Our hero and his fellow travellers now continued their journey, and, in
a few hours, arrived at Bristol, and spent the remainder of that day in
surveying the charming prospects which Clifton afforded. The company at
the Hotwells was not numerous, and our hero found no names or people
with whom he had any acquaintance. The following day they proceeded
to Bath, through a most delightful country, with all the pastoral
verdure of beginning summer, and yellow fruitfulness of autumn; with
a picturesque succession and interspersion of hill, dale, vale, and
den, watered by numberless streams which a heavy rain, the preceding
night, had recruited from the drought of the dog-day heats, while it
had also freshened all the other objects. At length they came in sight
of the delightful city of Bath. This charming retreat is situated in
a deep narrow valley, bounded on the north, south, and south-west,
by lofty hills, forming a very pleasant, natural amphitheatre, and
affording the city a double advantage, a barrier against the winds,
and fountains of the purest waters. These hills abound with white
free-stone, of which the houses are built. On the north-west side the
valley widens, divided into rich meadows, watered by the river Avon. At
this season of the year, the town being almost empty of visitants, the
objects of their attention were the town itself, its accommodations,
and ornaments. With much pleasure they found, that with the various
sources of health, and provisions for gaiety and splendour, mingled
numerous institutions for benevolence and compassion; and learned,
that in the midst of amusement, relaxation, and abstraction, from the
cares of business, there was a tear for pity, and a liberal hand for
melting charity. With English generosity, they found, that there was
a tincture of the unsuspicious openings of English credulity, and
that Bath was a great receptacle for gamblers, quack doctors, legacy
hunters, jugglers, fortune tellers, methodist preachers, and other
adventurers in swindling, who wish to obtain the property of their
neighbours, without giving any value in return. These, however, so far
from being dishonourable to Bath, are merely symtomatic of its great
and numerous delights, which attract the opulent and liberal from all
parts of the kingdom, and these bloodsuckers naturally follow; and,
indeed, the absence from serious concerns, which chiefly distinguishes
Bath, is peculiarly conducive to the custom of either the gaming-house
or the conventicle, as gallantry reigns there as well as in other
places. These pastimes, particularly the itinerant assemblages, are
extremely conducive to gallantry. Indeed, if Ovid, when he wrote his
“Treatise on the Art of Love,” had been acquainted with Methodism,
instead of directing young bucks, that might be in quest of a mistress,
to the Circus and Theatre, he would have sent them to the Tabernacle;
the former, as he acknowledges, might fail even in the warm latitudes
of Italy, but the latter is a sure repository, in the most northern
parts of Britain[1]. But to return from this digression, our hero,
among other places, conducted his ladies to the south parade, whence
they had so delightful a prospect. They were particularly struck
with Prior Park, the aspect of which so greatly resembled Fielding’s
description of Mr. Allworthy’s seat. As they walked about in this
charming promenade, they felt their spirits enlivened by the number
and variety of gay and agreeable objects. Though Bath was, at this
time, empty in comparison to its most flourishing seasons, yet was it
not without some variety of characters, with some of which our hero
luckily found the means of becoming acquainted. As they were leaving
the South Parade, a gentleman accosted Hamilton, whom he recognized
to be a resident at Bath; that, in an occasional visit to London, he
had met, in different parties, both fashionable and literary. This was
a Mr. Manchester, who, a man of liberal education and good talents,
had been intended for the bar, but having unexpectedly succeeded to
a considerable estate, had not practised; and becoming expensive
and dissipated, had wasted half his fortune. Recovering, however,
from his infatuation, before he was entirely undone, he had retired
from the metropolis to Bath, where he could live more cheaply, and
enjoy the epitome of London pleasures. One of his chief amusements
was the observation of characters, a pastime for which, naturally
sagacious, thoroughly acquainted with the world, and having no serious
employment, he was admirably calculated; and being somewhat soured
by the consequences of his youthful follies, saw and exhibited the
foibles of others with sarcastic acrimony. After some conversation,
this gentleman, learning that Hamilton and his ladies intended to
visit the rooms, offered to accompany them, and which was very gladly
received. Till the established hour, he passed the intermediate time at
the White Hart, and amused them with anecdotes numerous and satirical.
