MR. Wentbridge’s vicarage, situate in a pleasing district of the
West Riding, amounting to about 200l. per annum, in a cheap country,
afforded to very moderate wants ample means of supply.--The possessor
was besides skilled in farming; and as one part of his vicarage was
twenty acres of land, and he rented thirty more, he had an opportunity
of employing his agricultural talents to his own emolument, and also by
example to the benefit of his neighbours. No lands were better fenced
or cultivated, laid out in a more skilful and productive rotation of
crops, a more agreeable variety of tillage or pasturage, than the snug
fields of the parson of Brotherton. Their situation also enabled
the taste of the cultivator to superinduce elegance and beauty on
fruitfulness and utility. The house was placed on the south-east slope
of a gentle hill, terminating in a small plain that was bounded by a
river, which, winding round the farm, appearing to rise out of woods
on the right and on the left, seemed to lose itself behind an advanced
post of the hill, whilst, seeking the eastern confines of Yorkshire,
it hastened to make a part of the conflux of rivers that after their
coalition are distinguished by the name of Humber. In this aspect was
situated the chief part of the vicar’s arable farm; behind were his
offices and lands of steeper ascent, bounded by a wood, which covering
all the upper part of the hill, besides beautifully diversifying
the scene, sheltered the parsonage from the northern blast. Here
Wentbridge on a beautiful pinnacle erected a small summer-house,
commanding an extensive, rich, and delightful prospect, which on the
south comprehended the environs of Wakefield, Sheffield, Doncaster, and
Bawtry, to the confines of Nottinghamshire; on the west, Pontefract,
Leeds, Halifax; extended to the east to the borders of Lincolnshire,
and to the north from the adjacent Ferrybridge to York Minster; and
in its compass included the various picturesque scenes of the finest
part of one of the finest counties in England.--The worthy clergyman’s
heart expanded with benevolent pleasure, as from his little hut he
contemplated the goodly prospect that spread around----
“Of hills, and dales, and woods, and lawns,
And glittering towers, and gilded streams;”
--As he viewed the scenes of pastoral beauty, agricultural
fruitfulness, and manufacturing skill, all combining so powerfully
to produce individual pleasure and prosperity, national opulence and
grandeur. But the patriotism and philanthropy of Mr. Wentbridge were
mingled with other affections, the same in general source, though
more specific in object and operation. His domestic sensibilities
were extremely strong, and in his relations were afforded energetic
incentives to exertion. This clergyman, now about fifty-four years
of age, had been half that time incumbent of Brotherton. About the
age of thirty he had married the daughter of a neighbouring curate,
and thereby rather hurt his worldly interest, as the niece of a
right reverend bishop had cast the eyes of affection upon him, and
would have brought a living of five hundred a year, intended by his
lordship as a dowry to the young lady, who had, with two sisters, not
very extraordinary in beauty, hung very heavily upon his hands. The
right reverend divine indeed, _very contrary to the usual practice of
dignitaries_ in the church, in his disposals of SPIRITUAL preferment,
bethought himself of _Carnal_ subjects. In bestowing a cure of souls,
he had not altogether neglected the consideration of bodies, nor,
in appointing within his diocese ministers for the propagation of
christian knowledge, had he overlooked the propagation of christians.
In short, the bishop having in his gift a considerable number of
livings, and at his disposal a no less considerable number of
daughters, nieces, and cousins, had suffered it to be understood by
reverend young batchelors, that the expectants of livings might be sure
of success if willing to perform all the duties which his providential
care had annexed to incumbency; in other words, that whoever desired
the blessings of tithe pigs, must with his appointment take a wife by
way of a fine. Mr. Wentbridge having been sounded on this subject had
demurred; it was said, indeed, that he observed to a friend, that he
could have no objections to the provisions which the right reverend
bishop had proposed for his bread, but for his meat he liked to choose
for himself. The truth is, Miss Sukey Snatchum was not a very delicate
morsel.
