MEANWHILE the baronet was almost constantly with him and Mortimer;
and becoming acquainted with Dr. Scribble, and having a genuine taste
for humour, he entered thoroughly into the character of arrogant
emptiness, and literary scrap-writing. The doctor was very vain of
this acquaintance, as in discourse with his friend Nincompoop, or with
any of his fellow journeymen employed on Nin’s manufactures, he could
talk of “my friend the baronet,” as I observed to Sir Edward, who was
greatly struck with the depth of the observations. Scribble had taken
it into his head that no employment could be more suitable to his
capacity and fulness, than making speeches for members of parliament.
One day, as the Baronet was walking alone on the Steyne, expecting
our hero and the Mortimers, the Doctor accosted him, and, after the
first salutations, requested the honour of some private discourse.
Accordingly, they walked along Eastcliff, and the doctor began: “Sir
Edward Hamden, I deem myself happy in the honour of your acquaintance,
and should rejoice very much in an opportunity of rendering myself
beneficial to a young gentleman, whom I think destined to be an orator
and a statesman.” “Sir,” said Sir Edward, “praise from Dr. Scribble,
must be always adequately valued, by every one who has discernment
to appreciate his character, which is too strongly marked, not to be
easily comprehended.” “Sir,” said the doctor, “you do me infinite
honour; you have heard of me then before;--you have, I presume,
read my history of Jack the giant killer.” “Oh! undoubtedly;” “which
part of it do you think most striking?” “It is all so conspicuous,”
replied the baronet, “that I find it difficult to select one part,
more characteristic of the author, than another: which do you think
the best yourself?” “Why, I think the dissertations upon dress, and
especially shoe-strings in the time of the ancient Britons, is one
of the most profound; but the most pathetic, is the Hero’s Adventure
in the house of the two giant misers; I think that is fully equal to
Livy’s story of the Horatii and Curatii, far surpassing any modern
historian. This hero’s reception from his uncle, is chiefly to be
admired, for exhibiting my powers of moral precept and inculcation.
An insolent reviewer charged me with borrowing from Mother Goose’s
tales, especially from Bluebeard, and Little Thumb and the Ogre, but
it was all false. History, however, is not my only fort; indeed I can
write every thing, for instance, what a fuss there is about that fellow
Moore’s Travels; I can write travels better than he;--I have brought
you a specimen of a new work I am bringing out for Mr. Nincompoop,
the famous bookseller. It’s title is, A curious and interesting Tour
to Maidenhead; back by Windsor, Stains, Sunbury, Hampton-Court,
Kingston, Twickenham, and home by Richmond. I flatter myself, you
will find novelty, ingenuity, and humour.” Accordingly, the Baronet
read: “Tuesday, June 24th, we set off on horseback from the Black
Bear-inn, Piccadilly, before Six; when we passed St. James’s church,
the clock wanted seven minutes; meet turnip carts coming to market;
arrive before the Duke of Queensberry’s house;--fine prospect of St.
James’s park and the Surrey hills.” “You see I make observations as
I go along, sir.” “Arrive at the turnpike--find it is exactly six;
compare our watches with the clocks;--we have taken seven minutes
from St. James’s church. N. B. A wise man rides more slowly over the
stones, than on the road. Proceed on our tour--arrive at Knightsbridge;
to the left, there turns off a new street, called Sloane-street,
from Sir Hans Sloane.--N. B. He was a great naturalist.” “Biography,
you observe, sir,” said the doctor. “Oh yes,” answered the baronet.
