CHAPTER LXXXIV. In which Harry submits to the Common Lot
Hard times were now over with me, and I had to battle with poverty nomore. My little kinsman's death made a vast difference in my worldlyprospects. I became next heir to a good estate. My uncle and hiswife were not likely to have more children. "The woman is capable ofcommitting any crime to disappoint you," Sampson vowed; but, in truth,my Lady Warrington was guilty of no such treachery. Cruelly smittenby the stroke which fell upon them, Lady Warrington was taught by herreligious advisers to consider it as a chastisement of Heaven, andsubmit to the Divine Will. "Whilst your son lived, your heart was turnedaway from the better world" (her clergyman told her), "and your ladyshipthought too much of this. For your son's advantage you desired rank andtitle. You asked and might have obtained an earthly coronet. Of whatavail is it now, to one who has but a few years to pass upon earth--ofwhat importance compared to the heavenly crown, for which you are anassured candidate?" The accident caused no little sensation. In thechapels of that enthusiastic sect, towards which, after her son's death,she now more than ever inclined, many sermons were preached bearingreference to the event. Far be it from me to question the course whichthe bereaved mother pursued, or to regard with other than respect andsympathy any unhappy soul seeking that refuge whither sin and griefand disappointment fly for consolation. Lady Warrington even tried areconciliation with myself. A year after her loss, being in London, shesignified that she would see me, and I waited on her; and she gave me,in her usual didactic way, a homily upon my position and her own.She marvelled at the decree of Heaven, which had permitted, andhow dreadfully punished! her poor child's disobedience to her--adisobedience by which I was to profit. (It appeared my poor little manhad disobeyed orders, and gone out with his gun, unknown to his mother.)She hoped that, should I ever succeed to the property, though theWarringtons were, thank Heaven, a long-lived family, except in my ownfather's case, whose life had been curtailed by the excesses of a veryill-regulated youth,--but should I ever succeed to the family estate andhonours, she hoped, she prayed, that my present course of life might bealtered; that I should part from my unworthy associates; that I shoulddiscontinue all connexion with the horrid theatre and its licentiousfrequenters; that I should turn to that quarter where only peace wasto be had; and to those sacred duties which she feared--she very muchfeared that I had neglected. She filled her exhortation with Scripturelanguage, which I do not care to imitate. When I took my leave she gaveme a packet of sermons for Mrs. Warrington, and a little book of hymnsby Miss Dora, who has been eminent in that society of which she andher mother became avowed professors subsequently, and who, after thedowager's death, at Bath, three years since, married young Mr. Juffles,a celebrated preacher. The poor lady forgave me then, but she could notbear the sight of our boy. We lost our second child, and then my auntand her daughter came eagerly enough to the poor suffering mother, andeven invited us hither. But my uncle was now almost every day in ourhouse. He would sit for hours looking at our boy. He brought him endlesstoys and sweetmeats. He begged that the child might call him Godpapa.When we felt our own grief (which at times still, and after the lapse offive-and-twenty years, strikes me as keenly as on the day when wefirst lost our little one)--when I felt my own grief, I knew how tocommiserate his. But my wife could pity him before she knew what itwas to lose a child of her own. The mother's anxious heart had alreadydivined the pang which was felt by the sorrow-stricken father;mine, more selfish, has only learned pity from experience, and I wasreconciled to my uncle by my little baby's coffin.
The poor man sent his coach to follow the humble funeral, and afterwardstook out little Miles, who prattled to him unceasingly, and forgot anygrief he might have felt in the delights of his new black clothes, andthe pleasures of the airing. How the innocent talk of the child stabbedthe mother's heart! Would we ever wish that it should heal of thatwound? I know her face so well that, to this day, I can tell when,sometimes, she is thinking of the loss of that little one. It is not agrief for a parting so long ago; it is a communion with a soul we lovein Heaven.
We came back to our bright lodgings in Bloomsbury soon afterwards,and my young bear, whom I could no longer lead, and who had taken aprodigious friendship for Charley, went to the Chartreux School, wherehis friend took care that he had no more beating than was good for him,and where (in consequence of the excellence of his private tutor, nodoubt) he took and kept a good place. And he liked the school so much,that he says, if ever he has a son, he shall be sent to that seminary.
