Title: Modern literature: a novel, Volume II (of 3)
Author: Bisset, Robert
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.


*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Modern literature: a novel, Volume II (of 3)" ***

This book is indexed by ISYS Web Indexing system to allow the reader find any word or number within the document.

VOLUME II (OF 3) ***



Transcriber’s note

Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of the changes made
can be found at the end of the book. Formatting and special characters
are indicated as follows:

_italic_



                          MODERN LITERATURE:

                              _A NOVEL_,

                           IN THREE VOLUMES.

                               VOL. II.

                        By ROBERT BISSET, L.L.D.

                          Non ignota loquor.

                                LONDON:
                PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES,
                           PATERNOSTER-ROW.

                                 1804.



Printed by A. Strahan, Printers-Street.



                               CONTENTS

                                  OF

                           THE SECOND VOLUME.


   CHAP. X.

  _Description of Brighton in the latter Years of the Eighteenth
  Century. Prospect from the Church. Ideas suggested by Ships sailing
  towards the Thames, the Reservoir of English Opulence, by the distant
  Isle of Wight, calling to us by Association, Portsmouth the Reservoir
  of English Strength. Brighton itself. Its Situation and Conveniences.
  Chief ostensible Pursuits. Bathing. Regulations suggested. Anecdotes.
  General Objects of Brighton Visitants. Occupations of Brighton
  illustrated by a Journal of a Day. Morning. Sea Beach, and Cliffs.
  Breakfast. Libraries, to hear the London News. Spontaneous Elocution
  of Newspaper Orators. Spontaneous Instructions of Newspaper
  Politicians. Military Spectacles on the Parade. The Steyne.
  Charming Women resemble Venus in Beauty, and almost in its Display.
  Perambulations. Historical Anecdotes of Brighton. Honoured by the
  Presence of Charles II. Not unworthy of that gallant Monarch: return
  to the Hair-Dresser: hear the Narratives of that communicative Person.
  Dinner, Soals, Turbot, Down Mutton excellent. Wine not so good. Walks,
  Tea, attend Ladies to the Steyne. Moonlight Lucubrations there.
  Adjourn to the Library. Toys and Dice. Hamilton becomes acquainted
  with Captain Mortimer, Maria’s Uncle. The Mortimers move from his Seat
  to Brighton._                                                   Page 1

   CHAP. XI.

  _The Party visits the Steyne. Particular Description of that
  Rendezvous. They repair to the Library. A Governante complains of
  a Milliner that had not kept her Distance. Anxiety greatest about
  Precedence, where there is none to settle. Our Hero meets Mr.
  Scribble, a voluminous and noted Author: introduces him to his Party,
  and invites him to Supper. Scribble harangues the Company. The Party
  breaks up. Hamilton and Mortimer again meet with Scribble, who gives
  an Account of the wonderful Extent of his Erudition. He knows every
  thing, and writes on every Subject: instructs his Hearers that all are
  inferior to himself. He denies the Praise of Genius to those to whom
  it is universally allowed. He departs. Hamilton unfolds to Mortimer
  his real Talents and Abilities. Describes him as a mere Drudge and
  Bookmaker._                                                    Page 28

   CHAP. XII.

  _The Party repairs to the Library. Doctor Fatgoose harangues on
  Public Affairs. Dispute between him and Captain Mortimer. The Parade.
  Application of a Soldier for Leave of Absence, being engaged that
  Evening to preach. Granted. Scribble dines with Hamilton’s Party:
  entertains the Company with an Harangue about himself. His History
  of Jack the Giant-Killer. Scribble’s own Praises of his own History.
  Criticisms upon others. Mr. O’Rourke’s Admiration of Scribble,
  consults him on the Subject of Methodism. Visit to Shoreham. Return.
  Party to the Promenade Grove. Account of the Company. A charming
  and exemplary Lady of high Rank. A charming Lady not so exemplary.
  The Countess of Cockatrice. A military Nobleman who unites the Hero,
  Scholar, and the Statesman. Another as a Lawyer, eminent for masculine
  Understanding. Lord Bayleaf an old Beau: ogles the Ladies. Dialogue
  with the Cockatrice. Persons of lower Rank. Kit Cotton, a Citizen,
  retired to live upon his Fortune. His Account of his rural Prospects,
  from his House at Kingsland Turnpike._                         Page 47

   CHAP. XIII.

  _O’Rourke makes a new Sally in quest of Methodistical Adventures.
  Party to the Theatre. Scribble there meets his Friend and Employer,
  Bil Nincompoop the Bookseller. They depart to sup together. Bil
  catechises Scribble on the various Pieces which he is manufacturing.
  Farther literary Plans. Dispute between the Master and Journeyman:
  happily composed by Punch. Excursion of Hamilton and his Party to
  Worthing. They meet the Methodist Errant with a Female ’Squire.
  Letters that waited Hamilton on his Return to Brighton. Mortimer and
  he repair to the Library. There find Mr. Scribble instructing the
  celebrated Mrs. Somerive on the Rules of Novel Writing._       Page 77

   CHAP. XIV.

  _Party at Captain Mortimer’s. Mrs. Somerive one of the Company.
  Conversation. Discussion of that Lady’s Orphan of Pembroke. Succession
  of Songs, and their Effects on the different Sentiments and
  Feelings. A Letter in a Woman’s Hand is brought to Hamilton, while
  sitting by Maria. Uneasiness of the young Lady. Hamilton leaves the
  Company. Greatly agitated, Maria retires. Dialogue between her and
  Hamilton’s Sister Charlotte on Constancy. Hamilton has an Interview
  with his Correspondent who proves to be the Countess of Cockatrice.
  Accommodating Complaisance of the Lady of the Toy-Shop. Hamilton is
  visited by Scribble, brim-full of Joy. He announces that he is now
  dubbed a Doctor by the University of Aberdeen. Hamilton explains his
  Absence to the Satisfaction of Maria._                        Page 104

   CHAP. XV.

  _The Ball. Schemes of Lady Cockatrice for rendering Maria jealous. The
  Company adjourn to Supper. Scribble is introduced in a Dress, which he
  says is becoming his new Title. Description of the Doctor’s Dress, and
  a philosophical View of its Effects on juvenile Feelings. Attentions
  of Sir Edward Hamden to Miss Mortimer. Miss Primrose becomes attached
  to Hamilton. Hamden pays his Addresses to Miss Mortimer. Both Hamilton
  and Maria highly esteem the Baronet’s Character, and concert Means for
  explaining to him the Truth._                                 Page 113

   CHAP. XVI.

  _Doctor Scribble becomes acquainted with the Baronet, and undertakes
  to instruct him in his Parliamentary Duty. He expounds to him his
  own (Doctor Scribble’s) Talents and Erudition: shews the Baronet a
  Specimen of Tours, in the Memoirs of his Excursion to Berkshire:
  proposes to write Speeches for Sir Edward: declares himself far
  superior to Charles Fox. Hamden declines the oratorial Help of Doctor
  Scribble. The Baronet joined by Hamilton, whom he is obliged to
  leave abruptly. Evening Walk of Hamilton to Shoreham Bridge: learns
  that a dispersed Gang of Smugglers has commenced Footpad Robberies.
  Nevertheless he sets out on his Return. A dismal Report reaches
  Brighton; and is heard by Maria. Frantic Grief of the young Lady.
  John Mortimer repairs to the Downs, which is said to be the Scene of
  the Catastrophe: finds Stillness and Solitude: perceives a Figure
  approach: he hears a Voice. Consternation and Dread. The Figure passes
  on. Mortimer returns to his Father and Uncle. A Voice is heard at the
  Window calling John Mortimer. They conceive it the Voice of their
  murdered Friend. Morning opens. Despair of Maria. Mortimer receives
  a Visit, which renews his Consternation. At length convinced of his
  Mistake, the Mystery is solved. Hamilton explains the Adventure.
  Heroism of a Soldier of the 42d. Joined with the Valour of Hamilton,
  saved Hamden from being murdered. Gratitude of the Baronet. His Wound
  mends but slowly. Maria’s Concern entirely dispelled. The Mortimers
  and Hamiltons return to London._                              Page 159

   CHAP. XVII.

  _Hamilton resumes his literary Pursuits: engages in Criticism.
  Indulgence of young and gallant Reviewers to fair Writers. Miss
  Lacecap, the Milliner, brings a Novel for Hamilton’s Inspection. Her
  Reason for writing. Story of the Maze of Marbles taken from Pyramid
  and Thisby. Praises of Sentiment. Remarks on the Word “Error.”
  Introduction of the Marvellous to English Works of Amusement._
                                                                Page 197

   CHAP. XVIII.

  _Hamilton engages in a great Work. John Mortimer obtains an
  Appointment on the Continent. Hamden arrives in Town, and renews
  his Addresses to Maria. He conceives that Hamilton is to become
  the Husband of Miss Primrose. She and her Mother entertain the
  same Opinion. The Countess of Cockatrice promotes this Report. Her
  Ladyship’s Reasons. Motives, Objects, and progressive Rise of a
  Toad-Eater, illustrated in the Case of Mrs. Dicky. She is employed by
  the Countess of Cockatrice, to prevent the Marriage between Hamilton
  and Maria. Countess of Cockatrice proposes to give a Masquerade,
  and instructs the Toad-Eater for the Occasion. Dinner-Party at Mrs.
  Dicky’s. She sees Masks in the Evening. The Masquerade. The Labours of
  the Countess and the Toad-Eater rendered abortive._           Page 225

   CHAP. XIX.

  _Interview of Hamilton with Doctor Scribble and Mr. Lawhunt. Scribble
  praises German Literature; and imputes his own super-eminent
  Excellence to his Imitation of Germans. Mr. Lawhunt’s Account of his
  own Avocations. Scheme of Dr. Scribble and him for naturalizing German
  Plays and Novels. A Specimen of one of these Works translated by Dr.
  Scribble. Hurlobothrumbo, a Tragedy, with Music, Ghosts, Ghouls,
  &c. Farther Samples of German Literature. New Mode of making Love.
  Friendly Condescension of an Earthquake. Specimens of the Morality
  of German Plays. Apprehensions of Lawhunt from Visitors worse than
  Ghosts. Hasty Departure. Our Hero meets Strongbrain. William’s
  Estimate of Dr. Scribble._                                    Page 265

   CHAP. XX.

  _Interview between Hamilton and Hamden. Hamilton unbosoms himself.
  Liberal and generous Conduct of Sir Edward. The Baronet undertakes to
  conciliate the elder Mortimers. Disappointment and Regret of these
  Gentlemen, but they at length consent. Preparations for the Marriage
  of Hamilton and Maria. Schemes of the Countess of Cockatrice for
  preventing the Nuptials. Agents of Defamation. Blackball undertakes
  a Chain of slanderous Paragraphs against Maria. Defamation. Skilful
  Progression of Calumny. Discovered by Hamilton. With the Assistance
  of Sir Edward he pursues and ferrets the Author, whom full Confession
  respites from the Pillory. Hamilton is united to his Maria._  Page 301



MODERN LITERATURE.



CHAPTER X.