“Another road turns off to Fulham;--Latin pun on two soldiers went
to Putney: ‘Ibant tinctores animæ duo ponere juxta. Explanation: duo
two, animæ soul, tinctores diers, ibant went, ponere to put, juxta
nigh,’ A little farther on, is the pound,”--“Yes,” said the doctor,
“curiosities.” “Beyond Knightsbridge, Hyde Park wall,--crowds of
strawberry girls in the foot-path;--meet long coaches. N. B. That
road a great thoroughfare;--Kensington George II. died here.” “I
give my companion a sketch of his history: Holland-house not in
the modern style of building;--dissertation upon architecture;--my
companion observes I know every thing. Attending too earnestly to my
subject, run against a carter--scoundrel hits me with his whip;--I
turn about and swear at him. He comes back;--I ride on.” Dipping into
another page, the Baronet found “Brentford, said to be a royal city;
entrance not remarkable for royal magnificence.” “You observe,” said
the Doctor, looking with arch sarcasm, “my friend advises me, as a
great antiquarian, to write the history of the monarchs of Old and
New Brentford. Sion-house, my remarks on the Percies, and the battle
of Chevy Chase. Approach Smallberry-green; inform my companion of my
extreme intimacy with Sir Joseph Banks; my comrade happens to know
him a little. Observe a person before his house, whom he insists
to be, I, not to be Sir Joseph;--I ride on--my companion certainly
mistaken.” The Baronet, rather tiring of this, turned over a good many
pages, and found “Chertsea, St. Ann’s hills, house of Charles James
Fox,--Fox no orator.” “Original discovery,” said the Doctor, “hem.” “I
perfectly agree with you sir, it is,” “The world is totally mistaken
in him.” “Demonstrate to my companion, that I surpass Fox in every
thing;--comrade hard-headed won’t be convinced,--less agreeable than I
thought him.” The Baronet skipping again, dipped into “Hampton Fishery,
they catch Gudgeons here; I observe they also catch Gudgeons in
town. _Bon mots_ for you,--I excel in wit, as much as in philosophy.”
“That I can perceive,” said the Baronet; “I see, sir, this is just
such a performance, as I should have expected from Dr. Scribble.”
“Since you do me the honour to entertain so very high an opinion of my
abilities; how happy I should be, in devoting them to your information
and instruction. I should, with much pleasure, sir, on any important
question, make such speeches, as would astonish the senate, if you
were to speak them.” “That sir, I am convinced you could,” “and in
any manner that you chuse.” “I am very happy in imitating Burke; but
that’s not difficult; Burke is, after all, only shallow. I could
enliven a speech with better wit than Sheridan’s;--indeed, that’s no
great matter. His School for Scandal, that the world so much admired,
is but a poor performance; I, myself, could far surpass it, were I
to _descend_ to writing for the stage, but that I despise.” “Did you
never write for the stage, doctor?” “I once wrote a tragedy.” “What
was the subject?” “The death of Colebrand, or the history of Guy, Earl
of Warwick.” “And how was it received, doctor?” “Whatever I write, has
numberless enemies;--they had the insolence to damn it. Pit, boxes,
galleries, all hired to join against poor Guy;--there was a great
deal of nature and of wit in the dialogue, for it made them laugh a
good deal; but it was damned. The whole world were in a confederacy
against me; but I wrote and published an address, which proved every
one that spoke or hissed against me, to be a dunce.” “How did you prove
that, doctor?” “How did I prove that;--how do I prove any thing? but
by giving my own judgment, that it is so. I declare they were all
dunces, and God confound them all for dunces. They had the insolence
to say Dr. Scribble was a dunce;--the whole audience called out, Dicky
was a dunce:--could flesh and blood bear it? Was it not a libel?--I
believe Lord Mansfield would declare it so.” Without attending to this
legal illustration, the doctor proceeded; “I published a work a few
days after, proving them all to be in a conspiracy against me, for my
superior genius; but to return, I again proffer you, Sir Edward, my
political services.” “Doctor Scribble,” replied the Baronet, “I have
a just sense of the importance of your offer; but I am sorry, that I
cannot think of shining by a borrowed light, and must make the best of
my own powers and knowledge;--but there comes your friend Sir Joseph,
shall we go and meet him?” “Not at present,” said the Doctor, “being
engaged very particularly on the other side of the town.” Sir Edward
now joined the other baronet, and after the common salutations, “I have
just parted with your friend, Dr. Scribble.” “My friend!” returned
Sir Joseph, “I do not know him;--I know there is such a man, and that
