OUR hero now resumed his legal studies, and his literary pursuits.
He continued to admire the administration of Mr. Pitt, in general
principle, and in most of its particular acts. The commercial treaty
with France he regarded as a grand and striking instance of liberal and
enlightened policy, and wrote a very ingenious and able pamphlet in
its favour, but hitherto did not put his name to his performances. He
continued to attend Parliament on important debates, and occasionally
to write essays, but was not yet a professed author.
Meanwhile he made very anxious inquiries concerning Jenny Collings, but
that worthy girl, with great magnanimity and self-denial, resolutely
secluded herself from his company during the whole winter. It was now
the month of May, and on a Sunday morning, which our hero generally
devoted to walking in the fields, and William had strolled as far
as the north gate of Kensington gardens, when he saw at a little
distance before him, on the other side of the wall, a well-dressed
and well-made girl, whom, approaching more nearly, he found, to his
surprise and delight, to be his long-lost Jenny. At so unexpected a
sight poor Collings screamed and almost fainted, but recovering, she
intreated him, for Heaven’s sake, to leave her. But whilst her tongue
said so, it was contradicted by her eyes, that melted with tenderness
and love. Soft and gentle dalliance proceeded to ardent and dangerous
caresses, which Jenny first attempted to resist but at length returned.
Poor Collings again experienced that no trial can be more perilous
to female penitence than meeting with the beloved cause of former
indiscretion.
In the course of their conversation she informed him, that she was
going to Shepherd’s Bush, to spend the day with a sister of her
employer. But learning that she had not absolutely promised, he
persuaded her to feign an excuse, and to spend the day with him. The
ice being once broken, this change was effected with little difficulty,
and from this time the frail fair one consented to interviews as often
as they could find opportunities.
Mrs. Hamilton was now arrived in town, and a house was taken in
Hatton-garden, convenient for her son’s pursuits in Lincolns Inn. Our
hero was now beginning to be known among the booksellers, and was not
without applications from gentlemen and others of that profession.
It was again a Sunday morning; and William, having pretended an
engagement to dine at Richmond, was breakfasting with his mother and
sister, previous to his departure to meet his Jenny; when a loud
knock thundered at the door, and the maid coming up stairs said, that
a person below wanted her master. “A person, Sally, what kind of a
person?” “I don’t think much, he be a gentleman, though he be very
smart.”--“Well, shew him up.” Accordingly the person, as Sally phrased
it, was introduced. He was a short, squat, sturdy man, with a face
round like an apple, chubby, and adorned with cheeks of the kind of
that fruit that is called red-streak, goggling eyes, and an expression
of mingled pertness, self-importance, and inanity. To decorate this
graceful presence, there was a cocked hat, a green coat lined with
yellow satin, a red silk waistcoat, and black silk breeches, all bran
new, with white silk stockings, now inclining to yellow, very smart
shoes, graced with plated buckles, which, having seen service, shewed
the brass in various parts. Having walked in with his hat on, he took
it off and made to the ladies a bow, which he intended at once to
exhibit dignity and condescension; then turning to the gentleman said,
“I presume you are Mr. Hamilton.”--“At your service; pray, sir, be
seated.”--Having taken a chair, the visitor began: “My name, sir, is
Jeffery Lawhunt, I keep a bookseller’s shop; here’s my card; perhaps
you have heard of me, and of my character.”--“Yes, I have,” replied
the other. “I was not brought up to the bookselling business; I was in
the taylor line, and still do a little in that way; these breeches are
my own making, and see, madam, they fit very well.”--The young lady
ran out at this appeal.--“I got the piece pretty cheap, in payment
of a debt that I thought bad.--But I am wandering from the point on
which I called on you.--You must know, sir, since I have taken to the
bookselling trade, I am a great _pattern of learning_, and hearing you
are a very good hand, I am willing to give you employment, sir.”--“You
are very kind,” said Hamilton.--“And as to terms, I tell you how I
do with my journeymen, and I find some of my authors agreeable to
it; also I gives them their wages in traffic.”--“In _traffic_!” said
Hamilton.--“Yes, and I find it a very good way: for instance, a coat,
or a waistcoat, or a pair of breeches, or sometimes in provisions. I
buy a lot of hams, and give pieces of them as payment, both at the
board and printing-house. Do you ever do any thing in the theatrical
line?”--“Never.”--“Could you not write me a pretty smart novel? I
give a very good price. Mrs. Devon, a famous writter, she wrote the
Perseverance of Perplexity, and the Lavish Landlord. She has, first
and last, had twelve guineas of my money. I have a letter in my pocket
here, that will shew you the kind of applications I receive.” Our hero
accordingly perused the following epistle:--
“Mr. JEFFERY LAWHUNT;
Sir;--Having been in business in the child-bed linen way, and not
finding things answer, I have been advised by my friends to set up
in the _litterary_ line, which they tell me requires little capital,
and so no wonder so many poor people takes after it;”--(‘A very just
remark,’ observed Lawhunt;)--“so I am a writing a novel, with plenty
of ghosteses in it; which is now quite the kick.” (‘So it is,’
observed Jeffery, ‘you see she knows what’s what.’) “Now, sir, as I
understand you are a great inkurrager of harudishon, I have made bold
for to offer to you what, to use a compollison, may be called the
first child of my virgin muse.” (‘A very marvellous production,’ said
our hero, ‘this first child of the virgin muse, I dare say, is.’) (‘I
thought,’ observed Jeffery, ‘you would like the figure.’) “I hope it,
will give you satisfaction, and I am, sir, your most humble servant, to
command,
SARAH SHIFT.
