Transcriber’s note
Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of the changes made
can be found at the end of the book. Formatting and special characters
are indicated as follows:
_italic_
MODERN LITERATURE:
_A NOVEL_,
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. I.
By ROBERT BISSET, L.L.D.
Non ignota loquor.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1804.
Printed by A. Strahan, Printers-Street.
PREFACE.
COURTEOUS READER,
THE production that I now submit to you, proposes to represent the
manners of the times, in various situations, but especially in literary
departments. These are subjects with which I have been, and am,
peculiarly conversant; and I trust the exhibition will be found fair
and impartial, and also general, without any satirical allusion to
individual characters.
Many are prepossessed with a notion, that a writer, who, in a
fictitious story, describes the times, means particular persons, and
not classes of persons. The only work of the kind that I ever produced,
was exposed to this prejudice. In my Highlander, there was scarcely
a character of any note, that was not applied to half a dozen of
individuals, whom I never intended particularly to exhibit, and of
most of whom I had never heard. I confess, however, it is difficult
to pourtray any character, either good or bad, without taking some of
the lines from some good or bad person, whom you have actually known.
But it was my purpose so to assort and mingle features, as to prevent
any approach to individuality. Of the applications, the greater number
were made by the acquaintances and _friends_ of the supposed objects;
some, however, by the parties themselves. I have had several claimants
to characters, that are none of the best; and when the claims were
advanced, I really did not know how or why the imputation arose. Should
a person happen to be a forward, busy, vain-glorious coxcomb, as
thousands are, and I have no knowledge of him, or his qualifications,
I must be surprized, if in having drawn such a general and common
character, I should be charged with intending to expose that individual
person. I may, afterwards, be able to account for the supposition:
but the food of vanity is notoriety; and a frivolous egotist, by
representing himself as of sufficient consequence to be satirized, will
very readily fancy he rises in importance, and will pretend, in every
party, to complain of the attack, while his whole purpose is to make
himself the _subject of talk_. “_Vanity, and vanity of vanities all is
vanity._”
More than half a dozen were mentioned as the models of Doctor Vampus,
the ignorant, boasting, _hawking and peddling_ master of an academy.
To no one person, I am convinced, the whole of that character could
apply; but I am equally convinced, many parts of it might hit a dozen
of dozens of that class of the profession. A village male gossip also
received an individual application, and perhaps some parts might suit
the gossip of that district; but I declare it was applied to gossips
in adjacent districts; and some have done me the honour to say, it
suits such a nuisance in most villages of England. There were several
demireps, one of whom, so far from having any modern individual in
view, I copied from Lady Bellaston, only giving her modern manners, and
substituting for decayed charms, youth and beauty. Lady Mary Manhunt,
I find has been applied to twenty originals, when I really had none
in view, but the veteran rival of Sophia Western. Other demireps, of
lower account, had also a good many applications; and to persons that
I at the time had never heard to be demireps. In one individual case,
referring to the hero’s fair fellow-traveller in a stage-coach, a
totally erroneous and false application, I have been told, was made. In
certain characters, there might be grounds, though I did not know them
at the time; in that character, I am thoroughly convinced there never
were any grounds.
There was a great disposition to apply exhibitions to scenes, with
which I was once conversant; and also to other very distant scenes,
with which I was conversant at the time of the publication. My hero
having first appeared in the Highlands of Scotland, I could not avoid
describing Highland manners; and I exhibited the majority as I found
them, amiable and respectable, and a few as I found them able and
estimable. There, however, as well as in other parts of the world,
there are fools and knaves; and among the weak, there is particularly
the preposterous folly of supposing, birth and rank a substitute for
the want of talents and virtues. That nonsensical absurdity, perhaps, I
might expose, though I cannot see why the application should have been
made to any individual, unless, indeed, it accidentally happened, that
the cap exactly fitted; if it did, it was not my fault; _I made_ the
CAP, but I did not make the _head_. With regard to the other district
in question, some of its inhabitants were of much more importance to
themselves, than either to me or the world, in supposing that I would
consider them individually, as suitable objects of satire. I described
a certain class in society, in the vicinity of London; and I have not
the least doubt, that if the description applied to any, it applies
to every one populous village within ten miles of the metropolis,
as well as to another. Wherever there is gadding, card-playing,
gossiping, half-breeding, mixed with the peculiarities of the
tradesmen, and retired shopkeepers of London and Middlesex; in short,
persons without the education and sentiments of gentlemen and ladies,
thrust into circumstances in which, with the allowable partiality of
self-estimation, they fancy themselves to belong to that rank, and ape
the fashionable amusements of their betters: where, perhaps, the widow
of a rich grocer, or the dashing daughter of mine host, now a _gemman_
and an Esquire, by noise and glare, and affectation, hope to make you
forget the signs of the three sugar-loaves, or the _hog in armour_: to
such impotent attempts of inveterate and incurable vulgarity, to pass
for gentility, the description in question either applies generally, as
was intended, or does not apply at all. One thing, I observed, that the
wise and good characters in that production, have not been applied by
_friends_.
