THE next morning, the gentlemen informed the young ladies, that they
had become acquainted with one of their favourite novelists, and that
they hoped soon to make them acquainted. This evening she will not be
there. “This evening,” said Miss Mortimer, “we could not be at the
library, as my uncle is to have a party to dinner.” Nothing important
happened till the hour of appointment; when our hero, repairing to the
captain’s, found, to his great pleasure, that one of the guests was
his new acquaintance, Mrs. Somerive. The conversation during dinner,
whether the party consist of genius or no genius, generally turns on
one subject; nor was the present an exception; foals, turbot, and Down
mutton, being the chief topics discussed. The fruits and wines having
passed the same ordeal of criticism, the conversation took a more
liberal and enlarged range, and entered on such literary subjects, as
were within the knowledge of the fair members of the party. Among these
were included novels, which, though one of the first writers of the age
was present, the Captain, more naturally benevolent, than artificially
polite, introduced. “My good friend Mrs. Somerive,” said he, “though
I always could see that you had great abilities, and knew much more
than most young ladies of your age; but I did not think you would have
been an author.” A cloud was beginning to overcast the countenance of
the lady at these words; but her recollection and good sense presently
dispelled it; and the Captain, who had not remarked this expression,
proceeded; “I often in fine weather, at sea, read books of amusement,
and sometimes on shore; I have lately read your Orphan of Pembroke,
which my niece Maria here agrees with me in admiring very highly; but
there is one of the characters that she likes beyond all others,--he
that proves the hero of the piece; the Sea Captain. But do not you
think he is rather too refined for our service? To be sure, young men
are now better prepared than they were in my time, and I will honestly
confess, they are as far before us in point of civilization, as----what
shall I say, Hamilton? Help me out with a simile.” “Why, sir, as you
are before Smollet’s Tom Bowling, Trunnion, Hatchway, and Tom Pipes;
the difference, you will please to observe, is chiefly in the manners,
and keeps pace with the progressive improvement of general society
in Britain. The hearts of the former are equally brave and benevolent
with those of the latter. The humanized and accomplished character,
to which you allude, is a gallant and generous British seaman, acting
from the same benignant motives, in the circumstances in which he
is placed, from which the rough virtues of his predecessors would
have exerted themselves. In affording his protection to the helpless
infant of his unfortunate sister, he acts from benevolence, and seeks
beneficence: so did Tom Bowling. In exerting himself to relieve
distress,--to rescue a meritorious character from confinement, he acts
from benevolence, and seeks beneficence; so did Hatchway and Pipes,
in endeavouring to release Peregrine. He procured the promotion of
professional merit, from the same principle that Trunnion purchases
a commission for Gauntlet; but the British naval officer of 1789, has
an understanding, improved by cultivation and manners, softened by
commixture with elegant and enlightened society. In both cases, the
picture is just; in the former, it represents an original, namely,
a diamond of the first water, rough from the mine; in the second,
after undergoing the highest polish.” “Besides,” said young Mortimer,
“the seaman of Mrs. Somerive was farther mildened by the tenderest
of passions, which sailors certainly feel as strongly as other men;
and what man, enamoured of such an object as the Fair Orphan of
Pembroke, would not be softened, even if he had been naturally less
benignant?” At this remark, Miss Hamilton, who had been by her admirer
frequently compared to this very heroine, could not avoid blushing;
which Mrs. Somerive perceiving, and struck with a resemblance, easily
comprehended the case; and as Hamilton, in many respects, resembled
the hero of her work, after a little observation, she was at no loss
to account for the peculiar predilection of Maria for that character.
