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Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges

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by William Makepeace Thackeray


  Chapter V. Mohun Appears For The Last Time In This History

  Besides my Lord Duke of Hamilton and Brandon, who, for family reasons, hadkindly promised his protection and patronage to Colonel Esmond, he hadother great friends in power now, both able and willing to assist him, andhe might, with such allies, look forward to as fortunate advancement incivil life at home as he had got rapid promotion abroad. His grace wasmagnanimous enough to offer to take Mr. Esmond as secretary on his Parisembassy, but no doubt he intended that proposal should be rejected; at anyrate, Esmond could not bear the thoughts of attending his mistress fartherthan the church-door after her marriage, and so declined that offer whichhis generous rival made him.

  Other gentlemen, in power, were liberal at least of compliments andpromises to Colonel Esmond. Mr. Harley, now become my Lord Oxford andMortimer, and installed Knight of the Garter on the same day as his graceof Hamilton had received the same honour, sent to the colonel to say thata seat in Parliament should be at his disposal presently, and Mr. St. Johnheld out many flattering hopes of advancement to the colonel when heshould enter the House. Esmond's friends were all successful, and the mostsuccessful and triumphant of all was his dear old commander, General Webb,who was now appointed Lieutenant-General of the Land Forces, and receivedwith particular honour by the ministry, by the queen, and the people outof doors, who huzza'd the brave chief when they used to see him in hischariot, going to the House or to the Drawing-room, or hobbling on foot tohis coach from St. Stephen's upon his glorious old crutch and stick, andcheered him as loud as they had ever done Marlborough.

  That great duke was utterly disgraced; and honest old Webb dated all hisgrace's misfortunes from Wynendael, and vowed that Fate served the traitorright. Duchess Sarah had also gone to ruin; she had been forced to give upher keys, and her places, and her pensions:--"Ah, ah!" says Webb, "shewould have locked up three millions of French crowns with her keys had Ibut been knocked on the head, but I stopped that convoy at Wynendael." Ourenemy Cardonnel was turned out of the House of Commons (along with Mr.Walpole) for malversation of public money. Cadogan lost his place ofLieutenant of the Tower. Marlborough's daughters resigned their posts ofladies of the bedchamber; and so complete was the duke's disgrace, thathis son-in-law, Lord Bridgewater, was absolutely obliged to give up hislodging at St. James's, and had his half-pension, as Master of the Horse,taken away. But I think the lowest depth of Marlborough's fall was when hehumbly sent to ask General Webb when he might wait upon him; he who hadcommanded the stout old general, who had injured him and sneered at him,who had kept him dangling in his antechamber, who could not even after hisgreat service condescend to write him a letter in his own hand. The nationwas as eager for peace, as ever it had been hot for war. The Prince ofSavoy came amongst us, had his audience of the queen, and got his famousSword of Honour, and strove with all his force to form a Whig partytogether, to bring over the young Prince of Hanover--to do anything whichmight prolong the war, and consummate the ruin of the old sovereign whomhe hated so implacably. But the nation was tired of the struggle; socompletely wearied of it that not even our defeat at Denain could rouse usinto any anger, though such an action so lost two years before, would haveset all England in a fury. 'Twas easy to see that the great Marlboroughwas not with the army. Eugene was obliged to fall back in a rage, andforgo the dazzling revenge of his life. 'Twas in vain the duke's sideasked, "Would we suffer our arms to be insulted? Would we not send backthe only champion who could repair our honour?" The nation had had itsbellyful of fighting; nor could taunts or outcries goad up our Britons anymore.

  For a statesman, that was always prating of liberty, and had the grandestphilosophic maxims in his mouth, it must be owned that Mr. St. Johnsometimes rather acted like a Turkish than a Greek philosopher, andespecially fell foul of one unfortunate set of men, the men of letters,with a tyranny a little extraordinary in a man who professed to respecttheir calling so much. The literary controversy at this time was verybitter, the Government side was the winning one, the popular one, and Ithink might have been the merciful one. 'Twas natural that the Oppositionshould be peevish and cry out; some men did so from their hearts, admiringthe Duke of Marlborough's prodigious talents, and deploring the disgraceof the greatest general the world ever knew: 'twas the stomach that causedother patriots to grumble, and such men cried out because they were poor,and paid to do so. Against these my Lord Bolingbroke never showed theslightest mercy, whipping a dozen into prison or into the pillory withoutthe least commiseration.

