Having repaired one day to his accustomed dinner at the White Horse
ordinary, Mr. Warrington was pleased to see amongst the faces round the
table the jolly, good-looking countenance of Parson Sampson, who was
regaling the company when Harry entered, with stories and bons-mots,
which kept them in roars of laughter. Though he had not been in London
for some months, the parson had the latest London news, or what passed
for such with the folks at the ordinary: what was doing in the King's
house at Kensington; and what in the Duke's in Pall Mall: how Mr. Byng
was behaving in prison, and who came to him: what were the odds at
Newmarket, and who was the last reigning toast in Covent Garden;--the
jolly chaplain could give the company news upon all these points,--news
that might not be very accurate indeed, but was as good as if it
were for the country gentlemen who heard it. For suppose that my Lord
Viscount Squanderfield was ruining himself for Mrs. Polly, and Sampson
called her Mrs. Lucy? that it was Lady Jane who was in love with
the actor, and not Lady Mary? that it was Harry Hilton, of the Horse
Grenadiers, who had the quarrel with Chevalier Solingen, at Marybone
Garden, and not Tommy Ruffler, of the Foot Guards? The names and dates
did not matter much. Provided the stories were lively and wicked, their
correctness was of no great importance; and Mr. Sampson laughed and
chattered away amongst his country gentlemen, charmed them with his
spirits and talk, and drank his share of one bottle after another, for
which his delighted auditory persisted in calling. A hundred years ago,
the Abbe Parson, the clergyman who frequented the theatre, the tavern,
the racecourse, the world of fashion, was no uncommon character
in English society: his voice might be heard the loudest in the
hunting-field; he could sing the jolliest song at the Rose or the
Bedford Head, after the play was over at Covent Garden, and could call a
main as well as any at the gaming-table.
It may have been modesty, or it may have been claret, which caused his
reverence's rosy face to redden deeper, but when he saw Mr. Warrington
enter, he whispered “Maxima debetur” to the laughing country squire who
sat next him in his drab coat and gold-laced red waistcoat, and rose up
from his chair and ran, nay, stumbled forward, in his haste to greet the
Virginian: “My dear sir, my very dear sir, my conqueror of spades, and
clubs, and hearts, too, I am delighted to see your honour looking so
fresh and well,” cries the chaplain.
Harry returned the clergyman's greeting with great pleasure: he was glad
to see Mr. Sampson; he could also justly compliment his reverence upon
his cheerful looks and rosy gills.
The squire in the drab coat knew Mr. Warrington; he made a place beside
himself; he called out to the parson to return to his seat on the other
side, and to continue his story about Lord Ogle and the grocer's wife
in------. Where he did not say, for his sentence was interrupted by a
shout and an oath addressed to the parson for treading on his gouty toe.
The chaplain asked pardon, hurriedly turned round to Mr. Warrington,
and informed him, and the rest of the company indeed, that my Lord
Castlewood sent his affectionate remembrances to his cousin, and had
given special orders to him (Mr. Sampson) to come to Tunbridge Wells and
look after the young gentleman's morals; that my Lady Viscountess and my
Lady Fanny were gone to Harrogate for the waters; that Mr. Will had won
his money at Newmarket, and was going on a visit to my Lord Duke;
that Molly the housemaid was crying her eyes out about Gumbo, Mr.
Warrington's valet;--in fine, all the news of Castlewood and its
neighbourhood. Mr. Warrington was beloved by all the country round,
Mr. Sampson told the company, managing to introduce the names of some
persons of the very highest rank into his discourse. “All Hampshire had
heard of his successes at Tunbridge, successes of every kind,” says
Mr. Sampson, looking particularly arch; my lord hoped, their ladyships
hoped, Harry would not be spoilt for his quiet Hampshire home.
The guests dropped off one by one, leaving the young Virginian to his
bottle of wine and the chaplain.
“Though I have had plenty,” says the jolly chaplain, “that is no reason
why I should not have plenty more,” and he drank toast after toast, and
bumper after bumper, to the amusement of Harry, who always enjoyed his
society.
By the time when Sampson had had his “plenty more,” Harry, too, was
become specially generous, warm-hearted, and friendly. A lodging--why
should Mr. Sampson go to the expense of an inn, when there was a room
at Harry's quarters? The chaplain's trunk was ordered thither, Gumbo was
bidden to make Mr. Sampson comfortable--most comfortable; nothing would
satisfy Mr. Warrington but that Sampson should go down to his stables
and see his horses; he had several horses now; and when at the stable
Sampson recognised his own horse which Harry had won from him; and the
fond beast whinnied with pleasure, and rubbed his nose against his old
master's coat; Harry rapped out a brisk energetic expression or two, and
vowed by Jupiter that Sampson should have his old horse back again:
he would give him to Sampson, that he would; a gift which the chaplain
accepted by seizing Harry's hand, and blessing him,--by flinging his
arms round the horse's neck, and weeping for joy there, weeping tears
of Bordeaux and gratitude. Arm-in-arm the friends walked to Madame
Bernstein's from the stable, of which they brought the odours into her
ladyship's apartment. Their flushed cheeks and brightened eyes showed
what their amusement had been. Many gentlemen's cheeks were in the habit
of flushing in those days, and from the same cause.