Wentbridge, as we have said, made a different election, and got no
promotion from the bishop. With his wife he lived extremely happy for
twenty years, when, having caught a fever from a sick cottager, whom
she deemed it her duty to visit, she, to his inexpressible grief,
died, leaving two sons and one daughter. The eldest son, now about
twenty-three, was brought up to his father’s profession; the second,
having been on a visit to a school-fellow at Hull, was so delighted
with the shipping, that he caught a fondness for the sea, and was in
the India service. The only child that constantly resided with the
vicar was his daughter.
Eliza Wentbridge was about nineteen years of age, and though not
regularly beautiful had an agreeable, engaging, and expressive
countenance, a good height, a comely figure, with a frank, open, and
unembarrassed manner, the result of good sense, good dispositions,
and a judicious education. Wentbridge had, indeed, spared no pains in
himself forming and directing his daughter’s understanding and heart,
and his wife had contributed her share both to her mind and manners;
and the savings of œconomy and self-denial had not been wanted in
super-adding accomplishment to useful acquirement. For several years
she had resided chiefly at Doncaster, with a sister of her mother, who,
seeking independence by laudable industry and meritorious exertion,
devoted her time and talents to the superintendance of a boarding
school. She was now returned to her father’s, the favourite companion
of his declining years, the partner of his amusements, the minister
of his bounties, the attendant of his excursions, and often the
associate of his studies. Miss Wentbridge was well acquainted with the
best British authors, and a very competent judge of their respective
merits. She was particularly fond of history, then beginning to form
so brilliant a portion of her country’s literature. She inherited from
her father a very high admiration of British efforts in the various
departments of ability and exertion. She admired the national heroism;
often listened with delight to her father’s descriptions of the ardent
struggles for independence, which repelled the operose attempts of
bigotry and despotism, under a glorious sovereign of her own sex,
though she often wished, that with the great and lofty virtues of
that illustrious Princess there had been mixed more of the feminine
softness, the mild and gentle charities which might have spared the
lovely Mary. Descending to more recent events, she would with pleasure
hear the natural though homely recitals of old Maxwell, and enjoy the
fire of his eye, when describing the defence of Bergen-op-Zoom, or the
capture of Quebec; she was well acquainted with the events of the war
just terminated, especially such as displayed heroism, or manifested
British character. Such was the young lady to whom Major Hamilton was
now introduced. Hamilton himself was a man of a very prepossessing
appearance, tall, and graceful; in face, figure, and deportment, at
once elegant and manly. He was now twenty-eight years of age, eleven
of which had been passed in his Majesty’s service.--At the commencement
of the war he had become a lieutenant. Quebec made him a captain, the
Havannah a major. Maxwell had, with his usual glee, recited the actions
to which he himself had been a witness, and had not been sparing in
celebrating his praises, and included the fortitude with which he had
borne his late disaster. Mr. Wentbridge had also spoken in terms of
praise, esteem, and respect concerning the abilities and sentiments of
his new acquaintance, so that Miss Wentbridge had before she saw him
received a very favourable impression of the guest whom her father now
brought to the parsonage. Though for the present lame, Hamilton was a
very fine man, and, though pale for want of exercise, had a countenance
extremely impressive and interesting, intelligent, and animated, with
fine blue eyes, which failed not to speak what he thought and felt. He
was extremely pleased with the acquaintance which he had now made, and
did not fail to testify by words and looks the satisfaction which he
received.
In a few weeks Hamilton’s disaster was healed, but he continued at
Maxwell’s, “apprehensive,” he said, “of the consequences of a long
journey.”--The surgeon, indeed, declared to him, that he might now
proceed northwards whenever he chose; but though he had shewn the
most thorough conviction of the other’s medical skill, had declared
his perfect satisfaction with the treatment of his own wound, and had
made a handsome pecuniary recompence, still, however, he did not rely
so completely on his authority as to commence his travels. Meanwhile
he spent the greater part of his time at the vicarage, where his
heart became completely captivated, and he, ere it was long, had the
satisfaction to find, that Miss Wentbridge was not insensible to his
attentions. Having none to control his inclination, he had no motive
to disguise his wishes from the venerable clergyman, and frequently,
when they were alone, declared in general terms the high respect he had
for his daughter, but did not descend to more particular explanations,
until he should ascertain the sentiments of the young lady herself.
