The Sun.
London, England, 1857-11-04 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

The Tirginians. A. tale of the last century. Py
W. M. Thackeray. No. I. Au hor f
"Esmond," &c.

The appearance of the first number of a wee
serial by Mr. Thackeray is a subject of conerauia-
tion to the world of novel readers. And there at es
few who read at all in the present day who are nee
familiar with the characters in the -welcome
yellow dress, with the life-like satire of Becky-
Sharp, with the quaint, old-world dignity (..f.
Esmond, with the cordial heart and simple mann t
of " Nature's Gentleman," Colonel Nawconke,
while a host of minor figures, drawn by the hand f
Michael Angelo Titmarab, have rased many a
smile in mirth-moving Christmas volumes. Tie,
title of this new buck and the author's recent;
visit on the other side of the Atlantic might induce
the reader to anticipate a sketch of American 1,11
of the present day. Mr. Thackeray has, however.
avoided this invidious task ; he carries it's
readers back a hundred yen's, when di.cord and
rivalry had not severed the old world from the new;
and though his story is evidently one of
the great struggle, the spirit in which he under..
takes it is shown the very first page, wherele tells 'es
that his heroes are two brothers, who "found threw-
selves engaged on different sides in the quarrel.
coming together peaceably at its conclusion, an
brothers should, their love never having materially
diminished, however angrily the contest divided
them." These two brothers, as the reader soon dis-
covers, are no others than the grandsons of Colcieet
Henry Esmond and the Lady Rachel. They had.
an only daughter, the heiress of the estate in Vir-
ginia, where they had bath ended their days Thin
lady, Madam Esmond Warrington, is introduce(l
to us as a widow, the manager and princess of ties,
estate, and a very despotic princess she is. Such
picture does our author draw of this authoritative,
lady, that, like Fear alarmed at the sound himself'
had made, he exclaims, " I am rather glad for Poe
part that I did not live a ‘hundred years aga at
Castlewood, in Westmorland county, in Virginie."
The Colonel himself has passed away from the
scene before this story opens. We are given le
glimpse of his closing days, spent in his
quiet study, leaving to his daughter the
management of all his affairs. " A something 11.4
occurred in his life which had cast a tinge of melan-
choly over all his existence. He was not unhappy
—to tho.q3 about him most kind—most affectionate;
obsequious even to the women of kis family, whotn.
he scarce ever contradicted ; but there had been
some bankruptcy of his heart, which his spit it never
recovered. He submitted to life, rather than en-
joyed it, and never was in better spirits than in his
last hours, when he was going to lay it cloven "
Those who read the love story of Henry Esmond,
will remember the " something" alluded to. Ano-
ther old acquaintance is met in England, Beatrice
Esmond, the young and beautiful, transformed into,
Baroness Bernstein, old and faded, but shrewd and.
imperious still, giving, perhaps in memory of old
times, a cordial welcome to the grandson of her
former lover. Henry Warrington, the youngest of
the two brothers, and the heir, of the estate
in consequence of the reported death of his
brother among the Indians, which report
is doubtless incorrect, pays a visit to England
to make acquaintance with the old home of his
ancestors :--

" Again and again Harry Warrington and his brother
had pored over the English map, and determined upon
the course which they should take upon arriving at
Home. All Americans who love the old country—and
what gently-nurtured man or woman of Anglo-Saxon
race does not ?—have ere this rehearsed their English
`travels, and visited in fancy the spots with which their
hopes, their parents' fond stories, their friends' descrip.
tions,nave rendered them familiar. There are few
things to me more affecting in the history of the quarrel
which divided the two great nations than the recurrence
of that word Home, as used by the younger towards the
elder country Harry Warrington had his chart laid
out. Before London, and its glorious temples of St.
Paul's and St. Peter's, its grim Tower, where the brave
and loyal bad shed their blood, from Wallace down to
Balmerino and Kilmarnock, pitied by gentle hearts ;
before the awful window of 'Whitehall, whence the
martyr Charles had issued, to kneel once more, and then
ascend to Heaven ;—before Playhouses, Parks, and Pa-
laces, wondrous resorts of wit, pleasure, and splendour ;
—before Sbakspeare's Resting-place under the tall sp;rd
which rises by Avon, amidst the sweet Warwickshite
pastures ; before Derby, and Falkirk, and Culloden,
where the cause of honour and loyalty had fallen, it might
be to rise no more :—before all these points of their pil-
grimage there was one which the young Virginian bro-
thers held even more sacred, and that was the home ~f
their family,—that old Castlewood in Hampshire, about
which their parents had talked so fondly. From Bris•ol
to Bath, from Bath to Salisbsry, to Winchester, to 13,-x-
-tom, to Horne; they knew the way, and had mapped the
journey many and many a time."

The journey thither realised all his anticipations,
and is thus vividly described by his biographer :

" The post-chase whirled the traveller through t e
most delightful home-scenery his eyes had ever lighted
on. If English landscape is pleasant to the American
of the present day, who meat needs contrast the rich
woods and glowing pastures, and picturesqee ancient
villages of the old country with the rough aspect of He
own, how mute pleasanter must Harry Warrington'it
course have been, whittle journeys had lain through.
swamps and forest solitudes from one Virginian ordinary
to another log-house at the end of the day's route, and
who now lighted suddenly upon the busy, happy, eplen.
did scene sf English summer. And the high road, e
hundred years ago, was not that grass-grown desert of
the present time. It was alive with constant travel and
traffic : the country towns and inns swarmed with lifts
and gaiety. The ponderous waggon, with its bells and
plodding team ; the light post-coach that achieved thej our.
ney from the White Hart, Salisbury, to the Swan with&
Two Necks, London, in two days; the strings of pack-hce •
that bad not yet left the road ; my lord's gilt post-chai
and six, with the outriders galloping on a-head ; is a
country squire's great coach and heavy Flanders mares ;
the farmers trotting to market, or the parson j,lting to
the cathedral town on Dumpling, his wife behind on
the pillion—all these crowding sights and brisk people
greeted the young traveller on his summer journey,
Hodge, the farmer's boy, took off his bat., and Polly, the
milk-maid, bobbed a curtsey, as the chaise whirled over
the pleasant viliage-green, and the white-headed child/let
lifted their chubby faces and cheered. The churoh-spires
glistened with gold, the cottage-gables glared in suoshinr„,
the great elms murmured in summer, or cast pulpits
shadows ever the grass. Young Warrington never bad
each a glorious day, or witnessed 'a scene so delightful.
To be nineteen years of age, with high health, high
spirits, and a full purse, to be making your first journeys
and rolling through the conatry in a post-chaise at nine,
miles an hour-0 happy youth t almost it makes one
young to think of him 1 But Harry was too eager t(s
give more than a passing glance at the Abbey at Blthe
or gaze with more than a moment's wonder at the mighty"
minster at Salisbury. Until he beheld home it seemedi
to him he had no eyes for any other place."

On his arrival he met but a chilling reception,
until the Baroness Bernstein interested herself iu
his behalf. The cold, selfish English family form
a good contrast to the imperious Virginian, but
both countries may fairly trust Mr. Thackeray to
show them in their true colours. As yet but tbo
faint outlines are drawn on the canvas, and it is
impossible to judge what the effect will be whelk
the skilled hand of the practised master shall hav 3
filled in the glowing hues and softening shadows.
That the finished picture may be worthy of hi 4
fame will be the hearty wish of all his readers.