Madame Bernstein received her nephew's chaplain kindly enough. The old
lady relished Sampson's broad jokes and rattling talk from time to time,
as she liked a highly-spiced dish or a new entree composed by her cook,
upon its two or three first appearances. The only amusement of which she
did not grow tired, she owned, was cards. “The cards don't cheat,” she
used to say. “A bad hand tells you the truth to your face: and there is
nothing so flattering in the world as a good suite of trumps.” And when
she was in a good humour, and sitting down to her favourite pastime, she
would laughingly bid her nephew's chaplain say grace before the meal.
Honest Sampson did not at first care to take a hand at Tunbridge Wells.
Her ladyship's play was too high for him, he would own, slapping his
pocket with a comical piteous look, and its contents had already been
handed over to the fortunate youth at Castlewood. Like most persons of
her age, and indeed her sex, Madame Bernstein was not prodigal of money.
I suppose it must have been from Harry Warrington, whose heart was
overflowing with generosity as his purse with guineas, that the chaplain
procured a small stock of ready coin, with which he was presently
enabled to appear at the card-table.
Our young gentleman welcomed Mr. Sampson to his coin, as to all the rest
of the good things which he had gathered about him. 'Twas surprising how
quickly the young Virginian adapted himself to the habits of life of
the folks amongst whom he lived. His suits were still black, but of the
finest cut and quality. “With a star and ribbon, and his stocking down,
and his hair over his shoulder, he would make a pretty Hamlet,” said the
gay old Duchess Queensberry. “And I make no doubt he has been the death
of a dozen Ophelias already, here and amongst the Indians,” she added,
thinking not at all the worse of Harry for his supposed successes among
the fair. Harry's lace and linen were as fine as his aunt could desire.
He purchased fine shaving-plate of the toy-shop women, and a couple of
magnificent brocade bedgowns, in which his worship lolled at ease, and
sipped his chocolate of a morning. He had swords and walking-canes, and
French watches with painted backs and diamond settings, and snuff boxes
enamelled by artists of the same cunning nation. He had a levee of
grooms, jockeys, tradesmen, daily waiting in his anteroom, and admitted
one by one to him and Parson Sampson, over his chocolate, by Gumbo, the
groom of the chambers. We have no account of the number of men whom Mr.
Gumbo now had under him. Certain it is that no single negro could have
taken care of all the fine things which Mr. Warrington now possessed,
let alone the horses and the postchaise which his honour had bought.
Also Harry instructed himself in the arts which became a gentleman in
those days. A French fencing-master, and a dancing-master of the same
nation, resided at Tunbridge during that season when Harry made
his appearance: these men of science the young Virginian sedulously
frequented, and acquired considerable skill and grace in the peaceful
and warlike accomplishments which they taught. Ere many weeks were over
he could handle the foils against his master or any frequenter of the
fencing-school,--and, with a sigh, Lady Maria (who danced very elegantly
herself) owned that there was no gentleman at court who could walk a
minuet more gracefully than Mr. Warrington. As for riding, though Mr.
Warrington took a few lessons on the great horse from a riding-master
who came to Tunbridge, he declared that their own Virginian manner was
well enough for him, and that he saw no one amongst the fine folks
and the jockeys who could ride better than his friend Colonel George
Washington of Mount Vernon.
The obsequious Sampson found himself in better quarters than he had
enjoyed for ever so long a time. He knew a great deal of the world, and
told a great deal more, and Harry was delighted with his stories, real
or fancied. The man of twenty looks up to the man of thirty, admires
the latter's old jokes, stale puns, and tarnished anecdotes, that are
slopped with the wine of a hundred dinner-tables. Sampson's town and
college pleasantries were all new and charming to the young Virginian. A
hundred years ago,--no doubt there are no such people left in the world
now,--there used to be grown men in London who loved to consort with
fashionable youths entering life; to tickle their young fancies with
merry stories; to act as Covent Garden Mentors and masters of ceremonies
at the Round-house; to accompany lads to the gaming-table, and perhaps
have an understanding with the punters; to drink lemonade to Master
Hopeful's Burgundy, and to stagger into the streets with perfectly
cool heads when my young lord reeled out to beat the watch. Of this, no
doubt, extinct race, Mr. Sampson was a specimen: and a great comfort it
is to think (to those who choose to believe the statement) that in Queen
Victoria's reign there are no flatterers left, such as existed in the
reign of her royal great-grandfather, no parasites pandering to the
follies of young men; in fact, that all the toads have been eaten off
the face of the island (except one or two that are found in stones,
where they have lain perdus these hundred years), and the toad-eaters
have perished for lack of nourishment.
