part of her hearers. “Women, great objects of my care, I have learned
that there are many who approve the exemption which I have proposed
from the aristocratical restraints, to which the monopolizing tyranny
of men has subjected our sex; who agree with me that women should
be as free as light or air, but like not the toils, hardships, and
dangers of a participation with the men. But let me explain to you the
blessings that are mingled with these apparent hardships; ye, who are
not moved by glory to a sublime rivalry with the hitherto domineering
lords of the creation, to the discharge of masculine duties, should
recollect that there are feminine inducements; with competition in
their labours, you have uncontrouled converse with your rivals. If
heroines mingle with military heroes in the ranks, they also join them
in their tents. If the naval hero and heroine are stationed by the same
gun, they also may be stationed in the same hammock. The hardships of
honour are relieved by the softness of love. If one of my aspiring
pupils should wish to become a stateswoman, and constitute part of
the cabinet, may she not share the now unoccupied affections of our
prime minister, as well as his counsels; or, if she do not affect the
treasurer’s staff, she may be associated with the gallant _minister for
the home department_. Intermingling in various other manly, active, and
laborious occupations, you, my disciples, will be agreeably soothed by
those companions whose hardiness you seek to emulate, when you become
carpenters, brick-layers, stonemasons, tin-women, and smiths. You
will participate in the pleasures, as well as occupations of social
converse; journeywomen and journeymen will be as free, communicative,
and joyous as are the present haymakers of the two sexes. But in
literary and intellectual employments, you will often club with your
rivals. The gentle novel-writer, and the fierce critic will associate
like the lamb and the tyger in the age of Cumean prophecy. The masters
of academies, and mistresses of boarding schools will be no longer
separate professions: young men and young women will be educated
together, and the sweet reciprocations of juvenile sensibility will
qualify the acrimony of rivalry; and, as I trust, in that improved
state of civil society, political institutions will be meliorated
in proportion; no censure or punishment will follow those amiable
young who themselves follow the impulses of nature. The absurdity of
parental affection will, on the side of the fathers, be thoroughly
eradicated, because, in the state recommended by St. Leon, there will
be little possibility of ascertaining among the youthful pupils who the
fathers are. In your case, my friends, there can be no uncertainty;
nevertheless, by following the inimitable precept of Rousseau, you
may soon forget to whom you are mothers. Send the offspring to the
hospitals, and let there be a large repository of that kind near every
village that abounds in boarding schools. The misses will, according
to my plan, have no occasion for that concealment which they are
now obliged to observe. Instructive books from the libraries, drill
serjeants, and dancing masters, the theory and practice of love, may be
studied and exercised as openly in and about London, as by the ladies
of Otaheite.
But, my pupils, perfection is not to be immediately attained:
our present business is to prepare for that high state of human
regeneration. Of course, we all renounce religion, the prejudice of the
unenlightened; and we all seek equality; but some degree of influence
and controul may be necessary in the present imperfect state, to fit
us for the total reprobation of religion, and the equalization of
mankind, by mowing down every inequality of fortune, rank, talents,
and virtue. I propose to imitate the absurd institutions of the
English church in one instance. There shall be two chief overseers,
and twenty-four overseers of our sex, for the purpose of changing the
heretofore approved characters of women, and diffusing among them
a proper contempt for religion and virtue, especially the sneaking
virtues of modesty and chastity. The candidates for these offices shall
be persons, who, to the utmost of their means and opportunities, have
endeavoured to eradicate these absurd principles of female conduct.
Who may be Primate will be the first consideration.” “That can
require no deliberation,” was the universal cry. “Jemima must be the
Primate.” Jemima acquiesced. “I have next to consider who should be my
colleague. There is a person now engaged in exhibiting to admiration
the most noted females, who have anticipated my doctrines by systematic
deviation, from the rules imposed upon women by aristocratic man: her
name is Mary.” She was appointed colleague by acclamation. “As to
the overseers,” proceeded Jemima, “they may be found among various
classes; but chiefly the writers of sentimental and loving novels,
great repositories of instruction; governesses and usheresses, who
convey such and other inciting works to their youthful charge; and
also parents in humble circumstances, who send their children to
boarding-schools, to learn what is to them useless, and not to learn
what is to them useful. These pupils becoming totally unfit for the
absurdity of marriage, and chaste converse, thereby become fit for
concubinage, unchaste converse, and the promiscuous intercourse which
St. Leon so strongly recommends by precept; and I am proud to say, I
still more strongly recommend by both precept and example. It would be
tedious, at present, to go over twenty-four; and the more so, as so
many in this age of increasing light, have such claims, as it might be
difficult to adjust with a due regard to equity and merit. One person,
however, I must mention. Mrs. Sonnet, though not supreme in ability,
yet has an activity and good will in the cause, that entitles her to
high consideration. All her novels have proposed to decry existing
institutions, exalt the philosophers of France, and to debase what
is called female virtue, by an attempt to shew that it depends on
accident, and not principle. Mrs. Egotist also, though not strictly
one of our votaries, yet tends to promote our interests. With great
skill and ingenuity she softens what the unenlightened call adultery,
by stiling it ‘the error of too susceptible a heart;’ also by holding
forth disobedient children as objects of praise and admiration, she
advances our favourite doctrine of the absurdity of filial duty:
most of her heroes and heroines uniformly and steadily pursue, that
rule of conduct which their parents strongly exhort them to avoid.
Thus friendly to the dissolution of domestic authority, and what the
blind call duties, Mrs. Egotist is no less ardent to decry civil,
ecclesiastical, and political authority, to represent Bishops, and
rulers of every kind as wicked, and most vehemently to reprobate the
execrable and abominable constitution, which we are obliged to suffer
in Britain. Yes, Charlotte, according to the new polity of Jemima,
you must have a mitre. There is a copartnery of either one or two
old ladies, and a young one for writing novels, neither of them are
professedly my votaries, and, indeed, are _professedly_ the contrary.
But there is one most inveterate foe of the new philosophy, known
by the name of Common Sense, and till he can be destroyed, the new
philosophy will never be fully established. Miss Twostools can bring
every page of her works, and her mother about seven-eighths of hers,
to bear witness of their hostility to Common Sense. Admirable in that
view is the story of an old Lord, who supposes himself to have a wolf
in his belly; no less admirable the many adventures of his grandson,
who, to be fitted for the peerage, was committed to the care of the
clerk of the parish, and met so many marvellous adventures as never
did, or could happen to any human being. Mrs. and Miss Twostools are
both too weak for the mitre; but for their good-will may be appointed
_bell-women_ to the cause.” Jemima ran over many other names, such
as Miss Harry Clarendon, Miss Derwent Priory, and numberless others
that our hero forgot. At length the meeting broke up, and many of the
disciples filed off in pairs, probably to study rivalry with the other
sex.