Now, I could no longer lead my bear, for this reason, that I had otherbusiness to follow. Being fully reconciled to us, I do believe, forMr. Miles's sake, my uncle (who was such an obsequious supporter ofGovernment, that I wonder the Minister ever gave him anything, beingperfectly sure of his vote) used his influence in behalf of his nephewand heir; and I had the honour to be gazetted as one of his Majesty'sCommissioners for licensing hackney-coaches, a post I filled, I trust,with credit, until a quarrel with the Minister (to be mentioned in itsproper place) deprived me of that one. I took my degree also at theTemple, and appeared in Westminster Hall in my gown and wig. And, thisyear, my good friend, Mr. Foker, having business at Paris, I had thepleasure of accompanying him thither, where I was received a brasouverts by my dear American preserver, Monsieur de Florac, whointroduced me to his noble family, and to even more of the politesociety of the capital than I had leisure to frequent; for I had toomuch spirit to desert my kind patron Foker, whose acquaintance laychiefly amongst the bourgeoisie, especially with Monsieur Santerre, agreat brewer of Paris, a scoundrel who hath since distinguished himselfin blood and not beer. Mr. F. had need of my services as interpreter,and I was too glad that he should command them, and to be able to payback some of the kindness which he had rendered to me. Our ladies,meanwhile, were residing at Mr. Foker's new villa at Wimbledon, and werepleased to say that they were amused with the "Parisian letters" whichI sent to them, through my distinguished friend Mr. Hume, then of theEmbassy, and which subsequently have been published in a neat volume.
Whilst I was tranquilly discharging my small official duties in London,those troubles were commencing which were to end in the great separationbetween our colonies and the mother country. When Mr. Grenville proposedhis stamp-duties, I said to my wife that the bill would create a mightydiscontent at home, for we were ever anxious to get as much as we couldfrom England, and pay back as little; but assuredly I never anticipatedthe prodigious anger which the scheme created. It was with us as withfamilies or individuals. A pretext is given for a quarrel: the realcause lies in long bickerings and previous animosities. Many foolishexactions and petty tyrannies, the habitual insolence of Englishmentowards all foreigners, all colonists, all folk who dare to think theirrivers as good as our Abana and Pharpar, the natural spirit of menoutraged by our imperious domineering spirit, set Britain and hercolonies to quarrel; and the astonishing blunders of the system adoptedin England brought the quarrel to an issue, which I, for one, am notgoing to deplore. Had I been in Virginia instead of London, 'tisvery possible I should have taken the provincial side, if out of mereopposition to that resolute mistress of Castlewood, who might havedriven me into revolt, as England did the colonies. Was the Stamp Actthe cause of the revolution?--a tax no greater than that cheerfullypaid in England. Ten years earlier, when the French were within ourterritory, and we were imploring succour from home, would the colonieshave rebelled at the payment of this tax? Do not most people considerthe tax-gatherer the natural enemy? Against the British in America therewere arrayed thousands and thousands of the high-spirited and brave, butthere were thousands more who found their profit in the quarrel, or hadtheir private reasons for engaging in it. I protest I don't know nowwhether mine were selfish or patriotic, or which side was in the right,or whether both were not. I am sure we in England had nothing to do butto fight the battle out; and, having lost the game, I do vow and believethat, after the first natural soreness, the loser felt no rancour.
What made b
rother Hal write home from Virginia, which he seemedexceedingly loth to quit, such flaming patriotic letters? My kind, bestbrother was always led by somebody; by me when we were together (he hadsuch an idea of my wit and wisdom, that if I said the day was fine, hewould ponder over the observation as though it was one of the sayings ofthe Seven Sages), by some other wiseacre when I was away. Who inspiredthese flaming letters, this boisterous patriotism, which he sent to usin London? "He is rebelling against Madam Esmond," said I. "He is led bysome colonial person--by that lady, perhaps," hinted my wife. Who "thatlady" was Hal never had told us; and, indeed, besought me never toallude to the delicate subject in my letters to him; "for Madam wishesto see 'em all, and I wish to say nothing about you know what until theproper moment," he wrote. No affection could be greater than thatwhich his letters showed. When he heard (from the informant whom I havementioned) that in the midst of my own extreme straits I had retainedno more than a hundred pounds out of his aunt's legacy, he was formortgaging the estate which he had just bought; and had more than onequarrel with his mother in my behalf, and spoke his mind with a greatdeal more frankness than I should ever have ventured to show. Untilher angry recriminations (when she charged him with ingratitude, afterhaving toiled and saved so much and so long for him), the poor fellowdid not know that our mother had cut off my supplies to advance hisinterests; and by the time this news came to him his bargains were made,and I was fortunately quite out of want.