He had not, indeed, any reason to suspect aversion, but he wished
to be more accurately certified, that he might not have construed
complacency, or at most esteem, into affection.
It was now the latter end of October, and the season being wet, the
autumnal rains had swelled brooks into rivers, when our soldier, in
his way to the parsonage, perceiving the young lady in a shrubbery by
the summer-house before mentioned, hastened to join her, over a long
plank which connected the banks of a rivulet, that passed the lower
walks of their pleasure-ground, instead of taking a circuit of thirty
yards to a regular bridge. The place where he was to cross being a
small level at the bottom of a steep hill, formed a kind of pond,
supplied by the cascade from the upper ground, and now deepened by the
great accumulation of water. The plank being slippery, and Hamilton
not having completely recovered the dextrous command of his limb, he
tumbled into the pool and entirely disappeared. Mr. Wentbridge, who
was in a distant part of the shrubbery, aroused by a single shriek,
ran to the spot whence the voice had issued, and found his daughter
in a swoon, whence being by his efforts recovered, she awoke only to
misery, and called on the name of Hamilton, in the wildest phrenzy
of despairing love. The worthy clergyman, who had before suspected
the passion of his daughter, was now apprehensive that some dreadful
disaster had befallen its object. He had been able to remove Eliza
to a mossy bench, and she was still, in terms of the most endearing
affection, deploring the beloved youth; when, descending from the
summer-house, he presented himself safe and sound, though all dropping
with wet. Our Major had been stunned by the sudden plunge, but soon
recovering had swam to the bottom of the bank, and waded farther down,
where he saw the ascent was more practicable, and, missing the nearest
path, had through the labyrinth of a grove found a difficulty in
regaining a view of the summer-house, to which the way was entangled
by copse and briars, and hence so much time had elapsed before his
return. He with rapture heard his Eliza bewailing his fate. When
she was so far recovered as to be conscious of his return, first
her astonishment, her anxious doubts, and lastly her joy, gave her
lover the conviction which he had so eagerly desired to receive. The
considerate care of the father hastened him away to the comforts of
a fire and dry clothes, before he would suffer him to explain the
circumstances of his escape to the young lady, who still appeared to
entertain an unsettled belief of the reality.
In an hour Hamilton completely readjusted, and secure from every
disagreeable effect of this involuntary cold bath, was alive only to
the delightful sensations which its effects had produced.
When he rejoined the fair hostess, in her blushes, in the enchanted and
enchanting pleasure of her countenance, he read the confirmation of
the sentiments which her despair had betrayed. She no longer attempted
to disguise the delight with which she listened to his addresses, and
the tenderness which she felt for his virtues and accomplishments. He
the following day, with her consent, applied to her father, and his
proposals were most favourably and gladly received by the vicar, from
personal esteem and not from motives of interest. A country squire,
far superior to this gallant officer in fortune, had made proposals
to Miss Wentbridge, which the father never approved, and the daughter
had ever most positively rejected. Hamilton, also, if he had chosen
to sacrifice at the shrine of avarice might at different times have
affianced himself to riches, but especially during his recent stay at
London, where his charms had made a conquest of the only daughter
of an eminent dry-salter, with whom he had danced at a ball, at the
Mary-le-bone gardens. But though both parties disregarded interest as
the principal ground of matrimonial connection, yet it was resolved not
completely to disregard pecuniary convenience.
Hamilton received pressing letters from his Scottish friends to
repair to the north, to arrange some concerns with his elder brother,
possessor of his paternal estate; and saw the necessity of compliance.
He wished his destiny to be irrevocably united to his Eliza’s before
his departure; but the affair being referred to the arbitration of the
vicar, he in a friendly award recommended to the parties to postpone
the accomplishment of their purpose until after Hamilton’s return.
The reasons which he assigned for this procrastination, though not
conformable to the wishes of the lovers, were such as their judgments
could not but approve.
Hamilton accordingly set off for his own country, and arrived at the
seat of his ancestors. His elder brother, Hamilton, of Etterick, was
a country gentleman, of about five and thirty, mild in his temper,
amiable in his disposition, and hospitable in his manner of living.