Our hero did not altogether relish this new philosophy, as the best
qualified for rendering mankind happy with their present thoughts and
sentiments, and in the present condition of society; he thought that
the system of St. Leon and Jemima, admirably as it may be adapted to
the circumstances and inclinations of asses, goats, or hogs, is not so
well suited to the situation and dispositions of _all_ men. Candour,
however, obliged our hero to admit, that the parts of this system were
so skilfully harmonized, as to make a very consistent whole, and that
universally adopted as the authors wished it would render man a most
successful imitator of the brute creation; and so far as a man would
be improved by attaining the likeness of a beast, he is indebted to
St. Leon and Jemima, for their benevolent intentions. This was a merit
which the equitable impartiality of our hero, in thought, conversation,
and writing, did not fail to ascribe to the speculative and practical
philosophy of the Political Justice and Rights of Woman.
From the literature which our author either pursued or estimated,
the thread of the story now requires that we should return to more
domestic and private occurrences. The intimacy between Hamilton and
Hamden became so close, that rarely a day passed in which the baronet
did not spend several hours at the house of his friend. When the
return of summer sent to the country most persons whose business and
fortune could permit absence from town, Sir Edward still continued in
London. Even the autumnal season did not call him from the metropolis,
either to the relaxation of watering places, or the diversions of the
country, for both of which he had formerly shewn a high relish. It may
be thought that so intense a liking for the company of a friend, as to
absorb all former predelictions and pursuits, is totally inconsistent
with nature; and that, farther, so frequent and long visits must
be prejudicial to the object of the friendship, by encroaching on
Hamilton’s time and interrupting his studies. Sentiments or conduct
not to be found in human nature, I trust, make no part of this work;
though if they did, and I chose to rest law upon mere precedent,
noted authorities would not be wanting. It may also be supposed that
disregard to the advantage of his friend would be inconsistent with
the character which Hamden has uniformly maintained. For the solution
of these difficulties, simple facts will suffice. Highly as Hamden
prized the company and conversation of our hero, yet his value for it
was not so great as to overbalance all other pursuits. His visits,
long and frequent as they were, did not interfere with the business of
Hamilton.
Disappointed in his first wish of being affianced to Maria Mortimer,
the baronet long resolved never to marry any other; but this resolution
could not prevent him from discovering and admiring excellence that
might occur in another object. So often a visitant in the house of
Hamilton, he very frequently beheld the lovely Charlotte. To the charms
of this young lady his admiration had done justice, even when his
affections were engrossed by another. The more he conversed with her,
the more he was convinced that the excellence of her mind corresponded
with the beauties and graces of her face and person; and he conceived
a very high esteem and admiration for the sister of his friend. He
knew nothing of her attachment for Mortimer; and, having been absent
from town when Charlotte received the first impressions from the
conduct of her lover, he had not witnessed the dejection which it had
first produced. Vigorous understanding and magnanimity, assisted by
a generous pride, made powerful efforts to expel from her mind all
tenderness for the man who had sacrificed love to ambition, and her
exertions were gradually attended with success, while she strove to
appear much less concerned and affected than she really was; and before
Hamden’s return, she seemed to possess her wonted cheerfulness. Esteem
for so very attractive a woman as Miss Hamilton, in such a heart as
Hamden’s, was a step towards love. With a vigorous understanding, just
principles, and polished knowledge, which rendered her a rational
companion, he, by farther acquaintance, discovered her to possess
the refined sentiments, taste, sensibility, and fascinating softness
which made her heart an inestimable treasure to any one who could be
so happy as to win its affections. Hamden was himself, in countenance
and figure, equal to any man; as tall and finely proportioned as
Mortimer, with features as regular; and a countenance that, indicating
equal spirit and intelligence, expressed much more of feeling and
tenderness. His manners and deportment were firm and commanding; but
where such qualities were requisite in the common intercourse of life,
and especially in female society, they were chiefly eminent for an
engaging impressiveness that was almost irresistible. Such softness
and delicacy, were it apart from the general cast and character of his
mind, might appear to approach to insinuation; but combined with the
penetration and strength of his intellect and undeviating integrity,
evidently resulted from feeling and not from artifice! It was manly
virtue; strong and steady in its principles, in its operations mellowed
by tenderness, and relieving force by polished softness. The attentions
of Sir Edward did not pass unperceived by Charlotte, nor altogether
unfelt; she thought him at once a most worthy and amiable man. She
could not avoid acknowledging to herself, that if she had known Hamden
as early as Mortimer, she must of the two have preferred him; but
as still some traces of her first love remained, she determined not
to listen with encouragement to the addresses of another, however
pleasing. The graces, virtues, accomplishments, and increasing
assiduity of Hamden made such progress in the mind of Charlotte as
entirely to eradicate the revolted Mortimer; and she could not avoid
wishing that she had known so very charming a youth two months sooner
than she did. She now did more than esteem his merit; she returned
his love. At length Hamden, flattering himself that he had made an
impression on the bewitching Charlotte, declared her mistress of his
destiny. Charlotte heard him with confusion; and confessing a very high
esteem for his character, and that his love did honour to any woman,
she, with evident reluctance, told him she could not be his; and here
she burst into tears. Hamden employed every means that he could devise
to soothe her mind. In the course of their interview, he wrung from
her an acknowledgment of reciprocal love; but still she adhered to her
protestation, that she could not accept his offer. The baronet, unable
to discover her objection, at length resolved to request the assistance
of her brother in removing her scruples. Informed by his friend of
all that had passed, our hero repaired to his sister; and, after a
long conversation, he, from her affection and confidence, learned her
objection to an union with a man whose passion she requited. Charlotte
had conceived a notion that a young woman not only should bestow with
her hand her heart, but also a heart that never had felt love for
another. This romantic refinement of sentiment, her understanding,
acute and powerful as it was, could not conquer. Prizing Sir Edward so
very highly, she fancied that her affections, though now devoted to
him, yet having once been Mortimer’s, were unworthy of his acceptance.
Her brother at first ridiculed this notion, but finding it too deep
and serious to bear a ludicrous exposure, he argued gravely, clearly,
and forcibly on the subject; and concluded with telling her that her
situation in that respect resembled her lover’s. Each had cherished
other attachments; but, as the objects were out of their reach, and
out of their hearts, and they were now the votaries of mutual love,
there was no reasonable obstruction to her compliance with the wishes
of so amiable a man. Though Charlotte did not yield to this reasoning,
Hamilton saw that it was not without impression. Maria seconded the
instances of her husband; still, however, they did not conquer; but
they did not despair that the victory would be obtained, if not by the
auxiliaries, by the commander in chief himself. Sir Edward, informed of
the ground of defence which Charlotte had taken, exerted his talents
and skill with so much dexterity as at length to prove successful.
Mrs. Hamilton, senior, who was now on a visit to her father, was sent
for express; and her brother was requested to accompany her, and to
perform the ceremony; but the old gentleman declared that he himself
should undertake that office for his grand-daughter, as he had done
for his grand-son. His son and daughter would have dissuaded him from
encountering a journey in the winter season, but the old gentleman
replied, he was no more afraid of the eighty-third winter than any of
its predecessors. He accordingly accompanied them to town, and had the
pleasure of embracing his great grand-son, now a fine child almost a
year old. In a few days after his arrival the nuptials were celebrated,
and Charlotte Hamilton became Lady Hamden.