Every scrap of paper which we ever wrote, our thrifty parent atCastlewood taped and docketed and put away. We boys were more carelessabout our letters to one another: I especially, who perhaps chose ratherto look down upon my younger brother's literary performances; but mywife is not so supercilious, and hath kept no small number of Harry'sletters, as well as those of the angelic being whom we were presently tocall sister.
"To think whom he has chosen, and whom he might have had! Oh, 'tiscruel!" cries my wife, when we got that notable letter in which Harryfirst made us acquainted with the name of his charmer.
"She was a very pretty little maid when I left home, she may be aperfect beauty now," I remarked, as I read over the longest letter Harryever wrote on private affairs.
"But is she to compare to my Hetty?" says Mrs. Warrington.
"We agreed that Hetty and Harry were not to be happy together, my love,"say I.
Theo gives her husband a kiss. "My dear, I wish they had tried," shesays with a sigh. "I was afraid lest--lest Hetty should have led him,you see; and I think she hath the better head. But, from reading this,it appears that the new lady has taken command of poor Harry," and shehands me the letter:--
"My dearest George hath been prepared by previous letters to understandhow a certain lady has made a conquest of my heart, which I have givenaway in exchange for something infinitely more valuable, namely, herown. She is at my side as I write this letter, and if there is no badspelling, such as you often used to laugh at, 'tis because I have mypretty dictionary at hand, which makes no faults in the longest word,nor in anything else I know of: being of opinion that she is perfection.
"As Madam Esmond saw all your letters, I writ you not to give any hintof a certain delicate matter--but now 'tis no secret, and is known toall the country. Mr. George is not the only one of our family who hasmade a secret marriage, and been scolded by his mother. As a dutifulyounger brother I have followed his example; and now I may tell you howthis mighty event came about.
"I had not been at home long before I saw my fate was accomplisht. Iwill not tell you how beautiful Miss Fanny Mountain had grown since Ihad been away in Europe. She saith, 'You never will think so,' and Iam glad, as she is the only thing in life I would grudge to my dearestbrother.
"That neither Madam Esmond nor my other mother (as Mountain is now)should have seen our mutual attachment, is a wonder--only to beaccounted for by supposing that love makes other folks blind. Mine formy Fanny was increased by seeing what the treatment was she had fromMadam Esmond, who indeed was very rough and haughty with her, which mylove bore with a sweetness perfectly angelic (this I will say, thoughshe will order me not to write any such nonsense). She was scarce bettertreated than a servant of the house--indeed our negroes can talk muchmore free before Madam Esmond than ever my Fanny could.
"And yet my Fanny says she doth not regret Madam's unkindness, aswithout it I possibly never should have been what I am to her. Oh, dearbrother! when I remember how great your goodness hath been, how, in myown want, you paid my debts, and rescued me out of prison; how you havebeen living in poverty which never need have occurred but for my fault;how you might have paid yourself back my just debt to you and would not,preferring my advantage to your own comfort, indeed I am lost at thethought of such goodness; and ought I not to be thankful to Heaven thathath given me such a wife and such a brother?
"When I writ to you requesting you to send me my aunt's legacy money,for which indeed I had the most profitable and urgent occasion, I had noidea that you were yourself suffering poverty. That you, the head of ourfamily, should condescend to be governor to a brewer's son!--that youshould have to write for booksellers (except in so far as your owngenius might prompt you), never once entered my mind, until Mr. Foker'sletter came to us, and this would never have been shown--for Madam keptit secret--had it not been for the difference which sprang up betweenus.