P.S. If you could let me have a little in advance, shud be much
obligated to you.”
“Well, sir, have you complied with the lady’s request?”--“O yes; I
think you will say I behaved very generous.--I gave her two guineas
in money, a flitch of bacon, a couple of fowls, and a green goose from
my cottage in the country, and stuff for a callimanco petticoat. I
got the manuscript, but the printer tells me that the spelling is not
so right as it should be. Now, sir, as I am told you are a scoller, I
would not scruple twenty pounds for a novel that you should write.”
“You are liberal even to munificence, sir; but at present I have no
thoughts of any such composition.”--“Will you favour me with your
company to dinner, sir; there is to be a literary party; there is to be
little Dr. Grub, and Mr. Whippersnapper, a great maker of verses; and
Mr. Macculpin.”--“Is Mr. Macculpin a Scotch gentleman?”--“No; damn the
Scotch, I have had enough of them; though I am Yorkshire myself, they
are _farther north_. Here there was one of them that wrote a book that
I published for him; I thought I could have got him off with thirty
pounds, but he would have three hundred: to law we went, and by G--d
it cost me five hundred before I was done with it. So that my profits,
which I thought would have been six hundred, were little more than
one. I will have nothing more to do with the Scotch. No, Mr. Macculpin
is a Irish gentleman. There will also be Mrs. Ogle that writes hymns
for the Gospel Magazine, and other articles of poetry, especially
sacred; and Mr. Spatter, the reviewer, who is a great favourite with
her. It is not for nothing that he praises her psalms, but that’s
not a subject to speak of before a lady.”--Mrs. Hamilton now hastily
followed her daughter; and Lawhunt, not being able to prevail on our
hero, at length departed, and William hastened to his Jenny, who waited
with the most anxious impatience. Her passion, increased by renewed
indulgence, now knew no bounds. She was willing to sacrifice fame,
employment, and every thing else, and ardently desired to live with
Hamilton.--By perseverance in illicit love, her mind became gradually
debased. Sentiment and affection, though still very strong, began
now to be surpassed by mere sensual desire, and though Hamilton had
no reason for jealousy, the fidelity of Collings was now owing much
more to the closeness of his attentions than to the firmness of her
constancy. She gradually became negligent about her employment, and not
long after relinquished it entirely. Hamilton could not help perceiving
her degeneracy, and coolling in his own passion, but conscious that
he himself was the cause of her apostacy from virtue, and afterwards
from delicacy, felt keen remorse. Her situation soon came to require
retirement; the fruits of their affection was a fine boy, born the very
day his father reached the 24th year of his age.
Hamilton was now extending his acquaintance among gentlemen of the law,
and also men of literary eminence. He had the honour to be known to
Gibbon, who thought very highly of his talents and erudition, perhaps,
not the less that a masterly review of the history was found to be the
production of Hamilton. He occasionally met Dr. Samuel Parr, bishops
Watson and Horseley, and was very intimate with Paley. He knew Dr.
Gillies, and received much valuable information from the accurate and
well digested knowledge of that elegant scholar. He was well acquainted
with the philological research, sportive humour, and convivial
hilarity of the younger Burney; the unassuming manners, careless and
thoughtless deportment, but profound erudition of a Porson.
Our hero, encouraged by the high praises bestowed upon his literary
essays, determined to bring forward a work of some magnitude and
importance.