CHAP. V.
A FEW weeks after the event with which we closed the preceding chapter,
letters arrived from Mr. Hamilton, of Etterick, containing various
articles of intelligence; which, that we may introduce in proper
connection to our readers, it is necessary to revert to a character of
considerable notoriety in these memoirs, the methodistical preacher
and moral practitioner, Mr. Roger O’Rourke. This personage having,
as we have already recorded, departed from Tetbury in company with a
silver tankard belonging to the landlord, and some other articles,
which his dexterity had picked up from his entertainers at the love
feast, departed from public roads, and skulked about the forest of
Dean for several days; but having there seen a woodman, whom he
recollected to have met at Gloucester, and fearing to be traced, he
again crossed the country into Wiltshire. On Cherril Downs he came
up with a solitary lady; and was the identical person who robbed and
frightened Mrs. Raymond. He had seen the travellers; and, though at
a distance, recognized the air and figure of Hamilton: therefore he
made the best of his way. Not doubting that a hue and cry would be
immediately raised after him, he, with extraordinary expedition, made
his way to Dorsetshire; thence, turning to the right, he proceeded
into North Devon, and arrived at Biddeford. There he found a vessel
about to depart for St. David’s, in Wales; and, having no want of
money, took his passage for that port; whence he hoped to find some
conveyance to Cork or Waterford, where he expected to be safe from the
pursuit of the English laws; and should be also at a great distance
from Dundalk, and other scenes of his former pastimes in the north. In
a short time, he procured a conveyance, reached Cork, tried his hand
at methodism, but found the men of Munster little disposed to leave
their favourite popery for any other theory: as he could not convert
them to his theology, his next best project was to convert himself to
their theology. He declared himself a catholic, ready and willing to
become an united Irishman; or to join in whatever was going forward.
He professed he had been brought up to the catholic church, treated
the fathers of that persuasion with plenty of whisky, merry jokes, and
other gratifications agreeable to their reverences; being enabled
to live freely and expensively by the liberality of a rich quaker’s
widow: her the spirit moved to yearn unto him as one that she wished to
make her lord and master, as soon as _three_ months of mourning should
be expired; and, during the remaining _two and a half_, she admitted
him to all the privileges of a husband, except the name. O’Rourke
would have willingly turned quaker, or any thing else, for the lady’s
fortune; but, afraid that his former marriage might be discovered,
before the time stipulated by Mrs. Stiffrump, he bethought himself of
chousing her of her property without any legal contract; and, turning
priest to enjoy the spoils among the fair penitents who, he presumed,
would flock to his confessional, having been always eminent for his
influence among the female votaries of any religion that he happened
for the time to profess. He won so much upon the holy fathers, that in
a month he was admitted one of their order; but not before he had the
misfortune to discover that the widow possessed only the income of her
late husband’s property; the reversion being secured to his relations.
Though this revenue was considerable, yet it was far short of the
profusion of O’Rourke: the lady’s current cash was exhausted; and her
lover, finding she could not by anticipation receive a supply, took
with him her last twenty pounds, a gold watch, and other trinkets, and
without any farther ceremony left her for ever. He now officiated as a
priest, and traversed the country, confessing the women; and exhorting
the men to what he called the emancipation of Ireland. At length, he
visited Dublin, and money falling short, devised various schemes for
levying contributions among saints and other sinners. Finding no want
of methodists in the metropolis of Ireland, which that, as well as
other follies of Britain, fail not to visit, he privately professed
himself a methodist believer, and publicly a popish priest; through
the two he earned a tolerable livelihood. He now became acquainted
with a noted courtezan, who was at great pains to win such a lover,
because she thought her other gallants might by his strength and size
be over-awed to such contributions as she might chuse to require. She
succeeded with Roger, and became so completely mistress over him,
that he ran into extravagant expences. Our preacher had not regularly
followed the occupation of visiting the highways; but he had not let
his arms entirely rust for want of practice. At Cork, in the country,
and in Dublin, he had repeatedly collected supplies for pressing
exigencies; but was too fond of ease and pleasure to take to that
avocation, unless when he was run out of money.
In the present pressure he set off in a carter’s frock late in the
evening, for an alley near a noted gaming-house. There he watched
until he saw a gentleman come out alone, and at the turning of a
corner he presented a pistol; the other made some resistance, but
was over-powered, and forced to deliver his money. O’Rourke having
accomplished his purpose, without taking any precautions to prevent
pursuit, was hastening away, when a serjeant and a party came up on
their way to relieve guard; the robber was running off, the gentleman
gave the alarm, the soldiers pursued, the preacher, in his hurry,
stumbled over a post, and being dashed on the pavement, lay for some
time stunned. In such circumstances he was secured, pinioned, and
carried to the guard-house, where a banker’s book, with the name of the
gentleman, who was well-known to the soldiers, written on the outside,
was found on him, and also a purse, which the gentleman immediately
identified. The next morning he was carried before a justice, and the
evidence being so unquestionable, he was committed for trial: the
sessions being then sitting, he in a few days was tried, condemned, and
the following week hanged, without expressing any sign of penitence;
and so ended the mortal peregrinations of the methodistical apostle,
Roger O’Rourke. The impartial reader, I doubt not will allow, that
the catastrophe of this missionary naturally resulted from his united
faith and practice; and that whoever conceives faith to supersede the
necessity of moral virtue, and to permit the unbounded gratification
of desires; and acting consistently with such doctrines, allows
unlimited indulgence to his passions, takes one of the most direct
roads to the gallows. There was said to be a dispute, whether the
preacher died a methodist or a Roman. This point I have never been
able to ascertain, and, indeed, regard it of no more consequence
of what religious profession a hardened villain dies, than whether
the hypocrite Cantwell, the disciple of methodism, or the hypocrite
Tartuffe, the disciple of Romanism, the more deserved to be hanged,
when _both_ deserved it so incontrovertibly.
Having conducted the husband to his end, we must now pass over to
Scotland to visit his wife. Ever since her return from England, the
daughter of Etterick had been in a state of dejection and despondency,
from the absence and misconduct of her husband, which last did not
fail to reach her ears down to his adventures at Tetbury. Several
months after her arrival at her father’s house, she lost her only
child; and the addition of this new grief, joined with the former in
throwing her into a consumption, from which it was soon foreseen she
would never recover. A person from Selkirk was in Dublin, between the
trial and execution of O’Rourke, and found means to see him in the
condemned hold, and thereby to be assured that he was the identical
son-in-law of the laird of Etterick; he also learned many particulars
of his late history, from his fellow-convicts and the turnkeys, to
whom the preacher most frankly communicated his principal exploits.