"Poor Tom Diggle's estate and negroes being for sale, owing toTom's losses and extravagance at play, and his father's debts beforehim--Madam Esmond saw here was a great opportunity of making a provisionfor me, and that with six thousand pounds for the farm and stock, Ishould be put in possession of as pretty a property as falls to mostyounger sons in this country. It lies handy enough to Richmond, betweenKent and Hanover Court House--the mansion nothing for elegancecompared to ours at Castlewood, but the land excellent and the peopleextraordinary healthy.
"Here was a second opportunity, Madam Esmond said, such as never mightagain befall. By the sale of my commissions and her own savings I mightpay more than half of the price of the property, and get the rest ofthe money on mortgage; though here, where money is scarce to procure,it would have been difficult and dear. At this juncture, with our newrelative, Mr. Van den Bosch, bidding against us (his agent is wild thatwe should have bought the property over him), my aunt's legacy mostopportunely fell in. And now I am owner of a good house and negroes inmy native country, shall be called, no doubt, to our House of Burgesses,and hope to see my dearest brother and family under my own roof-tree.To sit at my own fireside, to ride my own horses to my own hounds,is better than going a-soldiering, now war is over, and there are noFrench. to fight. Indeed, Madam Esmond made a condition that I shouldleave the army, and live at home, when she brought me her 1750 pounds ofsavings. She had lost one son, she said, who chose to write play-books,and live in England--let the other stay with her at home.
"But, after the purchase of the estate was made, and my papers forselling out were sent home, my mother would have had me marry a personof her choosing, but by no means of mine. You remember Miss Betsy Pittsat Williamsburgh? She is in no wise improved by having had her facedreadfully scarred with small-pock, and though Madam Esmond saith theyoung lady hath every virtue, I own her virtues did not suit me. Hereyes do not look straight; she hath one leg shorter than another; andoh, brother! didst thou never remark Fanny's ankles when we were boys?Neater I never saw at the Opera.
"Now, when 'twas agreed that I should leave the army, a certain deargirl (canst thou guess her name?) one day, when we were private, burstinto tears of such happiness, that I could not but feel immenselytouched by her sympathy.
"'Ah!' says she, 'do you think, sir, that the idea of the son of myrevered benefactress going to battle doth not inspire me with terror?Ah, Mr. Henry! do you imagine I have no heart? When Mr. George was withBraddock, do you fancy we did not pray for him? And when you were withMr. Wolfe--oh!'
"Here the dear creature hid her eyes in her handkerchief, and had hardwork to prevent her mama, who came in, from seeing that s
he was crying.But my dear Mountain declares that, though she might have fancied, mighthave prayed in secret for such a thing (she owns to that now), shenever imagined it for one moment. Nor, indeed, did my good mother, whosupposed that Sam Lintot, the apothecary's lad at Richmond, was Fanny'sflame--an absurd fellow that I near kicked into James River.
"But when the commission was sold, and the estate bought, what doesFanny do but fall into a deep melancholy? I found her crying one day, inher mother's room, where the two ladies had been at work trimming hatsfor my negroes.
"'What! crying, miss?' says I. 'Has my mother been scolding you?'
"'No,' says the dear creature. 'Madam Esmond has been kind to-day.'
"And her tears drop down on a cockade which she is sewing on to a hatfor Sady, who is to be head-groom.
"'Then, why, miss, are those dear eyes so red?' say I.
"'Because I have the toothache,' she says, 'or because--because I am afool.' Here she fairly bursts out. 'Oh, Mr. Harry! oh, Mr. Warrington!You are going to leave us, and 'tis as well. You will take your placein your country, as becomes you. You will leave us poor women in oursolitude and dependence. You will come to visit us from time to time.And when you are happy and honoured, and among your gay companions, youwill remember your----'
"Here she could say no more, and hid her face with one hand as I, Iconfess, seized the other.
"'Dearest, sweetest Miss Mountain!' says I. 'Oh, could I think that theparting from me has brought tears to those lovely eyes! Indeed, I fear,I should be almost happy! Let them look upon your----'
"'Oh, sir!' cries my charmer. 'Oh, Mr. Warrington! consider who I am,sir, and who you are! Remember the difference between us! Release myhand, sir! What would Madam Esmond say if--if----'
"If what, I don't know, for here our mother was in the room.