Hamilton, one afternoon, having been in the neighbourhood of Pancras,
where Miss Collings now resided, and returning through Gray’s Inn
Lane, observing a literary acquaintance in the Burton ale-house,
entered that mansion, where, after they had been about a quarter of
an hour, a gentleman came in, and accosting our hero’s acquaintance,
joined the conversation. Hamilton was astonished at the brilliancy
and strength of this gentleman’s observations, the extent and depth
of his metaphysical, moral, and political science. He soon found that
this was William Strongbrain, a gentleman very highly prized in the
republic of letters, and in Hamilton’s estimation, deserving still
higher praise than that which he had received. Hamilton had read,
with very great admiration, his execution of an historical plan,
projected by another, but left imperfect by his death. He had perused
with peculiar delight a mixture of profound philosophy, enlightened
policy, and poignant satire, exhibited in a book of a very whimsical
title, and comprehending an intellectual and moral portrait of a very
illustrious orator, and that he was at this time engaged in conducting
a review, commenced by a celebrated vindicator of the lovely and
unfortunate Mary. In the course of the evening Hamilton received from
this gentleman such an accession, not only of details and facts, but
of principles and views, as convinced him he would be a very valuable
instructor, while the strength and splendour of his wit and humour
rendered him a most delightful companion. The charms of Strongbrain’s
colloquial powers fascinated our hero to a very late hour, and he
determined to spare no pains in cultivating so very valuable and
pleasant an acquaintance: but for some weeks family parties interrupted
the progress of their new acquaintance. The old vicar and his son
took an excursion to London, whence their friends promised to return
with him to Yorkshire. The day was appointed for their departure,
when a letter arriving from Etterick, strongly soliciting William to
come as soon as possible to Scotland, as his assistance was very much
wanted, both by the father and daughter. The mother had, it seems,
been dead upwards of a year, and for many months the father and Mrs.
O’Rourke had lived together in tranquillity. But of late, disturbance
had taken place, which they thought our hero’s presence would most
effectually remove. Imparting the particulars to his friends, he
convinced them all, that it was necessary, or at least expedient, for
him to comply with the request. Accordingly he set off for the north in
the Highflyer, which left town from Fetter-lane, in his neighbourhood.
They set off between one and two in the afternoon, having only three
inside passengers. Nothing remarkable occurred till they arrived at
Hertford, where our hero ordered some coffee, while the horses were
changing; and having entered a public room, he observed, standing
by a table, talking to an elderly gentleman that appeared settling
with a waiter, an object that riveted him to the spot where he stood.
This was a young lady about nineteen years of age, with a face and
countenance that he thought the most interesting and engaging he had
ever beheld. She was above the middling stature, exquisitely formed,
having her shape and proportions exactly displayed by a riding habit.
Her features were at once regular and prominent, her hair was black,
her forehead small but oval, with eyebrows even, full, and strongly
enhancing the penetrating sagacity and brilliant lustre of her dark
and piercing eyes, that indicated quickness and strength of genius,
mixed with benignity of disposition, and an arch intelligence, that
gave a zest to the softness. Her nose was aquiline, the sweetness of
her mouth, containing teeth like the driven snow, plump, softly pouting
lips, and cheeks on which cupids played in smiles and dimples tempered
the fire of her eyes. Her whole countenance displayed an acute and
powerful understanding, spirit, sensibility, and benevolence, but a
benevolence of ardent affection, and not sentimental mawkishness. Our
hero had gazed on this lovely girl with eyes of speaking delight and
admiration for a minute or two, when perceiving their direction she
sat down by the gentleman. William soon learned that the young lady
and her companion, who was no other than her own father, were to be
his fellow travellers in the coach; whither they were now summoned,
and William had the pleasure of touching her hand as he assisted her
ascent to the vehicle. In the course of the following stage, which
was through a very beautiful country, the observations of the young
lady, though not many, shewed a mind not only alive to the charms of
nature, but which, cultivated and discriminating, could assign to the
various objects their due proportion of the beautiful, the grand, or
the picturesque, as the one or the other happened to pre-dominate.