In too great eagerness to communicate dismal news, the Selkirk man
wrote to the laird a minute and circumstantial account of O’Rourke’s
last adventures; not forgetting the impenitent obduracy with which
he braved eternity. When this letter arrived, the old gentleman was
taking his afternoon glass, in his daughter’s apartment, while she,
in the last stage of weakness, sought some relief from the uniformity
of the sick bed, by reclining in an easy chair. Her father read the
letter, and having seen its result, fell back on his seat without
sense or motion. Having rung for servants, to afford her parent that
assistance which she was unable to give herself, she snatched up the
letter by which he was so grievously affected, and soon found that she
was much more intimately and fatally concerned. Profligate ruffian
as he was, she deplored him not as an abandoned miscreant, but as
the husband whom she had so tenderly loved. On her deeper grief, the
shock was less instantaneously violent than on her father. She, with
determined calmness, desired to be carried to bed; the physician not
to be sent for, but the clergyman to be fetched immediately. The first
order was disobeyed, but the second was directly executed. The Doctor
announced to the father, now recovered to sorrow, that the dissolution
of his child was inevitable; that he, and with him the whole faculty,
could do no more. The clergyman, whom she had daily consulted during
the progress of her malady, on what now concerned her much nearer
than life, declared to her father, that since it was evidently the
will of Providence she should be withdrawn from this vale of tears,
never did he find a woman or man more thoroughly prepared by genuine
christianity, for undergoing the aweful change. She languished out that
evening, and a part of the following day, and, without a struggle, at
three in the afternoon, she breathed her last; a premature and fatal
victim to the excess of parental indulgence, which at so youthful an
age suffered her to follow her girlish fancy, and to become the wife of
a man whose merits they had never known, and had much reason to doubt.
As a father, Etterick was tenderly afflicted by the death of his
daughter, and in such melancholy circumstances. Nevertheless, when the
first shock being over, allowed time and opportunity for reflexion,
he could not help acknowledging to himself, and to his friends,
the clergyman and physician, that he had very strong grounds of
consolation. At first he had been hurried and surprized to consent
to the marriage of his child, rather than persuaded and induced, and
during many years had regarded the connection with abhorrence. The
family of Etterick had been always distinguished for honour and
reputation, and its present representative had a very high idea of its
dignity. Kind and affectionate he had loved his grandchild, but could
not help repining, that the child of such a miscreant eventually was to
be proprietor of Etterick. His nephew, Hamilton, he loved and admired
to adoration; and now would sometimes dwell on the elevation of the
house of Etterick, when William should be its head: and the fourth day
after Mrs. O’Rourke’s decease, when the clergyman was administering
the soothing comforts of religion, the laird heard him with the most
profound gravity, and after some cessation, asked if there was not
a talk about a vacancy in the county: “Willie, now that he is heir
of Etterick, I think might stand a good chance; and if he were in
parliament, would be an extraordinary honour to our family.” The
clergyman saw that the laird, though he sorrowed, did not sorrow like
those without hope.
At the desire of the old gentleman, he wrote to Hamilton an account of
these events, and urged him to lose no time in repairing to Scotland.
The laird was willing and ready to resign to him three-fourths of the
estate and personal property. The former, by the rise of rents, was now
upwards of six thousand a-year; the latter, by the œconomy of Etterick,
added to the fortune of the Sourkrouts, was at least forty thousand
pounds. This was the substance of the letter that was sent to our hero.
The morning on which it arrived in London, Hamilton received, by
appointment, a bookseller, who was come to make a bargain with him,
concerning a work of three volumes 8vo. The bookseller was strictly
honest, but very hard. Hamilton knowing his own powers and fame,
demanded four hundred pounds per volume: the other began with offering
two hundred and fifty; and as Hamilton would not hear of this proposal,
rose to three hundred; still the author would not bend. The bookseller
knowing Hamilton did not depend entirely on his efforts, and that
it was his own interest to advance in his offer, even to Hamilton’s
demands, said--“Mr. Hamilton, you are a liberal gentleman, as well
as an able writer, do come down somewhat; now let us split the
difference.” Hamilton mused, and appeared to the other not unlikely to
yield, when a servant entering, delivered him a letter with a black
seal, and the Selkirk post mark. Requesting his visitor’s permission to
peruse the epistle, he opened it, and was evidently much affected by
the contents. After several minutes of silence, and thoughtfulness, he
at length said, “Well, Sir, you have been my chief employer, were the
first who highly appreciated my productions, and you have paid me well
and regularly, I shall execute for you the work you propose; I shall
not split the difference with you; you shall have the performance at
three hundred pounds per volume.” The other, after heartily thanking
him for his liberality, appeared curious to know what connection it
had with the letter. Our hero, in general, explained the change that
had taken place; but his determination to finish the work, for the
sake of an employer, by whom he had been always handsomely treated.
The bookseller taking his leave, Maria, who knew nothing of the
intelligence from Scotland, came to the study, and asked how he had
settled with the bookseller: he mentioned the terms.--“I thought,” she
said, “you were resolved to have four hundred pounds.”--“I was,” he
replied, “but I changed my mind; for a reason that I shall by and by
explain to you, and of which my dear Maria will approve.”--“That,” she
replied, “I am convinced I shall. How long a time do you think the work
will require?”--“A year and a half may finish it, and leave me time for
periodical labours. Last year our income, besides our own four hundred,
was six hundred, and this year it will be more.”--“Yes,” said Maria,
“it was in all a thousand, and I dare say will be twelve hundred; and
if we cannot be happy on such a revenue, with our growing prospects
from my uncle, and your grandfather and uncle Wentbridge, we should be
dissatisfied with the fortunes of my brother and Louisa, your sister
and Sir Edward Hambden.”--“It is not impossible,” said our hero, “but
we may have to try a similar experiment, to ascertain our content or
discontent. I have no doubt but our fortune will very soon surpass
your brother’s, and be in a fair way of equalling Sir Edward’s.” Maria
stared. “I don’t understand you, my dear, what do you mean? you are
certainly castle-building.”--“The castle is already built; and now,
Maria, I have a very important piece of intelligence to communicate
to you.” He accordingly explained to her the information he had just
received, and gave her the letter to peruse.
To pretend that Maria was so exalted and disinterested, as to grieve
at the death of a cousin, who was not peculiarly engaging, with whom
she was on no terms of friendship, beyond mere civility and attention;
when the departure of that cousin made her husband possessor of six
thousand a year, and heir to two thousand more, would be to pretend
that this Maria was totally different from all other Marias in their
sober senses. William and she very tenderly congratulated each other,
and rang for their two children. The little boy, just entered the
third year of his age, was returned from seeing the soldiers exercise,
and, in a minute, they heard him in the passage, calling as well as he
could, “Right, right,” and he entered in a marching step, with his gun
shouldered, and fixed bayonet. He advanced to charge upon his father,
but instead of parrying, as usual, and playing with the child, the
father eagerly snatching him in his arms, and congratulated him on the
providential change: his infant sister being brought by the servant,
he solemnly prayed to Heaven that his children might prove worthy of
the situation which they were now destined to fill in society; that
little Maria might resemble her charming and estimable mother; and
that Charles might do honour to the family which he would eventually
represent. When the parents had given vent to their affections, and
recovered themselves, Hamilton set out to inform his mother of the
state of affairs, and to assure her, that her income should rise in
proportion to his. It is needless to say, the mother heartily rejoiced
at this momentous change in the situation of her adored son; but
she immediately declared that she would receive no addition to her
revenue, which was fully adequate to her wants and habits of life.
