making a fortune, was not amusingin conversation, except to his daughter, who talked household and Citymatters, bulling and bearing, raising and selling farming-stock, andso forth, quite as keenly and shrewdly as her father. Nor was my LordCastlewood often at home, or much missed by his wife when absent, orvery much at ease in the old father's company. The Countess told allthis to my wife in her simple way. "Guess," says she, "my lord andfather don't pull well together nohow. Guess my lord is always wantingmoney, and father keeps the key of the box and quite right, too. If hecould have the fingering of all our money, my lord would soon makeaway with it, and then what's to become of our noble family? We payeverything, my dear (except play-debts, and them we won't have nohow).We pay cooks, horses, wine-merchants, tailors, and everybody--and luckyfor them too--reckon my lord wouldn't pay 'em! And we always take carethat he has a guinea in his pocket, and goes out like a real nobleman.What that man do owe to us: what he did before we come--graciousgoodness only knows! Me and father does our best to make himrespectable: but it's no easy job, my dear. Law! he'd melt the plate,only father keeps the key of the strong-room; and when we go toCastlewood, my father travels with me, and papa is armed too, as well asthe people."

  "Gracious heavens!" cries my wife, "your ladyship does not mean to sayyou suspect your own husband of a desire to----"

  "To what?--Oh no, nothing, of course! And I would trust our brother Willwith untold money, wouldn't I? As much as I'd trust the cat with
thecream-pan! I tell you, my dear, it's not all pleasure being a woman ofrank and fashion: and if I have bought a countess's coronet, I have paida good price for it--that I have!"

  And so had my Lord Castlewood paid a large price for having his estatefreed from incumbrances, his houses and stables furnished, and hisdebts discharged. He was the slave of the little wife and her father.No wonder the old man's society was not pleasant to the poor victim, andthat he gladly slunk away from his own fine house, to feast at the clubwhen he had money, or at least to any society save that which he foundat home. To lead a bear, as I did, was no very pleasant business, tobe sure: to wait in a bookseller's anteroom until it should please hishonour to finish his dinner and give me audience, was sometimes a hardtask for a man of my name and with my pride; but would I have exchangedmy poverty against Castlewood's ignominy, or preferred his miserabledependence to my own? At least I earned my wage, such as it was; and noman can say that I ever flattered my patrons, or was servile to them; orindeed, in my dealings with them, was otherwise than sulky, overbearing,and, in a word, intolerable.

  Now there was a certain person with whom Fate had thrown me into alife-partnership, who bore her poverty with such a smiling sweetnessand easy grace, that niggard Fortune relented before her, and, likesome savage Ogre in the fairy tales, melted at the constant goodness andcheerfulness of that uncomplaining, artless, innocent creature. Howeverpoor she was, all who knew her saw that here was a fine lady; and thelittle tradesmen and humble folks round about us treated her with asmuch respect as the richest of our neighbours. "I think, my dear," saysgood-natured Mrs. Foker, when they rode out in the latter's chariot,"you look like the mistress of the carriage, and I only as your maid."Our landladies adored her; the tradesfolk executed her little ordersas eagerly as if a duchess gave them, or they were to make a fortuneby waiting on her. I have thought often of the lady in Comus, and how,through all the rout and rabble, she moves, entirely serene and pure.

  Several times, as often as we chose indeed, the good-natured parents ofmy young bear lent us their chariot to drive abroad or to call on thefew friends we had. If I must tell the truth, we drove once to theProtestant Hero and had a syllabub in the garden there: and thehostess would insist upon calling my wife her ladyship during the wholeafternoon. We also visited Mr. Johnson, and took tea with him (theingenious Mr. Goldsmith was of the company); the Doctor waited upon mywife to her coach. But our most frequent visits were to Aunt Bernstein,and I promise you I was not at all jealous because my aunt presentlyprofessed to have a wonderful liking for Theo.

  This liking grew so that she would have her most days in the week, or tostay altogether with her, and thought that Theo's child and husbandwere only plagues to be sure, and hated us in the most amusing wayfor keeping her favourite from her. Not that my wife was unworthyof anybody's favour; but her many forced absences, and the constantdifficulty of intercourse with her, raised my aunt's liking for a whileto a sort of passion. She poured in notes like love-letters; and herpeople were ever about our kitchen. If my wife did not go to her, shewrote heartrending appeals, and scolded me severely when I saw her; and,the child being ill once (it hath pleased Fate to spare our Captain tobe a prodigious trouble to us, and a wholesome trial for our tempers),Madame Bernstein came three days running to Lambeth; vowed there wasnothing the matter with the baby;--nothing at all;--and that we onlypretended his illness, in order to vex her.