BRIGHTON is situated on a declivity descending from the South Downs, a
ridge of hills, which rising near the east coast of Kent, runs along
the Channel to Hampshire, where gradually declining into woodlands,
it at last terminates in fertile valleys. There are three approaches
to the town from London; two winding between the hills by Lewes and
Cuckfield; the third across the ridge by Henfield. From the last, as
you come near the town, the prospect is extremely striking on every
side. You have been contemplating the Downs, which appeared like a
line of bulwarks, guarding the rich and beautiful vale of Sussex.
Before you, opens to your view the sea, which serves as a grand fence
to the power, property, and independence of England, with a distant
view of ships wafting from the various quarters of the globe wealth,
the remuneration of industry. Pursuing these to the left, you attend
them beyond Beachyhead, carrying riches towards London, their principal
emporium. Turning your eyes next to the right, you descry the Isle of
Wight, which naturally suggests the idea of Portsmouth; and of British
strength securing British opulence. Descending, under you is the town
of Brighton, which, beginning in an eminence, declines towards the
south-east in a regular and gradual sweep to the Steyne, a beautiful
lawn, bounded by the cliff. Thence it again rises along the cliff
with a gentle ascent to the eastward. An amphitheatrical range of
hills protects the town from the boisterous assaults of the north and
north-easterly winds; on the west, extensive cornfields gradually and
beautifully slope, from the Downs towards the sea.

The chief _ostensible_ object of visiting Brighton being sea-bathing,
that operation commences the employment of the morning; and the whole
beach is covered with persons, either preparing for the immersion, or
enjoying themselves with the salutary air of the sea.

When the tide is up, the water comes very near the cliff; and the
bathing would, to scrupulous minds, appear offensive to decency; but
rigid strictness being totally unsuitable to the pursuits of Brighton
relaxation, this objection, whatever it might be in theory, has
evidently no practical weight. The ladies seem far from averse to the
contemplation; and the cliffs are never more the scenes of female
resort. Here indeed a young miss may learn more in a week than a
boarding-school, with even the assistance of a circulating library,
could teach her in a year. Objects _seen_, as the poet well observes,
are much more impressive than those heard as subjects of discourse.

  “Segniùs _irritant_ animos, demissa per aures,
  Quàm quæ sunt _oculis subjecta_ fidelibus.”

Were this public exposure disagreeable to the visitants of Brighton,
it might be easily prevented by a police vigilant in the execution of
duty. Men might be compelled to confine their bathing to an early hour
in the morning, and to keep in the wake of the machines, especially in
_shallow_ water. But it may be questioned, whether this reform would
answer the beneficial purpose of drawing out more ladies to enjoy the
morning sea; at least, it has not been heard that any of them have been
frightened by the present mode of exhibition. Gentlemen, it must be
allowed, are in this particular so far correct, that they rarely bathe
so publicly but at an early hour; but footmen, grooms, and persons of
the same rank, choose to display themselves, without any machines, at
the middle of the day, when the company naturally assemble on the beach
to cool themselves by the sea-breeze.

The presentments before that scene of elegant resort, the marine
library, are little less inconsistent with decency, than if the
exhibitions were made on the Steyne, to the company collected under
Mr. Gregory’s piazzas. A librarian lately endeavoured to remove this
spectacle, but by a very inadequate mode. To prevent these men from
shewing themselves naked to the ladies, he attempted to take away all
their clothes. Baffled in an essay, which, if successful, was so little
calculated to remove the evil, he was seized by the exhibitors, and
plunged into the element which they had left. The suffering incurred
by his meritorious regard for decency did not, it is said, excite the
sympathy and compassion which might have been expected. Many did not
stick to say, that he deserved it by his officiousness in endeavouring
to avenge insults offered to female delicacy, of which female delicacy
itself by no means complained.

Whatever individual diversities of character are to be found at
Brighton, in one quality all the visitors agree, that is idleness.
Tradesmen, merchants, scholars, lawyers, senators, and statesmen; in
short, men accustomed to close application and constant industry at
their respective homes, here do nothing. To such, relaxation must
be useful, by affording them fresh vigour when they return to their
employments. But to mere fine gentlemen, and other habitual loungers,
who have nothing to do, at least do nothing at any time, or in any
place, it is doubtful if it can afford the same recreation. To them its
variety is merely local; the whole change is removal from the banks of
the Thames to the coast of the Channel; from lounging uselessness in
Bond-street, to lounging uselessness on the Steyne.

The inhabitants, though successfully busy, are engaged in occupations
administering to idleness. If they do work, their labour is by no means
productive, and adds nothing to the useful stock of the community.
Their chief manufactures are toys; their principal commerce is
gambling; every shop in Brighton, the bookseller’s, the fruiterer’s,
the coal-merchant’s, the milliner’s, the tallow-chandler’s, the
perfumer’s, the apothecary’s, and the undertaker’s, is a toy-shop, and
a gambling shop.

From bathing, the visitors return to breakfast, when just and high
praises are bestowed on the excellent bread, and the no less excellent
butter that comes from the Sussex valleys and Downs, enhanced by the
keen appetite which the healthy air produces. Exquisite honey also
convinces the visitors that the Georgics of Sussex are favourable to
bees, as well as to pasturage and agriculture. The rest of the morning
is passed either in the toy shops and walks of Brighton, or in land
and water excursions to the neighbouring towns and villages. The days
not devoted to peregrinations have an uniformity so great, that a
diary of one may almost serve for an account of the whole season. The
hours from seven to nine are usually spent in bathing and walking on
the beach and cliff; from nine till ten is occupied by breakfast, and
waiting the arrival of the post; letters not only of business, but of
amusement, and even of frivolity, serving to relieve unoccupied minds
from vacuity. At ten we set out in quest of food and of knowledge.
Attended by the cook, we betake ourselves to the market, to examine
the price and quality of fish and of meat. Having provided for dinner,
and thus made dispositions for preserving ourselves, we next with
laudable patriotism proceed to inquire into the means of preserving
our country. Having concluded our dispatches to the kitchen, we cross
over to the library, to peruse the London Evening papers, and give
judgment on the conduct of the various cabinets of Europe. Reading and
thinking being burdens too heavy to be borne by most of the Brighton
visitors, we are fortunate enough to meet in the library gentlemen
most generously disposed to relieve us from the trouble of both. Some
accomplished person, eminent for his elocution, with benevolence the
more meritorious, because unsolicited, undertakes to pronounce aloud
the contents of these repositories of intelligence; employing dignity
of emphasis, he reads a paragraph about fashionable dresses with a
solemnity of diction that might suit the recitations of Adam’s prayer
in Paradise Lost; perhaps too, while displaying the splendour of his
genius in his oratorial powers, he may also exhibit the exquisiteness
of his taste in the brilliant which plays from his finger, or the
cravat which he adjusts while enforcing delivery by the graces of
action: though he reads much, he does not read all. Anxious expectants
press for a perusal of his omissions. One old gentleman, after ogling
the ladies, is impelled by sad recollection, to examine the generous
offers of those worthy and philanthropic persons, who undertake to
brace the relaxed nerves, renovate age, and invigorate debility. A
smart youth, in boots and buckskin breeches, seeking moral perfection,
reads its description, in an account of a bald filly, _free from vice_.
A young lady, pale and pensive, earnestly searches for a consolatory
address to those who dread _the consequences of an unguarded moment_.

The text being finished, next comes the comment. While committees are
formed to discuss the merits of a ball, or a gala, celebrated by the
dispensers of news, to criticise the poetry of a song, copied from a
new play, or rather to read and repeat the criticisms already given,
to fill up the blanks in a newly published intimation of crim. con. to
guess who and who are together, with digressive annotations concerning
those who probably have been together; some grave doctor contemning the
announced virtues of horses, or vices of wives, undertakes to expound
the politics of the day; being unanimously appointed by himself,
to inform and instruct the company. In a voice loud, solemn, and
authoritative, as when arrayed in his canonicals, he pronounces the
peremptory creed of Saint Athanasius, he says; “Let me tell you, the
ruin of this country is disregard for authority; there is a restless
spirit in the people to think for themselves, without duly venerating
their priests; the people have nothing to do with the laws but to obey
them: all the distress of Europe arises from the multitude pretending
to inquire and reason on subjects beyond their capacity: I have little
hope of the happy restoration of the crown and mitre, to that splendour
and power which are justly due to them, until the multitude shall
be re-taught a becoming reverence for their spiritual superiors.”
After this exordium (intended to over-awe his hearers into an humble
submission to whatever petitions he may be pleased to advance), the
self-created preceptor proceeds to unfold to us the various secrets of
the London, Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and Petersburgh cabinets; the views
and intentions of the belligerent powers; and expounds to us the state
of the whole political hemisphere.

By half-past eleven, the affairs of Europe being settled, the drum and
trumpet summon us from the diurnal exercise of the politician, to the
diurnal exercise of the soldier. From the Steyne we walk up to the
parade, and in the now well-known sounds of “Handle arms, ease arms;”
our own parish, and our own corps, is recalled to our minds. From
this sweet recollection of our own warlike progress and achievements,
returning to contemplate the exhibitions before us, we admire the
readiness, ability, and skill with which the soldiers perform their
evolutions. Not a few of us conclude, that the military instructor
who teaches them to handle arms, knows his business better than the
political instructor in the library, who professes to handle the
counsels of statesmen.

Returning to the Steyne, instead of the spectacles, we have now time
and opportunity to observe its late spectators. A more lovely groupe
is rarely to be seen; most charming women, with complexions freshened
by healthy air and exercise, their nerves braced by that element, from
which sprang the fair deity whom many of them equal in attractive
beauty; their thoughts free from the anxious cares of the evening,
when the momentous dice are to agitate the heart of eager expectants
of a toy. Their breasts and their eyes are animated by the sound of
martial music, and the sight of martial men; while they themselves,
like Venus, not only possessing but displaying charms, nearly approach
to that state in which statuaries exhibit the bewitching divinity: with
charms so transparent, who does not wish for a nearer approach? the
soft complacency of their lovely countenances, affords to sprightly
youth the reasonable hope, that they do not produce dainties like the
banquet that drew the eyes of the hapless Tantalus, destined only for
his sight, but withheld from his other senses. The Brighton fair come
not to inflict _such_ torments of the damned.

From the Steyne we walk along the beach, or perhaps crossing the Downs,
view the tomb-stones: here we learn that Charles the Second, of amorous
memory, chose, when escaping from the usurper, as the last English
stage of his flight, a place destined in future ages, as a testimony of
honour for his memory, to imitate the example of morals which he set
his subjects. Mingling incidental with appropriate history, we call
to mind exploits not unworthy of Charles himself: recapitulate the
feats of the Taylor of Brighton; and, perhaps, inquire whether, though
residing in England, he was not a native of Ireland. Descending, we
are received by the hair-dresser, whose narratives call our attention
from former to recent occurrences. From him we learn what fair lady has
most highly extolled and most liberally rewarded the lovely JEM[1]; who
had been the greatest gainers and losers by dice, cards, and billiards;
what new converts were made to methodism, with the causes and
circumstances of their conversion; in what new instances love inflamed
religious zeal.