he pretends to be a kind of an antiquarian.” “I thought you had been
extremely intimate,” said Sir Edward. “Oh no, I have not the least
acquaintance with the man.” Not long after the baronet was joined by
our hero, and communicated the discourse that had passed between him
and Dr. Scribble. Our hero was amused by the oratorial propositions of
this learned person; but soon forgot the doctor and all his concerns,
in subjects that concerned himself much more nearly. Sir Edward and
he happening to pass near the lodgings of Miss Primrose, the baronet
expressed his opinion, that the young lady was passionately in love
with Hamilton; that she was a charming girl; would bring him an ample
fortune; and he was assured that Hamilton might soon obtain a seat
in parliament, and must rise to distinguished eminence. “I hope,
Hamilton,” he continued, “that my beloved Mortimer will cease to be
so insensible, at least so inflexible, as I have now experienced;
how happy, my dear friend, for short as is our acquaintance, so I
consider you, if our respective nuptials could take place at the same
time; and if the two families continued to cultivate the intimacy that
their respective masters would wish. Your inamorata and mine appear
extremely attached to each other,” Our hero thinking the present a
favourable opportunity of opening his mind to Sir Edward, proposed to
walk a short way from town, “wishing,” he said, “to have the pleasure
of a very particular conversation.” The baronet, not doubting that our
hero wished to give him his confidence, particularly on the subject of
Miss Primrose, and equally desirous of consulting with him concerning
Miss Mortimer, most readily agreed; and they were preparing to take
a turn to the race ground, when a servant came to inform Sir Edward,
that a gentleman, whom he named, and who was of great consequence, in
the county represented by the baronet, had called at his lodgings, and
was very desirous of seeing him immediately. Sir Edward accordingly
went in quest of him, and found it was necessary, for the present, to
relinquish the engagement with Hamilton. That day the Mortimers, old
and young, had gone to the captain’s cottage, which the old gentleman
wished to visit, in order to give directions, and was to return in the
evening. Our hero, after dinner, strolled along the Arundel road, not
without secret hopes of meeting the company, of which his beloved Maria
was one. The Mortimer family, by taking a different road, did not meet
with our hero, and having returned to Brighton, learned that Hamilton
had taken an afternoon-walk, and was not returned. John concluded he
had met with some engagement, and his own family conceiving the same
opinion, the Mortimers and Hamiltons parted for the night, and the
former had supped, and were preparing to go up stairs to bed, when the
servant, a simple country lad, ran into the parlour with terror and
consternation, and addressing his master, exclaimed, “Oh, zir, this be
a terrible _pleace_; there is a murder just done by the church; the
two poor gentlemen that comes so often here, the baronight.” “Who,”
said Captain Mortimer, “and ’Squire Hamilton, are lying a corpse.”
Maria, in the most terrible apprehensions, from the exordium of this
narration, at its conclusion, fell lifeless on the ground. The captain
and his brother, both imputing this paroxysm of grief to her love
for Hamden, recommended to young Mortimer the care of his sister;
ran towards the place which the servant mentioned, hoping that the
accounts might be false; yet, in their agitation, took no pains to
examine the man, as to the source and particulars of his information.
Mortimer, with the assistance of Maria’s maid, at length brought her to
her senses, but only to open to her visions of despair. She instantly
conceived that Hamilton had unbosomed himself to his rival, and
that the pride of disappointment overpowering the generosity of the
baronet’s disposition, they had quarrelled and fought, and that she was
the cause of her beloved Hamilton’s death. She called on his name in
the phrenzy of desperation; vowing, that she would follow him, and be
buried in the same grave. Mortimer, though extremely anxious to inquire
more particularly into the fate of his friend, could not leave his
sister, who exhibited symptoms of distraction, that he was afraid might
terminate in insanity. A physician being immediately sent for, and
hearing the case, administered a composing draught, which gave to Miss
Mortimer a temporary oblivion of her grief. Young Mortimer now sallied
forth, anxious to learn the particular circumstances of the death
of his friend; wishing, yet fearing, to mingle his sorrow with the
grief of Charlotte; he betook himself, to the house of Mrs. Hamilton.