At seven they crossed over to the Pump Room; and being introduced to
the master of the ceremonies by Mr. Manchester, were very graciously
received; and as none of them chose to dance, they listened, with very
little interruption, to the remarks of their companion. “Observe,” he
said, “that slender soft looking young man, that is bowing with such
obsequiousness to a fat portly dowager, as he sneaks along the side of
the room; what would you suppose him to be?” “Some person dependant
on those that he passes.” “The supposition is natural, but not just;
that is Mr. Commode, who received the chief part of his tuition in
Tavistock-street, as a man-milliner, where he learned to bow with a
simpering obsequiousness to the customers of the shop, until coming to
a good fortune of his uncle, a rich soap-boiler, at Bristol, he was
made a Captain of Militia. Still he retains the manners and habits of
his former craft, and gives his directions to the orderly serjeant
in the same tone of voice as he used to say, ‘pray, Miss, would you
have your hat done with an orange or lilac ribbon, them lilacs are
now very much worn; you would have the handkerchief very small and
thin.’” A very loud horse-laugh calling their attention, Mr. Manchester
laughing also, though with much less vociferation; “Oh, I know that
voice well, its owner is Blunderbuss the attorney, that large gigantic
fellow, with the broad shoulders and thick calves, in the crimson
coloured coat (and as the person in question turned about, Manchester
proceeded), with a broad and thick head, the red plush waistcoat, and
the nankeen breeches; that worthy litigant is also out of his element,
he is a native of Bristol, and his father, being clerk to a justice
of the peace, undertook to breed Bob to the law. Bob, however, having
connections of his own, preferred another course; his chief intimate,
a boatswain of a man of war, was extremely struck with his musical
talents, and prevailed on him to accompany him to his ship; there
he was soon found qualified for the place of a mate, and at length,
his friend being promoted to a larger ship, he himself obtained the
appointment of boatswain, which he held till some years after the end
of the war: he was remarkable for domineering wherever he durst, and
for truckling to all his superior officers. Returning home he resumed
his legal practice, and became the attorney of the village of Hambrook,
there being no other lawyer in the place, he did pretty well in common
matters; but _being excessively stupid, could not be trusted out of the
dog-trot way_.” “He has, I suppose,” said our hero, “the chicanery of a
petty-fogger.” “Not much of that,” said the other, “he has good will,
but not head for it: he makes sad blunders; if he is employed to hunt
after evidence, instead of investigating the truth by dexterity and
insinuation, and winding it out from unwilling witnesses, he talks to
them as if he were at ‘a hey for the boatswain’s whistle’.” “With all
his thickness, I suppose,” said our hero, “from his jolly corporation
and clothes, he has got into the secret of making long bills.” “Oh,
that he has, he charges as highly as the first attorney in Bristol.”
“That is very unfair,” said one of the ladies, “for a man, without
ability and skill, to rate his services as highly as a master of his
profession.” “Not intentionally unfair in him, Madam,” said Manchester,
“Blunderbuss is a blockhead, but Blunderbuss does not know himself to
be a blockhead.” “How does such a fellow get business.” “He is the only
lawyer in the place, courts the ‘squire and all his retinue, down to
his huntsman or whipper-in; regales them with the ‘boatswain hoarsely
bawling;’ and, as far as noise goes, is a very pleasing companion. He
too, by some means, has succeeded to a fortune, and sets up now, as you
see, for a beau.”
“Do you know that clergyman,” said Hamilton, “that is walking between
two ladies on the opposite side of the room.” “Very well, he is one
of our most popular preachers, a very different practitioner in his
profession from Blunderbuss, and perfectly skilled in hitting the
prevailing taste. The professional excellencies of our great theatrical
performers are so extremely impressive, that bold adventurers in
divinity, seeing the efficacy of tone and jesture in this stage,
_have undertaken to dramatize the pulpit_; and this is one of the
most successful actors. He has a fine voice, both as to tone and
cadence, and thereby pleases such fashionables hearers as judge of
sermons upon the principle of the Opera. He has graceful attitudes,
and therefore is pleasing to church going connoiseurs in dancing:
he has fine action, the see-saw of hands, with his right the touch
of the heart, at once displaying his feeling and his diamond ring:
he cries at the proper place, that is, where a gap in the sense
requires such a suppliment. These movements are extremely delightful
to such theatrical connoisseurs as regard, in the pulpit, stage-trick
more than the real exhibition of nature, truth, and sense. He is
besides famed for elocution, and delivers common place remark with
such a degree of impressiveness, as to pass, with the bulk of his
hearers, for the profoundest wisdom and most energetic eloquence.