  The reigning Countess of Castlewood was just as easy and affable withher old aunt, as with other folks great and small. "What air you allabout, scraping and bowing to that old woman, I can't tell, noways!" herladyship would say. "She a fine lady! Nonsense! She ain't no more finethan any other lady: and I guess I'm as good as any of 'em with theirhigh heels and their grand airs! She a beauty once! Take away her wig,and her rouge, and her teeth; and what becomes of your beauty, I'd liketo know? Guess you'd put it all in a bandbox, and there would be nothingleft but a shrivelled old woman!" And indeed the little homilist onlyspoke too truly. All beauty must at last come to this complexion; anddecay, either underground or on the tree. Here was old age, I fear,without reverence. Here were grey hairs, that were hidden or painted.The world was still here, and she tottering on it, and clinging to itwith her crutch. For fourscore years she had moved on it, and eatenof the tree, forbidden and permitted. She had had beauty, pleasure,flattery: but what secret rages, disappointments, defeats, humiliations!what thorns under the roses! what stinging bees in the fruit! "You arenot a beauty, my dear," she would say to my wife: "and may thank yourstars that you are not." (If she contradicted herself in her talk, Isuppose the rest of us occasionally do the like.) "Don't tell me thatyour husband is pleased with your face, and you want no one else'sadmiration! We all do. Every woman would rather be beautiful than beanything else in the world--ever so rich, or ever so good, or have allthe gifts of the fairies! Look at that picture, though I know 'tis but abad one, and that stupid vapouring Kneller could not paint my eyes, normy hair, nor my complexion. What a shape I had then--and look at me now,and this wrinkled old neck! Why have we such a short time of our beauty?I remember Mademoiselle de l'Enclos at a much greater age than mine,quite fresh and well-conserved. We can't hide our ages. They are wrotein Mr. Collins's books for us. I was born in the last year of KingJames's reign. I am not old yet. I am but seventy-six. But what a wreck,my dear: and isn't it cruel that our time should be so short?"

  Here my wife has to state the incontrovertible proposition, that thetime of all of us is short here below.

  "Ha!" cries the Baroness. "Did not Adam live near a thousand years, andwas not Eve beautiful all the time? I used to perplex Mr. Tusher withthat--poor creature! What have we done since, that our lives are so muchlessened, I say?"

  "Has your life been so happy that you would prolong it ever so muchmore?" asks the Baroness's auditor. "Have you, who love wit, never readDean Swift's famous description of the deathless people in Gulliver? Mypapa and my husband say 'tis one of the finest and most awful sermonsever wrote. It were better not to live at all, than to live withoutlove; and I'm sure," says my wife, putting her handkerchief to her eyes,"should anything happen to my dearest George, I would wish to go toHeaven that moment."

  "Who loves me in Heaven? I am quite alone, child--that is why I hadrather stay here," says the Baroness, in a frightened and rather piteoustone. "You are kind to me, God bless your sweet face! Though I scold,and have a frightful temper, my servants will do anything to make mecomfortable, and get up at any hour of the night, and never say a crossword in answer. I like my cards still. Indeed, life would be a blankwithout 'em. Almost everything is gone except that. I can't eat mydinner now, since I lost those last two teeth. Everything goes away fromus in old age. But I still have my cards--thank Heaven, I still have mycards!" And here she would begin to doze: waking up, however, if my wifestirred or rose, and imagining that Theo was about to leave her. "Don'tgo away, I can't bear to be alone. I don't want you to talk. But I liketo see your face, my dear! It is much pleasanter than that horrid oldBrett's, that I have had scowling about my bedroom these ever so longyears."

  "Well, Baroness! still at your cribbage?" (We may fancy a noble Countessinterrupting a game at cards between Theo and Aunt Bernstein.) "Me andmy Lord Esmond have come to see you! Go and shake hands with grandaunt,Esmond! and tell her ladyship that your lordship's a good boy!"

  "My lordship's a good boy," says the child. (Madam Theo used to actthese scenes for me in a very lively way.)

  "And if he is, I guess he don't take after his father," shrieks out LadyCastlewood. She chose to fancy that Aunt Bernstein was deaf, and alwaysbawled at the old lady.

  "Your ladyship chose my nephew for better or for worse," says AuntBernstein, who was now always very much flurried in the presence of theyoung Countess.