Hamilton resolved to conquer in this point, but without contesting it
at present. His mother said, she supposed he would write to her father
and brother immediately; but he replied, he would deliver them the
intelligence himself, having only to see Sir Edward, and set off post
that afternoon for Etterick. He took her promise to be with Maria till
his return, repaired to the Baronet’s, who was proudly joyful to find
that such a connection and friend, was now about to move in a sphere
which he was so well qualified to adorn. Returning to his house he took
a hasty dinner with Maria, and set off at six o’clock; the next evening
he reached Dr. Wentbridge’s, at Weatherby, just as his father and he
were sitting down to an early supper, and removed their surprize at
his journey, by joy for its cause. He was prevailed on to take a few
hours’ sleep, and departing with the dawn of July, he, about the same
time the following morning, arrived at the mansion of his ancestors.
He found the old gentleman extremely anxious for his arrival: the
funeral had been deferred, until Hamilton coming, should officiate
as chief mourner; his uncle finding himself totally incapable of that
task: it was now fixed for two days after. The old gentleman, who was
very eager to invest his nephew with the bulk of his property, and the
direction of his affairs, had a deed ready drawn up, conformable to
what had been written to his nephew; and it was that very day properly
executed. A few days after the interment, the old gentleman called
together his tenants to his hall, and publicly announced his nephew as
their landlord. The farmers greatly rejoiced at events which entirely
relieved them from the apprehensions of having for their laird a
profligate unprincipled adventurer; and though they did not know much
of the new proprietor, they had heard enough of him to entertain a
very high opinion of him; and this was greatly increased by his frank
and engaging manners, and the graces of his face and figure. Of his
person, exquisitely as it was formed, many of them chiefly admired the
heighth and strength; and as they went home, well-primed with ale and
whiskey, they declared that the _deevil a stouter, better-bigged man_
than their young laird, would enter the _shire town_, or even walk at
the cross of _Embro’_; and from a Scottish peasant this was a very high
eulogium.
The old gentleman expressed an ardent desire, that Maria and the
children would make Etterick their summer residence; and also prevail
on his niece, Lady Hambden, with her husband and mother, to join the
party. Hamilton undertook to have this wish accomplished; and having
finished all the business that was immediately pressing, he himself
went south to conduct his family and friends. Early in September
they arrived, and were so pleased with the autumnal amusements and
festivities, and above all, the hospitality and kindness of the “land
of cakes,” that November terminated, before Sir Edward and Lady Hambden
returned with young Mortimer and Louisa, who, a month before, had
arrived at Etterick house. They left the old laird recovered from his
grief, and delighted with the wife and children of his nephew, while
William himself he idolized. At the Michaelmas county court, it became
publicly known that the member for the shire intended speedily to
vacate his seat. Among the freeholders, young Mr. Hamilton of Etterick,
was immediately mentioned, as a gentleman from his situation in the
county, one of the fittest that could be their representative; and
from his abilities, acquirements, and accomplishments, qualified to
reflect lustre on his constituents. The proposition was favourably
received, and Hamilton was induced to declare himself candidate.
There was no opposition, and the election took place a few days
before Sir Edward’s departure. As parliament that season was not to
meet till the end of January, our hero, with his family and mother,
passed the Christmas holidays at Etterick; and soon after new year’s
day, set off for London, whither his uncle also accompanied them. On
their way visiting the venerable old vicar, who was now at Brotherton
parsonage, accompanied by his dutiful and attentive son, the aged
patriarch proposed again to revisit London. His friends, though
somewhat apprehensive of such a journey to his age, yet trusted, that
by easy stages, and by every possible attention to his accommodation,
he might accomplish the expedition without inconvenience. The old
clergyman, by the express stipulation of his great grandson, little
Hamilton, was to travel in the same carriage with that young soldier,
with whom he was a mighty favourite. Old Maxwell was still alive, and
delighted with little Charles, who bore a very striking resemblance
to his grandfather, General Hamilton; and to his father, whom Maxwell
prized no less highly, and more highly he could prize no man, than that
gallant officer whom he had first taught the military exercise, and
afterwards sheltered under disaster. The old man himself was in easy
circumstances, but our Hamilton made particular enquiry concerning his
relations, resolving and promising to use his influence and exertions
for their benefit.
For some weeks after he took his seat Hamilton was silent; but a
grand question arising which he thoroughly knew, he could not forbear
speaking on the side of the constitution and social order. His
speech astonished not only persons who were strangers to the powers
of Hamilton, but even his intimate friends; and Sir Edward Hambden
declared, that the genius of Hamilton rose with the theatre on which it
was exerted. The information and reasoning were such as he expected;
but the energetic and impressive eloquence he could not have looked
for, from even a man of eminent abilities, who was not accustomed to
parliamentary exhibitions. Among the audience in the gallery was the
old laird, who had a great pleasure in resorting to the house, not for
the eloquence he might hear there, but for seeing his nephew among
the members. He had no preconception that William was to open on this
occasion, and was actually engaged in a whispering conversation with
one of the reporters, who was the son of a farmer on his estate,
when the voice of his nephew reached his ears, and with the warmest
eagerness he called out, so as to be heard through most of the gallery,
“_It is our ain Willie_.” His friend whispered him--“Pray do not speak
so loud, you may interrupt your nephew.”--“_Vara weel Sandy, I’ll
be as quiet as a moose._ But Willie is too quiet himself, I wish he
would speak better _oot_: the _booy_ is _blate_ at first.” William
having for some time spoken in that low tone of voice, and modest
humility of manner, which results from ingenuous sensibility, on a
first appearance before the ablest assembly in the world, at length
acquired more firmness, and, as he warmed, entered into all the merit
and interest of his subject. With the powers of his understanding, and
the movements of his heart, his voice, tones, and gestures, and, above
all, his eyes, were in thorough unison. All was energy, interest, and
impression. A dead stillness ruled over the house, as if a Sheridan,
Fox, or a Pitt, had been speaking; not a whisper was heard, except low
breathings of admiration. _One_ indeed would whisper to his neighbour,
“_Vara weel laad_.” Hamilton having finished, the chief orators of both
parties vied with each other, in bestowing praises on this exhibition
of the young member. The question being adjourned, our hero went
to the lobby, to look for his uncle, and just as he met him, found
himself surrounded by gentlemen, congratulating him on the fame he had
established at the very outset of his parliamentary career. Mr. Dundas,
to whom our hero was known, came to him, with Mr. Pitt, who testified
the highest admiration of the union of knowledge, philosophy, and
eloquence. “Happy I am,” said he, “Mr. Hamilton, that our cause has
received such a powerful accession; and that when this venerable sage
(turning to a gentleman near him) is about to withdraw from parliament,
a youth enters, who has adopted his sentiments and principles, and
who so powerfully treads in the steps of him, who first exposed the
genuine nature of the revolutionary system.” The senator announced, by
this description, grasping the hand of our hero, said, “I still have
hopes of the salvation of my country; our youth are not all misled by
destructive theory. Sir, your powers are extraordinary, and are exerted
for your king and country, when such exertions are wanted. You have
read much, and reflected more; your deductions are just as they are
forcible; your feelings are the feelings of loyal and patriotic virtue;
the brilliancy of your eloquence is surpassed only by its depth and
its truth. Of oratory, as well as writing, you demonstrate that the
principle and source is wisdom.