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

  Of the famous wits of that age, who have rendered Queen Anne's reignillustrious, and whose works will be in all Englishmen's hands in ages yetto come, Mr. Esmond saw many, but at public places chiefly; never having agreat intimacy with any of them, except with honest Dick Steele and Mr.Addison, who parted company with Esmond, however, when that gentlemanbecame a declared Tory, and lived on close terms with the leading personsof that party. Addison kept himself to a few friends, and very rarelyopened himself except in their company. A man more upright andconscientious than he, it was not possible to find in public life, and onewhose conversation was so various, easy, and delightful. Writing now in mymature years, I own that I think Addison's politics were the right, andwere my time to come over again, I would be a Whig in England and not aTory; but with people that take a side in politics, 'tis men rather thanprinciples that commonly bind them. A kindness or a slight puts a manunder one flag or the other, and he marches with it to the end of thecampaign. Esmond's master in war was injured by Marlborough, and hatedhim: and the lieutenant fought the quarrels of his leader. Webb coming toLondon was used as a weapon by Marlborough's enemies (and true steel hewas, that honest chief); nor was his aide de camp, Mr. Esmond, anunfaithful or unworthy partisan. 'Tis strange here, and on a foreign soil,and in a land that is independent in all but the name (for that the NorthAmerican colonies shall remain dependants on yonder little island fortwenty years more, I never can think), to remember how the nation at homeseemed to give itself up to the domination of one or other aristocraticparty, and took a Hanoverian king, or a French one, according as eitherprevailed. And while the Tories, the October Club gentlemen, the HighChurch parsons that held by the Church of England, were for having aPapist king, for whom many of their Scottish and English leaders, firmchurchmen all, laid down their lives with admirable loyalty and devotion;they were governed by men who had notoriously no religion at all, but usedit as they would use any opinion for the purpose of forwarding their ownambition. The Whigs, on the other hand, who professed attachment toreligion and liberty too, were compelled to send to Holland or Hanover fora monarch around whom they could rally. A strange series of compromises isthat English history; compromise of principle, compromise of party,compromise of worship! The lovers of English freedom and independencesubmitted their religious consciences to an Act of Parliament; could notconsolidate their liberty without sending to Zell or the Hague for a kingto live under; and could not find amongst the proudest people in the worlda man speaking their own language, and understanding their laws, to governthem. The Tory and High Church patriots were ready to die in defence of aPapist family that had sold us to France; the great Whig nobles, thesturdy Republican recusants who had cut off Charles Stuart's head fortreason, were fain to accept a king whose title came to him through aroyal grandmother, whose own royal grandmother's head had fallen underQueen Bess's hatchet. And our proud English nobles sent to a petty Germantown for a monarch to come and reign in London; and our prelates kissedthe ugly hands of his Dutch mistresses, and thought it no dishonour. InEngland you can but belong to one party or t'other, and you take the houseyou live in with all its encumbrances, its retainers, its ant
iquediscomforts, and ruins even; you patch up, but you never build up anew.Will we of the New World submit much longer, even nominally, to thisancient British superstition? There are signs of the times which make methink that ere long we shall care as little about King George here, andpeers temporal and peers spiritual, as we do for King Canute or theDruids.

  This chapter began about the wits, my grandson may say, and hath wanderedvery far from their company. The pleasantest of the wits I knew were theDoctors Garth and Arbuthnot, and Mr. Gay, the author of _Trivia_, the mostcharming kind soul that ever laughed at a joke or cracked a bottle. Mr.Prior I saw, and he was the earthen pot swimming with the pots of brassdown the stream, and always and justly frightened lest he should break inthe voyage. I met him both at London and Paris, where he was performingpiteous congees to the Duke of Shrewsbury, not having courage to supportthe dignity which his undeniable genius and talent had won him, andwriting coaxing letters to Secretary St. John, and thinking about hisplate and his place, and what on earth should become of him should hisparty go out. The famous Mr. Congreve I saw a dozen of times at Button's,a splendid wreck of a man, magnificently attired, and though gouty, andalmost blind, bearing a brave face against fortune.