Dinner soon after making its appearance, introduces the praises
of Brighton foals and turbots, mixed with severe censures against
the Brighton fishmongers, who though not an hundred yards from the
landing-place, where they purchase their wares from the fishermen,
exact a profit of _cent. per cent._ from the consumer. We now project
schemes for repressing extortion by combination; but as the execution
of such projects would require activity, and activity is no part of a
Brighton visitor’s purpose, we talk against extortioners, but suffer
them to go on in the old way. Our eulogiums on the Down mutton are
chequered by reproaches of the porter and ale, and followed by severe
invectives against the Brighton wine; invectives very unpatriotic,
because a native of our own country. Owing partly to the quality of
that beverage, and partly to a restless disposition, often arising
from idleness, we are very moderate as to quantity, and sit a very
short time at table. While our ladies repair to their toilets to make
dispositions for the evening campaign, we stroll towards the chalybeate
wells, or, taking the opposite direction, proceed to the race-ground
and signal post. Returning, we find our fair friends arrayed to their
minds. After tea, we accompany them to the place of destined resort
for finishing the amusements of the day; perhaps to the theatre, where
resorting for amusement, and not for criticism, we have a very good
chance of being pleased. Contemplating the company, we find dress no
more intended to cover than undress. We see the boxes quite a miniature
of London, containing a number of people, the greater part of whom
have met to converse, to look at one another and themselves, attending
as little to the stage almost as if it were a pulpit, from which
the preacher was inculcating moral virtue; unless there be a song,
or a Harlequin, when the spectators are as attentive as if they had
been listening to a methodistical hymn, or a methodistical preacher,
fervently inculcating the pleasures of spiritual love. Perhaps the
grove has been our choice, wherein the scenery of Vauxhall is happily
imitated, and also some of the amusements. Here, too, for those who
prefer retirement to company, there are _dark walks_. On chosen
evenings of supreme felicity, there are balls; which, presenting beaux
and belles dressed at each other, dancing at each other, talking and
simpering at each other, ogling at each other, squeezing at each other,
and making assignations with each other, we shall pass over, as neither
in the present operation, or future effects, containing any thing
peculiar to Brighton, or which does not happen when ever beaux and
belles join in so exhilarating a pastime. Perhaps, indeed, the bracing
air may increase their spirits and animation, and give more elasticity
to their movements.

But on common evenings dedicated to neither of the recreations
which we have just mentioned, we accompany our fair party to the
grand fashionable rendezvous on the Steyne. After promenading on
this delightful spot, hearing important and interesting remarks on
this one’s dress, and that one’s face, and t’other one’s ancles,
and listening to the music, first of the librarian’s concert, and
afterwards of a solo from a blind fidler, we adjourn to the library.
There the morning papers, now arrived from London, afford Mr. Spout
another opportunity of displaying his elocution; and Dr. Fatgoose his
political wisdom: but both now attract not the attention which their
morning efforts excited. The indolent indifference of early hours
now give place to the anxious cares of the night. Now the librarian
is considering the chances of the dice, preparing for the principal
business of a Brighton trader; in short, he is collecting his troops,
and making his dispositions for commencing the gaming, encouraged not
merely by the probable hope, but the undoubted certainty that whoever
may be entitled to the victory, he himself shall obtain the spoils.
As the general principle of gambling is to acquire our neighbour’s
property without giving him an equivalent, raffling, as practised at
the watering places, especially at Brighton, is dexterously calculated
for picking the pockets of visitors, in order to fill the pockets of
the inhabitants; and, indeed, is to Brighton shopkeepers a greater
source of revenue than any other craft which they exercise, with all
the benefit of monopoly and extortion. The raffle-holder gains without
any risk: his profits are always twofold, and by a little additional
dexterity of fraud, may be threefold. In the first place, the article
to be disposed of is a toy, which if sold in the shop, (or called for
gentility’s sake the library,) would at the retail price fetch about
double prime cost. But the subscription for the raffle is, in the
second place, at least double the retail amount: this is the second
profit. Thirdly, by the prescribed œconomy of Brighton raffles, the
subscribers do not all throw together, but at different times, as they
happen to be present. By adding a fictitious name, a librarian can
easily pretend that the name in question has thrown the winning number.
Thus, for instance, if a netting-box cost the raffle-holder one guinea,
if sold according to the rate of Brighton profits, it might fetch no
more than two guineas, but by raffle it will produce four; so that if
the real winner should be too sharp for the fictitious name to come in,
the holder has, at the worst, three guineas of clear profit, besides
the daily and almost hourly return of his money. Every subscription
for one shilling adds six-pence certain to the gambling branch of the
librarian’s revenue, besides three-pence more to the mercantile part,
in the exorbitant profits on the disposal of his goods. In the best
frequented raffle-rooms, 10_l._ a-day are subscribed, affording to the
owner, besides his profit on his stock, 30_l._ a-week for gambling
without risk.

Raffling occupies the chief concern of the evening till about nine
o’clock, when the various parties move either homewards, or to
some appointment or assignation, according to their situation and
dispositions.

Such was the substance of Hamilton’s account of the general state and
manners of Brighton: we shall now proceed to the particular incidents
and occurrences which regarded him or his party.

The Hamiltons found a commodious house at Russel-place, commanding a
very extensive prospect, that comprehended Anchorfield, the cottage
that now held Maria Mortimer. Having spent the morning after his
arrival in surveying the place, Hamilton rode over to the seat of
Captain Mortimer, who was prepossessed in his favour by the accounts
of his brother and nephew, and insisted on his staying to dinner; an
invitation which he most readily accepted. In the course of their
conversation, his host said, he recollected that when he was midshipman
aboard the Lion man of war, in 1759, there was a land-officer of his
name, a very brave and handsome fellow, who, with a party of soldiers,
was aboard their ship; and that the night proposed for ascending the
heights of Abraham, he had charge of a boat, in which Hamilton was the
first man that jumped ashore, and went up the precipice with Colonel
Howe. “I am told,” he added, “he very much distinguished himself. I
afterwards saw him once or twice, but never have heard of him since the
peace.” Hamilton, pleased with these praises, informed him, that the
Hamilton in question was his father. “By George, now I recollect it,
you are extremely like one another, and a fine youth he was: I remember
that after the town was taken, as he walked through the streets, the
French girls used to admire him so. I can tell you a comical story upon
that subject:”--but the entrance of a visitor interrupted the projected
narrative. Hamilton, in the course of the day, made great progress in
the good graces of the old naval hero. At the instance of William,
strongly seconded by the younger Mortimer, and not opposed by Maria,
the Captain agreed to spend a fortnight at Brighton, and the next day a
house was found in the vicinity of Mr. Hamilton.



CHAPTER XI.