  "But he is a precious deal worse than ever I thought he was. I amspeaking of your Pa, Ezzy. If it wasn't for your mother, my son, Lordknows what would become of you! We are a-going to see his little RoyalHighness. Sorry to see you
r ladyship not looking quite so well to-day.We can't always remain young and law! how we do change as we grow old!Go up and kiss that lady, Ezzy. She has got a little boy, too. Why,bless us! have you got the child downstairs?" Indeed, Master Miles wasdown below, for special reasons accompanying his mother on her visits toAunt Bernstein sometimes; and our aunt desired the mother's company somuch, that she was actually fain to put up with the child. "So you havegot the child here? Oh, you slyboots!" says the Countess. "Guessyou come after the old lady's money! Law bless you! Don't look sofrightened. She can't hear a single word I say. Come, Ezzy. Good-bye,aunt!" And my lady Countess rustles out of the room.

  Did Aunt Bernstein hear her or not? Where was the wit for which the oldlady had been long famous? and was that fire put out, as well as thebrilliancy of her eyes? With other people--she was still ready enough,and unsparing of her sarcasms. When the Dowager of Castlewood and LadyFanny visited her (these exalted ladies treated my wife with perfectindifference and charming good breeding),--the Baroness, in theirsociety, was stately, easy, and even commanding. She would mischievouslycaress Mrs. Warrington before them; in her absence, vaunt my wife's goodbreeding; say that her nephew had made a foolish match, perhaps, butthat I certainly had taken a charming wife. "In a word, I praise you soto them, my dear," says she, "that I think they would like to tear youreyes out." But, before the little American, 'tis certain that she wasuneasy and trembled. She was so afraid, that she actually did not dareto deny her door; and, the Countess's back turned, did not even abuseher. However much they might dislike her, my ladies did not tear outTheo's eyes. Once--they drove to our cottage at Lambeth, where my wifehappened to be sitting at the open window, holding her child on herknee, and in full view of her visitors. A gigantic footman struttedthrough our little garden, and delivered their ladyships' visitingtickets at our door. Their hatred hurt us no more than their visitpleased us. When next we had the loan of our friend the Brewer'scarriage Mrs. Warrington drove to Kensington, and Gumbo handed over tothe giant our cards in return for those which his noble mistresses hadbestowed on us.

  The Baroness had a coach, but seldom thought of giving it to us: andwould let Theo and her maid and baby start from Clarges Street in therain, with a faint excuse that she was afraid to ask her coachmanto take his horses out. But, twice on her return home, my wife wasfrightened by rude fellows on the other side of Westminster Bridge; andI fairly told my aunt that I should forbid Mrs. Warrington to go to her,unless she could be brought home in safety; so grumbling Jehu had todrive his horses through the darkness. He grumbled at my shillings: hedid not know how few I had. Our poverty wore a pretty decent face. Myrelatives never thought of relieving it, nor I of complaining beforethem. I don't know how Sampson got a windfall of guineas; but, Iremember, he brought me six once; and they were more welcome than anymoney I ever had in my life. He had been looking into Mr. Miles's crib,as the child lay asleep; and, when the parson went away, I found themoney in the baby's little rosy hand. Yes, Love is best of all. Ihave many such benefactions registered in my heart--precious welcomefountains springing up in desert places, kind, friendly lights cheeringour despondency and gloom.

  This worthy divine was willing enough to give as much of his company asshe chose to Madame de Bernstein, whether for cards or theology. Havingknown her ladyship for many years now, Sampson could see, and averredto us, that she was breaking fast; and as he spoke of her evidentlyincreasing infirmities, and of the probability of their fataltermination, Mr. S. would discourse to us in a very feeling manner ofthe necessity for preparing for a future world; of the vanities ofthis, and of the hope that in another there might be happiness for allrepentant sinners.

  "I have been a sinner for one," says the chaplain, bowing his head. "Godknoweth, and I pray Him to pardon me. I fear, sir, your aunt, the LadyBaroness, is not in such a state of mind as will fit her very wellfor the change which is imminent. I am but a poor weak wretch, and noprisoner in Newgate could confess that more humbly and heartily. Once ortwice of late, I have sought to speak on this matter with her ladyship,but she has received me very roughly. 'Parson,' says she, 'if you comefor cards, 'tis mighty well, but I will thank you to spare me yoursermons.' What can I do, sir? I have called more than once of late, andMr. Case hath told me his lady was unable to see me." In fact MadameBernstein told my wife, whom she never refused, as I said, that the poorchaplain's ton was unendurable, and as for his theology, "Haven't I beena Bishop's wife?" says she, "and do I want this creature to teach me?"