  The great Mr. Pope (of whose prodigious genius I have no words to expressmy admiration) was quite a puny lad at this time, appearing seldom inpublic places. There were hundreds of men, wits, and pretty fellowsfrequenting the theatres and coffee-houses of that day--whom _nuncprescribere longum est_. Indeed I think the most brilliant of that sort Iever saw was not till fifteen years afterwards, when I paid my last visitin England, and met young Harry Fielding, son of the Fielding that servedin Spain and afterwards in Flanders with us, and who for fun and humourseemed to top them all. As for the famous Dr. Swift, I can say of him,"_vidi tantum_." He was in London all these years up to the death of thequeen; and in a hundred public places where I saw him, but no more; henever missed Court of a Sunday, where once or twice he was pointed out toyour grandfather. He would have sought me out eagerly enough had I been agreat man with a title to my name, or a star on my coat. At Court thedoctor had no eyes but for the very greatest. Lord Treasurer and St. Johnused to call him Jonathan, and they paid him with this cheap coin for theservice they took of him. He writ their lampoons, fought their enemies,flogged and bullied in their service, and it must be owned with aconsummate skill and fierceness. 'Tis said he hath lost his intellect now,and forgotten his wrongs and his rage against mankind. I have alwaysthought of him and of Marlborough as the two greatest men of that age. Ihave read his books (who doth not know them?) here in our calm woods, andimagine a giant to myself as I think of him, a lonely fallen Prometheus,groaning as the vulture tears him. Prometheus I saw, but when first I everhad any words with him, the giant stepped out of a sedan-chair in thePoultry, whither he had come with a tipsy Irish servant parading beforehim, who announced him, bawling out his reverence's name, whilst hismaster below was as yet haggling with the chairman. I disliked this Mr.Swift, and heard many a story about him, of his conduct to men, and hiswords to women. He could flatter the great as much as he could bully theweak; and Mr. Esmond, being younger and hotter in that day than now, wasdetermined, should he ever meet this dragon, not to run away from histeeth and his fire.

  Men have all sorts of motives which carry them onwards in life, and aredriven into acts of desperation, or it may be of distinction, from ahundred different causes. There was one comrade of Esmond's, an honestlittle Irish lieutenant of Handyside's, who owed so much money to a campsutler, that he began to make love to the man's daughter, intending to payhis debt that way; and at the battle of Malplaquet, flying away from thedebt and lady too, he rushed so desperately on the French lines, that hegot his company; and came a captain out of the action, and had to marrythe sutler's daughter after all, who brought him his cancelled debt to herfather as poor Rogers's fortune. To run out of the reach of bill andmarriage, he ran on the enemy's pikes; and as these did not kill him hewas thrown back upon t'other horn of his dilemma. Our great duke at thesame battle was fighting, not the French, but the Tories in England; andrisking his life and the army's, not for his country but for his pay andplaces; and for fear of his wife at home, that only being in life whom hedreaded. I have asked about men in my own company (new drafts of poorcountry boys were perpetually coming over to us during the wars, andbrought from the ploughshare to the sword), and found that a half of themunder the flags were driven thither on account of a woman: one fellow wasjilted by his mistress and took the shilling in despair; another jiltedthe girl, and fled from her and the parish to the tents where the lawcould not disturb him. Why go on particularizing? What can the sons ofAdam and Eve expect, but to continue in that course of love and troubletheir father and mother set out on? O my grandson! I am drawing nigh tothe end of that period of my history, when I was acquainted with the greatworld of England and Europe, my years are past the Hebrew poet's limit,and I say unto thee, all my troubles and joys too, for that matter, havecome from a woman; as thine will when thy destined course begins. 'Twas awoman that made a soldier of me, that set me intriguing afterwards; Ibelieve I would have spun smocks for her had she so bidden me; whatstrength I had in my head I would have given her; hath not every man inhis degree had his Omphale and Delilah? Mine befooled me on the banks ofthe Thames, and in dear old England; thou mayest find thine own byRappahannoc.

  To please that woman then I tried to distinguish myself as a soldier, andafterwards as a wit and a politician; as to please another I would haveput on a black cassock and a pair of bands, and had done so but that asuperior fate intervened to defeat that project. And I say, I think theworld is like Captain Esmond's company I spoke of anon; and, could you seeevery man's career in life, you would find a woman clogging him; orclinging round his march and stopping him; or cheering him and goadinghim; or beckoning him out of her chariot, so that he goes up to her, andleaves the race to be run without him; or bringing him the apple, andsaying "Eat"; or fetching him the daggers and whispering "Kill! yonderlies Duncan, and a crown, and an opportunity".

  Your grandfather fought with more effect as a politician than as a wit;and having private animosities and grievances of his own and his general'sagainst the great duke in command of the army, and more information onmilitary matters than most writers, who had never seen beyond the fire ofa tobacco-pipe at Wills's, he was enabled to do good service for thatcause which he embarked in, and for Mr. St. John and his party. But hedisdained the abuse in which some of the Tory writers indulged; forinstance, Dr. Swift, who actually chose to doubt the Duke of Marlborough'scourage, and was pleased to hint that his grace's military capacity wasdoubtful: nor were Esmond's performances worse for the effect they wereintended to produce (though no doubt they could not injure the Duke ofMarlborough nearly so much in the public eyes as the malignant attacks ofSwift did, which were carefully directed so as to blacken and degradehim), because they were writ openly and fairly by Mr. Esmond, who made nodisguise of them, who was now out of the army, and who never attacked theprodigious courage and talents, only the selfishness and rapacity, of thechief.