In the work that I now offer to the public, from former experience of
misinterpretation, I have been more scrupulously cautious to guard
against any possibility of individual application. In the former novel,
I merely took care not to copy a fool, a coxcomb, a debauchee, or a
knave, or any other character of a ridiculous or bad kind, from any
persons known to me for these qualifications. Still, however, from
_inadvertence_, I did take a feature or two here and there, that I
grieve to acknowledge, on perusing the picture after it was finished,
struck me with a likeness in some lineament. In the present novel, I
have been much more vigilantly cautious. I not only have not copied
fools, &c. from persons known to me to be such, but in drawing any
character of that or the other _equivalent_ classes, I have carefully
run my memory over the individuals that I know to belong to these,
and have studiously avoided _treading on their sore heel_. The end of
this work being to give a view of modern literature, I, conformably to
fact, represent several men of extraordinary talents and erudition;
many more of respectable, but not extraordinary talents and erudition,
and a considerable number of literary and other book-makers, without
either talents or erudition. In this last class of representation,
have I exerted my principal care to shun individual reference; and
when drawing a picture of a literary dunce, the following has been my
method, and I hope it has succeeded.
I ran over my delineation, and then made my memory run over this
literary dunce, and that literary dunce of my own acquaintance; and
I asked myself this question:--Does not this part of the description
rather hit Jacky Allory; now Jacky is a worthy acquaintance of
mine, a dunce, that without a single spark of genius, and with
some scraps of knowledge, having acquired the gift of spelling, is
an undertaker-general in literature? Will not this picture of a
literary manufacturer rather hit Jacky? On reflecting, I find not
particularly; the circumstances and adjuncts are totally different;
there is no resemblance between the picture and that individual, but a
resemblance that holds between the picture, and every other original
that manufactures books without learning or genius. Jacky stands not
alone, _he is in a croud_; the most inventive malignity, therefore,
can here make no individual application. I have exhibited a specimen
of tours, in which the tourist conveys no information but what was
known before, or what was totally immaterial, whether it was known or
not. Of that kind, numberless specimens have been written, especially
in large quartos. I have endeavoured to copy the general character of
such insignificance and inanity; but to prevent individual application,
have made the scene and limits totally new. The outset of the tour is
the Black Bear Inn, Piccadilly, the course through Knightsbridge, on
to Old Brentford, thence round home by Kingston and Richmond; and in
that circuit, I flatter myself, that in two pages, I have condensed
the essence of many of our most voluminous tourists of the dunce kind.
I have introduced plays written by dunces; but in such a manner, as
to apply generally to many dramatic joiners, individually to none;
having carefully made the history and circumstances probable in
themselves, but totally unlike any that have actually existed. I have
touched upon German literature, and the system of taste, morals, and
religion, which these importations have produced in England. I have
mentioned novels of that kind, and also of other kinds, especially
those that are written by female scribes, not forgetting the effusions
of milliners, when their own work is slack; and, as in duty bound, I
have offered a just tribute of praise to the munificent encouragers
of these inestimable fictions. I have presented a dunce as author of
a history much more voluminous than Gibbon’s; but to preclude any
possible misinterpretation, I have made the subject Jack the Giant
Killer, of whom it is well known no voluminous history has been written
either by a dunce, or any other author. Dunce writers I represent
as faithless and backbiting, towards other professional votaries of
literature. At the same time, to prevent misapprehension, I carefully
declare I do not impute these efforts of malignity, to any thing in
dunces more rancorous than in other men. It arises merely from taking
to an occupation, in which stupidity is not equal to genius; and from
that principle of human nature, that makes us repine at the success
of others, in a pursuit wherein we have failed, though the failure be
owing to no bad fortune, or no unfair means, but simply to unfitness
for the pursuit. If a poor deformed urchin of no fortune, sense, or
accomplishments, were to address a beautiful young lady, and to have
for his rival a very handsome, graceful man of character, talents, and
property, the urchin, most unquestionably, would fail, from the folly
of his suit, but, agreeably to human nature, he would revile, and try
to disparage the accomplished cavalier, who succeeded because he was
formed for success. Such is a literary dunce, in respect to a literary
genius.