Approaching the door, all was dark; listening in expectation to catch
the sounds of mourning, all was still, and wore the appearance of sleep
undisturbed; perhaps it was the tranquillity of exhausted nature,
obtaining some repose, after the paroxysms of lamentation; should he
interrupt the short intermission of woe, soon enough would mother and
sister be fully awake to the sense of irretrievable loss. Now he would
indulge the melancholy pleasure of contemplating his fallen friend, so
soon to be mingled with primeval dust. The clock had struck twelve;
it was the gloomy stillness of departing October, without a breath
of wind, or any sound to be heard, except the hollow murmur of the
becalmed sea. As Mortimer walked up the Downs, to the reported scene
of his friend’s assassination, he reached the church, there expecting
to find a crowd, seeking or bearing the corpse. He thought he heard
voices at a distance;--he moved towards the place whence they issued;
a tall figure approached by the pale and twinkling light of the
fading stars; it appeared, either to his senses or fancy, to resemble
the murdered Hamilton. Mortimer, though a young man of vigorous
understanding, sound and rational piety, without any consciousness of
superstition, yet, believing in the immortality of the soul, could see
no impossibility in the appearance of disembodied spirits: what was
possible, though not probable, might exist. He was riveted to the spot;
from the approaching figure a voice issued, “Keep your distance, as
you value your life.” The voice was Hamilton’s; he could not disobey
the awful intermination; strong as his nerves were, they were not
a match for his sensations; the figure passed on,--Mortimer sank to
the ground; at length recovering, he, with slow and trembling steps,
crept homewards: meeting a watchman at the outskirts of the town, he
begged for his arm and assistance, and was conducted to his house;
entering, he found his father and uncle just returned, after a search
entirely unsuccessful: still leaning upon the watchman’s shoulder,
with his knees tottering, his face staring, wild, and bloodless, he
presented himself to his astonished friends. “Good Heavens! what is
the matter?” said his father. “I have seen him,” replied he, in a
hollow voice. “Seen whom?” said his uncle. “My dear deceased friend,
William Hamilton.” The hearers eagerly inquired, when, where, how:
before he could answer, there was a tap at the parlour window;--one
light only glimmered on the table, in crowding too near which, some
person overturned it, and it blew out; the tap was repeated, and a
voice, pronouncing John Mortimer, was distinctly heard: the company,
which had received the addition of Hodge, the footman, made no answer;
a soft knock was heard at the street-door,--no attention was paid;
the watchman declared his inability to return alone to his station,
and the dawning morn found them all assembled in the same spot. The
reflection of John at length operating, he imputed his apprehensions to
some accidental resemblance, and he retired to rest;--after broken and
confused slumbers, finding it in vain to hope for comfortable sleep, he
was preparing to rise about ten, when the voice of his sister assailed
his ears, calling, with phrenzy, upon her murdered Hamilton. As he was
hastily equipping himself, he heard a loud scream at the door of his
apartment, which quickly opened, and there appeared the very image
which he had seen on the Downs the night before. Gazing intently, he
faultered, “you certainly are Hamilton’s apparition.” “Apparition!”
replied the figure; when the voice of Maria through a thin partition
assailed his ears:--“my only love,--my murdered Hamilton, I will follow
him to the grave.” Mortimer was staring on his visitant, but on the
last words that issued from the next room, hastily rushed thither.
Maria perceiving the spectre, stretched out her hands, but sank into
insensibility. Mortimer rushed in, saw his sister again lifeless, and
heard from the spectre the mildest tones of impassioned love; still,
under the impression which had been conveyed so deeply the former
night, he approached the figure--not without fear and trembling; but
the spectre asking him, in a tone at once calm and pathetic, what
caused the illness of his beloved Maria, and happening accidentally
to touch him, John was convinced it was not only a visible, but a
tangible spirit. “Good Heavens!” said Mortimer, “my dearest friend,
Hamilton, you you--are are alive.” The figure, without answering
this application, continued addressing Maria, who, opening her eyes,
and again beholding Hamilton, relapsed into insensibility. At this
instant, Charlotte Hamilton hastily entering the room, said to him,
“Good God, William, what a strange report there is through the town,
that you were murdered last night, and that your ghost appeared near
the church.” Mortimer, eagerly taking hold of the figure that stood
before him, and feeling the same hard muscular arms, and examining him
with an accuracy that evidently surprized the object of scrutiny; “do
you know, Hamilton, I thought you was dead: this notion operated so
strongly upon me, that I was convinced I had seen your ghost.” “But,”
replied the other, “my dearest Charlotte, administer to my beloved
angel.” “The same idea,” said Mortimer, now more master of himself,
“operated upon my sister.” Charlotte now reminded them of their being
in Maria’s apartment, in circumstances, which from her suggestion, they
first recollected; and on seeing marks of re-animation, before Maria
could again distinguish her lover, they withdrew. Mortimer, satisfied
that his identical friend was now by his side, alive and well, before
he thought of entering on the particulars of the report, or it’s
foundations, somewhat impressed with the apprehensions of his sister,
that a fatal quarrel had taken place between Hamilton and Hamden;
“poor Hamden,” he said, “was an amiable and accomplished man, and I
lament his death.” “Death,” said Hamilton, “I do not think his wound
is dangerous.” “I am surprized, my dear friend,” said Mortimer, “that
being to have such an encounter, you did not apply to me.” “How could
I?” said the other, “when it was so unexpected.” “Did you fight with
sword or with pistols?” “First sword, and then pistols.” “Did you wound
Sir Edward with a ball?” “I wound Sir Edward,” said Hamilton, “what
do you mean?” At this instant a note was brought to our hero, which
opening, he read as follows:
“My brave deliverer,
I am just able to inform you, that the Surgeon this morning pronounces
me out of danger; but, as writing somewhat pains me, I can only say,
that I owe my life to you. Your most grateful
EDWARD HAMDEN.”
