Henry Esmond; The English Humourists; The Four Georges

f the small-pox, that dreadful scourge of the world, has somewhat been abated in our part of it; and remembering in my time hundreds of the young and beautiful who have been carried to the grave,

ongest were alarmed, and those fled who could. One day in the year 1694 (I have good reason to remember it), Doctor Tusher ran into Castlewood House, with a face o

wright's bonny face; if he did not want something done at the blacksmith's he would go and drink ale at the "Three Castles", or find some pretext for seeing this poor Nancy. Poor thing, Harry meant or imagined no harm; and she, no doubt, as little, but the truth is they were always meeting-in the lanes, or by the brook, or at the garden-palings, or about Castlewood: it was, "Lord, Mr. Henry!" and "How do you do, Nancy?" many and many a time in the week. 'Tis surprising the [pg 080] magnetic attraction which draws people together from ev

ancy, and then of shame and disquiet for the Castlewood family, lest he might have brought this infection; for the truth is that Mr. Harry had been sitting in a back room for an hour that day

ny shape but this. He was very proud of his pink complexion and fair hair-but the idea of death by small-pox scared him beyond all other ends.

ouse. Half the people of the village have visited that to-day, or the blacksmith's, which is the same thing. My clerk Si

you, would you not go?" asked my lady, looking up

I wouldn't,"

e life of a parish priest in the midst of his flock is highly valuable to them, he is not called upon to risk it (and therewith the lives, future prospects, and temporal, even spiritual welfare of his own family) for the sake of a single person, who is not

id!" crie

I would lay my life down"-and, to judge from the alarmed look of the doctor's purple

there before her; insomuch that Lady Castlewood was obliged not to show her love for her son in the presence of the little girl, and embrace one or the other alone. She would turn pale and red with rage if she caught signs of intelligence or affection between Frank and his mother; would sit apart, and not speak for a whole night, if she thought the boy had a better fruit or a larger cake than hers; would fling away a ribbon if he had one; and from the earliest age, sitting up in her little chair by the great fireplace opposite to the corner where Lady Castlewood [pg 082] commonly sat at her embroidery, would utter infantine sarcasms about the favour shown to her brother. These, if spoken in the presence of Lord Castlewood, tickled and amused his humour; he would pretend to love Frank best, and dandle and kiss him, and roar with laughter at Beatrix's jealousy. But t

writing, had refused him, seeing the place occupied by her brother, and, luckily for her, had sat at the further end of the room, away from him, playing with a spaniel dog which she had (and for which, by fits and st

into peril. Beatrix, who had pouted sufficiently (and who whenever a stranger appeared began, from infancy almost, to play off little graces to catch his attention), her brother being now gone to bed, was for taking her p

ing between him and her-saying in the French language to Lady Castlewood, with whom the young lad had read much, and whom he had perfected in

rbid you to touch Mr. Esmond. Come away, child-come to your room. Come to your room-I wish your reverence good night-and you, sir, had you not better go back to your frien

hour of the evening-"Hey-day! Rachel, what are you in a passion about? Ladies ought never to be in a passion. Ought they, Do

o do with his time here, and not having a taste for our com

s, you've been at Nancy Sievewright. D-- the young hypocrite,

d my lady, "don't insu

with shame and mortification, "the honour of t

rd, more and more laughing and tipsy.

into yours," she added quickly. "Go, my child: go, I say: not a word!" And Beatrix, quite surprised at so sudden a tone of authority from one who was seldom

en at the ale-house all day, where he has had that little wretch who is now ill of the small-pox on his knee. And he comes home reeking from that place-yes, reeking from it-and takes my boy into his lap without shame, and

ote the poor boy, so that he stood for some moments bewildered with grief and rage at the i

m now, it was not so always. Good night, my lord. Heaven bless you and yours for your goodness to me. I have tired her ladyship'

he ale-house-let him

lord. "I didn't think you coul

t heeding them, and still in great good humour, raised up his young client from his kneeling posture (for a thousand k

an't be jealous of a beer-barrel or a bottle of rum, can she, doctor? D-- it, look at the maids-just look at the maids in the house" (my lord pronounced all the words

art, and, my lord, as a divine, I cannot treat the subject in a jocular light, nor, as a pastor of

y, "she told me that you yourself were a horrid o

a turkey-cock, while my lord continued to roar with laughte

as pure for me," cried out Henry, "and as kin

appears that the small-pox broke out in the little boy at the 'Three Castles'; that it was on him when you visited the ale-house, for your own reasons; and that you sat with the child for some t

sir," said Lady Esmond,

t he may have brought

-house-yes,"

g 086] lord, stepping back. "Keep off, Harry, my boy; th

enry Esmond, took his hand. "I beg your pardon, Henry," she said; "I s

he boy alone, my lady?" She looked a little red, a

is knee as he was making pictures, and was running co

gain with a coal-"and it keeps off infection; and as the disease is in the village

out in our house then; and when four of my sisters had it at home, two y

my lord; "I'm as bold as any

y. "For us the mischief is done; and Tucker

ish: and my lord, calling away Tusher, bade him come to the oak parlour and have a pipe. The doctor made a low bo

ts, during which he stood at the fire, looking rather vacantly at the dying e

that you can [pg 087] continue to stay upon the intimate footing in which you have been in this family. You have wished to go to the University, and I think 'tis quite as well that you should be sent thither. I did not press this matter, thinking you a child, as you are, indeed, in years-quite a child; and I should never have thought

upon his memory. He saw her retreating, the taper lighting up her marble face, her scarlet lip quivering, and her shining golden hair. He went to his own room, and to bed, where he tried to read, as his custom was; but he never knew what he was reading until afterwards he remembered the appearance of the letters o

les" sure enough, and was presently laid up with the small

g