Having these general objects in view, from the precautions I have used,
I am thoroughly confident, that no application will be made to any
individual dunce, by his _friends_ who may peruse “Modern Literature:”
for that he himself should make the application, I should have no
apprehension, were the likeness ever so obvious.
One kind of system, of which the most numerous portion of the votaries
cannot be called literary; but that has an extensive influence on
certain departments of the literature of the times, I have not failed
to consider: that is methodism, especially itinerant. There have been
very able men, and I believe also worthy men, among methodists; and
I doubt not, but there are some able, and many good men, partially
tinged with that theory. Having the utmost respect for such disciples
of any Christian sect, I, nevertheless, can plainly see, not only
the tendency, but result of certain theological doctrines, which not
all, but many of the methodists profess to admit. Visionaries of
that class (or if not visionaries, what is much worse, hypocrites),
profess to follow different guides from reason, conscience, and genuine
Christianity; interpreted by reason, and the tenour of the scriptures,
and applied by conscience. To the implicit votaries of faith, without
works, I object, because to the implicit votaries of faith, without
works, reason, and conscience, obviously, and the scriptures expressly
object; and because experience demonstrates, that this chimera is not
only mad, but mischievous. I farther censure a practice, frequent among
that sect, of grossly ignorant men, circulating through the country,
and pretending to instruct mankind. This is the more dangerous,
because not merely an adventure of an individual vagabond, foolish
or frantic, but connected with a principle diffused through many
of the sect, that there still exists among these brethren a divine
inspiration, which every sound Theologian knows to have ceased in the
early ages of the Christian dispensation. Ignorant venders of nonsense
or mischief I have not spared: I have represented an itinerant clown, a
preacher of methodism, in those circumstances which reason may easily
connect with _such_ doctrines and talents; and which experience has
woefully shewn to be closely connected with such doctrines and talents.
I have not written a line, to which any wise and learned methodist,
(and such only are fit for preaching) can affix any blame, as adverse
to his views and exhortations; or which any moral and pious methodist
can censure, as hostile to his practice.
Though literature be the chief object of the present production, it is
far from being the sole; other characters and manners are introduced,
and, I trust, not one will be found to bear individual application,
except a few sketches of great and admirable characters, that
incidentally appear.
The present work is only part of my plan, which will be completed in
another novel, now considerably advanced, and to be entitled “The
Author.”
Sloane-Terrace, May 8th, 1804.
CONTENTS
OF
THE FIRST VOLUME.
CHAP. I.
_A Journey through Yorkshire. Meeting of Brother-Officers. What
happened on the Road from Doncaster. Disaster of Major Hamilton.
Kindness of a Cottager, who proves to be an old Soldier, and an
Acquaintance. Serjeant Maxwell conveys the Major to his Cottage. The
Arrival of a Surgeon. The Evil proves less than was apprehended.
Delight of an old Soldier in retracing his Campaigns. Maxwell’s
Praises of Mr. Wentbridge, the Vicar. That Gentleman visits Hamilton._
Page 1
CHAP. II.
_Description of the Vicarage. Short Account of Mr. Wentbridge, and
his Family, comprehending his Marriage with a Curate’s Daughter,
instead of the proffered Niece of my Lord the Bishop. Description of
his Daughter Eliza; of Major Hamilton. Loves of the Major and Miss
Wentbridge; are sanctioned by the Father. Hamilton’s Visit to his
Brother, the Laird of Etterick. Description of a Country Gentleman
hunting after Heiresses. Circular Love-Letter on the Occasion. The
Laird not successful in his Courtships. His kind Reception of his
Brother. He urges his Brother to join him, in making Love to a Couple
of Co-Heiresses, offering him his Choice. This liberal Proposition is
declined by Hamilton; who returns to England._ Page 22
CHAP. III.
