The Virginians; a tale of the last century ... With illustrations ... by the author

Front matter

fir{ Gsoifdf.. vi ' I-jj)! '. & iht.ih \l n; i eh YQ£.2 LONDON BRADBURY 8- EVANS.ll.BOUV__f.lt STREET 185.9 THE VIRGINIANS. A TALE OF THE LAST CENTUEY. BY W. M. THACKERAY, Author of "Esmond," " Vanity Fair," "The Newcomes," <_re. &c. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS ON STEEL AND WOOD BY THE AUTHOR. VOL. II. LONDON : BEADBUEY & EVANS, 11, BOTJVEEIE STEEET. 1859. LONDON" : BRA Dil DRY AND EVANS, FB1KTEB8, WHITEFRIARS. TO SIR HENRY DAVISON, CHIEF JUSTICE OF MADRAS, SHjis Book is inscribcB BY AN AFFECTIONATE OLD FRIEND. London, September 7, 1859. CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE I. — FRIENDS IH NEED .... 1 2.— CONTAINS A GREAT DEAL OF THE FINEST MORALITY .... 7 3. — CONTICCERE OMNES ij- 4. — INTENT-QUE ORA TENEBANT 07 5. — WHERE WE REMAIN AT THE COURT END OP THE TOWN ... 33 6. — DURING WHICH HARRY SITS SMOKING HIS PIPE AT HOME . . . 39 7. — BETWEEN BROTHERS 48 8.

ARIADNE 54 9. — in which mr. harry's nose continues to be put out op joint . 65 10. — WHERE WE DO WHAT CATS MAY DO ....... 71 11. IN WHICH WE ARE TREATED TO A PLAY 78 12. — WHICH TREATS OF MACBETH, A SUPPER, AND A PRETTY KETTLE OF FISH . 89 13. — IN WHICH THE PRINCE MARCHES UP THE HILL AND DOWN AGAIN . 97 14. — ARMA VIRUMQUE 103 15. MELPOMENE 118 16. — IN WHICH HARRY LIVES TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY 129 17. — soldier's return 137 18. IN WHICH WE GO A COURTING 142 19. — IN WHICH A TRAGEDY IS ACTED, AND TWO MORE ARE BEGUN . . 149 20. — IN WHICH HARRY GOES WESTWARD 161 21. — A LITTLE INNOCENT 166 22. — IN WHICH CUPID PLAYS A CONSIDERABLE PART . .... CONTENTS. ■ti chap. r-4015 23. — WHITE FAVOURS 187 24. — (FROM THE WARRINCTON MS ) IN WHICH MY LADY IS ON THE TOP OF THE LADDER 193 25. — WE KEEP CHRISTMAS AT CASTLEWOOD. 1759 199 26. — NEWS FROM CANADA 210 27.

THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE 217 28. — ISFORMS US HOW MR. WARRINGTON JUMPED INTO A LANDAU . . . 225 29. AND HOW EVERY BODY GOT OUT AGAIN . . ... 231 30. — PTRAMCS AND THISBE 240 31 — CONTAINING BOTH COMEDY AND TRAGEDY 250 32.— POCAHONTAS 257 38.— RES ANGUSTA DOMI HT i . . 265 34. — miles's moidore 274 35. — TROUBLES AND CONSOLATIONS 277 36. — IN WHICH HARRY SUBMITS TO THE COMMON LOT 289 37. — INVENI PORTUM 300 38. — AT HOME 309 39. — THE LAST OF GOD SAVE THE KING 321 40. YANKEE DOODLE COMES TO TOWN 328 41. — A COLONEL WITHOUT A REGIMENT 333 42. — IN WHICH WE BOTH FIGHT AND RUN AWAY 341 43. — SATIS PUGNÆ 353 44. — UNDER VINE AND FIG-TREE . LIST OF PLATES. PAGE Sir George, my Lady, and their Master Front iqyicce. Whose Voice is that ? g A Toung Reprobate 9 A Prisoner 24 A Presentation to Madam Esmond 48 George Made Much of 7g Macbeth and Lady Macbeth . . . ... . . . 90 George's Friends 105 Bon Jour, Mon Ami 115 Hetty's Misgivings 130 A Run for the Eoats . 135 Behind Montague House 186 Mr. Will is Presented to his Sister-in-Law 192 Master Miles Warrington 191 A Great Lady LIST OF PLATES.