With some sauces, as I read, the above-mentioned animals are said to
be exceedingly fragrant, wholesome, and savoury eating. Indeed, no man
could look more rosy and healthy, or flourish more cheerfully, than
friend Sampson upon the diet. He became our young friend's confidential
leader, and, from the following letter, which is preserved in the
Warrington correspondence, it will be seen that Mr. Harry not only
had dancing and fencing masters, but likewise a tutor, chaplain, and
secretary:--
TO MRS. ESMOND WARRINGTON OF CASTLEWOOD AT HER HOUSE AT RICHMOND,
VIRGINIA
Mrs. Bligh's Lodgings, Pantiles, Tunbridge Wells,
“August 25th, 1756.
“HONOURED MADAM--Your honoured letter of 20 June, per Mr. Trail of
Bristol, has been forwarded to me duly, and I have to thank your
goodness and kindness for the good advice which you are pleased to give
me, as also for the remembrances of dear home, which I shall love never
the worse for having been to the home of our ancestors in England.
“I writ you a letter by the last monthly packet, informing my honoured
mother of the little accident I had on the road hither, and of the
kind friends who I found and whom took me in. Since then I have been
profiting of the fine weather and the good company here, and have made
many friends among our nobility, whose acquaintance I am sure you will
not be sorry that I should make. Among their lordships I may mention the
famous Earl of Chesterfield, late Ambassador to Holland, and Viceroy of
the Kingdom of Ireland; the Earl of March and Ruglen, who will be Duke
of Queensberry at the death of his Grace; and her Grace the Duchess, a
celebrated beauty of the Queen's time, when she remembers my grandpapa
at Court. These and many more persons of the first fashion attend my
aunt's assemblies, which are the most crowded at this crowded place.
Also on my way hither I stayed at Westerham, at the house of an officer,
Lieut.-Gen. Wolfe, who served with my grandfather and General Webb
in the famous wars of the Duke of Marlborough. Mr. Wolfe has a son,
Lieut.-Col. James Wolfe, engaged to be married to a beautiful lady now
in this place, Miss Lowther of the North--and though but 30 years old he
is looked up to as much as any officer in the whole army, and has served
with honour under his Royal Highness the Duke wherever our arms have
been employed.
“I thank my honoured mother for announcing to me that a quarter's
allowance of 52l. 10s. will be paid me by Mr. Trail. I am in no present
want of cash, and by practising a rigid economy, which will be necessary
(as I do not disguise) for the maintenance of horses, Gumbo, and the
equipage and apparel requisite for a young gentleman of good family,
hope to be able to maintain my credit without unduly trespassing upon
yours. The linnen and clothes which I brought with me will with due care
last for some years--as you say. 'Tis not quite so fine as worn here by
persons of fashion, and I may have to purchase a few very fine shirts
for great days: but those I have are excellent for daily wear.
“I am thankful that I have been quite without occasion to use your
excellent family pills. Gumbo hath taken them with great benefit, who
grows fat and saucy upon English beef, ale, and air. He sends his humble
duty to his mistress, and prays Mrs. Mountain to remember him to all
his fellow-servants, especially Dinah and Lily, for whom he has bought
posey-rings at Tunbridge Fair.
“Besides partaking of all the pleasures of the place, I hope my honoured
mother will believe that I have not been unmindful of my education.
I have had masters in fencing and dancing, and my Lord Castlewood's
chaplain, the Reverend Mr. Sampson, having come hither to drink the
waters, has been so good as to take a vacant room at my lodging. Mr. S.
breakfasts with me, and we read together of a morning--he saying that I
am not quite such a dunce as I used to appear at home. We have read
in Mr. Rapin's History, Dr. Barrow's Sermons, and, for amusement,
Shakspeare, Mr. Pope's Homer, and (in French) the translation of an
Arabian Work of Tales, very diverting. Several men of learning have been
staying here besides the persons of fashion; and amongst the former was
Mr. Richardson, the author of the famous books which you and Mountain
and my dearest brother used to love so. He was pleased when I told him
that his works were in your closet in Virginia, and begged me to convey
his respectful compliments to my lady-mother. Mr. R. is a short fat man,
with little of the fire of genius visible in his eye or person.
“My aunt and my cousin, the Lady Maria, desire their affectionate
compliments to you, and with best regards for Mountain, to whom I
enclose a note, I am,--Honoured madam, your dutiful son, H. ESMOND
WARRINGTON.”