_Hamilton arrives at the Vicarage. He accompanies Eliza to a Ball at
Doncaster. Account of the Company. Mrs. Sourkrout, and her Daughter
Miss Grizzle. Madam’s Claims to Dignity and Precedence. Miss lays
Siege to the Heart of Hamilton. Her Battery does not hit the Object.
Marriage of Hamilton and Eliza._ Page 52
CHAP. IV.
_Attempts of Mrs. and Miss Sourkrout to disturb the Happiness of the
young Couple: produce no effect. Etterick visits his Brother; learns
an Account of the Fortune of Miss Sourkrout. Therefore proposes to
make Love to her; meets her at an Assembly for that Purpose. He is
graciously received. Whist, the Rubber in great Danger: is saved
and won by the skilful Conduct of Miss. Profound Remark of the
Gallant, upon playing through the Honour. He pays her his Addresses
in Form, and is crowned with Success. They marry, and depart for
Scotland. Birth of a Son to Major Hamilton. The Major rises to be
Lieutenant-Colonel. Account of the Childhood of his Son William, till
he is Seven Years old._ Page 68
CHAP. V.
_Young Hamilton sent to School, under his Uncle, Doctor Wentbridge.
Genius, Progress, and opening Character. Account of Mr. Scourge,
the Usher. Disagreement between him and William. Severity of to
William; who ridicules him to the Boys, and compares him to Parson
Thwackum. Dr. Wentbridge interferes. Proficiency of William, and high
Expectations of the Doctor. Plans of his Parents and Friends, for
the Destination of William. It is concluded that he shall be sent to
Cambridge. Etterick announces an Intention of visiting his Brother.
Short Account of his domestic Comforts. Contests with the old Lady on
the Score of Genealogy and Dignity. Arguments Pro and Con. Collateral
Debate on the Supporters, and the opposite Accounts of their Origin.
Sole Offspring of Etterick and his Grizzle. Graces and Accomplishments
of the young Susannah. They arrive at the Colonel’s. Description of
the Person and Accomplishments of young William. He captivates his
Cousin Susan, but is insensible to the young Lady’s Passion. He sets
off for the University._ Page 88
CHAP. VI.
_Studies of Hamilton at Cambridge: he becomes eminently distinguished
for Science, Literature, and Composition: revisits his Friends in
Yorkshire. His Cousin Susan again brought on the Carpet. A short
Sketch of that young Lady. Generalissimo of her Father’s Family. She
becomes acquainted with Mr. O’Rourke. Sketch of that Irishman as
Teacher of Dancing. He instructs Miss; and is converted to Methodism.
He preaches and practises the Doctrine of Faith without Works.
Machinery of Methodistical Conversion: attempts to convert Miss, but
is prevented by her hearing that William is returned: hastens to meet
her Cousin, who still regards her with Indifference. She discovers
William’s Attentions to a fair Milliner: is urged by her Maid to
return to O’Rourke, and mind her precious Soul. Grounds of Betty’s
Reasoning in Favour of O’Rourke and Methodism. Danger of Levity of
Manners even with innocent Intentions. Jenny Collings. Miss Susan
becomes entirely a Convert to Methodism. The Ladies of the Family
all embrace the same Faith. Etterick himself not so easily brought
into the Fold. Dexterous Scheme of O’Rourke for his Conversion. The
Preacher’s Doctrines illustrated in his moral Practice. O’Rourke
becomes the Husband of Miss Susan._ Page 114
CHAP. VII.
_Return of Hamilton to the University. He takes the Degree of
Bachelor of Arts, and attains the Honour of Senior Wrangler. He
departs for London to study the Law: is entered of Lincoln’s Inn.
