The Virginians

ngton's room was more than ever Mr. Washington's room now. She raved about him and praised him in all companies. She more than ever pointed out his excellences to her sons, contrasting his sterling

he friends round about him. He uttered jokes so deep that his simple mother did not know their meani

rrington. "How contrary is the destiny to us! I see you quitting the embrace of an adored mother to precipitate yourself in the arms of Bellona. I see you pass wounded after combats. I hesitate almost to wish victory to our lilies when I behold you ranged under the banners of the Leopard. There are enmities which the heart does not recognise - ours assuredly are at peace among the tumults. All here love and salute you, as well as

ched from home under an experienced commander. In February, 1755, Commodore Keppel, in the famous ship Centurion, in which Anson had made his voyage round the world, anchored in Hampton Roads with two ships of war under his command, and having on board General Braddock, his staff, and a part of his troops. Mr. Braddock was appointed by the Duke. A hundred years ago the D

n Maryland, where he ordered the governors of the different colonies to meet him in council, ur

orthwith to see the troops under canvas at Alexandria. The sight of their lines delighted him, and the inspiring music of their fifes and drums. He speedily

ifferent from the horse-racing, cock-fighting Virginian squires, with whom Master Harry would associate, and the lawyers, and pettifoggers, and toad-eaters at the lieutenant-governor's table. Madam Esmond had a very k

ings, she would scarce have been so ready to recommend their company to her sons. Men and officers swaggered the country round, and frightened the peaceful farm and village folk with their riot: the General raved and stormed against his troops for their disorder; against the provincials for their traitorous niggardliness; the soldiers took possession almost as of a conquered country, they scorned t

and such indeed was the case. The widow received them most graciously, and gave them the best sport the country afforded. Presently, the General himself sent polite messages to the mistress of Castlewood. His father had served with hers under the glorious

m their respects, were our twins of Castlewood, who mounted their best nags, took with them their last London suits, and, with their two negro-boys, in smart liveries behind them, rode in state to wait upon the great man. H

lemen, happened to be dining with his Excellency. "Oh!" says Mr. Dinwiddie, "those are the sons of t

, now gave a disrespectful and ridiculous account of Madam Esmond, made merry with her pomposity and immense

e it had been left when he fell asleep, and spoke of Madam Esmond in curt, disrespectful terms, such as soldiers were in the habit of using in those days, and asking, again,

t juncture, and recommended him to conciliate her by all means. The General had already made up his mind that Mr. Franklin was a very shrewd, intelligent person, and graciously ordered an aide-de-camp to invite the two young men to the next day's dinner. When they appeared he was very pleasant and good-natured; the gentlemen of the General's family made much of them. They behaved, as became persons of t

s for ever with the officers at Williamsburg; he scoured and cleaned and polished all the guns and swords in the house; he renewed the amusements of his childhood, and had the negroes under arms. His mother, who had a gallant spirit, knew that

attachment for his elder brother, worshipped him with an extravagant regard, and in all things gave way to him as the chief. So Harry saw, to his infinite terror, how George, too, in his grave way, was occupied with military matters. George had the wars of Eugene and Marlb

Washington, who had been unlucky in the affair of last year - had already promised to join him as aide-de-camp, and his Excellency would gladly take another young Virginian gentleman into his family." Harry's eyes brightened and his face flushed at this offer. "He would like with all his heart to go!" he cried out. George said, looking hard at his younger brother, that one of them would be proud to attend his Excellency, whilst it would be the other's duty to take care of their mother

she said; "at such a crisis in the country our family must come forward. Have you - have you settled yet

her; of course I ought to go!"

id Mrs. Mountain, who wa

ld you so!" again cries Harry,

ly ought to go, mothe

ve never recovered your feve

the family. But, you see, 'tis the law of Honour, my Harry." (He here spoke to his brother with a voice of extraordinary kindness and tenderness.) "The grief I have had in this matter has been that I must refu

aid poor Harry,

are here to fill my place. I would like to give way, my dear, as you, I know, would lay down your

st the servants that Mr. George was going on the campaign. Dinah, George's foster-mother, was loud in her lamentations at losing him; Phillis, Harry's old nurse, was as noisy because Master George, as usual, was preferred over Master Harry

She had no patience with him. He did not know what he was doing by leaving home. She begged, implored, insis

opposition. "I know, Mountain," said he, "that Harry woul

!" says Mountain, wit

own it when we talked o

, with a most gloomy, sardonic la

of that mournful co

untain continued, wagging her head. "It may be, my poor delud

an?" cried George, the bl

ill ask your mother to marry him, and you will find him master here when you come back. That is why you ought not to go away, you poor, unhappy, simpl

on the campaign,

rrying campaign, child

me that Mr. Washington had accepte

back - you will see if he does not. I have proofs of what I say to you - proofs under his own hand -

paper?" asked George

's chamber!" says Mrs. Moun

ouse?" cried George. "For shame! I will not look at the p

or Mr. Braddock, and we are expecting ever so much company, and I had to take the things which the Major leaves here - he treats the house just as if it was his own already - into

e said grimly. "I dare say Mrs. Bluebeard thoug

carried you from your bed to the sofa in these arms. There, sir, I don't want you there now. My dear Mountain, indeed! Don't tell me! You fly into a passion, and, call names, and wound my feelin

e would have seized it at the risk of burning her own fingers, and ere she uttered the above passionate defence of her conduct. Perhaps George was ab

his great big handwriting like a clerk. It was not my fault that he wrote them, or that I found them. Read

t help taking in the contents of the document before him. "Not a word of this, Mountain,

rm in her countenance, asked him at dinner what ailed him that he looked so pale? "Do you suppose, madam," says he

t the table; called to the servants and laughed at them, and drank more and more. Each time the door was opened,