Dr. Wentbridge observed, that he was particularly struck with the wise
and beneficial tendency of the work. In a noble family, two of the
children, a sister and a brother, had received boundless indulgence;
which, acting on very different dispositions, the one vain, selfish,
and illiberal, the other generous and elevated, produced catastrophes,
of the former, disgraceful; the latter, lamentable; but both resulting
directly from preposterous education. A third sister participating of
the generous and noble spirit of her brother, but having undergone, in
her childhood and youth, restraint and direction, improves her talents
by instruction, guides benignity of disposition by prudence, and adorns
beauty by apposite accomplishments; she is rewarded for her virtues, by
the heart and hand of a man of rank, fortune, and merit; and becomes
the sole comfort of her father, in his declining years, bent down by
affliction, for the fatal effects of his conduct towards his more
favoured children. “The character of the father himself,” Hamilton
observed, “displays strong discrimination; he is of naturally good
intentions, and respectable capacity; but in his counsels and conduct,
not possessing that firmness, without which, ability and disposition
can, neither in private or public life, regularly and steadily produce
beneficial effects. He is governed by talents beneath his own, one of
the greatest sources of error and defect in conduct. Wanting stability
of principle, he is in a state of oscillation, between the suggestions
of his own benignant dispositions, the imperious dictates of a weak
and illiberal wife, and the artful insinuations of an attorney without
talents, but by dint of cunning and sycophancy arrived at wealth
and importance. In the adoption, contrary to his own judgment and
approbation, of the policy which the mean and selfish heart of this
person recommends, he has to look for the occasions which call into
fatal action the respective characters of his son and daughter.” “I
think,” observed young Mortimer, “that the nobleman in question is not
without a resemblance to a minister of considerable talents, benevolent
and patriotic intentions; who, wanting firmness, and complying with
men far inferior to himself, permitted unexampled corruption, entailed
on the nation an immense burden of debt without producing any benefit
in return.” “John,” said the captain, “the American war, in which
either the rash counsels or feeble plans of that administration
involved this country, has produced one advantageous effect: it has
demonstrated, that if the whole world unite to attack England, England
can resist and repel the whole world.” “Bravo,” said a lieutenant,
who had hitherto taken little part of the conversation, “my brave
commander.” “Come then, Jack,” replied the commander, “suppose, if the
ladies have no objection, you sing, Rule, Britannia.” Mrs. Somerive,
who, though highly pleased with the criticism upon her performance,
yet feeling some uneasiness that she should monopolize the whole
attention, was the first to second this motion; and he performed in
a very masterly style. This introduced successive requests from the
ladies. The lieutenant sang two or three other songs, at the end of
each of which, the captain proposed some appropriate bumper toast;
by this time, as he shewed a very bountiful example of hospitality,
Mrs. Somerive, fearing he might go too far, proposed retiring to the
drawing room; a movement, which it had not occurred to Maria herself
to suggest. “Nay, you must not go,” said the host, “till we have a
chorus of Hearts of Oak; Jack there can sing it to admiration, and I
can bear a bob myself.” Mrs. Somerive, seeing no wish in the younger
part of the company of either sex for early separation, desisted. The
song, notwithstanding rather too much vociferation on the side of the
captain, was executed to the satisfaction of the company; when the
laird of Etterick, turning to his nephew, said, “Willie, you are half a
Scotchman, and descended from an honourable Scotch family; the lairds
of Etterick are equal to any gentlemen in the country for descent,
and we live, as your father used to observe, in the Scottish Arcadia,
the scene of pastoral poetry:--come, sing us a Scottish song.” The
company joining in this request, our hero began with Tweedside; and
doing justice to the melody of that charming air, he dwelt with an
emphasis of peculiar tenderness on the name of Mary. Maria feeling this
indirect address, wished to turn our hero’s voice to less interesting
subjects, and with a bewitching smile, asked him to favour them with a
martial song. “Do, dear William,” said his mother; “but do not let it