Interview with Miss Collings. Offers her honourable Atonement:
generously refused by the young Lady. Dangerous Situations to virtuous
Repentance. He accompanies Jenny to see the Fair Penitent. She is
greatly affected. Literary Pursuits of our Hero. His Performances are
received with Applause. Alarming Intelligence from his Mother. He
hastens to his Father’s. Finds the Colonel still alive, but in great
Danger. His Distemper receives a temporary Intermission. Etterick
visits his Brother. His Account of the Conduct of O’Rourke. The Means
employed to secure the Estate from his Machinations. Profligate
Effrontery of the Methodist Preacher. He supposes his Hypocrisy
completely successful: comes to Yorkshire. His Deportment at the
Colonel’s. He receives a severe Chastisement from William: finds
it prudent to decamp. Return of the Colonel’s Distemper, and fatal
Termination. Family Affairs._ Page 156
CHAP. VIII.
_Literary Efforts of our Hero. Mr. Jeffery Lawhunt. Appearance, Dress,
and Manners. His History of himself and his former Avocations. He
gives an Account of his Dealings with his Authors and Authoresses. A
Lady proposes to betake herself to the Litterary Line. Lawhunt wishes
to enlist Hamilton, who refuses his Proposals. Hamilton extends his
Acquaintance among eminent Scholars and Writers. His first Interview
with Strongbrain. Called to Scotland by his Uncle. Fellow-travellers.
Description of Maria Mortimer. Hamilton is captivated by the lovely
Maria. He finds her the Sister of an intimate Friend: is invited by
her Father to visit his Country Seat, which he readily promises to
do in his Return from Scotland. He parts with them at Northallerton.
New Fellow-travellers. Advantages of Drill Serjeants, as Instructors
to young Ladies at Boarding School. Reasons for breeding up a Son a
Genius. Our Hero arrives at his Journey’s End._ Page 198
CHAP. IX.
_Etterick’s Account of his Son-in-Law. Farther practical Effects
of Faith without Works. Hamilton brings the Preacher to professed
Contrition. The Family of Etterick agree to take a Jaunt to England.
Hamilton visits the Mortimer Family. Reception from the Father,
Brother, and Sister. He declares his Passion to Maria, which she
professes to discourage. Account of young ’Squire Blossom, and his
Addresses to Maria. His insolent Rudeness. Affray between him and
young Mortimer. Hamilton prevents a Duel. Hamilton is summoned to
attend his Family to Brighton. Dejection at the approaching Parting
with Maria. Maria still professes to discountenance his Love.
Invitation from Mr. Mortimer’s Brother to him and Family to visit his
Villa in Sussex. Invitation is accepted. Hamilton departs for London:
is soon followed by the Mortimers, to whom he introduces his Family.
Hamilton’s old Friend, Miss Collings, is addressed by ’Squire Blossom.
Preliminaries. A Treaty of Marriage is concluded. Hamilton end his
Party set off for Brighton._ Page 249
MODERN LITERATURE
CHAPTER I.
SOON after the end of the war that was concluded by the peace of
1763, two gentlemen belonging to a corps that had returned from
the Havannah, leaving their regiment in the South of England, were
journeying northwards to visit the place of their nativity. Neither
had in the course of their campaigns acquired opulent fortunes; but
they had both made such progress in the road to wealth, that without
any reasonable charge of prodigality or imprudence, in revisiting
their relations they could indulge in the comforts of a postchaise.
Travelling not being then effected with the modern rapidity, they
proposed in a week to reach the capital of Scotland. Having set out on
their expedition, they on the third day arrived at the beautiful town
of Doncaster, whence they intended, after an early dinner, to proceed
two stages farther. As they were ordering their repast they descried,
from the windows of their apartment, a gentleman entering the inn,
in whom they recognised a regimental mess-mate, the comrade of their
conviviality, and the partner of their dangers. The new comer, finding
fellow travellers so dear to his heart, insisted these his friends
should accompany him to his native village in the same county. He
could not prevail on them to deviate so materially from their northern
course: he, however, succeeded in arresting its progress for several
hours. Dinner had been on the table at two; at three the postillion had
announced that every thing within the compass of his office was ready,
but found that his fare were disposed to continue longer in their
present quarters. It was seven o’clock before the gentlemen, taking the
most affectionate leave of their companion, though naturally strong and
active, were assisted by the landlord to their seats in the vehicle.
Their friend had not accompanied them to the carriage, being left above
found asleep in an elbow chair.