Sapere bene _dicendi_ principium et fons.”
Our hero modestly replied, “Having read, sir, Aristotle and Bacon,
Cicero and Burke, and endeavoured to imbibe lessons and sentiments,
which I so much admired, I am naturally a friend to mixed government,
modified and rational liberty, and an enemy to uncontrouled licence.”
Burke again squeezing his hand--“You must, Mr. Hamilton, gratify an
old man, by helping me to pass the Easter holidays; I shall learn your
address, and pay you my respects, in hopes of making our arrangements
for Beaconsfield.” Messrs. Fox and Sheridan paid our hero high
compliments. Mr. Fox said, “_Cum talis fis utinam noster esses_.”
Burke, who had moved a little aside, hearing this wish, said aloud,
“_Dii avertite omen_.” About this time, a very loud sobbing was heard
from a corner. The humanity of Burke directed him to the place, and
he found the sobbing issued from an elderly gentleman. In a soothing
voice, he begged to know if he could give any assistance, or alleviate
his grief?--“It is not g-r-i-e-f,” replied the other, “it is j-o-y.”
When our hero coming up, addressed the gentleman by the appellation
of uncle, Burke immediately comprehended the case, and was very much
amused and interested. He congratulated the uncle on the nephew, and
included him in the invitation to Beaconsfield.
The uncle and nephew having gone home, the laird finding the old
clergyman and his son, and both the Mrs. Hamiltons waiting for them
in the supper-room, called out with great emotion, “_I pity you aw,
nane of ye half kenns Willie; nay, for that matter, I did not half
kenn him mysel_.” Hamilton smiled. “What is the matter, uncle?” said
Maria.--“Willie made a speech! Willie made a speech!” and he strutted
through the room: “if you want to _ken_ what kind of speech it was,
ask Mr. _Pett_ and Mr. Dundas, the _saaviours_ of their country;
and ask Mr. Burke, that spoke up for the gentry and dignity of the
country, against rapscallions: he has _inveeted_ Willie and me to his
country _hoose_. Nay, even Mr. Fox, though I suspect he is one of them
as they call Foxites, or democrats, or jacobins, which they tell me
is all _ane_, he praised Willie, and said something in _laatin_ to
him; but you may be all _prood_ of Willie.” Sir Edward Hambden now
arriving, gave the company a full explanation of what they had, in a
considerable degree understood, even from the report of the laird;
and placed the whole speech before them, to their great admiration
and delight. Our hero said very little, except merely rectifying his
uncle’s mistake about Foxites. Neither they, nor their leaders, he
believed were democrats; and he was still more convinced they were not
jacobins, though some parts of their conduct had a tendency to promote
democratical principles and practices.
Our hero having thus laid the foundation of parliamentary fame,
persevered in his career, and was always most distinguished on the
most arduous subjects. He was caressed and courted by the chief men
of the land, presented, with his lady, to their Majesties, and both
received with the most benignant complacency. He had now, though
only twenty-nine, reached a high elevation of fortune, and a much
higher elevation of honour. A rank in society, which he had only
faintly hoped to attain in the decline of years, he now realized in
the youthful vigour of life. His beloved Maria was placed in that
sphere, which she was so well fitted to adorn, and to which it had
been the utmost ambition of his love that she might be raised. To his
growing family, he saw the certainty of opulence and distinction,
and resolved to make it his chief care, that the understandings and
hearts of his children, should be adequate to their fortunes. He saw
his friends prosperous and happy around him, and his absent brother,
for professional talents and enterprize, was promoted to command a
frigate; while his uncle, Captain Wentbridge, who had intended to
divide a considerable property among the children of his sister,
with a mere honorary legacy to his brother, who required or wanted
no pecuniary addition, now destined his second nephew his heir, as
both Hamilton and Lady Hambden had so very ample provisions. Our hero
prevailed on his mother, to accept of as much addition to her income,
as could afford her the comfort of a carriage. He himself persevered
with his literary engagements, and notwithstanding his parliamentary
occupations, completed them within the specified time. Besides the
nine hundred pounds for the three volumes, he had to receive about one
hundred and fifty pounds of a balance on other accounts. As he now had
no occasion to earn profits from literary labours, he resolved to apply
the proceeds to a purpose of the highest consequence to the advancement
of literature. He presented the sum, in all a thousand guineas, to
that WISE AND BENEFICIAL INSTITUTION--THE LITERARY FUND. Placed in
such hands, he knew it would be employed with combined benignity
and discrimination; and that when enlightened dispensers of bounty
administer relief, they so model the donation and mode, as to alleviate
distress without wounding ingenuous sensibility.
The good fortune of Hamilton was pleasing to many of his acquaintances,
and to all his ABLE literary associates. These trusting to their
own efforts and fame, had no motives for repining at the success
of another. But a considerable number of _professed_ votaries of
literature were enraged at his prosperity, though not ill-pleased that
it withdrew him from a field, in which they had the folly to look on
him as a competitor. Of those who were the most violently provoked
against that Providence that elevated Hamilton, the most incessantly
querulous, and furiously acrimonious, was poor Doctor Dicky Scribble,
who was now at as great pains to vilify the parliamentary exhibitions
of Hamilton, as he formerly had been to revile his literary works.