be one song,” and here the tears filled her eyes. William, affected by
the allusion to an air, which he knew was the delight of his revered
father, requested his friend Mortimer to sing, promising he should go
on next. The penetration of Mrs. Somerive saw that a tender string had
been touched, and her feeling heart was affected. Mrs. Hamilton now
proposed to withdraw, saying, she would hear William’s other song after
tea. The ladies retired, and Miss Mortimer was very expeditious, both
in ordering and announcing coffee. Meanwhile, the captain had promoted
a very quick circulation of the bottle, and begun a round of toasts,
which he insisted should be completed, before any of the gentlemen
should leave him. Dr. Wentbridge and his venerable father claimed
a privilege of exemption, by all allowed to belong to their cloth,
_though very frequently not claimed_, and was suffered to join the
female part of the company. Before this round was over, Etterick had
become remarkably facetious, cracked jokes, and told comical stories;
but his countenance, though somewhat exhilarated, still retained the
characteristic gravity of a long Scottish face. He also entered into
narratives, which, in point of subject, formed a great contrast with
the seriousness of voice and manner. His composure of countenance did
not arise from a desire of enhancing the mirth by apparent sedateness,
but from habitual cast of muscles. Their young companions left the
three old gentlemen to themselves; Hamilton, though not intoxicated,
was in that state, which, without much disordering the understanding,
opens the heart. Accosting Mrs. Somerive, he asked her, whether she,
who was such an exquisite judge, and perfect exhibitor of beauty, had
ever seen, or could conceive any object, more lovely and fascinating
than his charming Maria? But she resembles Sophia Western more than
any of your beauties; she has the taste and genius of your heroine; the
understanding of her first friend, with all the fascinating softness
of your hero’s younger sister. Maria, wishing to shift the subject
of conversation from herself, made some remark on the one who first
appeared likely to prove the hero, and wished it had been possible
to have carried on the story without his death; but I don’t see how
it could have been managed. “I could have been very well pleased,”
said Hamilton, “if that fiery youth had wreaked his vengeance on the
villainous attorney and his two sons.” Maria now, at the request of
Hamilton, favoured them with a song, which happened to be “One day I
heard Mary say,” which she performed with exquisite taste and pathos,
and appeared to our hero to dwell with peculiar softness on the words,
“I’ll never leave thee;” Hamilton thought he had never seen her so
bewitching, and whispered to her, that he could live no longer without
her; and that unless she consented to be immediately his, his reason,
if not even his life, must pay the price of the delay. “Could you bear,
my beloved Maria, to see me a miserable lunatic or a lifeless corpse?”
“In the one or the other, I should follow you,” replied she, in a still
softer whisper. At this time, a letter was brought to Hamilton, which
Maria could not help perceiving to be in a woman’s hand. Our hero
seeing it to be the same writing as he had received the day before from
an unknown lady, put it into his pocket; but the servant telling him
that a porter waited for the answer, he went out, leaving poor Maria
pale and trembling. Opening the letter, Hamilton read the following
words:
“Charming youth,
Will you, at eleven this evening, be on the Steyne, and meet a lady,
neither old, ugly, nor disagreeable? Your appearance bespeaks you a man
of honour; I need say no more.
AMANDA.”
Hamilton was very far from being a man of intrigue; but, on the other
hand, was not a perfect Sir Charles Grandison; besides, he was now
elevated with wine, and not indisposed to a frolic; and having a ready
invention, he immediately devised a scheme for disengaging himself
from his mother and sister: he wrote the lady that he should attend so
sweet an invitation; but that, as he was engaged with a family party,
he requested that she would send a message by a different porter,
earnestly desiring his company at the Coffee-house, in the name of
Richard Scribble, esq. The lady, who highly relished every kind of
artifice, had this stratagem completely executed. Hamilton having
returned to the ladies, observed marks of uneasiness in Maria’s face,
and that though Mrs. Somerive was entertaining her with that mixture
of sense, feeling, and humour, which he knew to be most agreeable to
the taste of his mistress; she lent a very constrained attention.