No road can be plainer than from Doncaster to Ferrybridge. The
postillion was a sharp intelligent fellow, that had been three years
in his present service, and had travelled that stage at least three
hundred times in that period. It was a remarkably fine evening in the
middle of July. Nothing, therefore, appeared more unlikely than that
he should miss his way. It has been often said, that example is more
powerful than precept.--Early in the afternoon the travellers had
ordered their Automedon into their presence, and, perhaps, foreseeing
the probability of their own condition, had strongly interrogated him
concerning his disposition to sobriety; his answers to their questions
contained many asseverations in favour of his own temperance.--While
he pocketed half a crown, which was given as a retaining fee, for the
faithful and careful exertion of his professional skill, and swallowed
a large bumper of brandy to the gentlemen’s health, he had averred
that even his enemies could not say he was _predicted_ to liquor. In
this declaration he might perhaps be correct, as the most competent
witnesses were not his enemies but his friends. It would be a feeble
gratitude which would confine itself to expressions of regard in the
presence of the benefactor. The post-boy’s prayers and libations for
the health and prosperity of the bountiful donors did not cease to flow
in streams of ale as long as the half crown and consequential credit
lasted. After these pious and benignant offerings he had mounted, and
in this condition had taken the northern road. The horses, being less
bereft of their senses than their rational companions, for several
miles proceeded directly to the destined place. They had already
made their way through the turnpikes, passed the delightful woods
around Robin Hood’s well, with their leader snoaring on his seat, and
arrived at Darrington, where a road branches off to the left. There
a pull from their driver put them into a wrong direction. Instead of
keeping directly in the new track, the horses, again left to their
own discretion, entered a cross lane, and had not gone far in this
path when they overturned the carriage in a ditch. This catastrophe
soon recalled both the travellers and their guide from the state
of oblivion by which it was caused. The effects, however, proved
extremely different. The postillion himself, though he tumbled from
his seat, was softly and easily received in a very useful repository,
collected for fertilizing an adjacent field. One of the gentlemen, by
being upper-most as the carriage fell, was by his companion prevented
from being materially hurt; the other was greatly bruised, and upon
more particular examination found unable to move his leg, which was
concluded to be broken. The day had just closed in when this misfortune
happened, and no light was to be seen to guide them to a village or
hamlet, where they might obtain assistance. There were houses not far
from the place, but belonging to peasants or labourers who had retired
early to rest, that with the morning sun they might rise to their
useful occupations.
Captain Graham had escaped unhurt;--having recovered his recollection,
and accustomed to witness more direful mishaps than he trusted his
friend’s disaster would prove, he laid him carefully on the grass,
while he himself, by the clear twilight of a July night, set forwards
in quest of some friendly habitation, where his comrade might repose
until he could be safely removed. Following the track, he in a quarter
of an hour arrived at a solitary cottage, which from its first
appearance he feared was uninhabited, till the barking of a dog made
him hope that this was a faithful centinel guarding, though humble,
the dwelling of man. On his approach the gallant watch, though not
very strong, raised a loud alarm, more vehement and furious as Graham
approached the door of his master. The traveller hallooed with all
his vociferation. A rough voice from the hovel, in a northern accent,
demanded, who is there? and what is wanted? the other briefly mentioned
the mishap. The master of the house soon came forth, and the moon,
having now begun to shine, presented an elderly man, tall, straight,
and muscular, who, in a style of language somewhat better than his
habitation denoted, declared his willingness to assist a fellow
creature in distress. He however requested the gentleman to speak
softly, as there was, he said, a detachment of marauders in the rear of
his house, who if they knew that the commander was out of the garrison
might carry away his stores and equipage. “It is a fair stratagem,
please your honour, however, to fire your minute-guns when you are
shifting your camp. If we go ourselves we shall make the vollies of
the picquet guard amuse the enemy.” He accordingly bound his dog to a
post, well knowing that “in the absence of the commander the artillery
would be incessantly discharged.” This figurative language convinced
Graham, that his attendant was a brother soldier. But hurrying to
the scene of disaster, he took no time to ask any questions, except
such as pertained to the case of his friend, and learned to his great
satisfaction, that there was a skilful surgeon at a town within a