Hamilton having shewed Mortimer this letter, he informed him of the
circumstances, which it seems were as follow:
Being now the end of October, and the evenings soon closing in, night
overtaking him, first reminded him of the expediency of returning;
finding, however, that he was not far from Shoreham-bridge, where
there was a comfortable inn, he walked thither, and ordered some
coffee, which was brought him in a public room; there were several
persons in the apartment, and the conversation happened to turn upon
footpad-robberies, which, though in that neighbourhood very unusual
before, had taken place the preceding evening near Arundel, and were
ascribed to part of a gang of smugglers, whose contraband goods had
been seized a few nights before, by the custom-house officers, and a
party of dragoons. The banditti being thereby ruined, and desperate,
had taken to a course, with which the fraternity is well acquainted.
Two or three very suspicious fellows had passed eastwards in the dusk
of the evening; our hero hearing this account, thought it would be
necessary for him, in his return, to be cautious, and resolved to take
the upper, instead of the lower road, because, though solitary, he
thought it less dangerous than a path that led along the precipitate
cliffs; conscious of his own strength and courage, and generally
walking with a strong sword-cane, he resolved to take his chance. A
little before his departure, he observed one person in company eyeing
him, rather sternly; he returned the examination, and saw, that in
point of muscular strength, there could be little danger, if he had
to encounter this fellow alone; and the person going out, he soon
after sallied forth, that he might pass him, before he could be far
enough from the houses to attempt an attack, or could join companions
who were likely to be on the road; at a shed near the house, he saw
sitting on a bench, a tall stout soldier, in the Highland dress, with
the forty-second regiment on his buttons; he asked him which way he
was bound; the other answered in a Scotch accent, for Brighton,
please your honour; I am come from Hilsea barracks, with a message
from the Colonel to Captain Malcolm Macniel of our regiment. Hamilton
informing him he himself was going to Brighton, said he would be very
glad of his company; the soldier, with much pleasure, embracing this
proposal, they set off. Hamilton, thoroughly confiding in the honest
and intrepid countenance of his companion, asked him if he saw a fellow
pass a little before he spoke; the other answered in the negative;
but said, that though he had nothing to lose himself, hearing there
were smugglers and footpads on the road between Hilsea and Arundel,
he had brought a bayonet as well as a broad-sword, and that either of
them were at his honour’s service. Hamilton thanked him; but said, he
trusted the sword which he had would be sufficient, if there was any
danger. When they had walked about half a mile, they heard a whistle;
they moved cautiously, but firmly on. A little after, two villains
sprang upon our hero, and presenting pistols, demanded his money
and watch. The soldier, whom not expecting, they had not observed,
advancing softly with his bayonet, ran it into one of the ruffians;
the other fired a pistol, which luckily missing Hamilton, he wrested
it from his hand, and felled the villain to the ground. Searching
the ruffians, the conquerors found two brace of pistols on each, all
loaded except the one that had been fired; of these they possessed
themselves, as a further security upon the road; and leaving the fallen
assailants, resolved to proceed with all possible dispatch to the first
inhabited place, to procure assistance, which might at once attend
to the wounds of the robbers, and secure their persons. With this
intent they walked forward till they came to a cross road that turns
to the north; and they were in a declivity, descending into a hollow
between two hedges: here they heard a voice, calling, kill him; moving
softly forward, they saw a postchaise standing, and heard a person
praying they would spare his master. “I will be d---- if we do,” said
the voice that they had first heard; the soldier whispered “Let us
proceed, sir, by surprise, as we once did in America, when six of us
at night pretending to be a large party, took twenty prisoners;” and
immediately called out, “surround the fellows--fire,” Hamilton obeyed
the order; two men were wounded at the first round, the others being
still three in number; but supposing their adversaries twice as many,
ran different ways. Our hero now coming to a gentleman that was lying
on the ground, called to his servant and the postillion to assist in
carrying him to a house, whilst they should watch against the return of
the robbers; The servant, on hearing the voice of Hamilton, immediately
said to him with great eagerness, “Oh sir, you are a friend of my poor
master!” “Who is he?” The other answered, “Sir Edward Hamden.” “Good
Heavens!” said our hero, “I left him at Brighton only a few hours
ago.” Endeavouring to stop the blood, they directed the postboy to run
for assistance to an adjoining farm-house, as it would be impossible
for him to bear the jolting of the chaise. Help was immediately
procured, and the wounded gentleman was carefully borne to the hamlet.