Mrs. Hamilton now proposed to go home, and as she was rising for that
purpose, a servant informed her son that Mr. Scribble was at the
Coffee-house, and very earnestly requested to see Mr. Hamilton, on
most particular business. “My compliments, and I will be with him
presently.” He accordingly departed. “It is very strange what that
foolish fellow could want with my son at such an hour.” Maria was
entirely of the same opinion as to the strangeness of Hamilton’s going
out, though she had a different conception of the cause; she well knew
that Hamilton very thoroughly despised the book manufacturer, and
reckoned his particular businesses frivolous nonsense; she therefore
conjectured that he was going upon some other business, arising
from the letter she had seen him receive. Brooding over this idea,
resentment and grief filled her susceptible bosom, which finding
herself unable to contain, she hastily withdrew, and sending an apology
to the ladies, ran to her own apartment, and threw herself upon the
bed in an agony of tears. Mrs. Somerive comprehended the case, and,
that the young lady might not be disturbed, withdrew; but her friend,
Charlotte Hamilton, would not depart without seeing Maria; she repaired
to her room, and inquiring into her illness, for some time could obtain
no answer. At last, Maria informed her of her suspicions, and their
grounds. Charlotte endeavoured to convince her that she must certainly
be mistaken; and besides, from what she had read and heard, it was
possible for a man to be passionately fond of one woman, though he
might pay some attention to another. “What, though he intrigues with
another?” said Maria. “Yes,” said Charlotte; “at least so Fielding
and Smollett tell us, and they knew human nature very well.--Do not
you remember Upton, my dear?” “Yes; but did Jones leave his Sophia in
order to meet another?” “Do not you,” replied Charlotte, “remember the
grove where there was the battle with Thwackum?--Do not you remember
Roderic Random and Nannette?” “Why, Charlotte,” said Maria, half
smiling, “you have stored your memory with the best passages.” “Poogh,”
said Charlotte, “one cannot help remembering what one reads.” “But,”
said Maria, “the cases are not in point; these were all accidents, and
might be forgiven; the present is certainly an assignation,--and an
assignation, to keep which, he leaves me:” here she again burst into
tears. Charlotte wishing to comfort her friend, proposed to stay with
her all night, which was thankfully accepted.
Meanwhile, our hero repaired to the Steyne, and there met two females;
one of whom he found to be the Countess of Cockatrice, and accompanied
her to the house of a fat woman that sold toys, in the adjacent part
of North-street, while her husband exercised divers other professions
in another quarter. The attendant, who was the lady’s own waiting
maid, went into the parlour with the plump hostess, and her lord and
master, who was supping very sociably with his consort, perfectly
reconciled to the exercise of her immediate occupation, or any other
that should help to fill his pockets. The lady, with the gentleman,
went to the drawing-room. As the subject of conversation had nothing
in it of any importance to the public, our hero never detailed it
to us, and therefore, we cannot detail it to our readers. We trust,
however, should any countesses be in that number, the security and
innocence belonging to that illustrious rank will convince them, that
in conference with a right honourable lady, nothing but what was
_right honourable_ could pass. Our hero, about one, returned. The
next morning, at breakfast, inquiring where his sister was, he learned
that she had stayed with Maria, who was taken ill.--“Taken ill?” said
Hamilton, alarmed,--“my beloved Maria ill?” and without waiting for
any answer, ran out. Etterick was breakfasting in his room, and his
daughter attending him; so that with Mrs. Hamilton, there were only her
father and brother. “I have suspected,” said she, “from the first time
that I saw them together, that William and Maria Mortimer are fondly
attached to each other. She is a charming girl; but William, who is so
very fine a youth, might certainly do a great deal better in the way of
fortune.” “He certainly might,” said Doctor Wentbridge; “and besides,
he is a youth of great talents, and might so connect himself, as to be
the means of rising in the state.--What say you, father?” “I say, that
what you both say is true; he might acquire riches, as you, daughter,
observe; or power, as you, son, observe; but is he thereby to attain
happiness? besides, neither of you have practised as you preach: you,
Eliza, married a man you loved, though of small fortune, and would not
marry a suitor that you did not love, though of great fortune; you,
Edward, not having succeeded with the lady that you did love, would
not marry at all, even though you once had opulence in your power;--I
acted upon the same principle, and was happy.” “What then, sir, would
you wish your grandson to marry this young lady?” “Not immediately; I
would wish him called to the bar first; though I must confess, I should
like very well to see a great grandchild before I die.” “As we are on
the subject of love,” said Dr. Wentbridge, “I think young Mortimer is
well affected to Charlotte; that would be a very good marriage for our
girl, sister, and I should rather see a great grandson to you, father,
in that way, than by so early a marriage of my nephew.” “Mortimer,”
said Mrs. Hamilton, “is only a year older; besides, you know he is
going abroad as secretary to our ambassador in France.” “I think,” said
Wentbridge, “of late, he does not seem to relish that appointment, and
frequently enlarges upon the pleasures of agriculture, and a country
life. I observe, both he and my nephew are particularly bent on
ingratiating themselves with the captain, who is the supreme director
of the Mortimer family.”