few miles. When they arrived they found Major Hamilton, though in
great pain, very quiet; and the postillion had, in his agreeable bed,
relapsed into a tranquil repose. The new acquaintance proposed that
the gentleman should be carried easily on their arms to his cottage,
where he should have his poor accommodation until better could be
provided. But, the moon being now under a cloud, Graham said, they
should stop a little until her light should enable them to find their
steps with more ease to the patient. The cottager, foreseeing this
difficulty, had brought a lanthern, which, from an œconomy necessary
in his very limited finances, he had forborne kindling till necessary:
but now, striking fire from a flint, he went with his light to examine
the prostrate gentleman, and tried how he could be moved with the
least degree of pain and uneasiness. In this occupation, the rays of
the lamp happening to display on the waistcoat military buttons, the
cottager with an eager curiosity examining more closely exclaimed in
a transport, “Our own regiment by the Lord!” Graham, who had been at
this time endeavouring to awaken the postillion, hearing only the last
words, hastily fancied they imported an unfavourable change in his
friend; but springing to the place found the cottager in transports,
incessantly repeating, “Our own regiment! our own regiment!” At
length comprehending him, he asked if he had really belonged to the
----regiment. “I did,” said the other, rapturously, “I was with them at
Fontenoy and Bergen-op-Zoom, and also in the late war in Ticonderago,
Cape Breton, and Quebec.” “Did you,” called the gentleman on the
ground, “know Hamilton?”--“What, Charles Hamilton,” said the veteran,
“that was made captain at Quebec? I taught the boy his manual, and a
gallant officer he is.”--“You did indeed,” said the gentleman on the
ground, “I see now you are Sergeant Maxwell.”--“That I am, please your
noble honour, extremely sorry for your honour’s misfortune, but I
hope in my poor little tent, though not a marquee, your honour will
feel yourself more convenient and comfortable than if you were among
strangers.” They then with the most tender care removed Major Hamilton
to Maxwell’s cottage, where he was laid with care on ---- the best
bed his host had to bestow. Maxwell having committed his guest to
the care of his sister, a widow who lived with him, departed himself
for medical assistance, and in a short time returned with a surgeon.
This gentleman having examined the leg declared it was not broken but
bruised, and announced that the case was favourable, if the patient
were kept quiet; advised that he should remain where he was, until the
cure was effected, and told Mr. Hamilton, that when he was a little
easier, and fitter for conversation, he would bring him some cheerful
and agreeable company, that would render him more benefit than all
the medicines in his shop; though to the occupation which he was now
exercising he had added the profession of apothecary.
Graham was under an indispensible necessity of hurrying to the north,
and as soon as he found that his friend, though confined, was in
friendly hands, under safe and skilful management, resolved to pursue
his journey. Hamilton in a few days was able to bear without any danger
of bad effects a moderate degree of conversation, and to enjoy the
company of his host and brother soldier, Maxwell, at stated intervals;
and as the old Sergeant was very fond of descanting on subjects which
had occupied the better part of his life, it fortunately happened
that his rural avocations prevented him from being with the Major too
frequently to disturb the repose necessary in his present situation.
Sunday, being a day of intermission from the labours of husbandry,
the veteran halberdier devoted to attendance on his guest, and to a
recitation of the labours of war. Early in the morning he repaired
to the Major’s room, and, breakfasting by his bed, had gone over the
battles of Dettingen, Fontenoy, had concluded peace, begun a new war,
reached America, sailed up to St. Lawrence, descended, landed, mounted
the heights of Abraham, and was at the second wound of the illustrious
Wolfe, when his venerable sister entering the apartment reminded him
that the hour for church was arrived. Maxwell, whose father having
been a schoolmaster and precentor in his native village had instilled
into him sentiments of religion, had been extremely regular in his
attendance at public worship, was moved by this admonition; but
considering the social virtues as an important branch of piety, at
last concluded that the day could not be better spent than in cheering
the spirits of a brother under indisposition, and chose to spend it
in the company of his guest. The arrival of the surgeon for some time
interrupted the progress of the battle of Quebec; but after this
gentleman departed the subject was resumed, and Maxwell’s campaigns
were concluded before the entrance of chicken broth for the officer’s
repast, accompanied with beans and bacon for the host himself. As
Hamilton took his barley water, Maxwell also indulged himself with
barley juice, wishing to God his noble commander were well enough