He possessed a good estate, and, being still a bachelor, proposed
by marriage to make it better. He had, indeed, for several years
been, to use his own expression, looking about him for a wife. This
circumspiciency was not without discrimination. His object was what
the Scotch call _a well-tochered lass_, that is, a young lady with
a good portion. Having this simple purpose in view, he had made his
addresses successively to every heiress within forty miles of him,
and had not neglected the proprietors of legacies from old aunts,
cousins, or any other enriching windfall, nor even dowagers if they
had a fortune as well as a jointure. Indeed it had been observed, that
when a lady, to whom he had paid no attention before, happened to have
benefited by any such casualty, he immediately ordered a new pair of
buck-skin breeches, and rode off a courting. If these expeditions
proved unsuccessful, it was not for the want of a fixed plan of
operations. He had been instructed by a friend, that ladies were fond
of receiving love-letters. He, therefore, like Parson Adams with his
sermons, generally travelled with one about him, in case of what might
happen. Not being a man of very fertile invention, the composition
of such productions was not to him a matter of ready execution. The
best substitute for riches is parsimony. If, therefore, his genius
could not do much, the next best means was to make a little go a
great way. He very cunningly contrived that one letter should serve
many courtships. He, as was before observed, proceeded by regular
approaches, being well apprised of the stores in the garrison. His
disposition for the siege were first, as we have said, the buck-skin
breeches, with which he proposed to open the trenches, that he might
make good his communication with the covered way. His next step was the
letter, or proffered terms of capitulation. This summons was to the
following effect:--
“Madam, having by the death of my mother, and the marriage of my
sisters, a kind of vacancy in the family, that makes the house somewhat
lonesome, I find I shall be obliged to enter into the matrimonial
state. Understanding, from report, that you are not disinclineable to
the married condition, I have thought of making you proposals. All my
friends give you a very high character, that I assure you, not any
consideration of property is what now induces me to make bold. Besides
the extraordinary beauty of your face and person, the whiteness of
your skin, your shining eyes, and the fine fall of your shoulders,
the dignity of your walk, not to mention other charms, which, though
invisible, may be well supposed, has created in me a passion, which
preys upon my heart, and will, if not gratified, throw me into a
consumption; which, as the Family Physician observes, is, in this
country, a very frequent and dangerous distemper. Your fortune, I
do assure you, is totally out of my thoughts, and, if you had not a
shilling, I should prefer you to any other woman, though mistress of
all the riches in the city of Glasgow. I hope, therefore, you will
have compassion upon your sincere lover, who thinks of nothing but
your charms. My lawyer will meet with yours whenever you may please
to appoint.--I propose a jointure, which, if you should survive me,
will give you ten per cent. for your money; the said money thereupon
to become my property.--With the most disinterested love, I am, madam,
your adoring swain,
DUNCAN HAMILTON.”
Though this letter, in many cases, answered pretty well, yet, in some,
it did not altogether suit. Among the various objects of his passion
was a Creole, to whom the praise of whiteness of skin did not entirely
apply; a lady who squinted, that could not so properly be praised for
her eyes. To a third, the fall of the shoulders had been as well left
out, as she happened to be somewhat humpbacked; a fourth, that limped,
might have dispensed with the encomiums bestowed on gracefulness
of gesture.--The laird of Etterick having circulated his courtship
to every opulent lady that he could hear of was soon smoaked. The
portioned misses and dames began to compare notes, and found that as
the object was the same in all his love pursuits, viz. the rent-roll,
funded property, and cash at their bankers’, the means were similar in
every case. At last the laird of Etterick’s courtship became a jest
in the country, and he, now approaching forty, was a bachelor. His
personal charms were not very likely to shorten his celibacy. He was
about five feet four inches high, and extremely slender, with stooping
shoulders, and a pair of legs, whose shape, though often rousing men
to martial deeds, when beating on a kettle-drum, were not the most
promising supporters for a lover.