After they had passed Baldock, a bare and black aspect prevented
farther remarks on the face of the country, and some other travellers
endeavoured to take the lead in the conversation, by introducing topics
on which they conceived they could respectively shine.--One of the
first of these was a parson, who had joined them a little before, and
who, having observed that the conversation was at a stand, imputed the
cessation to veneration and awe of his dignified appearance, and with
condescending graciousness said, “Pray, good people, do not constrain
yourselves on account of my presence; I am candid and liberal, and
ready to make allowance for inexperience or misinformation; therefore
open, and if you should happen to be wrong in any assertion or
observation, I shall put you to rights.” The bright eyes of the
young lady at this pompous and self-sufficient declaration assumed
an expression of sportive archness that immediately demonstrated
her comprehension of his character, and her relish for humour. Our
hero perceiving this, determined to gratify her by inducing his
reverence to a full display. He said, he was extremely happy to find a
gentleman so willing to communicate his instructions; that he himself
was conscious of great ignorance and many errors; but he trusted he
was docile. “Docility,” said the priest, in the imperative tone of
pulpit inculcation, “docility is one step towards the acquisition
of knowledge; to receive instruction you must be willing as well as
capable.” “A very just, and, to my belief, an original remark.” “It
is,” said the parson, “the result of long experience, accompanied by
deep reflection. I have seen and observed much, but I have thought
more. In my inquiries I always dive to the bottom, and do not float
on the surface. What had been the subject of your conversation before
it was interrupted by my presence and your own modesty?” “We were
speaking of the face of the country, which is not so pleasant as that
between Hertford and Stevenage. It is bare and chalky.”--“A bare and
bleak face of a country, young gentleman, is not so pleasant to the
eye, as a succession of woods, lawns, and verdant pastures.--You
will farther observe that an expanse of flat is less agreeable than
a vicissitude of hill and dale. But if you are going much farther
north, I shall have an opportunity of illustrating this remark as we
pass through Lincolnshire. Even in the prospects near London, which
many shallow judges praise, I have discovered defects; they are either
too flat and monotonous, or want the diversification of water; for
water is a very momentous addition to the external aspect of nature.”
These profound remarks were regarded with much admiration by a female
passenger who sat opposite to the beneficent instructor, and next to
the young lady. This listener conceived she was hearing the voice
of wisdom, and being one herself that sought the character of sense
and knowledge in her own circle, she treasured these observations in
her memory, to be afterwards repeated as the discoveries of her own
sagacity. During the delivery of the oracles the coach arrived at
Biggleswade, where they were to sup. The parson having expended his
wisdom upon one topic displayed his stores on another, and opened on
the subject of the coalition, on which, though not new, he professed
to deliver some opinions and observations, that the company would find
a little out of the ordinary way.--“You will observe, Mr. Fox for
many years opposed lord North, and said he was totally unfit for being
a minister.--He said, the country must be ruined if he continued in
office.--He was the chief instrument of driving him out.--Soon after
he formed a coalition with this very man, and came together with him
into office.--I say, my good friends, that in so doing Mr. Fox was not
consistent, mark my words well, Mr. Fox was not consistent.--There
are other parts of Mr. Fox’s conduct which I can no less clearly
demonstrate to be extremely wrong.--What did his India bill do?--It
violated chartered rights; I say, violated chartered rights, and it
raised a fourth estate within the empire.--I pointed that out to my
friends Burke and Windham, and advised them to explain it to Mr. Fox,
but they would have their own ways; and so it fares. There are other
parts of Mr. Fox’s conduct, which I by no means approve. I very much
blame his support of the dissenters, and his friendly disposition
to Priestley, a heretic and infidel, and one that would destroy our
church: one that has himself boasted that he would blow up the church
with gunpowder. Can one that is preparing to blow up the church, be
called a friend to the church? mark that.” Mrs. Halifax, the lady
whom we have before mentioned, being a sound churchwoman, agreed with
the censure of Priestley, and observed that “that was a very strong
_argement_, that those who would set fire to a place could not wish
well to the owner. There was,” says she, “in our neighbourhood, a barn
set on fire on purpose the other week, and all the country said it
must have been done in malice.” Our hero praised the sagacity of those
who found out that wilful incendiaries must act from bad motives.--“I
remember,” he said, “reading in the history of England, that there was
a gunpowder plot contrived, in order to blow up the Parliament house,
and that the chief instrument was one Guy Faux;” he with much gravity
observed, “I cannot think that this same Guy Faux was a well wisher
to the Parliament.” The young lady smiled at this observation in such
a way as demonstrated her thoroughly to comprehend the character,
or at least, intellectual reach of Dr. Truism. The travellers now
returned to the coach, and sleep soon put an end to the conversation.
Our hero had been somewhat amused by the pompous emptiness of Dr.
Truism, but his mind was really engaged by a very different object.