This virulence Dicky poured out in the midst of warm professions of
friendship. Hence many may suppose, that Dicky Scribble is a very
faithless and bad man. He is not so naturally; he is only so from
the accident of situation. _Scribble is a bad man, because he is a
bad writer_; he pours out calumny, not against all, for all do not
interfere with him; but against all writers or intellectual labourers
of growing or established reputation. He calls on them “with no
friendly voice, but to tell them in his darkness how he hates their
light.” Poor Dicky not only supposes himself to have _common sense_,
and that is _straining hypothesis much too far_, but in an infatuation
of self-conceit, bordering upon insanity, fancies himself to be above
ordinary mediocrity; and, astonishing to say, even dreams he is a
man of genius; a notion that proves the justness of one of Swift’s
observations--“That there is no proposition so absurd, but that it will
be believed by some of mankind.” The Doctor is the more enraged against
Hamilton, because he is enraged against his own situation. The world in
general, or at least that part of it which happens to know any thing
of Scribble and his writings, have unfortunately found out that he is
a mere plodding literary blockhead. The booksellers know this opinion,
and none of them now give him any employment, except one or two, who
have some compassion on him, since they conceived him in his labours
an indefatigable drudge. They allow him something for his subsistence,
from the same generous motives which induce a liberal farmer to allow
to his _exhausted donkies_, the run of some of his poorer fields, and
an ass can feed very comfortably on thistles. Dicky is at present
occupied in writing a treatise, to prove that neither Pitt nor Fox,
have any more than common abilities; and that both are deplorably
deficient in eloquence.
Billy Nincompoop, of the Gallimatia Press, still employs Scribble in
the novel line; but as there is said to be a great want of work among
milliners, from the hardness of the times, in the journey-women Dicky
will find formidable rivals. Nincompoop, I am credibly informed, has
two hundred and fifty new romances just a-coming.
The husband of the worthy friend at Brighton, of a gay Countess, still
goes on in his former and manifold occupations; and it is confidently
asserted, is now as upright an honest man, as ever he was since he came
to the years of maturity. His wife is equally disposed to accommodate
visitors, either in person or by proxy: of latter years, proxy has
been the principal mode.
The Countess of Cockatrice, trained up to a certain course in her
youth, when old has not deviated. In her grand climacteric, her objects
and pursuits are the same, as in the charming minor climacteric of her
teens. Her worthy vassal, Mrs. Dicky, still follows lords and ladies;
but as she rather gets old, and less active, her influence decreases
apace.--Lord Bayleaf was, some months ago, reported to be on the brink
of eternity; but it was found that he still stuck fast by his very old
friend Time. It is said, a splendid epitaph was prepared for his tomb;
that the inscription recites the years he has lived upon earth, the
extent of his possessions, his opportunities of doing good, and the
good that he has done, concluding with a text, happily descriptive of
the rewards that await the devout and benevolent--“Thy prayers and
thine alms shall go before thee, as memorials to the throne of God.”
What a multiplicity of such testimonies may this pious and generous
man, in looking back on his well-spent life, expect to hail his arrival
in the regions of bliss!
Captain Mortimer, worn out by infirmities more than age, has retired
from actual service; but still likes the neighbourhood of his favourite
element. He has disposed of his house, on the coast of Sussex, there
being nothing interesting, he observes, either about Brighton or
Worthing, where you hardly ever see a ship, unless one or two from
Shoreham dock, and these only small craft. Ramsgate he tried, and
allowed that the prospect of the Downs was most charming to any one,
who had never seen Plymouth Sound or Spithead. At length he fixed his
residence in the slope of Portsdown hill, whence, from his windows,
he can descry and reckon the ships at Spithead and St. Helen’s. His
bed-room, in a high part of the house, commands the same prospect;
and his old servant, Ben Reef, enters his room every morning at seven
(if it be day-light), to place the telescope between the bed and the
window, that without rising earlier than nine, his now usual hour, he
may ascertain departures and arrivals. Fondly attached to the memory
of his glorious profession, to which he was himself a distinguished
honour, he, nevertheless, pays due regard to the various duties of
social life; and Hampshire contains not a more hospitable and friendly
man; a more benignant and generous benefactor; a more bountiful
supporter of the poor, than this gallant veteran, who having employed
his active life, in serving his king and country, now unqualified for
such efforts, employs the same ardour in benefiting his fellow-subjects
and countrymen. Such is our veteran seaman. Our hero, and all his
friends, use every effort in their power, to shew their love and
respect for such a valuable character.
His brother, ‘Squire Mortimer, though two years older, and not
originally stronger in constitution, yet never having had such
hardships to encounter, is, at sixty-seven, hale and vigorous, and
resides upon his estate. He is still very assiduous in agricultural
pursuits, and has greatly improved his estate. His son John possesses
the estate of his wife, who has brought him several children. She
lately lost her mother. In 1796, Mortimer having a borough at command,
came into parliament, and makes a considerable figure, though scarcely
equal to Sir Edward Hambden, and much inferior to Hamilton.
The venerable old Mr. Wentbridge lived to the great age of
eighty-eight, and died in the most tranquil resignation, leaving his
property equally divided between his three children. His second son,
the Captain, followed him in about six months, bequeathing thirty
thousand pounds to his maritime nephew, one thousand each for a ring
to his brother, his sister, Lady Hambden, and our hero; and dividing
his patrimonial two thousand between his brother and sister. Within
the year he was followed by his brother, who left to his sister both
his father’s and brother’s bequests. A landed property of five hundred
a year he left to his elder nephew, burdened with a jointure of two
hundred and fifty pounds a year to his sister; he left five thousand
pounds each to Captain Hamilton and Lady Hambden.
The old laird of Etterick survived his daughter near six years, and
confessed he was much more comfortable now, than ever he had been since
he was a bachelor. He rarely spoke of the Sourkrouts, either mother
or daughter; and seeing the happiness of William and Maria, Hambden
and Charlotte, and contrasting these ladies with his mother-in law
and wife, he thought he must have been wrong in his original notion,
that the supreme object in marriage is a _well-tochered lass_. Even
his daughter, he could not call to mind, without pain and humiliation;
and therefore called her to mind as little as possible. Often he told
his old friend, the parson, that Providence ordered every thing for
the best. The old gentleman accompanied his nephew to visit Mr. Burke,
whose astonishing powers, as versatile as gigantic, met the nephew
on all the depths of learning and philosophy, and in all the details
and principles of existing politics; met his uncle on spring wheat,
barley, and horse beans; on the different operations and effects of
turnips and hay in fattening cattle; and treated these subjects with a
minuteness and circumstantiality, which hardly any hind could equal;
and surpassed the laird himself, though one of the best farmers in
Scotland. When alone with his nephew, the uncle declared, he did not
believe there was a more sensible man in the world. “He might give a
lesson to Andrew Peebles our _grieve_ (land-bailiff), who has not his
match in _aw_ Tweedle, the Forest, or Tiviotdale.” Etterick, some years
after, expressed deep regret for the death of his Beaconsfield host;
the best farmer, he said, with whom he had ever conversed. The old
gentleman himself, within two years after, departed this life; and the
Scottish rents having still rapidly risen, the whole property exceeded
ten thousand a-year.
Sir Edward and Lady Hambden had a son and heir, born soon after
Hamilton’s first exhibition in parliament; and several sons and
daughters since that time. For the last three years, neither Sir
Edward nor Hamilton have taken any share in the parties of the times;
they conscientiously support every measure which they think calculated
for the good of the country, and in their respective spheres of moral
influence, have, since the commencement of the war, been extremely
active, in inspiriting and invigorating military energy, and in
disciplining the corps which they respectively command. They both
retain a high veneration for Mr. Pitt, and are on the most friendly
terms with the present ministers. Lady Hambden, reflecting on her first
and her last predilection, though she entertains a high respect for
the talents and character of Mortimer, is nevertheless convinced, that
Hambden is much better fitted for communicating domestic happiness to a
woman of her cast and dispositions.