  The old lady was as impatient of doctors as of divines; pretending thatmy wife was ailing, and that it was more convenient for our good DoctorHeberden to visit her in Clarges Street than to travel all the way toour Lambeth lodgings, we got Dr. H. to see Theo at our aunt's house, andprayed him if possible to offer his advice to the Baroness: we made Mrs.Brett, her woman, describe her ailments, and the doctor confirmed ouropinion that they were most serious, and might speedily end. She wouldrally briskly enough of some evenings, and entertain a little company;but of late she scarcely went abroad at all. A somnolence, which we hadremarked in her, was attributable in part to opiates which she was inthe habit of taking; and she used these narcotics to smother habitualpain. One night, as we two sat with her (Mr. Miles was weaned by thistime, and his mother could leave him to the charge of our faithfulMolly), she fell asleep over her cards. We hushed the servants who cameto lay out the supper-table (she would always have this luxurious, norcould any injunction of ours or the Doctor's teach her abstinence), andwe sat a while as we had often done before, waiting in silence till sheshould arouse from her doze.

  When she awoke, she looked fixedly at me for a while, fumbled with thecards, and dropt them again in her lap, and said, "Henry, have I beenlong asleep?" I thought at first that it was for my brother she mistookme; but she went on quickly, and with eyes fixed as upon some very fardistant object, and said, "My dear, 'tis of no use, I am not good enoughfor you. I love cards, and play, and court; and oh, Harry, you don'tknow all!" Here her voice changed, and she flung her head up. "Hisfather married Anne Hyde, and sure the Esmond blood is as good as anythat's not royal. Mamma, you must please to treat me with more respect.Vos sermons me fatiguent; entendez-vous?--faites place a mon Altesseroyale: mesdames, me connaissez-vous? je suis la----" Here she broke outinto frightful hysterical shrieks and laughter, and as we ran up to her,alarmed, "Oui, Henri," she says, "il a jure de m'epouser et les princestiennent parole--n'est-ce pas? O oui! ils tiennent parole; si non, tu letueras, cousin; tu le--ah! que je suis folle!" And the pitiful shrieksand laughter recommenced. Ere her frightened people had come up to hersummons, the poor thing had passed out of this mood into another; butalways labouring under the same delusion--that I was the Henry of pasttimes, who had loved her and had been forsaken by her, whose bones werelying far away by the banks of the Potomac.

  My wife and the women put the poor lady to bed as I ran myself formedical aid. She rambled, still talking wildly, through the night, withher nurses and the surgeon sitting by her. Then she fell into a sleep,brought on by more opiate. When she awoke, her mind did not actuallywander; but her speech was changed, and one arm and side were paralysed.

  'Tis needless to relate the progress and termination of her malady, orwatch that expiring flame of life as it gasps and flickers. Her senseswould remain with her for a while (and then she was never satisfiedunless Theo was by her bedside), or again her mind would wander, and thepoor decrepit creature, lying upon her bed, would imagine herself youngagain, and speak incoherently of the scenes and incidents of her earlydays. Then she would address me as Henry again, and call upon me torevenge some insult or slight, of which (whatever my suspicions mightbe) the only record lay in her insane memory. "They have always beenso," she would murmur: "they never loved man or woman but they forsookthem. Je me vengerai, O oui, je me vengerai! I know them all: I knowthem all: and I will go to my Lord Stair with the list. Don't tellme! His religion can't be the right one. I will go back to my mother'sthough she does not love me. She
never did. Why don't you, mother? Isit because I am too wicked? Ah! Pitie, pitie. O mon pere! I will makemy confession"--and here the unhappy paralysed lady made as if she wouldmove in her bed.

  Let us draw the curtain round it. I think with awe still, of those rapidwords, uttered in the shadow of the canopy, as my pallid wife sits byher, her Prayer-book on her knee; as the attendants move to and fronoiselessly; as the clock ticks without, and strikes the fleeting hours;as the sun falls upon the Kneller picture of Beatrix in her beauty, withthe blushing cheeks, the smiling lips, the waving auburn tresses, andthe eyes which seem to look towards the dim figure moaning in the bed.I could not for a while understand why our aunt's attendants were soanxious that we should quit it. But towards evening, a servant stolein, and whispered her woman; and then Brett, looking rather disturbed,begged us to go downstairs, as the--as the Doctor was come to visit theBaroness. I did not tell my wife, at the time, who "the Doctor" was; butas the gentleman slid by us, and passed upstairs, I saw at once that hewas a Catholic ecclesiastic. When Theo next saw our poor lady, shewas speechless; she never recognised any one about her, and so passedunconsciously out of life. During her illness her relatives had calledassiduously enough, though she would see none of them save us. But whenshe was gone, and we descended to the lower rooms after all was over, wefound Castlewood with his white face, and my lady from Kensington, andMr. Will already assembled in the parlour. They looked greedily at us aswe appeared. They were hungry for the prey.