Note in Madam Esmond's Handwriting,
“From my son. Received October 15 at Richmond. Sent 16 jars preserved
peaches, 224 lbs. best tobacco, 24 finest hams, per Royal William of
Liverpool, 8 jars peaches, 12 hams for my nephew, the Rt. Honourable
the Earl of Castlewood. 4 jars, 6 hams for the Baroness Bernstein, ditto
ditto for Mrs. Lambert of Oakhurst, Surrey, and 1/2 cwt. tobacco.
Packet of Infallible Family Pills for Gumbo. My Papa's large silver-gilt
shoe-buckles for H., and red silver-laced saddle-cloth.”
II. (enclosed in No. I.)
“For Mrs. Mountain.
“What do you mien, you silly old Mountain, by sending an order for your
poor old divadends dew at Xmas? I'd have you to know I don't want your
7l. 10, and have toar your order up into 1000 bitts. I've plenty of
money. But I'm obleaged to you all same. A kiss to Fanny from--Your
loving HARRY.”
Note in Madam Esmond's Handwriting
“This note, which I desired M. to show to me, proves that she hath a
good heart, and that she wished to show her gratitude to the family, by
giving up her half-yearly divd. (on L500 3 per ct.) to my boy. Hence
I reprimanded her very slightly for daring to send money to Mr. E.
Warrington, unknown to his mother. Note to Mountain not so well spelt as
letter to me.
“Mem. to write to Revd. Mr. Sampson desire to know what theolog. books
he reads with H. Recommend Law, Baxter, Drelincourt.--Request H. to say
his catechism to Mr. S., which he has never quite been able to master.
By next ship peaches (3), tobacco 1/2 cwt. Hams for Mr. S.”
The mother of the Virginians and her sons have long long since passed
away. So how are we to account for the fact, that of a couple of letters
sent under one enclosure and by one packet, one should be well spelt,
and the other not entirely orthographical? Had Harry found some
wonderful instructor, such as exists in the present lucky times, and
who would improve his writing in six lessons? My view of the case, after
deliberately examining the two notes, is this: No. 1, in which there
appears a trifling grammatical slip (“the kind, friends who I found and
whom took me in”), must have been re-written from a rough copy which
had probably undergone the supervision of a tutor or friend. The more
artless composition, No. 2, was not referred to the scholar who prepared
No. 1 for the maternal eye, and to whose corrections of “who” and “whom”
Mr. Warrington did not pay very close attention. Who knows how he
may have been disturbed? A pretty milliner may have attracted Harry's
attention out of window--a dancing bear with pipe and tabor may have
passed along the common--a jockey come under his windows to show off a
horse there? There are some days when any of us may be ungrammatical and
spell ill. Finally, suppose Harry did not care to spell so elegantly for
Mrs. Mountain as for his lady-mother, what affair is that of the
present biographer, century, reader? And as for your objection that Mr.
Warrington, in the above communication to his mother, showed some little
hypocrisy and reticence in his dealings with that venerable person, I
dare say, young folks, you in your time have written more than one prim
letter to your papas and mammas in which not quite all the transactions
of your lives were narrated, or if narrated, were exhibited in the most
favourable light for yourselves--I dare say, old folks! you, in your
time, were not altogether more candid. There must be a certain distance
between me and my son Jacky. There must be a respectful, an amiable, a
virtuous hypocrisy between us. I do not in the least wish that he should
treat me as his equal, that he should contradict me, take my arm-chair,
read the newspaper first at breakfast, ask unlimited friends to dine
when I have a party of my own, and so forth. No; where there is not
equality there must be hypocrisy. Continue to be blind to my faults; to
hush still as mice when I fall asleep after dinner; to laugh at my old
jokes; to admire my sayings; to be astonished at the impudence of those
unbelieving reviewers; to be dear filial humbugs, O my children! In my
castle I am king. Let all my royal household back before me. 'Tis not
their natural way of walking, I know: but a decorous, becoming, and
modest behaviour highly agreeable to me. Away from me they may do, nay,
they do do, what they like. They may jump, skip, dance, trot, tumble
over heads and heels, and kick about freely, when they are out of the
presence of my majesty. Do not then, my dear young friends, be surprised
at your mother and aunt when they cry out, “Oh, it was highly immoral
and improper of Mr. Warrington to be writing home humdrum demure letters
to his dear mamma, when he was playing all sorts of merry pranks!”--but
drop a curtsey, and say, “Yes, dear grandmamma (or aunt, as may be),
it was very wrong of him: and I suppose you never had your fun when you
were young.” Of course, she didn't! And the sun never shone, and the
blossoms never budded, and the blood never danced, and the fiddles never
sang, in her spring-time. Eh, Babet! mon lait de poule et mon bonnet
de nuit! Ho, Betty! my gruel and my slippers! And go, ye frisky, merry
little souls! and dance, and have your merry little supper of cakes and
ale!