The charms of the young lady engrossed his thoughts and feelings, and
did not suffer Morpheus to possess his usual influence. His fine
expressive eyes had told the fair nymph the sentiments by which he was
impressed, but told it with such delicacy and softness as could not
give offence, at least did not give offence. Whether from the jolting
of the coach, or some other reason, she also was awake a considerable
part of the time. She had fallen into a slumber about morning, and
the rest continued buried in sleep, while some of their noses loudly
testified that it was not the sleep of death. Our hero was gazing on
the lovely nymph with fervid admiration and eager delight, when, the
rising sun playing on her eyelids, opened her beautiful eyes, and
she beheld the impassioned gaze of Hamilton. She could not possibly
misunderstand the expression of his looks, and received them with more
confusion than displeasure. Many minutes elapsed before our hero began
the conversation.--He durst not venture to speak to the young lady on
the subject nearest his heart with his tongue, though his eyes spoke
the language of love, clear, forcible, and impressive; but wishing
to hear the sound of her voice, and to engage her in discourse, he
opened with the common compliments of the morning, which he offered in
a tone mellowed by tenderness. The young lady very sensible of this
intonation, endeavoured to turn the discourse to subjects in which it
could not easily be introduced; and seeing, and still better hearing,
that the spontaneous preceptor was sound asleep, she observed with arch
irony, that it was a very fortunate circumstance for persons pent up
in a stage coach to meet with so wise and learned a gentleman, so very
willing to communicate his stores for the public benefit. “One person,”
said our hero, “receives from his lessons the impression which they
are designed to make. This sleeping lady on the left hand evidently
regards him with very high admiration. I think,” continued he, “there
are few absurdities more laughable and humourous than one person
speaking nonsense, or at least frivolity, and another listening to it
as sense and wisdom.” “It is,” replied the nymph, “I believe, extremely
common, sir, and, perhaps, after all, merely shews that if one person
is weak, another is weaker.” Hamilton observed that he had never seen
it more happily exemplified than by that great master of nature, and
of life, Shakespear, in the dialogue between the grave-diggers.--He
mentioned several other instances, and passed rather abruptly, though
not without design, to another masterly painter of life, and quoted the
celebrated instance of the attorney’s clerk, who so profoundly admired
the wisdom of Mr. Partridge. Before the young lady had an opportunity
of either agreeing or disagreeing with his remarks, he hurried to a
very different subject and character, in the same performance, and
expatiated on the charms and loveliness of Sophia Western; declaring
that Fielding, in his description of that beautiful creature, exactly
hit real objects in their highest perfection. Having a copy of Tom
Jones in the coach, which he had taken to amuse himself, he opened the
first volume, and read with a very poignant significance the account
that he had mentioned, dwelling with peculiar emphasis on the exactness
and delicacy of the shape, the black hair, the full and even eyebrows;
he then asked the young lady if she did not think the following passage
particularly striking: “Her black eyes had a lustre in them which all
her softness could not extinguish; her nose was exactly regular; and
her mouth, in which were two rows of ivory, exactly answered sir John
Suckling’s description in these lines:--
‘Her lips were red, and one was thin,
‘Compar’d to that was next her chin,
‘Some bee had stung it newly.’
Her cheeks were of the oval kind; and in her right she had a dimple,
which the least smile discovered. Her chin had certainly its share in
forming the beauty of her face; but it was difficult to say it was
either large or small, though, perhaps, it was rather of the former
kind.--Her mind was every way equal to her person; nay, the latter
borrowed some charms of the former: for when she smiled, the sweetness
of her temper diffused that glory over her countenance, which no
regularity of features can give.”
The young lady could not misapprehend the scope of this recitation, and
could not avoid blushing. Meanwhile the jolting of the coach upon the
rugged stones of Stamford awakened others of the company, and during
the next two stages the conversation was more mixed and general. The
parson continuing drowsy, the discourse was chiefly carried on by our
hero and the young lady’s father. In the course of their talk, Hamilton
found that the gentleman’s name was Mortimer, and that he had an estate
in the North Riding of Yorkshire, to which his daughter and he were now
proceeding. “Pray, sir,” said Hamilton, “is not the name of the place
Oakgrove, near Northallerton?” “The same,” replied Mr. Mortimer, with
surprise. “Then you are the father of my most intimate friend: we were
four years together at Cambridge.” “What, do you know my son Jack?
Then I dare say, sir, your name is Hamilton.” “The very same, sir.”
“You are a wonderful favourite with our Jack; is he not, Maria?” but
before Maria answered, and she was in no haste, the old gentleman, very
unjustly imputing her silence to forgetfulness, with a view to refresh
her memory said, “Don’t you remember, girl, that when Jack used to be
descanting on his friend, you would say to him, Don’t talk so much to
me, brother, about that Mr. Hamilton, so handsome, so brave, so witty,
and so every thing; or you will make me in love with him by hearsay.”