IN the evening, the party repaired to the Steyne, which they found
almost covered with company, met to enjoy the cool sea-breeze, by the
clear rays of a harvest moon, to display themselves, criticise others,
and various purposes, according to their age, condition, circumstances,
or inclination. Here were lords and baronets, squires and merchants,
soldiers and sailors, physicians and counsellors, and dignitaries;
here were apothecaries, attorneys, and curates; here were tradesmen
and mechanics, and shopmen and journeymen; all with their respective
fair, from the duke to the barber, the duchess to the sempstress, all
on a footing of equality, under the general denomination of gentlemen
and ladies. Here if a fastidious grandee might feel indignant at
being elbowed or jostled by a shoemaker or taylor, the liberal and
enlightened patriot would rejoice in the consideration, that these
were all effects of a free and equitable constitution, which assures
to the industrious and skilful the fruits of their labour, enables
them to compensate the toils of their arduous exertions by occasional
relaxation, and braces their bodies and invigorates their minds for
future efforts beneficial to themselves and the public. But a grandee
is not the person most likely to feel or express displeasure at this
temporary intermixture of ranks; those are often the aptest to stand
upon points of precedence and dignity, who really have none to support.
An earl may with safety venture to walk from the Pavillion to Fisher’s
with his taylor, without any apprehension of being supposed the equal
of that taylor; but if a retired soap-boiler or oilman were to allow
Mr. Snip the same liberty, the case would be very different; they
might be presumed to be companions of the said taylor; which would
derogate from their supposed dignity, and would be more heinously
offensive to their respective wives. Jealousy is most commonly the
result of conscious deficiency; thence those are the most apprehensive
of contamination from persons whom they regard as _low_, who are really
in their situation or sentiments the most low themselves. This was
the view in which the Hamiltons, Wentbridges, and Mortimers, regarded
the present amalgamation. They beheld honest vulgarity of manners
as an object of sportive humour, when mingled with affectation, but
reserved contempt for meanness of conduct. Having enjoyed themselves
for an hour in this promenade, they retired into the library, where,
after having reconnoitred their fellow-visitors, and recollected
various faces they had seen on the Steyne, Mrs. Hamilton was joined
by two ladies, whom she recognized as neighbours, with whom she had
a slight acquaintance. These were Mrs. Pompous, who had formerly
kept a boarding-school near Mile-End, and her daughter, miss, now an
unwilling votary of the goddess Diana, and who had received, unasked,
the boon prayed for by Daphne, and would not, like that famed nymph,
have fled, even if the suitor had not been an Apollo. Mrs. Pompous
had, after her retirement from tuition, betaken herself to Southampton
Buildings, that she might be near her brother, a topping hosier by
the top of Shoe Lane. These ladies declared themselves very much
dissatisfied with Brighton, because there was so many _low_ people
there. “Them,” observed the veteran teacher, “are kind of creatures
that one wishes to _purtect_ or _sarve_, but not to meet cheeck by
jowl, when one comes to elegant society. Wilhelmina and I were quite
asheamed just now to meet Miss Furbelow, the mantuamaker, who, though
she knows our condition in life, had the folly to come up and speak
to us as frankly and freely as if she had been our own equals.” “I do
not think, mamma,” said miss, “that it was intentional presumption in
the girl, but rather the thoughtless ignorance of what is due to the
diversity of ranks in social life. You will observe, Mrs. Hamilton,”
continued miss in the true imperative tone of preceptorial habit, “that
there are different orders, situations, and professions in every
well constituted society.” “A very just observation,” said our hero.
Thus encouraged, she went on: “Now, I do think, that such diversity
of condition should be attended to, either at private parties, or
at public places; for instance, it might happen that Miss Furbelow,
(proceeded Miss Pompous,) and any of us might meet in a party, one
would behave civilly, and even with affability and condescension to
such a person; but then, she ought to know her distance.” Here Captain
Mortimer inquired how this Miss Furbelow conducted herself in company?
The answer came from Mrs. Hamilton, “Very properly and genteelly.”
“Is she the servant or dependent of the persons with whom she happens
to associate?” “Neither.” “Then I cannot see,” said the captain, “why
she is to receive affability or condescension from those with whom
she is on a footing of perfect equality.” Miss, accustomed to have
her dictates received as oracular truths, was much displeased with
this contradiction, and answered, with angry solemnity, “that these
were antediluvian notions, fit for the time of Queen Bess, not for
the present.” The captain assured her, “that with regard to Queen
Bess, as she called her, she was totally mistaken, both in fact and
history; that degradation of useful professions befitted the remains
of feudal ideas of those times much better than the enlightened wisdom
of the present ages.” Miss retorted, “that he was totally wrong, and
knew nothing of history when he talked so.” The captain, though acute,
intelligent, and liberal, had not that perfectly fashionable polish
which can completely command and disguise passions: he answered the
last observation contemptuously, but desisted from farther contest. A
person coming up, heartily shook our hero by the hand, and expressed
his joy at seeing him. This was a little man, seemingly about thirty,
five feet and an inch in height, tolerably well proportioned, so as in
person to be an abridged edition of a man, but with a countenance grave
and solemn. Without relaxing the serious turn of his features, he said
to Hamilton, “I am so happy to meet you, we shall have such food for
remark and observation.” “Ah! my friend Scribble,” said Hamilton, “I
had no expectations of meeting you in this place; we shall have such
criticism and satire, now that you are here: but come, Dicky, go home
and sup with us, and give some account of yourself.” He accordingly
introduced him to his mother, and the other party in general, but
more particularly to his friend John Mortimer. After they had reached
their house, taking John and Scribble into a back-parlour, he very
gravely presented Mortimer to Dicky; “This is Mr. Mortimer, a young
friend of mine, of abilities and literature, that will be very happy
to avail himself of an opportunity of being known to a gentleman of
Mr. Scribble’s immense, valuable, and diversified stores.” Scribble
kindly answered, “he should be extremely happy by his communications
to benefit the gentleman. Are you, sir, engaged in any work? because,
if you are, whatever the subject may be, I shall lay you down the
rules of composition.” Mortimer thanked him, but assured him, that,
for the present, he had no such production in contemplation. Being now
summoned to supper, Mr. Scribble, conceiving it incumbent on him to
be spokesman of the company, opened upon sea-bathing, and professing
a profound knowledge of the animal system, in a preaching tone,
expatiated on its process in the invigoration of the nerves. Coming
from operation to result and effects, he very learnedly summed up the
narratives and arguments of his harangue: “The salt-water contributes
at once to purification, and to tension, and also to elasticity; the
votaries of bathing have in every movement a pleasing bound, and an
efficacious vigour. Every act of the animal œconomy in which they may
be engaged is performed more completely and satisfactorily. All these
I could illustrate to demonstration, but a few may suffice.” Mrs.
Hamilton, not knowing what the nature of the elucidation might be,
proposed to suspend the subject for the present, and a more general
conversation was introduced, which lasted till the party separated.
Next morning Scribble, after bathing, met Hamilton on the west cliff;
Mortimer soon after joining them, they took a walk along the cliff,
when Hamilton praised the infinite treasures of knowledge, human and
divine, that Scribble possessed: “Come, now Dicky, astonish Mortimer
here, by a frank account of your studies.” “A detail,” replied Dick,
“would be tedious; but since you insist upon it, I will give you a
short sketch of what I have read, or treated in publications, or,
in short, what I know.” “What you know and can write upon,” said
Hamilton; “to speak generally and concisely, every thing; nothing
comes wrong to Dicky.” “That is too much,” said Scribble, vouchsafing
a smile; “but I certainly have considered and discussed a good many
subjects; physics and metaphysics, history and poetry, criticism
and compilation, divinity and morality, legislation and political
œconomy, the law of nature and of nations, agriculture, manufactures,
commerce, and finance, botany, chymistry, mineralogy, electricity,
geology, geography, nosology, and medicine, have all exercised my
pen.” Mortimer uttering interjections, expressing his admiration and
surprize, Scribble, farther to transport his wonder, went on: “Though
neither a physician, nor a surgeon, I am more deeply skilled in
midwifery than any professed practitioner of the obstetric art. Though
not called to the bar, I know better than Erskine how counsellors ought
to plead. Though no clergyman, I know how men of that profession ought
to preach.” “Mr. Scribble’s extraordinary merit,” said Hamilton, “is
the cause of no less extraordinary envy. Nothing that he brings out
has the reception which transcendent merit and abilities deserve. The
malignancy of critics abuses his works, and the public most foolishly
and unfortunately countenances all his detractors.” “So they do,” said
Scribble, “they are all in a confederacy against _me_.” “The public,”
observed Hamilton, “has acted extremely ungratefully to my friend
here. If you were to collect all that his indefatigable activity has
written, you would find it more than the labours of some of our ancient
divines. Nay, I really do not believe, that Saint Cyril himself wrote
more against the Nestorian heresy, though he contributed seven folio
volumes to orthodoxy, than Mr. Scribble’s reservoir of erudition has
done to attack heretics in literature, who, as he observes, abound
so much in the present day; and,” continued our hero, “it is not on
one subject, but on all that he writes; my friend here is not more
meritorious for his genius than his courage. There’s no subject but
Dicky will venture upon; I am convinced, if it were proposed to him,
he would undertake to make out the longitude, or to solve all the
hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt.” “But for all this,” said Scribble, “I
am subject to the grossest defamation.” “Do you know,” said Hamilton,
“what the impudent fellows say of poor Scribble?” “I cannot conceive,”
replied Mortimer, “what is even possible to be said against such genius
and erudition.” “Oh! the invention of malice will say any thing.”
“Why, what do they say?” said Dick, somewhat irritated. “Insolent
scoundrels,” said Hamilton; “Well, I will tell you, Scribble, that we
may have a laugh at their folly.” “Ay, do,” said the other. “Why, it
was only t’other evening I called at the club, and the conversation
turned upon the merits of my friend Dicky Scribble here: I said
nothing: but one said, ‘he’s a special fellow; he’s a good raker; he
has industry; and has got together some scraps on a great variety of
subjects: he is superficial in all:’ here, I thought it incumbent on
me to take your part; ‘I certainly (said I) think Mr. Scribble a man
of extraordinary genius.’ Strongbrain was there; he looked in my face,
and laughed. ‘Hamilton, you do not think him a man of extraordinary
genius.’ Angry as I was at being so contradicted, I could not help
laughing also.” “Laughing,” said Scribble angrily; “you, as my friend,
should have knocked him down.” “By the lord, I must have then knocked
down all the meeting, for they all agreed with him.” “Hamilton, you
over-rate that Strongbrain; _I_ think very little of him, _I_ must
say, you yourself require a good deal of care to form your judgment,
Now you think highly of Robertson and Hume, and such men as those, you
are quite led by prevailing opinion; that is always the way with men
of no great reach of abilities; whereas men of real talents differ
in their opinion from every body else.” Hamilton not recollecting he
was the aggressor, and that this remark was provoked by his satirical
report, was so far irritated, as to proceed in humbling poor Scribble’s
arrogance. “Yes,” said our hero, “one instance of that kind of
extraordinary genius is John Dennis, who, when all the world allowed
praise to Addison and Pope, endeavoured to prove that neither of them
possessed any genius. Zoilus too was another extraordinary personage,
who endeavoured to prove that Homer was no poet.” “All that,” said
Scribble, “is mere common-place: I tell you, that persons now looked
up to for literature and ability, are admired without reason, and I
can surpass them all myself; and will surpass them all too.” “Come,
come,” said Hamilton, “don’t be angry now, I was only telling you what
I heard; but we shall not touch any more on _your genius and learning_;
_it is a tender point_: I know your works excel most of the age; and
I dare say, every body else thinks so too, only they say the contrary
to vex you.” Easily persuaded, that others thought as highly of him
as he did of himself, Scribble swallowed these declarations, and soon
after departed to attend an appointment. “Who is this?” said Mortimer.
“Scribble,” answered his friend, “is one of that numerous class who,
without genius or philosophy, set up in the trade of authorship. He
is, however, much better qualified than many of the fraternity; he
has received a classical education, is master of arts, has been bred
to the English bar, but, finding he could get no employment, harangues
against all the counsellors who receive briefs, especially Erskine,
Gibbs, and Garrow; although he has not laid the foundation of erudition
in either physical or moral sciences, he has raked together a great
quantity of detached and miscellaneous facts, and as he has formed a
decent, though stiff and pedantic style, he can write common-place
observations on most subjects that occur; and while he confines himself
to skimming the surface, he does well enough, and is very useful drudge
in any periodical publication; _but that won’t serve the fellow, he
must write books forsooth_. His parts are middling, but _his head has
got a wrong twist, common sense presides not in his brain_. Dicky would
_shine_! To a man that seeks literary distinctions, without great
powers and acquirements, an obvious tract is _singularity_. Scribble
is a great controverter of established opinions: He does not gainsay
them by any ingenuity of hypothesis, but by simple contradiction. He
is also a great exclaimer against established, or rising characters,
especially in literature; that springs, partly from envy, but chiefly
from vanity and self-conceit, or rather from an envy proceeding from
vanity and self-conceit.” “What kind of books does he write?” said Mr.
Mortimer, “I never heard of his name.”--“He is not eminent, but still
he is noted.”--“But his books,” rejoined Mr. Mortimer, “what are they?
scissars and paste, I suppose.”--“No; that they ought to be: scissars
and paste is the resource of book-manufacturers, without invention
or wisdom; but Scribble tries originals, and often spends more time
and pains in speaking, (for he is a great coffee-house declaimer,) or
in writing paradoxical nonsense, than might by compilation furnish
a good-looking fair book for his worthy friend Billy Nincompoop.”
“Who the devil is Billy Nincompoop?”--“An undertaker-general in the
book-manufactory line. I shall give you some account of him another
time: all I can now say is, that he has more journeymen at work than
any mailer-manufacturer either at Birmingham or Manchester, and a great
deal of work they do, and often very dirty work it is. Billy keeps a
very sooty forge.”