"'What would Madam Esmond say?' she cries out. 'She would say that youare an ungrateful, artful, false, little----'
"'Madam!' says I.
"'Yes, an ungrateful, artful, false, little wretch!' cries out mymother. 'For shame, miss! What would Mr. Lintot say if he saw you makingeyes at the Captain? And for you, Harry, I will have you bring none ofyour garrison manners hither. This is a Christian family, sir, and youwill please to know that my house is not intended for captains and theirmisses!'
"'Misses, mother!' says I. 'Gracious powers, do you ever venture forto call Miss Mountain by such a name? Miss Mountain, the purest of hersex!'
"'The purest of her sex! Can I trust my own ears?' asks Madam, turningvery pale.
"'I mean that if a man would question her honour, I would fling him outof window,' says I.
"'You mean that you--your mother's son--are actually paying honourableattention to this young person?'
"'He would never dare to offer any other,' cries my Fanny; 'nor anywoman but you, madam, to think so!'
"'Oh, I didn't know, miss!' says mother, dropping her a fine curtsey, 'Ididn't know the honour you were doing our family! You propose to marrywith us, do you? Do I understand Captain Warrington aright, that heintends to offer me Miss Mountain as a daughter-in-law?'
"''Tis to be seen, madam, that I have no protector, or you would notinsult me so!' cries my poor victim.
"'I should think the apothecary protection sufficient!' says our mother.
"'I don't, mother!' I bawl out, for I was very angry; 'and if Lintotoffers her any liberty, I'll brain him with his own pestle!'
"'Oh! if Lintot has withdrawn, sir, I suppose I must be silent. But Idid not know of the circumstance. He came hither, as I supposed, to paycourt to Miss: and we all thought the match equal, and I encouraged it.'
"'He came because I had the toothache!' cries my darling (and indeed shehad a dreadful bad tooth. And he took it out for her, and there is noend to the suspicions and calumnies of women).
"'What more natural than that he should marry my housekeeper'sdaughter--'twas a very suitable match!' continues Madam, taking snuff.'But I confess,' she adds, going on, 'I was not aware that you intendedto jilt the apothecary for my son!'
"'Peace, for Heaven's sake, peace, Mr. Warrington!' cries my angel.
"'Pray, sir, before you fully make up your mind, had you not better lookround the rest of my family?' says Madam. 'Dinah is a fine tall girl,and not very black; Cleopatra is promised to Ajax the blacksmith, tobe sure; but then we could break the marriage, you know. If with anapothecary, why not with a blacksmith? Martha's husband has run away,and----'
"Here, dear brother, I own I broke out a-swearing. I can't help it; butat times, when a man is angry, it do relieve him immensely. I'm blest,but I should have gone wild, if it hadn't been for them oaths.
"'Curses, blasphemy, ingratitude, disobedience,' says mother, leaningnow on her tortoiseshell stick, and then waving it--something like aqueen in a play. 'These are my rewards!' says she. 'O Heaven, what haveI done, that I should merit this awful punishment? and does it pleaseyou to visit the sins of my fathers upon me? Where do my childreninherit their pride? When I was young, had I any? When my papa bade memarry, did I refuse? Did I ever think of disobeying? No, sir. My faulthath been, and I own it, that my love was centred upon you, perhaps tothe neglect of your elder brother.' (Indeed, brother, there was sometruth in what Madam said.) 'I turned from Esau, and I clung to Jacob.And now I have my reward, I have my reward! I fixed my vain thoughts onthis world, and its distinctions. To see my son advanced in worldly rankwas my ambition. I toiled, and spared, that I might bring him worldlywealth. I took unjustly from my eldest son's portion, that my youngermight profit. And oh! that I should see him seducing the daughter of myown housekeeper under my own roof, and replying to my just anger withoaths and blasphemies!'