He thereby delights the many votaries of spouting and frequenters
of debating societies. Such a delicacy is so very efficacious as,
in a great degree, to supersede the necessity of genius, learning,
and eloquence; even elegant composition is not requisite: indeed,
how can one compose without materials: all that is requisite in the
language, is the musical melody of the several periods, without any
disposition, or connection, or adjustment of parts to the whole. There
are other ingredients in his discourses that are extremely suitable
to the prevailing taste, the whine of sentiment, and the vagaries of
description, which are peculiarly pleasing to the novel-reading class
of church-goers. You have the tender ties of affection, delicious
endearments, sweet reciprocations of love, all as animated as in the
tales of Derwent Priory, Sir Harry Clarendon, or any other effusion
of the Gallimatia press. Besides his hair, so skilfully matted and
baked, his white cambrick handkerchief, and his opera-glass, announcing
a beau, naturally attract the regard of the belles. Your popular
preachers are moreover men of stature, and the same figures that are in
request in the pulpit, are chiefly sought to stand behind a carriage,
and would also have been choice acquisitions to Serjeant Kite; and
he that is born to be six feet high, is born to be a great man. With
so many qualifications, you may depend on it, Mr. Gillyflower, the
clerical harlequin before us, would outstrip, in favour, a Horseley,
a Watson, a Blair.” “I can hardly think that,” said our hero. “Cannot
you,” replied Manchester: “pray whether is Belvidera and Lady Randolph,
or Mother Shipton and General Jackoo, most highly prized?”
A groupe now attracted their eyes, consisting of several pairs;
first, there was a tall, raw boned, elderly officer, with a lady,
his co-temporary in years, but very gayly and youthfully dressed.
Miss, for so it seems she was, primmed and simpered with a capacious
mouth, while Master sighed and ogled, from eyes whose regard was
oblique, the one looking to the right, while the other turned in
towards the nose; and the lady was heard to whisper, “There is not a
decent-looking person in the room out of our own party; _what frightful
mawkins the women are_!” Next came a smart girl about twenty, squired
by a gentleman whom she called captain; thirdly, a young lady about
the same age, with a stalking form of godliness by her side, while a
youth brought up the rear, whose countenance denoted a great mixture
of archness and simplicity. “This,” said Manchester, “is the family
of the Clodpoles, that have come to have a peep at Bath, and to get
acquainted with the grandees. Aunt Deborah, who takes the lead, is
entrusted with the care of the young folks, and a precious governante
she is, and a precious set of acquaintances has she formed. Deborah has
been ogling at the other sex until her eyes are almost dim with the
exercise. For five-and-forty years that she has continued in a state
of celibacy, thirty of the time has she been trying to get out of it.
The old gentleman whom she now assails having been a merchant, and
not succeeding so well while he was whole, found himself much better
off, when, after due preparation, he broke. Finding the experiment
answer very well once, he thought it would not be amiss to try it
twice, when it did still better; to be sure he could not obtain his
certificate, but that signified little, he could now live without
trade. The young one is his nephew, who also began by being a merchant;
his uncle advanced him the money, with which he established a good
credit in business, that, as soon as he had atchieved, he broke also,
and with the proceeds is come to live at Bath, to try what he can do
in the matrimonial way. Miss Jenny Clodpole is greatly taken with
Captain Bilkum; for, in imitation of the worthy Gibbet, he assumes
that as a “good travelling name,” while Mr. Nicholas, the Moravian
preacher, takes Miss Grizzle in hand; and of his instructions no doubt,
in due time, the effects will be manifest. Nicholas is also a nephew
of the old gentleman’s, and was extremely serviceable to his cousin
the Captain, by his friendly testimony before the Commissioners at
Guildhall.” “I think I remember something of that,” said Hamilton;
“was he not pillored?” “Oh yes; and the following Sunday preached at
Mr. Coalheave’s Tabernacle, on the text, ‘Whom the Lord loveth he
chasteneth.’ The worthy senior, to promote the views of the two no
less worthy youths, attends to Miss Deborah, who conceives him smitten
with her own charms. The Captain is a buck, and swears bloodily, and
ridicules Nicholas; while the preacher seriously and meekly reproves
the unchristian demeanour of the Captain, and fervently prays for his
conversion. Of an evening they often meet at the house of a hospitable
lady (here Manchester whispered our hero). The gambler, and his friend
the saint, are both extremely attentive to the young ‘squire as well
as his sisters; the former gives him a lesson at unlimited loo, the
latter on subscriptions for the good of the brethren. Next advanced
a party consisting of four: first, a gentleman in canonicals, with
the priggish primness of a dissenter, instead of the frank openness
of a church divine. With him walked an old lady, arrayed in very
tawdry finery; simpering and smiling, and endeavouring to assume the
air and manner of a boarding-school miss; though really bearing more
the appearance of having been a boarder in a very large house at the
bottom of Moor-fields. Then followed a middle-aged man, with a very
capacious mouth, and great grey goggling eyes, staring and gaping, and
having every mark of what the Scotch would call a _gilliegaapus_[2].