Hamilton having some slight knowledge of surgery, found means, with
the assistance of the farmer’s wife, to stop the further effusion of
blood, and a messenger was dispatched for the most skilful surgeon
in Brighton; but with strict orders not to mention the name of the
gentleman, least his friends should be prematurely alarmed. The surgeon
soon arrived, and found that the wound did not proceed from a ball, as
had been apprehended, but from a cutlass; and that, though the patient
was faint from loss of blood, there would be no danger, unless from a
fever, the prevention of which would be the chief object of his regimen
and medicinal applications; it was necessary in the first place, to
keep the patient quiet. Leaving the room for that purpose, Hamilton
had now an opportunity of learning the circumstances of the accident,
which were briefly these: After parting with Hamilton, Sir Edward
had joined the gentleman that was in quest of him, found that he was
about to leave Brighton upon county business of considerable importance
to Sir Edward’s interest, but in which the baronet could not appear
himself. Sir Edward, to converse fully on the subject, accompanied
him the first stage on his road to town, and having dined with him
at Henfield, returned in the evening; the postboy having taken the
circuitous, instead of the direct road, they were met by six fellows,
who surrounded the chaise, demanding his money: Hamden at first offered
them his purse; they insisted also for his watch; this having descended
to him from his father, he was reluctant to part with it, and pledged
his honor, that the following morning he would pay one hundred guineas
to any person that they should send to Sir Edward Hamden, and that no
questions should be asked. One or two of the fellows, who were young
in the gang, proposed to accept this offer; but the more experienced
villains regarding it as a present evasion, and future trap, not only
refused to consent, but were enraged against the proposer; and while
he still urged his request, one of the most desperate called, “d----
your palaver, I’ll put an end to that,” and fired into the carriage.
The Baronet, conceiving that their intention was now to murder him,
determined it should not be with impunity, returned the fire, which
brought the ruffian to the ground; all the fellows had not pistols, and
though those that had used them, yet, fortunately, the Baronet escaped;
and while two kept the servant-boy, and another the postillion, the
two remaining fellows pulled Hambden out of the carriage; one of them
hit him with a cutlass, and they were about to perpetrate the murder,
when the intervention of Hamilton and his gallant comrade effected his
delivery. The messenger that had sent the surgeon, though expeditious
in executing that part of his commission, had not equally attended to
the charge of secrecy; going in to take a social pot with one of his
acquaintances, he had given a most tremendous account of the exploit
that had been atchieved; he said, several gentlemen, however, had been
murdered; he did not know the names of the rest, but two were Hambden
and Hamilton. After this information, he left his friend, and returned
home; the other quickly joining a party of acquaintances, informed them
of the dreadful doings that had been going on on the Church Downs,
(for he brought the scene two miles nearer to Brighton) and that Sir
Edward Hambden and Mr. Hamilton and six more were murdered; as it was
yet hardly ten, the news soon spread through the whole place, and
among others, reaching the footman of Mr. Mortimer, had caused the
dreadful alarm which we have seen. Hamilton, having waited till Sir
Edward’s wound was dressed, had returned to town, and seeing a man at
so late an hour, had used the words which John imputed to the spirit
of his murdered friend. Having perceived a light in Mr. Mortimer’s
house, and heard the voice of John, he had knocked at the door, tapped
at the window, called on his friend’s name, and thereby caused such
consternation: thus the mystery was solved, and the ghost, like other
ghosts, proved to be flesh and blood.
Just as Hamilton had finished his narrative, they heard, in the
adjoining room, Maria eagerly addressing her friend Charlotte: “Do not
flatter my hope, my dear Charlotte, but is my William alive?” “Alive?
he is, and has never been hurt.” Hamilton, regardless of his dear
Maria’s situation, rushed into her apartment, and in a fond embrace,
enjoyed the delight with which she received him, as if recovered
from the dead: her father and uncle were soon informed of the actual
circumstances of the encounter, and with the sincerest pleasure,
learned that both Hamilton and Hamden were alive, and in no danger.
Hamden was brought to Brighton in a litter, and gradually recovered.
During his convalescence, our hero and Maria thought it would be unwise
to explain to him the footing on which they were, and the time arrived
for leaving Brighton before any eclaircissement took place.