"'I try to seduce no one, madam,' I cried out. 'If I utter oaths andblasphemies, I beg your pardon; but you are enough to provoke a saint tospeak 'em. I won't have this young lady's character assailed--no, not byown mother nor any mortal alive. No, dear Miss Mountain! If Madam Esmondchooses to say that my designs on you are dishonourable,--let thisundeceive her!' And, as I spoke, I went down on my knees, seizing myadorable Fanny's hand. 'And if you will accept this heart and hand,miss,' says I, 'they are yours for ever.'
"'You, at least, I knew, sir,' says Fanny, with a noble curtsey, 'neversaid a word that was disrespectful to me, or entertained any doubt of myhonour. And I trust it is only Madam Esmond, in the world, who can havesuch an opinion of me. After what your ladyship hath said of me, ofcourse I can stay no longer in your house.'
"'Of course, madam, I never intended you should; and the sooner youleave it the better,' cries our mother.
"'If you are driven from my mother's house, mine, miss, is at yourservice,' says I, making her a low bow. 'It is nearly ready now. If youwill take it and stay in it for ever, it is yours! And as Madam Esmondinsulted your honour, at least let me do all in my power to make areparation!' I don't know what more I exactly said, for you may fancy Iwas not a little flustered and excited by the scene. But here Mountaincame in, and my dearest Fanny, flinging herself into her mother's arms,wept upon her shoulder; whilst Madam Esmond, sitting down in her chair,looked at us as pale as a stone. Whilst I was telling my story toMountain (who, poor thing, had not the least idea, not she, that MissFanny and I had the slightest inclination for one another), I could hearour mother once or twice still saying, 'I am punished for my crime!'
"Now, what our mother meant by her crime I did not know at first, orindeed take much heed of what she said; for you know her way, andhow, when she is angry, she always talks sermons. But Mountain told meafterwards, when we had some talk together, as we did at the tavern,whither the ladies presently removed with their bag and baggage--for notonly would they not stay at Madam's house after the language she used,but my mother determined to go away likewise. She called her servantstogether, and announced her intention of going home instantly toCastlewood; and I own to you 'twas with a horrible pain I saw the familycoach roll by, with six horses, and ever so many of the servants onmules and on horseback, as I and Fanny
looked through the blinds of theTavern.
"After the words Madam used to my spotless Fanny, 'twas impossible thatthe poor child or her mother should remain in our house: and indeedM. said that she would go back to her relations in England: and a shipbound homewards lying in James River, she went and bargained with thecaptain about a passage, so bent was she upon quitting the country, andso little did she think of making a match between me and my angel. Butthe cabin was mercifully engaged by a North Carolina gentleman and hisfamily, and before the next ship sailed (which bears this letter to mydearest George) they have agreed to stop with me. Almost all the ladiesin this neighbourhood have waited on them. When the marriage takesplace, I hope Madam Esmond will be reconciled. My Fanny's father was aBritish officer; and sure, ours was no more. Some day, please Heaven,we shall visit Europe, and the places where my wild oats were sown,and where I committed so many extravagances from which my dear brotherrescued me.
"The ladies send you their affection and duty, and to my sister. We hearhis Excellency General Lambert is much beloved in Jamaica: and I shallwrite to our dear friends there announcing my happiness. My dearestbrother will participate in it, and I am ever his grateful andaffectionate H. E. W.
"P.S.--Till Mountain told me, I had no more notion than the ded thatMadam E. had actially stopt your allowances; besides making you payfor ever so much--near upon 1000 pounds Mountain says--for goods, etc.,provided for the Virginian proparty. Then there was all the charges ofme out of prison, which I. O. U. with all my hart. Draw upon me, please,dearest brother--to any amount--adressing me to care of Messrs. Horn andSandon, Williamsburg, privit; who remitt by present occasion a billfor 225 pounds, payable by their London agents on demand. Please don'tacknolledge this in answering; as there's no good in bothering womenwith accounts--and with the extra 5 pounds by a capp or what she likesfor my dear sister, and a toy for my nephew from Uncle Hal."
The conclusion to which we came on the perusal of this document was,that the ladies had superintended the style and spelling of my poorHal's letter, but that the postscript was added without their knowledge.And I am afraid we argued that the Virginian Squire was under femaledomination--as Hercules, Samson, and fortes multi had been before him.
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