The partner of this accomplished person was a broad, fat, frouzy
woman; bearing a rubicund face, plentifully studded with carbuncles,
whose chin descended in dewlaps, like those of a cow, which nearly
approached another part of her person; that also, in shape, position,
and dependency, resembled the appurtenances of the same animal. The
first remark of the reverend gentleman, was a conjecture concerning the
state of the thermometer at Bath, while his lady made some enquiries
concerning the circulating library. The fat person meanwhile was
listening with admiration to the wisdom of the preacher; and regarding,
with no less admiration, the figure and face of her elegant spouse,
whose eyes were turned to some young ladies that appeared to have come
from Queen-Anne-street East. Mr. Manchester fortunately happened to
know this party, and after slightly bowing to them, gave the following
account to our travellers. This is the Reverend Mr. Nicknack, one of
the dissenting tribe of spiritual teachers, remarkable for exactness in
little things; he keeps a diary, in which is recorded every occurrence
of his life. By referring to his valuable manuscript, he can inform
you who called upon him, and upon whom he called, every hour of the
day; and every day in the year 1740, and downwards: how he relished his
breakfast; whether his dinner was hot or cold, over or under roasted
or boiled, during the same period. He commenced his observations on
the thermometer in the hard frost with which that year began, and
knows its state and changes to the present moment. No less careful
has he been in recording his state of health and person. I once had
a sight of his diary, and remember the following passage: ‘Sunday,
April 20th, 1746, (whispering our hero,) 9 o’clock, breakfast half
past nine--excellent advice of Locke--costive this morning--twelve,
delivered my first sermon--difficult trial, strain hard, and make it
out--touch upon the victory of Culloden--greatly admired by my Lady
Dunderhead and Mrs. Sarah Sapscull--Robertson of Gladsmuir present. I
am told censures my sermon--no judge--old ladies the best judges of
composition, after all. It is said Robertson is about a history--dare
say it will be sad stuff.’ Mr. Nicknack came to London, and made a very
decent livelihood in the preaching line. Among his flock, he is a great
advocate for _wills_; and, in visiting the substantial sick tradesmen,
never fails to remind them of their testament. Out of gratitude, they
do not forget their counsellor; he, with modest humility, accepts the
bequests; and, as he has a sharp eye after fees, Nicknack has picked
up a good deal of money. His spouse, both in her state of maidenhood,
and long after, even to the time of her marriage, had been known by the
name of Margery Macgregor, and was nearly related to a worthy dowager
of that name; long eminent for the virtue of hospitality, which she
exercised in an elegant and airy situation at the top of Henderson’s
stairs. Dame, or, to use the Scottish phrase, Lucky Macgregor, was
remarkably pious, and her visitors never failed to find her reading
the bible. While she recommended the care of her youthful guests to
elect ladies, she herself persevered, like the Bereans of old, in
searching the Scriptures. The exact relation between Lucky Macgregor
and Miss Margery, I really do not know; but I think it must have been
near, as both in person and mind they strictly resembled each other.
Miss Margery was no less holy than the dowager, nevertheless she was
a gay, sprightly lass, with the true Secederian articles of faith and
practice. If she was long unmarried, it was not for want of good will;
often did she make the attempt, and often did she fail; but at last she
succeeded. Having for many years set her cap at man after man, she, in
her forty-seventh spring, became the spouse of Mr. Nicknack. From that
time she has taken to religion in its Calvinistic forms, doctrines, and
adjuncts; is a zealous votary of free grace; and, both in theory and
practice, testifies her conviction of the efficacy of faith, without
the trouble of works. Besides studying the gospel, her favourite
pastime is reading novels[3]. These occupations, with gossipping and
gadding, defamation, and what she calls dress, pretty well employ her
time. No doubt, her happy state may partly arise from religion; not
but that a cordial, known by the name of _gin_, contributes its aid.