to partake of his home-brewed, of which, praised be his gracious
Sovereign, he could, he said, always afford a comfortable can; and,
so please your honour, here’s His Majesty’s health, and God bless
all his friends! Hamilton devoutly saying, Amen. His sister coming in
told him, that neighbour Hayrick, passing in his return from church,
had informed her, that the vicar had asked him, if he knew any thing
of Mr. Maxwell, and what had detained him from Divine Service? and
that he (Hayrick) “had said as how Tom Tipple the postillion had most
killed a gemman with his shay, that the gemman was dying at neighbour
Maxwell’s cottage, and that Maxwell, he supposed, had stayed at home to
keep him kumpany.” The hearers both smiled at this exaggerated account,
and being left to themselves, Maxwell spoke highly in praise of the
clergyman, though with many listeners what he said would have rather
been against than for that reverend gentleman. “I understand him,”
said Maxwell, “when he preaches as plainly as if it was one of our
own officers.--He tells us that the Bible is our word of command, and
if we mind it we shall never be behind in our duty.--Every man to mind
his own station, and do as he would be done by, and though it may be a
toilsome march, he will get safely invalided in garrison at last; but
if he is a deserter or a poltroon, he will go to the devil; as where
else ought such fellows to go?--This is what he told us t’other Sunday;
he was upon fighting the good fight. Not long before he was about the
Centurion, who, he told us, is all as one of our captains. Lord, thinks
I to myself, for he read the whole story, what excellent discipline
they kept!” Hamilton, who remembered the passage, having assented
to this criticism, Maxwell proposed the vicar’s health, and, having
emptied and replenished the jug, entertained his friend with many
anecdotes in praise of his reverend pastor, who had been extremely
kind to himself individually, and had presented to him that very flitch
of bacon on which he had that day dined. “Extremely good in its kind it
is,” said Maxwell, “but a little too salt.”--To this cause he imputed
his being so excessively dry, and the quantity of ale that he said he
was obliged to swallow.
His eloquence and his ale at last setting the old hero asleep, allowed
to the Major an hour of rest, which he had begun very much to want.
When both were refreshed, the sister announced Mr. Wentbridge. Maxwell
hastened out to meet the vicar, and soon introduced a gentleman
turned of fifty, of a countenance mild, pale, and penetrating, with
grey hairs thinly scattered over his head; a figure tall, elegant,
and prepossessing, and, though somewhat slender, strong and active.
The visitor with much softness, in a tone of humanity, and a voice
subdued by the apprehensions of disturbing the temporary repose of
dangerous illness, expressed his concern for the accounts which he had
received.--Maxwell, answering in a voice loud and cheerful, assured
his pastor, that the gentleman was in no kind of danger, and briefly
narrated the circumstances. “I have been just a-telling my noble
Major about your Reverence’s sermons and good deeds.”--Hamilton, now
addressing Mr. Wentbridge, expressed the pleasure he hoped to derive
from acquaintance with so respectable a gentleman.--The clergyman,
though pious and devout, was frank and open in his manner; Hamilton was
an honest, bold, and intelligent soldier: two such characters were not
long strangers; they were mutually delighted, and the setting sun had
reminded the vicar of the evening devotions of his family, before he
thought of withdrawing.--Shaking his new acquaintance cordially by the
hand, he took his leave, promising to return the following day.--The
next morning, the Sergeant being engaged in stacking a plentiful crop
of hay which he had raised on a field of very moderate extent, his
hostess attended the invalid with his breakfast, when, the conversation
turning upon the last night’s visitor, he learned many particulars
farther to his honour, and the landlady was just entering into an
account of his family, when Mr. Wentbridge himself interrupted the
discourse.--The Vicar and the Major, as they increased in knowledge of
each other, advanced in reciprocal esteem. Wentbridge found Hamilton
a man of abilities and extensive knowledge, besides a very impressive
and engaging deportment.--The soldier soon discovered in Wentbridge,
besides the talents, learning, and virtuous sentiments, which became
his sacred profession, a fund of scientific and political knowledge,
which he was not incompetent to appreciate, relieved by delicacy and
strength of wit and of humour, which he could highly relish.--The skill
of the surgeon, with the vigour of his own constitution, the kind care
and assiduity of his host and hostess, and the interesting and amusing
conversation of his new clerical friend, combined speedily to raise the
Major from his bed, and in a few weeks he was able to move about on his
crutch, and sometimes to take the air in the vicar’s chaise-cart. In
the beginning of September he found himself sufficiently well to accept
of an invitation to the parsonage-house.