The youths now returned to breakfast; soon after they accompanied the
ladies to the Steyne, and the sun being very warm, they retired into
the library, where they found a tall corpulent divine, with his bib
and apron, and a large bushy wig, expounding the operations of the
Austrians upon the Danube, and describing, as well as he could, the
siege of Belgrade; the Emperor Joseph, he instructed the company,
was a profound politician, and a consummate general: he was also, he
firmly believed, a zealous friend to the protestant religion; witness
his efforts for suppressing monasteries, and other repositories of
popery.--Captain Mortimer said, “he could not perceive much of his
wisdom there; his innovations were rash and precipitate, and appeared
to be more for the sake of plunder than conversion; that the effect
was revolt among his most industrious and flourishing subjects.” “They
are insolent and audacious,” repeated the dignitary, in a pompous and
sonorous tone, which with many served to fill up the chasm of argument;
“subjects ought not to question the will of their rulers. A prince is
responsible for his conduct only to that being from whom he derives his
power,” “Pretty doctrine that in a free country,” (said the captain,
somewhat iritated by the dictatorial manner of the self-sufficient
priest,) “God forbid it should ever prevail in Britain. But Britain
out of the question, it is totally erroneous in its application to the
people of the Netherlands, whose first executive magistrate, Joseph,
was on specified terms. Joseph has broken the conditions, therefore his
subjects have a right to be off the bargain.” “That is an irreverend
and seditious way of speaking.” “Irreverend and seditious,” said the
captain, “who are you that dare use such language to a gentleman,
merely because he won’t take your solemn sounding nonsense, for sense
and argument.” Hamilton seeing the choler of his naval friend, found
means, by sliding into the conversation, to soften matters; and though
no friend to public argumentation, yet, desirous of gratifying Maria’s
uncle, he took a comprehensive survey of the conduct of Joseph, proved
him to be the mere creature of imitation, who totally misunderstood
his models: that to follow Frederick in the fashion of the times,
he was an infidel; but contrary to the wise caution of his Prussian
neighbour, manifested his infidelity in practical policy, and wished to
destroy ecclesiastical establishments, the best preservers of civil and
social order. In his present war with Turkey, he was the mere tool of
Catherine, and was exhausting the resources of his country, to promote
projects totally useless to his own dominions, and merely instrumental
to the ambition of the Empress. But if the war had been wise in its
origin, it was feeble and inefficient in its execution. “In short,”
said Hamilton, “in the internal administration that drove subjects to
revolt, and in the external policy that engaged without provocation in
a war to aggrandize another, I should think there are strong objections
to Joseph as a consummate politician; and in the military conduct
of four disciplined armies, repulsed by an undisciplined militia of
barbarians that were enabled to invade and lay waste their fertile
provinces, and alarm their capital, there are objections to the
character of Joseph as a consummate general. But these, I dare say,
the knowledge and ratiocinative powers of the reverend gentleman will,
no doubt, satisfactorily solve.” The doctor, who both in the pulpit
and out of it, had been accustomed to preach, but not to hear or to
reason, did not think proper to reply to this answer, but strutted out
of the library. Not so Dicky Scribble, who had some time before joined
the party, and eagerly listened in hopes of an argument which might
display his logic and his eloquence, and co-operate with a paragraph
that was to appear in a London morning paper that would reach Brighton
that evening, announcing among the arrivals Richard Scribble, Esq. the
celebrated author. With these views and expectations he accosted our
hero. “Mr. Hamilton, hem, I have heard with great pleasure, hem, your
very ingenious argument, and I am not surprised that your eloquence
overwhelmed an ordinary hearer, hem, but bestowing every praise on
the brilliancy of your remarks, you will give me leave to question
their logical force, hem. I will undertake to prove that the Emperor
Joseph is a very wise man, hem.” “I know you will, my good friend,
_undertake_ to prove that or any thing else, but respite your wisdom
and erudition for the present, we are going to the parade. You that are
a man of taste and refinement are friendly to gallantry and a polite
attention to the ladies.” “Undoubtedly,” said Scribble, and to give a
practical proof of his elegant address, on which he very much plumed
himself, he made his best bow to Miss Mortimer, begged he might have
the honour of her company, and while she was humming the South Downs,
in unison with the band, he entertained her, or at least himself, with
a dissertation on the different modes in which different nations, in
ancient and modern times, treated women. Captain Mortimer at this time
was praising and thanking our hero for his powerful assistance against
the parson; but however he said, “it was not difficult, it was a
first rate, full rigged, against a hulk; but this little cock-boat,
Dicky, as you call him, to be sure he makes a great noise, but it is
like the guns on a rejoicing day, all powder and no ball.” Having
contemplated the military evolutions, after the corps were dismissed,
they were joined by an officer with whom John Mortimer was acquainted.
This gentleman was presently accosted by one of the soldiers of the
light infantry corps, who requested leave of absence from the evening
parade. His commander questioned him about his business, not approving
of the excursions of soldiers in the dusk; but to the surprise of
himself and the rest of his company, was answered that his engagement
was _to preach the gospel_. The captain at the intercession of the
party, permitted the desired absence for a pastime not very usual
among soldiers. Mr. Scribble would have opened an argument to prove
that such preachers might do more harm than good, but found no one
disposed either to refute his reasonings, or listen to his wisdom.
The party being engaged to dine with the Mortimers, Mr. Scribble was
asked. The fish consisted of turbot and foals. Here Dicky had, or at
least took, an opportunity of holding forth upon ichthyology, which
learned term, he in deference to the ladies, explained, and endeavoured
to account for the scarcity of cod, haddocks, &c. on the coast of
Sussex. He informed the company that he thought very little of Buffon’s
Natural History, and that he had thoughts of writing on the subject
himself, to detect and expose the other, and to remedy his defects.
“It is a pleasing and instructive subject, but has never been hitherto
properly treated, that is one of the _desiderata_ in literature,
which I am afraid it will be reserved for myself to fill.” “There are
so many chasms,” said Hamilton, “which your benevolence proposes to
supply, that I am apprehensive you will hardly be able to bear the
laborious task.” “Oh! I have a very strong mind. One work much wanting
is a history of the decline and fall of the Roman Empire. You, sir,”
appealing to Dr. Wentbridge, “will admit that Gibbon’s religion is not
of the best.” “Most readily,” replied the doctor. “In his views and
arrangement,” rejoined Dicky “I will demonstrate that he is extremely
defective, that he is narrow, uncomprehensive, and confused.” “The
eviction of such a proposition, would convey a new truth to my mind,”
said the doctor; “but so important a subject requires a written
treatise.” “That I intend.” “Have you written any thing historical,
sir?” “O, yes, from authentic records and documents that I found in an
old chest near Glastonbury-abbey, I composed in seven volumes, quarto,
a true, and impartial, history of Jack the Giant-killer, including
cotemporary heroes. I have the satisfaction to say before this good
company, that more profound views of human nature are no where to
be found, but envy, that corrosive passion, blasted the tree at its
birth, else it would have been a goodly child, which in its mature
vigour, would have reflected honour on its happy and delighted parent.
How do you like my figure?” “Very much,” said Hamilton, “it is very
fine, and for mixture, Burke himself mixes.” “Perhaps you mean that as
a compliment, my good friend,” said Scribble, who during dinner had
drank wine with every individual in the company, and afterwards had not
been sparing, “but I do not think very highly of him. On any subject
that he has undertaken, I will undertake to write better. Name the
subject, it is all one to Scribble. I have in agitation a new theory
on the sublime and beautiful, which will astonish the world. Longinus,
Addison, Burke, Gerrard, Hutchinson, Hogarth, psha, they do very well
to pass on superficial people, but I believe I must take the subject
in hand myself.” “How do you like the eloquence of Mr. Fox,” said Dr.
Wentbridge. “Why, tolerably well his speaking, eloquence you cannot
call it. Fox is a good sensible man enough, but no orator.” “What is
an orator,” said Dr. Wentbridge. “What is an orator,” replied our
sage, “ask your nephew there. Hamilton, you remember my speech at the
forum.” Mr. Pitt being now proposed as a toast, Scribble having first
filled and drunk a bumper, half shut his eyes, curled up his nose,
looked contemptuous and great. “I think nothing of Pitt’s ability, a
superficial young man. If I had been prime minister, now you would
have seen the country in a very different situation; men of letters
and wisdom should have been the sole governors. I should not have
employed a copying clerk in an office, unless he could speak Greek;
moreover, unless he was conversant in metaphysical, physical, and
moral erudition and science. Not a letter should have been written
of which a Cicero could be ashamed. The epistles upon plain business
should have been attuned to Cicero in harmony, and swelled to Cicero
in magnificence. How do you like my phraseology, is it not worthy of
the subject?” “Highly,” said the doctor, “but as to the matter of
fact, Cicero’s letters upon business have neither the tone, nor the
swell that you mention, they are clear and plain narratives, with
apposite observations, and strong reasoning, expressed in language
simple and energetic, but totally unadorned.” “I know,” said Scribble,
rather shortly, “what Cicero’s letters are.” Wentbridge not deigning
to enter into a contest with this gentleman, the subject dropped.
Besides himself, Mr. Scribble had one admirer in the company, this
was Mr. Roger O’Rourke, who regarded him as a phenomenon of wisdom
and learning, pledged his bumpers, and as they adjourned to tea, took
occasion to pay him a compliment, and ask his advice. “By Jasus, Mr.
Scribble, you are the cleverest fellow I ever see in my life, unless
it was Counsellor Magpie at Dundalk assizes, when I was tried for
horse----I _mane_ when I was a witness for horse-stealing; but he did
bother them all so, by Jasus he got it all his own way, and proved
an allby, and that made us all snug: I _mane_ made the prisoners
snug. I after that took to the dancing line, and then to the Gospel;
but my father-in-law, and my friend Mr. Hamilton here would have me
give up the preaching, because it led me to bad courses, and to be
sure, to confess the truth honestly, a methodist preacher has such
temptations among the dear cratures, that flesh and blood cannot
stand it. The saints are so warm and so loving, then there are so
bewitching opportunities; there is the love feast, the holy kiss,
and the spiritual communion in the dark; the evening meetings in the
_conventickles_, and _tickle_ they do sure enough. Even an Englishman
with all his prudence, or a Scotchman with all his gravity, but much
more, a poor boy from Ireland must give way. For when man and woman
meet alone, Mr. Scribble, they are dangerous kind of combustibles:
and then there is that faith without works gives such encouragement.
Its all as one as if I was to live as I pleased at an ale-house, and
tell the landlord I believe you to be a very good sort of a man. He,
every time I ran up a score, would take a wet cloth and wash the chalk.
By Jasus he would not want customers. Now, sir, as you appear to be
a man of great sense, I wish to consult you on a point of conscience
and _sacrecy_. You see, sir, to confess the truth, my wife, the large
fat lady with the red hair, that _set_ opposite to you, is none of the
handsomest, and besides, as Louis XV. Emperor of Germany observed,
_toger perde_[2], which it seems in their language is, _too much of one
thing is enough_. What with the bathing and sea air, and the bracing
and one thing or another, and looking at the sweet creatures in the
face, I have a great mind to take to the methodism again. I am sure I
could be more _populous_ than that light infantry man. If you would
speak a good word for me to young Mr. Hamilton, for he rules the roast
with the old boy, just to let me have a small excursion while they
stay at Brighton, I shall, as in duty bound, both in my sermons and
out of them, praise your works.” Scribble having further conversation
in the course of the evening with Mr. O’Rourke, concluded that with
some training in orthography and grammar, he might be improved into a
spiritual writer, for his friend Billy Nincompoop, who it seems would
soon want a fresh hand in the divinity branch of the manufacture; and
promised to take an early opportunity of further conversing with Mr.
O’Rourke. They now adjourned to the meeting of the military saint,
who borrowed the quaker rendezvous for that night. This preacher was
deemed the best singer of martial songs in the whole regiment; upon
the faith of that perfection he acted also as precentor. He got very
well through the performance, bating that he once fell into the tune of
“The top sail shivers in the wind,” and in endeavouring to get out of
it, he got hold of “The black joke.” He however succeeded in pitching
his voice for the next stave by humming the serious and melancholy
ditty, “There came a ghost to Margaret’s door,” and got at last into a
proper strain of psalmody. The discourse had nothing particular in it
to distinguish it from any other methodist sermon, consisting merely
of cant, mysticism, soft love imagery, melodious inanity, chequered
with the terrible pictures of the punishment of unbelievers, when
in possession of the devil. The sermon included a very particular
detail of roasting in hell-fire, which, next to the amorous parts,
gave the highest satisfaction to the devotees. Towards the end of his
discourse, he took occasion to compare Brighton to Sodom and Gomorrah,
and exhorted them speedily to depart from such a scene of wickedness:
he should lead them to the right way. The drum-major, who happened
to be present, hearing this declaration, took it into his head that
the preacher intended to desert, seized him as he was descending from
a bench; but finding on examination that the orator had only been
speaking by types and similitude, he suffered him to depart in peace.
From the chapel, Mr. Scribble prevailed on the company, though it was
late, to look in at the library, hastily proceeded to the reading
table, and taking up the Humbug, call out, “How shameful it is in
those news-writers, that a man of any eminence cannot move from one
place to another, but they must make it public.” “What is the matter,
Richard,” said Hamilton. “Read that paragraph.” We learn from Brighton
that the celebrated Richard Scribble, Esq. delights and astonishes the
frequenters of the rooms and libraries by the brilliancy of his wit,
and the depth of his erudition. “It is astonishing how the Humbug could
know that already,” said Hamilton, “last night was your first in the
library, and however witty and wise you might appear, I cannot account
for your fame reaching London in time for the morning press, but by
enchantment.” Soon after the company parted for the evening.