Hamilton found his worthy senior extremely rejoiced to see him, but
somewhat downcast at a late disappointment. An estate within two or
three miles of him had, it seems, devolved upon an elderly maiden by
the death of a nephew. As, besides her age, she happened to have but
one eye, he had sanguinely hoped for success, and made his addresses
a few days after the interment; but the lady, large raw-boned and red
hair, bestowed her hand and fortune on an Irish recruiting sergeant of
grenadiers.--As rebuffs, however, were familiar to this suitor, he was
not very deeply afflicted. Major Hamilton soon opened to his brother
his engagements with the fair Eliza, and expatiated on the charms of
his lovely mistress. The brother confined his remarks to one question,
whether the property of her father was in land, mortgages, or the
funds? As the major, though he strongly praised other qualifications
of his fair mistress, did not dwell upon her fortune, the laird was
not without apprehensions that he had neglected the main chance, and
advised him to be cautious. “As to love,” says he, “my dear brother,
it does not make the pot boil, and as you soldiers are none of the
richest, I think it would be much better for you to look after a girl
of substance, than to give up your mind to beauty. There are close by
the Eilden hills two young women, just come to capital fortunes, by
the death of their uncle, a rich Paisley weaver. I only heard of it
two days ago, and should have been off immediately myself, but that I
was waiting for you, and also for a pair of new boots. They have ten
thousand pounds each, besides a good freehold estate;--that, my dear
brother, would be just the thing to fit us. Indeed I have even made
up my mind how we should dispose of the money; I would sell to you,
for seven thousand pounds, my spouse’s half of the estate, so that you
would be a landed gentleman of five hundred a year, with three thousand
more to get you on in the army, which, being now time of peace, is
as good a way of laying out your money as any other. Besides, then I
could afford to pay you your portion, which, now as I have been making
purchases and improvements, would derange my plans. I think there is
no time to be lost; for there will be other chaps in the market; and
it being indifferent to me which I shall marry, you may have your
choice.”--The major was totally unmoved by the proffered pieces of
manufactory, but informed his brother, that respecting his portion,
about fifteen hundred pounds, he knew that the proprietor of Etterick
could command such a sum at a day’s notice, and that, as he might have
immediate occasion for it, it would be necessary to make arrangements
for its payment when demanded. This intimation the laird, who gained
much more by his employment of this sum than he paid for its use,
did not altogether relish, but as he could not contest the point,
he answered;--Certainly it was reasonable the major should receive
his money, but that it was not so easy to be raised as he imagined.
Hamilton had, indeed, made repeated applications from abroad, to have
the sum in question remitted to a banker in London, to be vested in
the funds. But the laird as often eluded the requisition.--Though
really attached to his brother, yet he did not forget that, like the
brother of every body else, he was mortal, and probably the sooner
for his profession; and thought that, to use his own phrase, “a bird
in hand was worth two in the bush; and the money, to which he was
eventually heir, was as well in his own custody.” The laird, with a
very moderate understanding, and mild milkiness of disposition, had a
heart less contracted by interested selfishness, than debarred from
benevolent exertion, by feeble timidity, or misguided by family vanity.
His heiress-hunting adventures did not arise so much from grasping
avarice, as from a desire of aggrandizing the house of Etterick. His
pecuniary anxieties resulted less from the desire of accumulation, the
means of gratifying which he had fully in his power, than the fear of
incurring difficulties, for which there were, in his situation, no
probable grounds. Hamilton had written him on his arrival in England,
that he desired to have the disposal of his own money; the laird having
lately bought a property contiguous to his estate, saw that he could
not discharge his brother’s claim without borrowing, and conceived
himself about to be embarrassed, although his estate was two thousand a
year, without any other incumbrance. He had complained to their mutual
friends, of the loss that would accrue to him, if the major insisted on
payment. Those friends, knowing the little foundation for the laird’s
apprehensions, urged his brother to have the affair settled as speedily
as possible, by coming to the spot himself.
The proprietor of Etterick, during the first days of Hamilton’s visit,
repeatedly endeavoured to dissuade him from his intended marriage,
and from taking his money into his own management; but found himself
entirely disappointed in both. At last, a neighbouring gentleman
advanced the sum upon the laird’s personal bond, and Hamilton soon
after returned to the south. He had meanwhile arranged, by letters,
the investment of his property, and the prolongation of his leave
of absence, so that the six following months he could, without
interruption, devote to love and his Eliza.