  The colonel then, having writ a paper for one of the Tory journals, calledthe _Post-Boy_ (a letter upon Bouchain, that the town talked about for twowhole days, when the appearance of an Italian singer supplied a freshsubject for conversation), and having business at the Exchange, where Mrs.Beatrix wanted a pair of gloves or a fan very likely, Esmond went tocorrect his paper, and was sitting at the printer's, when the famous Dr.Swift came in, his Irish fellow with him that used to walk before hischair, and bawled out his master's name with great dignity.

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

  "I presume you are the editor of the _Post-Boy_, sir?" says the doctor, ina grating voice that had an Irish twang; and he looked at the colonel fromunder his
two bushy eyebrows with a pair of very clear blue eyes. Hiscomplexion was muddy, his figure rather fat, his chin double. He wore ashabby cassock, and a shabby hat over his black wig, and he pulled out agreat gold watch, at which he looks very fierce.

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

  "Who told you I was Dr. Swift?" says the doctor, eyeing the other veryhaughtily.

  "Your reverence's valet bawled out your name," says the colonel. "I shouldjudge you brought him from Ireland."

  "And pray, sir, what right have you to judge whether my servant came fromIreland or no? I want to speak with your employer, Mr. Leach. I'll thankye go fetch him."

  "Where's your papa, Tommy?" asks the colonel of the child, a smutty littlewretch in a frock.

  Instead of answering, the child begins to cry; the doctor's appearance hadno doubt frightened the poor little imp.

  "Send that squalling little brat about his business, and do what I bid ye,sir," says the doctor.

  "I must finish the picture first for Tommy," says the colonel, laughing."Here, Tommy, will you have your Pandour with whiskers or without?"

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

  "Who the devil are ye, sir?" cries the doctor; "are ye a printer's man orare ye not?" he pronounced it like _naught_.

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

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

  "I daresay, sir, you offended without meaning," says the other drily.

  "Who are ye, sir? Do you know who I am, sir? You are one of the pack ofGrub-Street scribblers that my friend Mr. Secretary hath laid by theheels. How dare ye, sir, speak to me in this tone?" cries the doctor, in agreat fume.

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

  "I take the little beast!" says the doctor, starting back. "I am engagedto your betters, fellow. Tell Mr. Leach that when he makes an appointmentwith Dr. Swift he had best keep it, do ye hear? And keep a respectfultongue in your head, sir, when you address a person like me."

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

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

  Poor Kemp, who had been a lieutenant at the beginning of the war, andfallen into misfortune, was the writer of the _Post-Boy_, and now tookhonest Mr. Leach's pay in place of her Majesty's. Esmond had seen thisgentleman, and a very ingenious, hard-working honest fellow he was,toiling to give bread to a great family, and watching up many a longwinter night to keep the wolf from his door. And Mr. St. John, who hadliberty always on his tongue, had just sent a dozen of the Oppositionwriters into prison, and one actually into the pillory, for what he calledlibels, but libels not half so violent as those writ on our side. Withregard to this very piece of tyranny, Esmond had remonstrated stronglywith the secretary, who laughed and said, the rascals were served quiteright; and told Esmond a joke of Swift's regarding the matter. Nay, more,this Irishman, when St. John was about to pardon a poor wretch condemnedto death for rape, absolutely prevented the secretary from exercising thisact of good nature, and boasted that he had had the man hanged; and greatas the doctor's genius might be, and splendid his ability, Esmond for onewould affect no love for him, and never desired to make his acquaintance.The doctor was at Court every Sunday assiduously enough, a place thecolonel frequented but rarely, though he had a great inducement to gothere in the person of a fair maid of honour of her Majesty's; and theairs and patronage Mr. Swift gave himself, forgetting gentlemen of hiscountry whom he knew perfectly, his loud talk at once insolent andservile, nay, perhaps his very intimacy with lord treasurer and thesecretary, who indulged all his freaks and called him Jonathan, you may besure, were remarked by many a person of whom the proud priest himself tookno note, during that time of his vanity and triumph.