The next day, a water excursion was proposed for Shoreham. On their
way, their pilot poured out his maledictions against Mr. Pitt, for
having so completely suppressed smuggling, that as the waterman
phrased it, there was now no opportunity for _honest_ industry. Having
arrived at this ancient borough, and viewed the rope-works and other
curiosities, the conversation turned from the commercial state, to
the political history of this noted repository of electors. Some of
the company animadverting severely on the gross corruption of 1768,
Mr. Scribble undertook to prove that corruption was necessary to the
existence of executive government; but, he was interrupted in his
dissertation, by notice from the watermen, that they must immediately
return, or that they would lose the tide: they accordingly returned
to Brighton. That Evening they spent at the Promenade Grove, where
there was a great deal of company, and most fortunately, our hero’s
party was joined by Mr. Chatter, the apothecary, intelligencer
general of the place. Several ladies entered the room, one of whom was
strikingly beautiful in her face; of a most expressive countenance; of
a fine stature, and exquisite form; Hamilton being at some distance,
his sister asked Mr. Chatter who that was? “The wife of a valiant
soldier, pretty miss, who assisted Wolfe at Quebec; forced the city to
surrender; became a viscount on the death of his father; a famous hand
for wit and humour; was lord-lieutenant of Ireland; great favourite
with the whole nation; did not call for coffee too soon after dinner;
eldest son became an earl while he was viscount;--said a good thing
upon that. His son regretting that he had a higher title than his
father. I don’t care, George, which title you have, so long as you
don’t get hold of mine; but the viscount is lately made a marquis.
She is a charming woman--the marchioness,” said Miss Hamilton; “she
is an excellent wife, mother, and mistress of a family, pretty miss,
a pattern to her rank and sex. If all were to take example by her,
Doctors’ Commons would starve; but I do not suppose you know any
thing of them sort of things yet, miss.” Miss Mortimer now observed
a lady of a fine shape, with a most fascinating countenance, and
applying to Mr. Chatter, this communicative person very readily gave
her information, prefaced with a hem, and the hem accompanied with a
shrug of the shoulders, “that’s a lady of quality too, very different
from the marchioness; she is the countess of a Cockatrice, evil
tongues don’t stick to say;----but my lord is a good, easy man, not
at all exceptious, and if he is pleased, nobody else has a right to
be displeased. She has daughters grown up and married,--that is one
of them a little behind that lady with the rolling eye; she seems
already to have a good modest assurance of her own too. O Lord, there
is little Tommy Titmouse, the famous coachman.” “Poor Titmouse,” said
Hamilton, “he is a good-natured little creature, and encourages the
breed of horses; therefore, he is not so totally useless as one is apt
to think.” “Observe,” said Mortimer, “that tall military figure; that
is a nobleman, who unites the hero, the scholar, the statesman, the
philanthrophist, and the finished gentleman,--such as English nobility
ought to be. That also is a lord, who is speaking to him.” “What, he
with the strong, black, bushy eyebrows?” said Miss Mortimer. “That,”
said Hamilton, “is a man of as powerful a masculine understanding,
as most that have ever sitten in the house of peers, or occupied the
highest offices in the state.” There now entered a slim, middle-sized
gentleman-like man: evidently an old beau, wishing to appear young, who
was immediately accosted by the fascinating countess above-mentioned,
“and is Great Bayleaf come to enliven Brighton with his gaiety and
gallantry.” His lordship, with the fashionable inattention of the
manners of the time, made no direct answer; but, looking through a
spyglass at Miss Mortimer;--“fine girl that, Cockatrice, is she one of
us?” “Of us, no; one of the canaille I suppose; a fine fellow that;
that squires her though;” “well enough for a trooper,” said the peer;
“but perhaps, such are to your ladyship’s taste;” “and perhaps such
girls may be to yours; but, take my word for it, such a youth would
be much more to their’s.” “I admit the competency of your ladyship,
to deliver judgment on the case, and sustain your verdict; he shall
be a fine fellow, since you will have it so. But, who are all here?
Who of us.” “Of you, _Peers of England--pillars of the State_: there
is, as you see there, the lord chancellor, and the lord chief justice
Norland, to engage with your ladyship on constitutional law, and state
politics. Lord Carolina to engage you on warfare and literature.--I saw
two or three of the bishops here too; they will afford an opportunity
of opening your stores on divinity.” “Aye, aye,” said Bayleaf, “what
you say of learning and divinity reminds me of a piece of news I just
heard. I find my Lord Cockatrice is turning author;” “What is he
about to write?” “A commentary on the patience of Job.” “Well,” said
Bayleaf, “your friend George Bonmots, who has been your partner in
other concerns, seems to be letting you into a partnery of his wit;
but, I much question whether your capital be sufficient.” “But your
ladyship has not yet answered my question:--Who of our friends are at
Brighton?” “Oh! abundance; there is my Lord Spindle, Viscount Ogle, Sir
Billy Butterfly, Tommy Titmouse, the Lady Leerwell, the Dowager Dimple,
the Countess of Cockdie, Lady Frances Faro, Sir John Jockey, and an
old friend of your house, his new-married lady, and various others,
whom I have not time now to recount.” During this dialogue, a plump,
sturdy, rosy-cheeked person made up to Mr. Chatter, who received him
with much heartiness. “Ah, my good friend, Kit Cotton, who thought of
seeing you at Brighton?” “Being now less off business, and a gemman,
I have come down a bit to see your doings.” “So you have left off
business.” “Yes; I have retired into the country now, for the benefit
of air and exercise. I bought a nice house by Kingsland turnpike, near
the brickfield, within sight of the great cow-keeper’s yard. Charming
prospect I have on the one side to Ballspond and Hoxton; on another, to
Hackney fields, all the way over to the Cat and Shoulder of Mutton. We
are just upon the road, and there is a power of coaches that passes us
every day; so it is very pleasant to sit at the window and count them.
I know to a minute when every stage coach should pass, for I was always
pretty cute, and _obsarves_ what is going forewood.” “But why are you
in mourning; no family misfortune I hope?” “Oh yes, our Deborah have
left me a widower; but, as the parson says, the will of Providence must
be done. Daughter Peg now keeps house. It was she that made me come
down here, for, says she, father, now you be come on in the world, and
a gemman; it is right you should put yourself forwood among other great
gentlefolks. I was agreeable, and proposed Margate; but Peg said, says
she, Margate be well enough for the ribble rabble Canille, says she;
but won’t do for those who have _pretensions_ to gentility, says she.
Most of our old neighbours are gone there that I used to keep company
with before I left off business; and my daughter Peg says they won’t do
for people of condition. This is a good smartish place enough, not much
worse than White Conduit House; but for one thing, is bad. I axed the
waiter for some _baccar_, he laughed, and told me, as how no smoking
was allowed here.” Mr. Cotton being departed, Scribble was disposed to
entertain the party with a dissertation on the tendency of habit, to
determine the sentiments and characters of men; but the commencement of
a favourite song postponed his erudition.



CHAPTER XIII.