This reminiscence, delivered by the mere undesigning frankness of an
open and honest country gentleman, overspread Maria with blushes,
the exact source of which she would have found it very difficult to
define. Her father afterwards once or twice unintentionally added
to her confusion, and especially when she appeared absent and in a
reverie, by slapping her shoulders and chucking her chin, and asking
what was become of all her sprightliness; why she did not speak. “Your
brother’s friend here will think you a mere mope.” Maria, who from the
conveyance of his eyes had received strong expression of very different
sentiments, had little apprehensions of that interpretation, but was
still farther confused by the appeal. The parson being now completely
awake, very agreeably relieved Maria, by a dissertation, in which he
demonstrated, that after fatigue one is greatly disposed to sleep, and
that sleep is very refreshing.
They now arrived at Grantham, where they were to breakfast. Our hero
was waiting to hand Maria from the coach, when, by some inattention
of the waiter, the step gave way, and she would have fallen on the
pavement, had not Hamilton caught her so quickly as to prevent every
danger to her person, but not without an unavoidable shock to her
delicacy, of which the adroitness of our hero rendered the cause of
the shortest possible duration, and she herself only conjectured
what had happened. Greatly agitated, she tottered into the house,
and found herself ready to faint; when sal-volatile for the present
prevented her, and she was able to collect her scattered spirits.
Her father, who had not attended to the accident, at least in all
its circumstances, and knew nothing of her being indisposed, sent
to hurry her to breakfast. Nanny, who delivered this message, and
who was remarkably loquacious, began, “Miss, you is wanted in the
parlour to breakfastes.--Well, I have been two years and a half, come
next _Michalmus_, in _sarvice_ here, and of all the men that ever I
see, _mallicious_ and souldiers, with the colonels and captains, and
sargents and cruperals, and sweet grenadiers, none of them, in my mind,
is fit to carry a candle to the charming gentleman that had you in his
arms.” Maria looking down at the last observation, Nanny, to encourage
her, “Don’t be abashed, ma’am, you need not be ashamed; a more prittear
leg I never see in my life, and besides----.” But before this sentence
was finished, Maria hurried away, desiring no farther elucidations. Our
hero, as she entered the room, with considerate delicacy forbore every
inquiry that could allude to the accident, which he knew she must wish
to be buried in oblivion. As they proceeded, though he could not so far
command himself as to avoid doing homage to her with his eyes, yet he
avoided such topics as led to discussions concerning beauty and love.
Fortunately the rest of the company were in a great degree disused to
such subjects, and the conversation being diversified, Maria, though
much less brilliant than usual, took some part in it; and as they got
beyond the bounds of Nottinghamshire, they all joined in celebrating
the praises of Yorkshire. Having dined at Doncaster, they, about six
in the evening, arrived at Ferrybridge. Here our hero had intended
to wait for the Glasgow mail, to convey him to Carlisle; but he now
changed his mind, and said, that as he had never seen Edinburgh, he
would go to York, and take his seat in the Edinburgh mail. The parson
now left them, and soon after the lady and another passenger, so that
there remained only squire Mortimer, his daughter, and our hero. When
they arrived at York about ten, Hamilton took his place in the mail in
which the squire and his daughter meant to proceed to Northallerton.
Mortimer had strongly solicited our hero to accompany him to his seat,
and see his friend John, who was commander in chief in his absence.