  'Twas but three days after the 15th of November, 1712 (Esmond minds himwell of the date), that he went by invitation to dine with his general,the foot of whose table he used to take on these festive occasions, as hehad done at many a board, hard and plentiful, during the campaign. Thiswas a great feast, and of the latter sort; the honest old gentleman lovedto treat his friends splendidly: his grace of Ormonde, before he joinedhis army as generalissimo, my Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, one of herMajesty's secretaries of state, my Lord Orkney, that had served with usabroad, being of the party. His grace of Hamilton, master of the ordnance,and in whose honour the feast had been given, upon his approachingdeparture as ambassador to Paris, had sent an excuse to General Webb attwo o'clock, but an hour before the dinner: nothing but the most immediatebusiness, his grace said, should have prevented him having the pleasure ofdrinking a parting glass to the health of General Webb. His absencedisappointed Esmond's old chief, who suffered much from his woundsbesides; and though the company was grand, it was rather gloomy. St. Johncame last, and brought a friend with him:--"I'm sure," says my general,bowing very politely, "my table hath always a place for Dr. Swift."

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

  The talk was about the affairs of the day, or rather about persons thanaffairs: my Lady Marlborough's fury, her daughters in old clothes andmob-caps looking out from their windows and seeing the company pass to theDrawing-room; the gentleman-usher's horror when the Prince of Savoy wasintroduced to her Majesty in a tie-wig, no man out of a full-bottomedperiwig ever having kissed the royal hand before; about the Mohawks andthe damage they were doing, rushing through the town, killing andmurdering. Some one said the ill-omened face of Mohun had been seen at thetheatre the night before, and Macartney and Meredith with him. Meant to bea feast, the meeting, in spite of drink, and talk, was as dismal as afuneral. Every topic started subsided into gloom. His grace of Ormondewent away because the conversation got upon Denain, where we had beendefeated in the last campaign. Esmond's general was affected at theallusion to this action too, for his comrade of Wynendael, the Count ofNassau-Woudenberg, had been slain there. Mr. Swift, when Esmond pledgedhim, said he drank no wine, and took his hat from the peg and went away,beckoning my Lord Bolingbroke to follow him; but the other bade him takehis chariot and save his coach-hire, he had to speak with Colonel Esmond;and when the rest of the company withdrew to cards, these two remainedbehind in the dark.

  Bolingbroke always spoke freely when he had drunk freely. His enemiescould get any secret out of him in that condition; women were evenemployed to ply him, and take his words down. I have heard that my LordStair, three years
after, when the secretary fled to France and became thepretender's minister, got all the information he wanted by putting femalespies over St. John in his cups. He spoke freely now:--"Jonathan knowsnothing of this for certain, though he suspects it, and by George, Webbwill take an archbishopric, and Jonathan a--no, damme--Jonathan will take anarchbishopric from James, I warrant me, gladly enough. Your duke hath thestring of the whole matter in his hand," the secretary went on. "We havethat which will force Marlborough to keep his distance, and he goes out ofLondon in a fortnight. Prior hath his business; he left me this morning,and mark me, Harry, should fate carry off our august, our beloved, ourmost gouty and plethoric queen, and defender of the faith, _la bonne causetriomphera. A la sante de la bonne cause!_ Everything good comes fromFrance. Wine comes from France; give us another bumper to the _bonnecause_." We drank it together.

  "Will the _bonne cause_ turn Protestant?" asked Mr. Esmond.

  "No, hang it," says the other, "he'll defend our faith as in duty bound,but he'll stick by his own. The Hind and the Panther shall run in the samecar, by Jove. Righteousness and peace shall kiss each other; and we'llhave Father Massillon to walk down the aisle of St. Paul's, cheek by jowl,with Dr. Sacheverel. Give us more wine; here's a health to the _bonnecause_, kneeling--damme, let's drink it kneeling." He was quite flushed andwild with wine as he was talking.

  "And suppose," says Esmond, who always had this gloomy apprehension, "the_bonne cause_ should give us up to the French, as his father and uncle didbefore him?"

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

  "His uncle did," says Mr. Esmond.

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

  He filled another great bumper, and tossed it up and drained it wildly,just as the noise of rapid carriage-wheels approaching was stopped at ourdoor, and after a hurried knock and a moment's interval, Mr. Swift cameinto the hall, ran upstairs to the room we were dining in, and entered itwith a perturbed face. St. John, excited with drink, was making some wildquotation out of _Macbeth_, but Swift stopped him.

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

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

  "No, Duke Hamilton is dead, he was murdered an hour ago by Mohun andMacartney; they had a quarrel this morning; they gave him not so much timeas to write a letter. He went for a couple of his friends, and he is dead,and Mohun, too, the bloody villain, who was set on him. They fought inHyde Park just before sunset; the duke killed Mohun, and Macartney came upand stabbed him, and the dog is fled. I have your chariot below; send toevery part of the country and apprehend that villain; come to the duke'shouse and see if any life be left in him."

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

 

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