Sir Edward’s sister, Mrs. Raymond, is thoroughly reconciled with her
husband; and by the sincerity of her penitence, and her exemplary
discharge of every duty of virtue and religion, in all the departments
and relations in which she stands in society, does whatever frail human
nature can do, to atone for vice, which, though temporary and short,
was heinous. She, her husband, brother, and all her friends, bless the
day that brought Hamilton and his party, to view the White Horse on
Cherril Downs.
Captain Henry Hamilton was engaged in most of the glorious enterprizes
that distinguished the last war. Under Jervis he acquired high renown,
off St. Vincent’s; and some months after, being sent into harbour,
he was no sooner refitted, than he was dispatched to the North Seas;
and was one of those, who, at Camperdown, followed Duncan’s example,
in breaking the line. The first of August, 1798, brought him to the
mouth of the Nile; there he was wounded, but not dangerously. The
following year, he, under Admiralty orders, cruised on the coasts of
France and Spain; and though he had no opportunity, from the timidity
of the enemy, of attacking any of their war ships, he captured a
Spanish galleon; his share of which far exceeded his succession from
Capt. Wentbridge. At the expiration of the war, he came to arrange his
money concerns, and visit his brother in London. His property in all,
little short of a hundred thousand pounds, when vested in the funds at
a very low price; rose near thirty per cent. by the peace. He sold out,
and purchased a very considerable estate, in the charming vicinity of
Doncaster. While at his brother’s, ‘Squire Mortimer, and his unmarried
daughter, arrived on a visit to William and Maria. The young lady was
a handsome accomplished girl, about three and twenty; the Captain, a
tall, portly, manly, handsome, but weather-beaten seaman, near a dozen
years older, was captivated by her appearance, and frankly told her his
sentiments; nor did she listen with displeasure: in a few weeks the
nuptials were solemnized.
Hamilton and his Maria, the longer they know each other, are the more
tenderly endeared; and have no less than five pledges of affection,
besides one or two whom they lost in infancy. Charles, the eldest,
is now thirteen; received a considerable part of his education at an
eminent seminary in Kensington, of which the head, though master of
an academy, is really a scholar and a gentleman, and totally above
the _custom hunting_ devices of _hawking and peddling_ schoolmasters.
Thence he went to Harrow, where he now makes a very eminent figure in
the fourth form, and also distinguishes himself, like his father, at
the various athletic exercises. Two of his brothers are under the care
of his late master, where they have been also joined by their cousin
Hambden. Miss Hamilton, now in the twelfth year of her age, has been as
fortunately placed as her brothers; having, for several years, been at
Blackland’s house; and under the tuition of the able, discriminating,
skilful, and prudent governess of that eminent seminary, makes rapid
proficiency in the intellectual and moral parts of education, and
in its ornamental accomplishments and external graces; and both in
important and engaging qualifications, she bids fair to equal her
estimable and charming mother, whom she already strikingly resembles,
in the beauties of her face and person. The youngest, a daughter, is
still at home. William, and his Maria, the former only thirty-nine,
and the latter thirty four, are still as handsome a couple as are to
be seen in any private party, or even in any place of public resort.
Unlike the fashionable indifference of too many modern couples, William
and his Maria, in all their relaxations and amusements, are to be seen
together. At assemblies, plays, operas, park, and gardens, you rarely
see the one without the other. Thence they have sometimes experienced
the tittering whispers of levity, or the sneers of envy; but without
discomposure, or even the smallest notice. Both the Hambdens and
Hamiltons dare to support in the face of frivolity and folly, the
dignity of virtuous love.
FINIS.
Printed by A Strahan, Printers-Street.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] See Missionary Travels and Adventures through Scotland, published
in 1799 by James Haldane and Co. in their Expedition to detach the
Scottish Flocks from their established Pastors. Not having the treatise
before us, we cannot exactly quote the pages to which the above
remark alludes, but, to the best of our remembrance, the scene is the
Orkneys, soon after the panegyrising account of the soldier that,
having deserted his drum, had betaken himself to preaching, immediately
before the chapter wherein an unbeliever is converted to the new
faith by stumbling over a cow. From this context, which our imperfect
recollection supplies, the reader of the above work will be able to
find the illustrative passages.
[2] Not exactly a fool, but a gaping, staring, stupid fellow.
[3] To elderly matrons, who in their youth had given way to sentimental
sensibility, stories of love and gallantry are sadly fascinating: they
are, to use the language of Ossian, _the memory of joys that are past_,
pleasing, yet melancholy to the soul.
[4] Marlborough was anciently called Cunetio, situated on the side
of the river Kennet; its present name was probably derived from the
word marle, or chalk, with which the neighbouring hills abound. Its
history under the Saxons is unknown. It consists principally of one
broad street, and one other from the bridge to the town-hall. It is
a corporation, with a mayor, aldermen, burgesses, and town clerk: it
sends two members to parliament, and has a weekly market on Saturday.
John, surnamed Lackland, (afterwards king,) had a castle here, which,
on his revolt from his brother Richard I. was stormed by Hubert,
archbishop of Canterbury. In this castle was held the assembly of the
states of the kingdom, who passed the famous law for suppressing riots,
commonly called, The Statutes of Marlborough. In Camden’s time it was
become a heap of ruins, with only a few fragments of walls remaining
within the ditch. A mansion was built on the spot by the Earl of
Hertford, which, for fifty years, had been let as an inn, called the
castle: the keep was converted into a mount, for a summer-house in the
garden.
[5] Reading is the most considerable trading town in the county, and
contains three parish churches, about two thousand houses, and nine
thousand four hundred and twenty inhabitants. Some years since, an act
of parliament was obtained to new pave the streets, an improvement
which was much wanted; and a new market has been built on the west side
of the market place, for the accommodation of butchers, poulterers,
&c. in the most convenient manner, and first opened for public use in
December, 1800. The Kennet, in passing through the town, besides the
main stream, which is navigable for barges, throws off two branches, on
which there are some considerable flour-mills.
[6] A handicraft methodist preacher prayed for _a pair of breeches_; a
pair was the next day sent.
[7] These are the words of a noted biographer, concerning a no less
noted subject,--_his own wife_!
Corrections
The first line indicates the original, the second the correction.
p. 11
may be justy considered not only as venerable
may be justly considered not only as venerable
p. 15
the offering of the the Magi;
the offering of the Magi;
p. 26
Designed by Sir John Vanburgh,
Designed by Sir John Vanbrugh,
p. 71
He to, by some means, has succeeded
He too, by some means, has succeeded
p. 159
We may observe a vast similiarity of
We may observe a vast similarity of
p. 211
The canditates for these
The candidates for these