Chapter I. Fbiends In Need

UICK, hackney-coach steeds, and bear George Warrington through Strand and Fleet Street to his imprisoned brother's rescue ! Anyone who remembers Hogarth's picture of a London hackney-coach and a London street road at that period, may fancy how weary the quick time was, and how long seemed the jour ney : — scarce any lights, save those carried by link-boys ; badly hung coaches ; bad pavements ; great holes in the road, and vast quagmires of winter mud. That drive from Piccadilly to Fleet Street seemed almost as long to our young man, as the journey from Marlborough to London which he had performed in the morning. He had written to Harry, announcing his arrival at Bristol. He had previously written to his brother, giving the great news of his existence and his return from captivity. There was war between VOL. II, i> England and France at that time ; the French privateers were for ever on the look-out for British merchant-ships, and seized them often within sight of port.

The letter bearing the intelligence of George's restoration must have been on board one of the many American ships of which the French took possession. The letter telling of George's arrival in England was never opened by poor Harry ; it was lying at the latter's apartments, which it reached on the third morning after Harry's captivity, when the angry Mr. Ruff had refused to give up any single item more of his lodger's property. To these apartments George first went on his arrival in London, and asked for his brother. Scared at the likeness between them, the maid servant who opened the door screamed, and ran back to her mistress. The mistress not liking to tell the truth, or to own that poor Harry was actually a prisoner at her husband's suit, said Mr. War rington had left his lodgings ; she did not know where Mr. Warrington was.

George knew that Clarges Street was close to Bond Street. Often and often had he looked over the London map. Aunt Bernstein would tell him where Harry was. He might be with her at that very moment. George had read in Harry's letters to Virginia about Aunt Bernstein's kindness to Harry. Even Madam Esmond was softened by it (and especially touched by a letter which the Baroness wrote — the letter which caused George to pack off post haste for Europe, indeed). She heartily hoped and trusted that Madam Beatrix had found occasion to repent of her former bad ways. It was time, indeed, at her age ; and Heaven knows that she had plenty to repent of ! I have known a harmless, good old soul of eighty, still bepommeled and stoned by irreproachable ladies of the straightest sect of the Pharisees, for a little slip which occurred long before the present century was born, or she herself was twenty years old.

Rachel Esmond never mentioned her eldest daughter : Madam Esmond Warrington never mentioned her sister. No. In spite of the order for remission of the sentence — in spite of the hand-writing on the floor of the Temple — there is a crime which some folks never will pardon, and regarding which female virtue, especially, is inexorable. I suppose the Virginians' agent at Bristol had told George fearful stories of his brother's doings. Gumbo, whom he met at his aunt's door, as soon as the lad recovered from his terror at the sudden re appearance of the master whom he supposed dead, had leisure to stammer out a word or two respecting his young master's whereabouts, and present pitiable condition ; and hence Mr. George's sternness of demeanour when he presented himself to the old lady. It seemed to him a matter of course that his brother in difficulty should be rescued by his relations.

O George, how little you know about London and London ways ! Whenever you take your walks abroad how many poor you meet : — if a philanthropist were for rescuing all of them, not all the wealth of all the provinces of America would suffice him ! But the feehng and agitation displayed by the old lady touched her nephew's heart when, jolting through the dark streets towards the house of his brother's captivity, George came to think of his aunt's behaviour. " She does feel my poor Harry's misfortune," he thought to himself, " I have been too hasty in judging her." Again and again, in the course of his hfe, Mr. George had to rebuke himself with the same crime of being too hasty. How many of us have not ? And, alas, the mischief done, there's no repentance will mend it. Quick, coachman ! We are almost as slow as you are in getting from Clarges Street to the Temple.