THE next morning, Mr. O’Rourke again applied to Scribble, to interpose
on his behalf for leave of absence. Hamilton, who really was somewhat
ashamed of having such a figure in their parties, was not much averse
to the proposition; he conversed on the subject with his uncle and
cousin; the former of whom cared little about the preacher; the latter,
though averse to his absence, yet afraid, that by being crossed, he
might relax into his former practices, judged it most expedient to
consent. Accordingly, he set off that very afternoon on the road to
Lewes, and was, by appointment, joined by a female devotee, with whom
he had made acquaintance at Brighton, and who agreed to accompany him
in his spiritual peregrination. This evening was spent at the theatre.
Here, as usual, they were joined by Mr. Scribble, who, at the end
of the first act, was very cordially accosted by a strange looking
figure that entered the box. This was a tall thin man, with a pale
countenance, goggling grey eyes, and a remarkably long nose. Scribble
returned the address with great pleasure. “My dear friend, Mr. William
Nincompoop, to what do I owe the unexpected happiness of seeing you
so far from home? I thought you had spared no time for pleasure;”
“I don’t spare time for pleasure now, I have come upon business,”
whispered Nincompoop; “but come and sup with me at the tavern, and I
will tell you all about it.” Scribble accepted this invitation, and
when the play was finished, the bookseller and the author set off to
Hicks’s. When they were seated, Nincompoop opened: “My valued friend,
Scribble, I know I can depend on you in whatever you undertake, and on
your recommendation and advice, as well as your services; I prefer you
to any of my authors, for your readiness to undertake any thing. Let
me see,” said he, “what you are all doing for me at present. First,
there is biography, the history of Katerfelto and his black cat;” “yes,
I reckon that one of the best things I ever wrote;” “the life of the
noted Charles Price, hanged for forgery; the life and adventures of
Hawke the highwayman, and of Macdonald the thief-catcher; but take care
of borrowing from the Newgate Calendar. Secondly, travels; tour through
Ireland, including picturesque descriptions;” “yes, I got through the
bog of Allen in Bunhill-row, and here at Brighton I am at the lake of
Killarney;” “very well. Thirdly, metaphysics.--How comes your treatise
on?” “I have already proved, that Locke, Hutchinson, Berkeley, Hume,
and Reid, are blockheads, and I am now demonstrating, that nobody knows
any of the matter but myself.” “Very well. Fourthly, divinity. How are
you proceeding against Horseley and Priestley?” “Demonstrating that
both know nothing about the matter, and as before, that no one knows
any thing about the subject but myself.” “Fifthly, mathematics. How
goes your essay upon the Cycloid?” “It’s not quite so far advanced,
really,” “I must begin another hand,” said Nincompoop. “Sixthly,
Ethics. What are you doing against Paley?” “I demonstrate him to be a
fool, and myself only thoroughly to understand the subject; but history
is my sheet anchor.” “Do you think you would have time to do any
thing for me there?” “Oh yes,” “I want a smart history; I don’t care
on what subject,--or two or three.” “Suppose a second edition of my
Jack the giant killer, or to make it a more general title, the history
of British Giants. I have got some valuable materials about Gog and
Magog myself,” “I should like something more modern. Could you cut me
out from the gazettes and magazines, a good dashing original history
of the American war?” “Oh yes, if I cannot write a better history than
Hume, Robertson, or Gibbon, I will promise never to write another
line.” “Do not make rash vows,” said Billy, “for you would assuredly
break them.” “Another very clever man is strongly recommended to me as
a capital hand for the military part.” “Aye, who’s that,” “Spontoon,
drum-major of militia, now, I am told, at Brighton. I think if he do
the military part, and you the rest, it will be a capital job. I shall
agree on the usual terms; three half crowns a sheet, thirty shillings
a volume for books to be broken up;” “but I must have an additional
six-pence per sheet for flour paste.” “I dont like to find the flour;
it would be establishing a bad precedent for my other authors, and
would stand me in a sack of flour each quarter; besides they might be
making puddings as well as books. No; all my authors must find their
own scissars and paste; you know the workman at every craft finds his
own tools; and the master only finds the materials. I must hear of no
charge for paste:” “well, be it so, we shall not out about that, let’s
see about Spontoon to-morrow.” “Scribble,” resumed Nincompoop, “do you
know of any good hand at methodist sermons and hymns?” “Oh yes, I can
undertake them myself.” “No; you have enough in hand already.” “Well
then, there is a tall Irishman, called O’Rourke, I think he might be
brought to do; he is gone a-preaching now; a good sharp fellow, but I
rather doubt if he can spell.”--“Spell indeed, what does that signify?
If I were to employ no authors, but those who could spell, I would not
do one quarter of my present business,” “and you do a great deal, my
respectable patron.” “Aye, how do I do so much business? Why by not
being nice, either in my subject or my writing.” “I will introduce
you to that young man that you saw with me; a decent enough youth.”
“Oh, Hamilton you mean; I know him by sight; he is a very able writer
I am told.” “Who tells you so?” says Scribble. “The booksellers, the
public, the world.” “The booksellers, the public, the world, are a
parcel of ignorant blockheads. I tell you, Hamilton is not a clever
fellow, and you, and whoever says he is,” continued Scribble, “only
shew their own ignorance.” Scribble was warm with liquor, otherwise he
would never have ventured to talk so cavalierly to his supreme employer
in the book manufactory. Nincompoop was a cunning fellow; regarded
his own set of authors merely as productive journeymen, and, as many
saleable books could be compiled without learning or genius, the chief
qualifications he sought, in the usual routine of his business, were
laborious drudgery, and readiness of raking. He could not distinguish
between pains-taking dullness, and real ability: and therefore prized
Mr. Scribble. Proud and irritable, however, he replied disdainfully to
his journeyman: “I will not suffer such language from any man; no, if
instead of being a common literary hack, a jade of all work, he had
the powers and learning of Dr. Strongbrain.” Scribble, too intoxicated
for prudence, screamed with rage, “let me tell you, sir, I am superior
to a hundred Strongbrains put together.” Nincompoop, who was perfectly
sober, and extremely quick in surveying his own interest, recollecting
the serviceableness of Scribble’s manufacturing talents, resolved to
avoid a quarrel; and, by unsaying all that he had said, imputing it to
the hastiness of his temper, and asserting his thorough conviction,
that Scribble far surpassed Strongbrain, and every other literary man,
he pacified the enraged author, called for a fresh bowl, and spent the
remainder of the evening in friendly conversation, that was ended, by
Dicky’s falling from his chair on the carpet, where he slept without
disturbance till the following morning. This day, a party was proposed
to Worthing; and to the great pleasure of the ladies, Scribble not
being to be found, was not of the company. Even Hamilton himself,
though from his satirical humour, he relished occasional meetings
with the vanity, self-conceit, and absurdity of Dicky; yet, tired of
him a daily dish, and agreed with the rest in thinking him, to use
the fashionable language of that time, a shocking _bore_. Arriving
at the pleasant village of Worthing, they repaired to the inn of the
celebrated Mr. Hogsflesh; where, while the elderly part of the company
took a short walk on the sands, the two young gentlemen and ladies
directed their steps towards an eminence on the right, which, as they
heard, commanded a prospect that included Hampshire and the Isle of
Wight. It was near the end of September, and a very charming day. The
scene was rural and solitary, being a succession of fields, leading
to a small and scattered village, containing a venerable old church,
which, at different turnings of the path, presented several points of
picturesque aspect.

When a young gentleman and a young lady, and another young gentleman
and young lady, respectively, brothers and sisters, happen to be
members of the same company, custom and politeness require that the
chief attention should not be shewn to the nearest relation. Our
youthful perambulators, on this occasion, found no difficulty in
obeying those rules. John Mortimer prevailed on Miss Hamilton to take
hold of his arm, while his fair sister graciously vouchsafed the same
honour to our hero. Mortimer was already deeply impressed with the
charms of his friend’s sister, nor was she altogether insensible to
the charms of her friend’s brother. In such a disposition, there
was no great chance that the parties should find their walk tedious.
Mortimer had as yet made no declaration of his sentiments, so that
Charlotte could hear him without any consciousness of impropriety;
and, as his conversation was very pleasing, she could not help
listening with complacency. Hamilton had often and strongly urged
his passion, and though he had not obtained any literal and verbal
avowals of mutual affection, yet in the softness of Maria’s smiles,
and the bewitching glances of her eyes, he received such testimonies,
as he could not easily misinterpret. The respective couples were so
much occupied themselves, that they did not attend to each other.
By some means, Hamilton and our heroine seeing a path lead off to
a still more pleasant scene, directed their steps thither. Their
friends, not observing this movement, kept straight forward. Hamilton
and his lady now found themselves in a sloping copse, through which
there was a narrow track, forming a vista, terminated by the church.
This sequestered retirement, which might have excited ideas of love
in the bosoms of two agreeable young persons that had been before
unengaged, could not fail to promote them in hearts that already glowed
so warmly. Our hero, the whole of whose expressions both of tongue,
voice, and countenance, had been even more than ever impressive during
this short excursion, had quite enchanted and dissolved the heart of
Maria. All her darting quickness of penetration, the brilliancy of
genius, appeared to suspend their wonted operation on her countenance
and manners. Every look and tone spoke the tenderness of love. Gentle
pressure of her fair hand, while he held it in his, progressively led
to farther caresses, and encircling the charming creature in his eager
arms, he had imprinted a glowing kiss on her pouting lips, which her
unsuspicious innocence had not chid from the object of impassioned
love and undoubting confidence. The reception favoured repetition. Our
hero had almost forgotten every consideration but one, that he had in
his arms her whom he thought the loveliest of women; when suddenly
a voice struck their ears, uttering the following words: “This way,
honey; come, my dear girl, here is an opening through the bushes;” and
presently Mr. O’Rourke made his appearance. He started at the sight
of Hamilton, who was now walking on; but his companion having joined
him, he saw concealment was impracticable, and without regarding the
young lady’s presence, he began to try his hand at an apology. “The
lady with me,” he said, “is a young person that, like himself, was
of the methodistical sect: and having heard me preach privately at
Brighton, was so pleased with me, that she agreed to accompany me in
my public ministry.” Our hero made no comment upon this defence, but
wishing the preacher success in his labours, departed. Maria, though
from the innocent purity of her heart, not altogether sensible of
the dangerous situation in which she had been, blushed deeply at the
consciousness of the dalliance which she had permitted. Hamilton,
skilled in its tendency and progressive effects, and loving Maria with
a passion as honourable as ardent, on recollection and reflection,
rejoiced at an intervention, which had tantalised him at the moment.
But he was more than ever eager for an immediate marriage, and with
impassioned earnestness, entreated the consent of Miss Mortimer, that
he might instantly apply to her father. Maria could hardly constrain
herself to refuse, but from an apprehension that he might think she had
been too easily won, and be lessened in the esteem which, next to his
love, it was her chief wish to secure, she withheld her consent. She,
however, blessed him with a full acknowledgment, that he was master
of her affections, and as soon as prudence and propriety would admit,
she would either be his wife, or remain unmarried. Now having doubled
the village, they beheld their friends at a considerable distance,
in the ascent of the hill; and Maria, before they rejoined the other
couple, had time to recover from the agitation which her acknowledgment
and other occurrences of the day had occasioned. Having reached the
summit, they participated with their companions, in the extensive and
grand prospect which opened to the West, comprehending the channel,
the Isle of Wight, Arundel, Chichester, and the Downs, until gradually
flattening, they are lost in the forests of Hampshire. Having regaled
themselves with contemplating these objects, they returned, well
appetized for regaling themselves with the dainties which Mr. Hogsflesh
had promised to furnish, and though their friends at the inn rather
complained of their separation from the rest of the company, and their
long stay, yet on their return, good humour was resumed. The contents
of Mr. Hogsflesh’s larder were excellent, and of his cellars equally
good. In the evening, they set off for the captain’s house, and having
spent the following day at this villa, the second morning returned to
Brighton. Hamilton, on his arrival, found several letters; one was
from a bookseller of great eminence and liberality, offering very
considerable terms, if he would undertake a work of magnitude, on a
subject which the bookseller specified. Our hero being a man of real
genius, erudition, and science, would write upon no subject which he
did not understand, and was not _an undertaker-general in the trade
of book-making_. The subject in question, he was conscious he knew,
and equally conscious, that whatever he did know, he could communicate
clearly, forcibly, and impressively, to the public. He therefore
resolved to accept the offer, and having imparted the proposal to his
mother and his friend John, he answered in the affirmative. Having
concluded this important treaty, he perused his other letters, two of
which were from fair correspondents; the first in the well known hand
of Mrs. Blossom, containing an intimation that she was urging the
squire to take her to Brighton, and expressing the happiness which she
anticipated from a meeting with her beloved Hamilton. The third epistle
was also in a woman’s hand, but disguised, and contained a request
of an interview on the Downs, near the well. On looking on the date,
however, he found that the proposed time was passed; there being no
postmark on this epistle, he made some inquiries of the servants, and
learned that it had been brought by a porter, and that the same had
repeatedly called to inquire if Mr. Hamilton was returned. The fourth
letter proved to be from the worthy apostle, Mr. O’Rourke, and was
conceived in the following terms:

  “Honoured Sir and Dare Couzen,
  Arundale, September 28th, 1789.

Having promised Mrs. O’Rourke her a few lines, I think it my humble
duty to write you a few lines in the blank cover. I am here by the
providence of God, propagating, as the phrase is, the Gospel in humble
imitation, as St. Patrick and St. Whitfield did before me. This
Arundale is a nice plaash, with a great call of hulliness and sprituous
devotion: the girls are dainty bagooragh bits, and seem well disposed
to the communion of saints. Plase take no notice to my wife as you
see me yesterday, as she might take the thing wrong up; with my best
respects to Miss Mortimer, who is a sweet companion for a woody walk.
I have not yet preached in public at this plaash; but performed in
private at the house of Mr. Deputy Dowlass. After sarvice, we had a
very comfortable love-feast; there was roast goose and apple sauce, as
well as the other rarities of the season. Wishing you and your party
equally good fare, and praying that you may all, through this wale
of tears and of trials, provide food for your souls. I am your humble
servant to command,

                                                       ROGER O’ROURKE.”