Mrs. Nicknack is no less dexterous than her husband in fishing out
presents. She is a very zealous friend, and will stick at no assertion,
true or untrue, in recommending the brethren; and sometimes, indeed,
she has got into scrapes, by recommending that stupid dog behind: he
is a near relation of hers, a fellow who undertakes to print, without
being able to read. The old lady herself is a most furious democrat,
_abuses the king_, and one of the ablest ministers that the world
ever beheld, the bishops, and all constituted authorities. On that
score, she might deserve to be apprehended, were the ravings of an old
woman of any consequence to the state. She has an innocent delight in
demolishing reputations, and setting people by the ears: _she says she
is a Christian_.” “If she be,” said our hero, “her Christianity is not
the Christianity of the Scriptures; at least, I do not recollect any
passages of sacred writ that inculcate greed, gossipping, disloyalty,
lying, and slandering, which appear to be the virtues which adorn
this devotee of spiritual and _spirituous_ comforts. But who is the
relation behind her?” “her nephew, Malcolm Macandrew, a fellow who,
with a very small portion of sense and knowledge, contrived to get
a very great portion of notoriety. He was a poor orphan, bred up in
an hospital at Edinburgh, taken out of charity to be apprentice to a
printer, to whom his father had been servant: in return for this kind
patronage, as soon as he was eighteen, he debauched his master’s wife,
and was said to have joined her in embezzling effects. He afterwards
seduced the sister of one customer, and the daughter of another; and,
finding his character notorious in the Scottish capital, he found
it necessary to decamp: but, that he might leave none of the things
undone which ought to have been done, he married two wives within
a week of his departure; set off, and left the spouses to contest
precedency, and shift for themselves. One of them dying for want, he
escaped a prosecution for bigamy. He came to England, for reasons
best known to him. At length, his other wife being dead, he married
a fat widow, that kept an ale-house, where he had run a score, which
he could not otherwise discharge. With this lovely partner, he got
several hundred pounds, which afforded him for some time the means
of keeping a couple of mistresses; and, after his money was gone, he
picked up a little from his holy aunt; in return for his assiduity in
fetching and carrying scandal for that pious cousin of Lucky Macgregor,
collecting for her use spiritual hymns and amorous histories, and
ministering to her when she happens to be overtaken with liquor.
This worthy relation is thoroughly acquainted with his history and
conversation; but, in the piety of her friendship, _bears frequent
testimony_ that he is possessed of ability, honour, integrity, and
every other meritorious qualification. The fellow was beginning to pick
up business in London from people that knew nothing of his character,
or attended to the attestations of that good Christian Mrs. Nicknack;
but, by a combination of rascality and ingratitude, guided by ignorance
and folly, he provoked an able and willing satirist, who will not
spare him; so that Malcolm Macandrew will come to be as notorious in
London as he was in the north, when obliged to leave Edinburgh for his
profligacy.”
Manchester having for some time amused them with these and other
anecdotes of persons whom he happened to recognize, they departed
for the evening. Our travellers continued several days at Bath;
and, after seeing every thing that was remarkable, set off towards
London. Having breakfasted at Chipenham, as they were proceeding on to
Marlborough, they, at Cherril Downs, alighted to take a view of the
white horse, which they had seen at so great a distance. After viewing
with admiration its shape and proportions, as they were crossing to a
different part of the eminence, which appeared to promise an extensive
and charming prospect, they found a woman, decently dressed, but
with evident marks of deep dejection, sitting in an hollow. A pale
and disconsolate countenance did not prevent her from exhibiting the
mien and expression of a gentlewoman. Our hero accosted her with a
tone and expressions of soothing compassion, enquired whether he could
be of any service to a lady, who evidently laboured under some great
distress. “Oh, sir,” she said, “it is not in your power to relieve my
afflictions.” She said no more, but burst into tears, which terminated
in a fit. The ladies, by smelling bottles, endeavoured to restore her
perception and consciousness, and at length succeeded. Moved by their
kindness and tenderness, she, in a low voice, expressed her gratitude:
“Charming ladies,” she said, “you are bestowing your goodness on a
wretch unworthy to live! leave me to my fate; I wish by death to
terminate an existence, miserable from the most irremediable cause,
a wounded conscience.” “Whatever,” said our hero, “madam, may be the
source of your sufferings, I trust they admit of alleviation, which my
wife and my sister will join me in administering to the utmost of our
power. Let us conduct you to Marlborough, and perhaps there you may
favour us with so much confidence and information, as may enable us to
devise some mode of effectual relief.” The lady was long inflexible;
but at length yielded to their generous urgency. Our hero handed her
into the chaise, which he ordered to drive gently, while he walked
by its side. Having arrived at Marlborough, and dined, the soothing
attention of the travellers wrought so much upon the stranger, that
she could no longer refuse their intreaties to give them such outlines
of her story as she could bear to recite. “From your appearance
and goodness, I am confident that I may rely upon your honour that,
whatever you may discover, you will not divulge.” After this preface,
she proceeded as will be found in the following chapter.