Poor Gumbo knows the way to the bailiff's house well enough. Again the bell is set ringing. The first door is opened to George and his negro ; then that first door is locked warily upon them, and they find themselves in a little passage with a httle Jewish janitor : then a second door is unlocked, and they enter into the house. The Jewish janitor stares, as by his flaring tallow-torch he sees a second Mr. Warrington before him. Come to see that gentleman ? Tes. But wait a moment. This is Mr. Warrington's brother from America. Gumbo must go and prepare his master first. Step into this room. There's a gentleman already there about Mr. W.'s business (the porter says), and another up-stairs with him now. There's no end of people have been about him. The room into which George was introduced was a small apartment which went by the name of Mr. Amos's office, and where, by a gutter ing candle, and talking to the bailiff, sat a stout gentleman in a cloak and a laced hat.

The young porter carried his candle, too, pre ceding Mr. George, so there was a sufficiency of light in the apart ment. " We are not angry any more, Harry ! " says the stout gentleman, in a cheery voice, getting up and advancing with an outstretched hand to the new comer. " Thank God, my boy ! Mr. Amos here says, there will be no difficulty about James and me being your bail, and we will do your business by breakfast time in the morning." " Why . . . Angels and ministers of grace ! who are you ? " And he started back as the other had hold of his hand. But the stranger grasped it only the more strongly. " God bless you, sir ! " he said, " I know who you are. You must be Colonel Lambert, of whose kindness to him my poor Hany wrote. And I am the brother whom you have heard of, sir ; and who was left for dead in Mr. Braddock's action ; and came to life again after eighteen months amongst the French; and hve to thank God and thank you for your kindness to my Harry," continued the lad with a faltering voice.

" James ! James ! Here is news ! " cries Mr. Lambert to a gentle man in red, who now entered the room. " Here are the dead come alive ! Here is Harry Scapegrace's brother come back, and with his scalp on liis head, too ! " (George had taken his hat off, and was standing by the light.) " This is my brother bail, Mr. Warrington '. This is B Lieutenant-Colonel James Wolfe, at your sen-ice. You must know there has been a httle difference between Harry and me, Mr. George. He is pacified, is he, James ? " " He is full of gratitude," says Mr. Wolfe, after making his bow to Mr. Warrington. " Harry wrote home about Mr. Wolfe, too, sir," said the young man, " and I hope my brother's friends will be so kind as to be mine." " I wish he had none other but us, Mr. Warrington. Poor Harry's fine folks have been too fine for him, and have ended by landing him here."

" Nay, your honours, I have done my best to make the young gentle man comfortable ; and, knowing your honour before, when you came to bail Captain Watkms, and that your security is perfectly — good, if your honour wishes, the young gentleman can go out this very night, and I will make it all right with the lawyer in the morning," says Harry's landlord, who knew the rank and respectability of the two gentlemen who had come to offer bail for his young prisoner. " The debt is five hundred and odd pounds, I think?" said Mr. War rington. " With a hundred thanks to these gentlemen, I can pay the amount at this moment into the officers' hands, taking the usual acknowledgment and caution. But I can never forget, gentlemen, that you helped my brother at his need, and, for doing so, I say thank you, and God bless you, in my mother's name and mine."

Gumbo had, meanwhile, gone up-stairs to his master's apartment, where Hany would probably have scolded the negro for returning that night, but that the young gentleman was very much soothed and touched by the conversation he had had with the friend who had just left him. He was sitting over his pipe of Virginia in a sad mood (for, somehow, even Maria's goodness and affection, as she liad just exhibited them, had not altogether consoled him ; and he had thought, with a httle dismay, of certain consequences to which that very kindness and fidelity bound him) when Mr. Wolfe's homely features and eager outstretched hand came to cheer the prisoner, and he heard how Mr. Lambert was below, and the errand upon which the two officers had come. In spite of himself, Lambert would be kind to him. In spite of Harry's ill-temper, and need less suspicion and anger, the good gentleman was determined to help him if he might — to help him even against Mr. Wolfe's own advice, as the latter frankly told Harry, "For you were wrong, Mr. Warrington," said the Colonel, " and you wouldn't be set right ; and you, a young man, used hard words and unkind behaviour to your senior, and what is more, one of the best gentlemen who walks God's earth.