Hamilton informed him of the necessity of his immediate procedure;
but promised to visit Oakgrove on his return. At the usual hour they
arrived at Northallerton, and the father having pointed out his house,
which was in the immediate neighbourhood, they came to the Inn, whence
the squire declared he would see his new friend fairly set off, before
Maria and he should walk home. They were sitting in a parlour, and, the
squire having gone out, Hamilton very strongly expressed the delight
which he had enjoyed from so charming a companion, and the eagerness
with which he would avail himself of her respectable father’s friendly
invitation. “I shall,” he said, “have very great happiness in seeing
my friend John, than whom I can love no _man_ more affectionately, but
with what exquisite joy I shall again behold his lovely and angelic
sister.” Before he had time to finish, the squire returned; and a
minute or two after, a tall strapping lady, very thinly dressed, and
who about the neck anticipated the imitation of mother Eve, that has
since become so prevalent, came in, saying, she understood there
was one gentleman to be her fellow passenger in the mail, she had
come to have the pleasure of his acquaintance before they embarked
together. “I understand,” she continued, “that he is a very handsome
young gentleman, and so, sir, I suppose you are he.” Hamilton, though
not unacquainted with the world, and not without many opportunities,
could not be called a man of gallantry, and made a very slight answer
to this compliment, perhaps the more slight from the presence of
Maria. The squire, a hearty and a civil man, yet had not that kind of
politeness which can completely dissemble sentiments and opinions; he
was moreover a wag. He winked significantly on Hamilton, and calling
him aside, whispered, “This will be a good joke to your friend John,
but take care, my boy, some of those dashing misses are Tartars.” He
might have explained this metaphor, but was interrupted by the sound
of the horn, and the coachman summoning them to depart. Accordingly
Hamilton was under the necessity of leaving the charming Miss Mortimer,
and at parting, though he hardly spoke with his tongue, yet in half a
minute expressed with his eyes an ardour of affection and tenderness
of regret, which Maria must have been as remarkable for dullness as
she was for the contrary, if she had not observed. She did more than
observe, she also felt.--After a very cordial squeeze of the father’s
hand, and a renewal of his promise to visit the Grove on his return,
he departed. Having, after the coach was set off, continued to gaze
on the window where Maria stood, on the turning of the corner he lost
sight of the beloved object, and, regardless of his fellow traveller,
threw himself back, and feigning to be asleep, brooded in fancy over
the lovely image of Maria. His companion was one of those young ladies
who, having the eye of an hawk after the handsome of the opposite sex,
are not unskilled in quarrying upon destined prey. Miss Dartwell was a
very likely girl, with animated and fascinating eyes, a clear and fresh
complexion, rosy lips, white teeth, tall, straight, and well made. She
was the daughter of a tradesman, who being in tolerable circumstances,
proposed, at the instigation of his wife, to breed Fanny to be a young
lady, trusting that she would acquire, by marriage, rank and fortune;
and thus enable her parents to look down upon their neighbours.
With these hopes they had sent her to a boarding school, near the
metropolis; there she learned to smatter a little French, to strum a
little on the pianoforté, to read a little, and to speak a great deal.
The lady governess of the seminary often boasted of her connections,
and among these had a brother whom she used to style an officer in
the guards, and indeed so he was, and a very useful officer too, and
having risen from the ranks to be corporal, had afterwards become a
sergeant, then sergeant major, and lastly, an adjutant. He had a son,
who, inheriting his military spirit, was now a sergeant of grenadiers,
one of the handsomest young fellows on the parade, and peculiarly
eminent for his skill in drilling. About this time it began to be
deemed expedient by some of the wise persons who superintended female
tuition, to have their fair pupils initiated in military affairs; the
exercise of a soldier would give them _a free and easy carriage, and
improve their shapes_. The lady to whom the formation and guidance of
Miss Dartwell was committed, thinking such preceptorial employment
might be a good job for her nephew, introduced sergeant Sycamore in
this capacity. Miss Fanny, being the tallest of the young corps,
occupied the right hand, and thinking it incumbent on her to do honour,
by dexterity of performance, to her conspicuous stature and situation,
and being well formed, active, and alert, soon surpassed the rest of
the company, and was appointed _fugle_. Her exhibitions and evolutions
procured great praise from the sergeant, to which she would listen with
much complacency. She often would make comparisons between this heroic
youth, and the various other teachers of his sex, and declared to her
intimates, that he was far before the dancing-master himself. “To be
sure, Mr. Cotillion is a very pretty man, but Mr. Sycamore is a very
pretty and a very fine man.” Notwithstanding the strict vigilance of
boarding schools, the sergeant found means to make a conquest of one
of the teachers, no very difficult achievement; and thereby to have
various opportunities of conversing with the misses entrusted to her
charge: and how could he employ his time better, than in giving them
_private_ lessons? Practising the military steps, Miss Dartwell became
distinguished for _free and easy carriage_, and the _improvement of
her shapes_. Soon after this display of tactics the sergeant, by
the influence of another disciple, of much higher rank, who, though
of a more advanced age, had condescended to avail herself of his
instructions, was promoted to a pair of colours, and ere long to a
lieutenancy of guards, whence he had recently been appointed a captain
in a marching regiment. Miss Dartwell, after her studies, had returned
to her parents, and had received offers of marriage from divers young
tradesmen, whom she rejected with disdain, not failing to reprobate
the insolence of such fellows, who durst presume to make proposals to
a young lady that had been _at boarding-school_, and learned so many
fine accomplishments. Meanwhile she did not fail to manifest to young
squires and captains of militia, that their addresses would not be
deemed so degrading. Being artful and insinuating, she had laid snares
with an apparent probability of success for a spruce young counsellor,
but at last found that the lawyer was perfectly acquainted with the
difference between being taken in _mesne_ process, where the caption
was only temporary, and being taken in _execution_, from which there
was no bail.--Her father being now dead, and having some hundred pounds
at command, she resolved to set out in quest of Sycamore, and having,
in London, learned that his regiment was at Inverness and Fort George,
she had left the metropolis in a different coach the same morning as
our hero, and having arrived late the evening before at Northallerton,
had waited for the mail. Such was the fellow-traveller of our hero.