While the venerable vicar and his children were thus entertaining
themselves about his grand-children, our hero had reached the house
that contained his adored Maria; he found his sister and young
Mortimer in the parlour, and inquiring with the most tender anxiety
for Maria, learned that she was somewhat better, but did not think
she would be well enough to go to the ball that evening; “but, cannot
I see her?” “She will be down in half an hour.” At this time the
door opened, and Mr. Richard Scribble was announced, who entered
the room with a face of joy and exultation. “Congratulate, my dear
Hamilton.”--“Congratulate you on what?” Scribble took out a card, and
presenting it, Hamilton read--“Dr. Scribble,”--“Who the devil made
you a doctor?” “The learned university of Aberdeen; but not without
expence: it costs three pounds six shillings and eight pence,--I have
got the news by this very post.” “Dr. Scribble, I congratulate not
only you, but the university of Aberdeen itself, that has got such an
accession to its doctorial dignitaries.” “What became of you,” replied
Scribble, “yesterday, that I did not see you the whole day?” Charlotte
looked in her brother’s face. “Yesterday,” said Mortimer, “did not you
spend the evening together?” “No,” answered the doctor. John perceiving
our hero colour, saw that there was some mystery. Soon after, Charlotte
went out, and sending for her brother, explained the real cause of
Maria’s indisposition, and the whole circumstances, as have been
already narrated. “Now, I dare say you know me too well, to suppose I
wish to dive into any secrets; but for the peace of Maria, whom I know
you love to distraction, give some account respecting the letter, that
may be satisfactory; even a little invention may be excuseable for
such a purpose.” “Invention,” said Hamilton, “is not necessary; the
letter came from a female that I did not know, and from whom I found a
letter, on our return from Worthing. I went out, merely to explain to
her, without offending her pride, that, however amiable she might be,
it was totally impossible for me to make any return to her partiality;
I saw her in company with her confidant, and found her to be a lady
of great fortune. She was very much affected; but said, that since it
was so, she would immediately leave this place, and bury herself in
the country.” This story imposed on the unsuspicious Charlotte, and
she hastily ran to report it to Maria, who, wishing it true, was the
more easily persuaded; her eyes brightened; she soon descended, and
found our hero alone in the drawing-room. She confessed she had been
extremely affected and angry; but he now tasted, on her charming lips,
the sweets of reconciliation. While he held her encircled in his
enraptured arms, he implored her to consent to an immediate marriage.
Her denials were fainter than formerly, and at last she promised, that,
whenever he could procure the consent of her friends, hers should not
be wanting; but, she begged him not to be too precipitate. “My beloved
William is at present in great favour with my father and uncle, and
perhaps, by cautious and skilful management, you may prevail on them to
make us happy.” The last words she spoke with inexpressible softness,
and downcast eyes. William pressed her in his arms, and ardently
kissing her, exclaimed, “Why propose time and delay? By Heavens I
cannot live without you! I will immediately apply to your father and
uncle; and though my fortune be by no means such as, on account of
my beloved Maria, I could wish; yet, with my efforts, it will be
sufficient to command independence.” Maria had almost yielded to his
intreaties, when the entrance of Mrs. and Miss Hamilton put a stop to
the conversation, and the rest of the day was spent in consultations
and dispositions for the approaching ball.