You, see, sir, what his answer hath been to your wayward temper. You will bear with a friend who speaks frankly with you ? Martin Lam bert hath acted in this as he always doth, as the best Christian, the best friend, the most kind and generous of men. Nay, if you want another proof of his goodness, here it is : He has converted me, who, as I don't care to disguise, was angry with you for 3'our treat ment of him, and has absolutely brought me down here to be your bail. Let us both cry Peccavimus ! Harry, and shake our friend by the hand ! He is sitting in the room below. He would not come here till he knew how you would receive him." " I think he is a good man ! " groaned out Harry. " I was very angry and wild at the time when he and I met last, Colonel Wolfe. Nay, perhaps he was right in sending back those trinkets, hurt as I was at his doing so.

Go down to him, will you be so kind, sir ? and tell him I am sorry, and ask his pardon, and — and, God bless him for his generous behaviour." And here the young gentleman turned his head away, and rubbed his hand across his eyes. " Tell him all this thyself, Harry ! " cries the Colonel, taking the young fellow's hand. " No deputy will ever say it half so well. Come with me now." " You go first, and I '11 — I '11 follow, — on my word I will. See ! I am in my morning-gown ! I will but put on a coat and come to him. Give him my message first. Just — just prepare him for me ! " says poor Hany, who knew he must do it, but yet did not much hke that process of eating of humble-pie. Wolfe went out smiling — understanding the lad's scruples well enough, perhaps. As he opened the door, Mr. Gumbo entered it; almost forgetting to bow to the gentleman, profusely courteous as he was on ordinary occasions, — his eyes glaring round, his great mouth grinning — himself in a state of such high excitement and delight that his master remarked his condition.

" What, Gum ? What has happened to thee ? Hast thou got a new sweetheart ? " No, Gum had not got no new sweetheart, Master. " Give me my coat. What has brought thee back ? " Gum grinned prodigiously. " I have seen a ghost, Mas'r ! " he said. " A ghost ! and whose, and where ? " " Whar ? Saw him at Madame Bernstein's house. Come with him here in the coach ! He down-stairs now with Colonel Lambert ! " Whilst Gumbo is speaking, as he is putting on his master's coat, his eyes are rolling, his head is wagging, his hands are trembling, his lips are grinning. " Ghost— what ghost ? " says Hany, iu a strange agitation. " Is anybody — is — my mother come ? " " No, sir ; no, Master Harry ! " Gumbo's head rolls nearly off in its violent convolutions, and his master looking oddly at him, flings the door open, and goes rapidly down the stair.

He is at the foot of it, just as a voice within the little office, of which the door is open, is saying, " and for doing so, I say thank you, and God bless you, in my mother's name and mine." " Whose voice is that ? " calls out Harry Warrington, with a strange cry in his own voice. " It 's the ghost's, Mas'r ! " says Gumbo, from behind ; aud Harry runs forward to the room, — where, if you please, we will pause a httle minute before we enter. The two gentlemen who were there, turned their heads away. The lost was found again. The dead was alive. The prodigal was on his brother's heart, — his own full of love, gratitude, repentance. " Come away, Janies ! I think we are not wanted any more here," says the Colonel. " Good night, boys. Some ladies in Hill Street won't be able to sleep for this strange news.

Or will you go home and sup with 'em, and tell them the story ? " No, with many thanks, the boys would not go and sup to-uight. They had stories of their own to tell. " Quick, Gumbo, with the trunks ! Good-bye, Mr. Amos ! " Hany felt almost unhap2y when he went away. Who^z Voidz Ifi EH

Chapter II. Contains

A Gr.J_.AT DEAL OF THE FINEST MOEAUTT. HEN first we had the honour to be presented to Sir Miles Warrington at the King's drawing - room, . in St. James's . Palace, I confess that I, for one — looking at his jolly round face, his broad round waistcoat, his hearty country manner, — expected that I had lighted upon a most eligible and agreeable acquaintance at last, and was about to become intimate with that noblest specimen of the human race, the bepraised of songs and men, the good old English country gentleman. In fact, to be a good old country gentleman is to hold a position nearest the gods, and at the summit of earthly felicity. To have a large unen cumbered rent-roll, and the rents regularly paid by adoring farmers, who bless their stars at having such a landlord as his honour ; to have no tenant holding back with his money, excepting just one, THE VIRGINIANS. perhaps, who does so in order to give occasion to Good Old Country Gentleman to show his sublime charity and universal benevolence of soul ; to hunt three days a-week, love the sport of all things, and have perfect good health and good appetite in consequence ; to have not only good appetite, but a good dinner ; to sit down at church in the midst of a chorus of blessings from the villagers, the first man in the Parish, the benefactor of the Parish, with a consciousness of consummate desert, saying, "Have mercy upon us, miserable sinners," to be sure, but only for form's sake, because the words are written in the book, and to give other folks an example : — a G. 0.