Captain Sycamore still continued the principal favourite of his fair
pupil. Deeming the attention and regard of this worthy preceptor the
chief good, yet, being in her philosophy rather a peripatetic than a
stoic, she considered it as the _summum_ but not _solum expetendum_,
the greatest but not the only blessing which life might afford. Though
she was approaching Sycamore, still he was three hundred miles off:
here was a very fine young man close by her; besides, soldiers might,
in change of scene, be inconstant. She now recollected that there was
some reason to suppose Sycamore rather forgetful. She was one of those
prudential persons who preferred possession to reversion, and thought a
bird in the hand worth two in the bush. But to justify the application
of this proverb, it was necessary that the bird should actually be in
hand, and not merely, because very near, supposed within reach. She
had penetrated into the sentiments of our hero, the few minutes she
saw him with Miss Mortimer, and observing his concern, she forbore
for some time to interrupt his reverie, but at length tired even of so
long a silence, she attempted to engage him in discourse. She began
with indifferent topics, dexterously sliding into his opinion, however
slightly it might be delivered, and by degrees opened upon plays and
romances, the species of reading in which she was chiefly conversant,
thence passing to various descriptions of beauty, she endeavoured to
please him by bestowing high panegyrics on the young lady, who had come
in the coach to the last inn. To her observations Hamilton made civil
and assenting answers, but very short. They now arrived at Darlington,
where miss to her great vexation found that they were to be joined by
another traveller. This was a stout, hearty, plain man, who appeared
to be a substantial farmer or a yeoman. He soon, however, informed
the company he was a freeholder of Durham, and proceeded, in the usual
style of vulgar loquacity, to open upon his own private affairs. He,
it seems, farmed his own lands, and had two sons; one of whom, a
stout young man, he was breeding up to husbandry: but the other, a
poor puny lad, quite unfit for labour, therefore he was making him a
_genus_, he was to be a great _scolard_; he was not more than seventeen
years of age, and in two or three years more would be fit for the
_varsity_; so Mister Syntax, our schoolmaster, tells me; and he is a
_perdigious_ great _scolard_. From his own affairs, this communicative
person, in the natural course, proceeded to those of his neighbours,
mentioned many names, totally unknown to his fellow-travellers, but, at
last, came to one lady, of whom they and most others had very often
heard. Not being sparing in his strictures on combined profligacy and
folly, or the connexions which these had formed, he observed, that he
remembered her a very good, agreeable young woman. “But, ah! master,
when women once begin going to the devil, they do not stop half way;
first they are bashful and coy, and we must court them; but after men
has once their own way, by jingo then they courts us, and are no more
shamefaced.” Our hero could not controvert the observations of this
sage, and almost smiled at (as he conceived) their applicability to
his fair companion. Whether the lady perceived, or at least felt their
appositeness, could not easily be discovered. She certainly did not
blush but, perhaps, that might be partly from her original tuition
at the boarding-school, and partly from having of late been totally
disused to the suffusion. At Durham they only stopped to change
horses. Before they reached Newcastle their fellow-traveller left
Hamilton and Miss Dartwell to themselves. The lady began to resume the
operations which the worthy freeholder had interrupted: Hamilton, as we
have seen, was not insensible to the attractions of even this species
of ladies, yet, at present, his imagination was so much engrossed by
the charms of the lovely Miss Mortimer, that his senses were less
alive to present objects. To Morpeth they were still alone, and the
lady began to hope that her efforts would not be in vain. But as they
arrived at the inn, whom should miss descry, at a window, but her
old friend and favourite, captain Sycamore? Reversing her intended
application of the proverb, about “a bird in hand,” she hastened from
the coach, and with looks of the warmest affection, flew to her
military instructor. Hamilton proceeded on his journey.--From Berwick
he crossed the country in the morning, and arrived at Etterick.