  When our aunt's will was opened, we found it dated five years back, andeverything she had was left to her dear nephew, Henry Esmond Warrington,of Castlewood, in Virginia, "in affectionate love and remembrance of thename which he bore." The property was not great. Her revenue had beenderived from pensions from the Crown as it appeared (for what servicesI cannot say), but the pension of course died with her, and there wereonly a few hundred pounds, besides jewels, trinkets, and the furnitureof the house in Clarges Street, of which all London came to the sale.Mr. Walpole bid for her portrait, but I made free with Harry's money sofar as to buy the picture in: and it now hangs over the mantelpiece ofthe chamber in which I write. What with jewels, laces, trinkets, and oldchina which she had gathered--Harry became possessed of more than fourthousand pounds by his aunt's legacy. I made so free as to lay my handupon a hundred, which came, just as my stock was reduced to twentypounds; and I procured bills for the remainder, which I forwarded toCaptain Henry Esmond in Virginia. Nor should I have scrupled to takemore (for my brother was indebted to me in a much greater sum), but hewrote me there was another wonderful opportunity for buying an estateand negroes in our neighbourhood at home; and Theo and I were onlytoo glad to forgo our little claim, so as to establish our brother'sfortune. As to mine, poor Harry at this time did not know the state ofit. My mother had never informed him that she had ceased remitting tome. She helped him with a considerable sum, the result of her savings,for the purchase of his new estate; and Theo and I were most heartilythankful at his prosperity.

  And how strange ours was! By what curious good fortune, as our pursewas emptied, was it filled again! I had actually come to the end of ourstock, when poor Sampson brought me his six pieces--and with these I wasenabled to carry on, until my half-year's salary, as young Mr. Foker'sGovernor, was due: then Harry's hundred, on which I laid main basse,helped us over three months (we were behindhand with our rent, or themoney would have lasted six good weeks longer): and when this was prettynear expended, what should arrive but a bill of exchange for a couple ofhundred pounds from Jamaica, with ten thousand blessings, from the dearfriends there, and fond scolding from the General that we had notsooner told him of our necessity--of which he had only heard through ourfriend, Mr. Foker, who spoke in such terms of Theo and myself as to makeour parents more than ever proud of their children. Was my quarrel withmy mother irreparable? Let me go to Jamaica. There was plenty there forall, and employment which his Excellency as Governor would immediatelyprocure for me. "Come to us!" writes Hetty. "Come to us!" writes AuntLambert. "Have my children been suffering poverty, and we rolling inour Excellency's coach, with guards to turn out whenever we pass? HasCharley been home to you for ever so many holidays, from the Chartreux,and had ever so many of my poor George's half-crowns in his pocket,I dare say?" (this was indeed the truth, for where was he to go forholidays but to his sister? and was there any use in telling the childhow scarce half-crowns were with us?). "And you always treating him withsuch goodness, as his letters tell me, which are brimful of love forGeorge and little Miles! Oh, how we long to see Miles!" wrote Hetty andher mother; "and as for his godfather" (writes Het), "who has been goodto my dearest and her child, I promise him a kiss whenever I see him!"

  Our young benefactor was never to hear of our family's love andgratitude to him. That glimpse of his bright face over the railingsbefore our house at Lambeth, as he rode away on his little horse, wasthe last we ever were to have of him. At Christmas a basket comes to us,containing a great turkey, and three brace of partridges, with acard, and "shot by M. W." wrote on one of them. And on receipt of thispresent, we wrote to thank the child and gave him our sister's message.

  To this letter, there came a reply from Lady Warrington, who said shewas bound to inform me, that in visiting me her child had been guiltyof disobedience, and that she learned his visit to me now for thefirst time. Knowing my views regarding duty to my parents (which I hadexemplified in my marriage), she could not wish her son to adopt them.And fervently hoping that I might be brought to see the errors ofmy present course, she took leave of this most unpleasant subject,subscribing herself, etc. etc. And we got this pretty missive as saucefor poor Miles's turkey, which was our family feast for New Year's Day.My Lady Warrington's letter choked our meal, though Sampson and Charleyrejoiced over it.

  Ah me! Ere the month was over, our little friend was gone from amongstus. Going out shooting, and dragging his gun through a hedge after him,the trigger caught in a bush, and the poor little man was brought hometo his father's house, only to live a few days and expire in pain andtorture. Under the yew-trees yonder, I can see the vault which covershim, and where my bones one day no doubt will be laid. And over our pewat church, my children have often wistfully spelt the touching epitaphin which Miles's heartbroken father has inscribed his grief and love forhis only son.