C. G. a miserable sinner ! So healthy, so wealthy, so jolly, so much respected by the vicar, so much honoured by the tenants, so much beloved and admired by his family, amongst whom his story of grouse in the gun-room causes laughter from generation to generation ; — this perfect being a miserable sinner ! AUons done ! Give any man good health and temper, five thousand a year, the adoration of his parish, and the love and worship of his family, and I '11 defy you to make him so heartily dissatisfied with his spiritual condition as to set himself down a miserable any thing. If you were a royal highness, and went to church in the most perfect health and comfort, the parson waiting to begin the service until Your R. H. came in, would you believe yourself to be a miserable, <fec. ? YTou might when racked with gout, in solitude, the fear of death before your eyes, the doctor having cut off your bottle of claret, and ordered arrowroot and a little sherry, — you might then be humiliated, and acknowledge your own shortcomings, and the vanity of things in general ; but, in high health, sunshine, spirits, that word miserable is only a form.

You can't think in your heart that you are to be pitied much for the present. If you are to be miserable, what is Colin Ploughman, with the ague, seven children, two pounds a-year rent to pay for his cottage, and eight shillings a-week ? No : a healthy, rich, jolly, country gentleman, if miserable, has a very sup portable miseiy : if a sinner, has very few people to tell him so. It may be he becomes somewhat selfish ; but at least he is satisfied with himself. Except my lord at thc castle, there is nobody for miles and miles round so good or so great. His admirable wife ministers to him, and to the whole parish, indeed : his children bow before him : the vicar of the parish reverences him : he is respected at quarter sessions : he causes poachers to tremble : off go all hats before him at market : and round about his great coach, in which his spotless daughters and sublime lady sit, all the country-town tradesmen cringe, bareheaded, and the farmers' women drop innumerable curtsies.

From their cushions in the great coach the ladies look down beneficently, and smile on the poorer folk. They buy a yard of ribbon with affability ; they condescend to purchase an ounce of salts, or a packet of flower seeds : they deign to cheapen a goose : their drive is like a royal progress ; a happy people is supposed to press round them and bless them. Tradesmen bow, fanners' wives bob, town-boys, waving their '/ \'oisfs<f ii E t'j'riHrfj'E .' ragged hats, cheer the red-faced coachman as he drives the fat bays, and cry, " Sir Miles for ever ! Throw us a halfpenny, my lady ! " But suppose the market-woman should hide her fat goose when Sir Miles's coach comes, out of tei-ror lest my lady, spying the bird, should insist on purchasing it a bargain? Suppose no coppers ever were known to come out of the royal coach window ?

Suppose Sir Miles regaled his tenants with notoriously small beer, and his poor with especially thin broth ? This may be our fine old English gentleman's way. There have been not a few fine Englisli gentlemen and ladies of tliis sort ; who patronised the poor without ever relieving them, who called out " Amen ! " at church as loud as the clerk ; who went through all the forms of piety, and discharged all the etiquette of old English gentlemanhood ; who bought virtue a bargain, as it were, and had no doubt they were honouring her by the purchase. Poor Harry in his distress asked help from his relations : his aunt sent him a tract and her blessing : his uncle had business out of town, and could not, of course, answer the poor boy's petition. How much of this behaviour goes on daily in respectable hfe, think you ?

You can fancy Lord and Lady Macbeth concocting a nrurder, and coming together with some httle awkwardness, perhaps, when the transaction was done and over ; but my Lord and Lady Skinflint, when they consult in their bedroom about giving their luckless nephew a helping hand, and determine to refuse, and go down to family prayers, and meet their children and domestics, and discourse virtuously before them, and then remain together, and talk nose to nose, — what can they think of one another ? ancl of the poor kinsman fallen among the thieves, and groaning for help unheeded ? How can they go on with those virtuous airs ? How can they dare look each other in the face ? Dare ? Do you suppose they think they have done wrong ? Do you suppose Skinflint is tortured with remorse at the idea of the distress which called to him in vain, and of the hunger which he sent empty away?

Not he. He is indignant with Prodigal for being a fool : he is not ashamed of himself for being a curmudgeon. What ? a young man with such opportunities throw them away. A fortune spent amongst gamblers and spendthrifts ? Horrible, horrible ! Take warning, my child, by this unfortunate young man's behaviour, and see the consequences of extravagance. According to the great and always Established Church of the Pharisees, here is an admirable opportunity for a moral discourse, and an assertion of virtue. " And to think of his deceiving us so ! " cries out Lady Warrington. " Very sad, very sad, my dear ! " says Sir John, wagging his head. " To think of so much extravagance in one so young ! " cries Lady Warrington. "Cards, bets, feasts at taverns of the most wicked profusion, carriage and riding horses, the company of the wealthy and profligate of his own sex, and, I fear, of the most iniquitous persons of ours."

" Hush, my Lady Warrington ! " cries her husband, glancing towards the spotless Dora and Flora, who held down then blushing heads, at the mention of the last naughty persons. " No wonder my poor children hide their faces ! " Mamma continues. " My dears, I wish even the existence of such creatures could be kept from you ! " " They can't go to an opera, or the park, without seeing ' em, to be sure," says Sir Miles. " To think we should have introduced such a young serpent into the bosom of our family ! and have left him in the company of that guile less darhng ! " and she points to Master Miles. "Who's a serpent, mamma?" inquires that youth. "First you said cousin Hany was bad : then he was good : now he is bad again. Which is he, Sir Miles?" " He has faults, hke all of us, Miley, my dear. Your cousin has been wild, and you must take warning by him."

" Was not my elder brother, who died — my naughty brother — was not he wild too ? He was not kind to me when I was quite a little boy. He never gave me money, nor toys, nor rode with me, nor — why do you cry, mamma ? Sure I remember how Hugh and you were always fight " " Silence, sh ! " cry out papa and the girls in a breath. " Don't you know you are never to mention that name ?" " I know I love Hany, and I didn't love Hugh," says the sturdy little rebel. "And if cousin Harry is hi prison, I'll give him my half guinea that my godpapa gave me, and an3'thing I have — yes, anything, except — except my httle horse — and my silver waistcoat — and — and Snowball and Sweethps at home — and — and, yes, my custard after dinner." This was in reply to hint of sister Dora. "But I'd give him some of it," continues Miles, after a pause.

" Shut thy mouth with it, child, and then go about thy business," says papa, amused. Sir Miles Warrington had a considerable fund of easy humour. " Who would have thought he should ever be so wild?" Mamma goes on. " Nay. Youth is the season for wild oats, my dear." " That we should be so misled in him !" sighed the girls. " That he should kiss us both !" cries papa. " Sir Miles Wanington, I have no patience with that sort of vulgarity !'* says the majestic matron. " Which of you was the favourite yesterday, girls ?" continues the father. " Favourite, indeed ! I told him over and over again, of my engagement to dear Tom — I did, Dora — why do you sneer, if you please?" says the handsome sister. " Nay, to do her justice, so did Dora too," said papa. " Because Flora seemed to wish to forget her engagement with dear Tom sometimes," remarks her sister.

" I never never never wished to break with Tom ! It's wicked of you to say so, Dora ! It is you who were for ever sneering at him : it is you who are always envious because I happen — at least, because gentlemen imagine that I am not ill-looking, and prefer me to some folks, in spite of all their learning and wit ! " cries Flora, tossing her head over her shoulder, aud looking at the glass. " Why are you always looking there, sister ? " says the artless Miles junior. " Sure, you must know your face well enough ! " " Some people look at it just as often, child, who haven't near such good reason," says papa, gallantly. " Ifyou mean me, Sh- Miles, I thank you," cries Dora. "My face is as Heaven made it, and my father and mother gave it me. 'Tis not my fault if I resemble my papa's family. If my head is homely, at least I have got some brains in it.