Though at most of this composition our hero smiled; yet, the allusion
to the walk in the grove, he did not relish, and was not without alarm
lest the gross conception of the writer might misinterpret the matter.
While he was ruminating on this subject, a female servant, with a
simper, informed him, that the porter who had before made inquiries was
now below, to ask if he was returned; but brought no message. In the
evening, the young ladies staid at home, to prepare for a ball that
was to be given in a day or two. The elderly part played a rubber at
whist; Hamilton and Mortimer took a stroll to the library. At the door,
they heard the voice of that worthy author, Richard Scribble, exerted
in a loud tone, that they soon found to be preceptorial; and entering,
observed, that his back was towards them, while he accosted a lady
of a pleasing countenance, expressing intelligence and sensibility,
but tinged with a pensiveness that approached to melancholy. The
interesting sadness of her countenance they ascribed, though, as they
afterwards learned, unjustly, to some disappointment in love. The
gleams of transient mirth, that occasionally shot across her visage,
they justly imputed to the absurdities which the speaker was uttering.
Approaching to the orator, unobserved, they heard him pouring forth
the following words: “Yes, ma’am, as I have before observed, I have
read your novel really with a good deal of pleasure, and I must say,
there are traits of genius in it; and if you will suspend a future
publication, until you see a treatise that I myself am composing, on
novel-writing, you may be enabled to make very important improvements
in your materials, disposition, and expression. I shall demonstrate,
that the art of novel-writing is hitherto unknown. Both Johnson
and myself think meanly of Fielding; there Johnson is right: but
Johnson thinks highly of Richardson; I don’t, there Johnson is wrong.
Richardson is a poor paltry writer, without any of that knowledge or
exhibition of sentiment, which the philologist erroneously ascribes
to him. I have not the honour to be personally known to you, madam;
but on announcing my name, I trust I shall immediately be recognized
by any member of the republic of letters. I am Mr. Richard Scribble,
author of the history of Jack the giant-killer, whose fame, I dare say,
may have reached your ears.” “I am sorry,” said the lady, “I never
had the pleasure of hearing of it.” “No!” said Dicky; “you surprise
me, ma’am. I will venture to say, it is a history that contains views,
neither to be found in Hume, Robertson, or Gibbon.” The lady answered,
“I have not the least doubt of it, sir.” At this reply, our hero
perceiving that the lady comprehended Mr. Scribble, burst out into a
laugh. Scribble turning about angrily, to his great surprise saw that
Hamilton was the laugher, and was sitting close by him. “Hamilton,”
said Scribble, “is it you that are making so boisterous a noise?
You seem to form your manners on the model of Squire Western, whose
character you so greatly admire; though, as I have often demonstrated,
it contains not one particle of humour, but to please the very grossest
taste and conception.” “Oh yes, I can imitate Squire Western,” said
Hamilton; then gravely assuming an expression of anger, and looking
at Scribble in the face, “What, dost thee open upon me? If thee dost
begin to babble, I shall whip thee in presently.” Scribble, not
perfectly understanding this quotation, and afraid its last part
might be intended literally, thought proper to draw in his horns, and
immediately assured Hamilton he meant no offence. The lady, happening
to recollect the passage, turned to Hamilton, and said, “Fie, brother,
Mr. Supple is a man of sense.” “There,” said our hero, “the comparison
breaks.” Hamilton, who had learned who the lady was, now entered into
conversation. “I see,” said he, “madam, you are a stranger to the
valuable Mr. Richard Scribble; had you ever been in company with him,
you would not have failed to have known what he has written; and if
it should be of consequence to be known at all, I must confess, such
a nomenclator is not unnecessary.” Hamilton now, with all the elegant
politeness of which he was so completely master, begged pardon for the
question he was going to ask; whether he was not right in a conjecture
that he had formed, that the lady whom he was now accosting, was
Mrs. Somerive, author of the Orphan of Pembroke? She answered in the
affirmative; and Hamilton, as far as delicacy would admit, expressed
his admiration of the performance, and in such terms as convinced his
fair auditor, that he was well acquainted with the work, and that
his judgment could thoroughly comprehend and appreciate its merits.
Mortimer now joined in the conversation, and, as they inquired,
whether she often frequented the library on an evening, she told them,
when she was unengaged, she did: that the following day she should not
be there; but probably might the day after. Soon after, they departed.



CHAPTER XIV.


THE next morning, the gentlemen informed the young ladies, that they
had become acquainted with one of their favourite novelists, and that
they hoped soon to make them acquainted. This evening she will not be
there. “This evening,” said Miss Mortimer, “we could not be at the
library, as my uncle is to have a party to dinner.” Nothing important
happened till the hour of appointment; when our hero, repairing to the
captain’s, found, to his great pleasure, that one of the guests was
his new acquaintance, Mrs. Somerive. The conversation during dinner,
whether the party consist of genius or no genius, generally turns on
one subject; nor was the present an exception; foals, turbot, and Down
mutton, being the chief topics discussed. The fruits and wines having
passed the same ordeal of criticism, the conversation took a more
liberal and enlarged range, and entered on such literary subjects, as
were within the knowledge of the fair members of the party. Among these
were included novels, which, though one of the first writers of the age
was present, the Captain, more naturally benevolent, than artificially
polite, introduced. “My good friend Mrs. Somerive,” said he, “though
I always could see that you had great abilities, and knew much more
than most young ladies of your age; but I did not think you would have
been an author.” A cloud was beginning to overcast the countenance of
the lady at these words; but her recollection and good sense presently
dispelled it; and the Captain, who had not remarked this expression,
proceeded; “I often in fine weather, at sea, read books of amusement,
and sometimes on shore; I have lately read your Orphan of Pembroke,
which my niece Maria here agrees with me in admiring very highly; but
there is one of the characters that she likes beyond all others,--he
that proves the hero of the piece; the Sea Captain. But do not you
think he is rather too refined for our service? To be sure, young men
are now better prepared than they were in my time, and I will honestly
confess, they are as far before us in point of civilization, as----what
shall I say, Hamilton? Help me out with a simile.” “Why, sir, as you
are before Smollet’s Tom Bowling, Trunnion, Hatchway, and Tom Pipes;
the difference, you will please to observe, is chiefly in the manners,
and keeps pace with the progressive improvement of general society
in Britain. The hearts of the former are equally brave and benevolent
with those of the latter. The humanized and accomplished character,
to which you allude, is a gallant and generous British seaman, acting
from the same benignant motives, in the circumstances in which he
is placed, from which the rough virtues of his predecessors would
have exerted themselves. In affording his protection to the helpless
infant of his unfortunate sister, he acts from benevolence, and seeks
beneficence: so did Tom Bowling. In exerting himself to relieve
distress,--to rescue a meritorious character from confinement, he acts
from benevolence, and seeks beneficence; so did Hatchway and Pipes,
in endeavouring to release Peregrine. He procured the promotion of
professional merit, from the same principle that Trunnion purchases
a commission for Gauntlet; but the British naval officer of 1789, has
an understanding, improved by cultivation and manners, softened by
commixture with elegant and enlightened society. In both cases, the
picture is just; in the former, it represents an original, namely,
a diamond of the first water, rough from the mine; in the second,
after undergoing the highest polish.” “Besides,” said young Mortimer,
“the seaman of Mrs. Somerive was farther mildened by the tenderest
of passions, which sailors certainly feel as strongly as other men;
and what man, enamoured of such an object as the Fair Orphan of
Pembroke, would not be softened, even if he had been naturally less
benignant?” At this remark, Miss Hamilton, who had been by her admirer
frequently compared to this very heroine, could not avoid blushing;
which Mrs. Somerive perceiving, and struck with a resemblance, easily
comprehended the case; and as Hamilton, in many respects, resembled
the hero of her work, after a little observation, she was at no loss
to account for the peculiar predilection of Maria for that character.
Dr. Wentbridge observed, that he was particularly struck with the wise
and beneficial tendency of the work. In a noble family, two of the
children, a sister and a brother, had received boundless indulgence;
which, acting on very different dispositions, the one vain, selfish,
and illiberal, the other generous and elevated, produced catastrophes,
of the former, disgraceful; the latter, lamentable; but both resulting
directly from preposterous education. A third sister participating of
the generous and noble spirit of her brother, but having undergone, in
her childhood and youth, restraint and direction, improves her talents
by instruction, guides benignity of disposition by prudence, and adorns
beauty by apposite accomplishments; she is rewarded for her virtues, by
the heart and hand of a man of rank, fortune, and merit; and becomes
the sole comfort of her father, in his declining years, bent down by
affliction, for the fatal effects of his conduct towards his more
favoured children. “The character of the father himself,” Hamilton
observed, “displays strong discrimination; he is of naturally good
intentions, and respectable capacity; but in his counsels and conduct,
not possessing that firmness, without which, ability and disposition
can, neither in private or public life, regularly and steadily produce
beneficial effects. He is governed by talents beneath his own, one of
the greatest sources of error and defect in conduct. Wanting stability
of principle, he is in a state of oscillation, between the suggestions
of his own benignant dispositions, the imperious dictates of a weak
and illiberal wife, and the artful insinuations of an attorney without
talents, but by dint of cunning and sycophancy arrived at wealth
and importance. In the adoption, contrary to his own judgment and
approbation, of the policy which the mean and selfish heart of this
person recommends, he has to look for the occasions which call into
fatal action the respective characters of his son and daughter.” “I
think,” observed young Mortimer, “that the nobleman in question is not
without a resemblance to a minister of considerable talents, benevolent
and patriotic intentions; who, wanting firmness, and complying with
men far inferior to himself, permitted unexampled corruption, entailed
on the nation an immense burden of debt without producing any benefit
in return.” “John,” said the captain, “the American war, in which
either the rash counsels or feeble plans of that administration
involved this country, has produced one advantageous effect: it has
demonstrated, that if the whole world unite to attack England, England
can resist and repel the whole world.” “Bravo,” said a lieutenant,
who had hitherto taken little part of the conversation, “my brave
commander.” “Come then, Jack,” replied the commander, “suppose, if the
ladies have no objection, you sing, Rule, Britannia.” Mrs. Somerive,
who, though highly pleased with the criticism upon her performance,
yet feeling some uneasiness that she should monopolize the whole
attention, was the first to second this motion; and he performed in
a very masterly style. This introduced successive requests from the
ladies. The lieutenant sang two or three other songs, at the end of
each of which, the captain proposed some appropriate bumper toast;
by this time, as he shewed a very bountiful example of hospitality,
Mrs. Somerive, fearing he might go too far, proposed retiring to the
drawing room; a movement, which it had not occurred to Maria herself
to suggest. “Nay, you must not go,” said the host, “till we have a
chorus of Hearts of Oak; Jack there can sing it to admiration, and I
can bear a bob myself.” Mrs. Somerive, seeing no wish in the younger
part of the company of either sex for early separation, desisted. The
song, notwithstanding rather too much vociferation on the side of the
captain, was executed to the satisfaction of the company; when the
laird of Etterick, turning to his nephew, said, “Willie, you are half a
Scotchman, and descended from an honourable Scotch family; the lairds
of Etterick are equal to any gentlemen in the country for descent,
and we live, as your father used to observe, in the Scottish Arcadia,
the scene of pastoral poetry:--come, sing us a Scottish song.” The
company joining in this request, our hero began with Tweedside; and
doing justice to the melody of that charming air, he dwelt with an
emphasis of peculiar tenderness on the name of Mary. Maria feeling this
indirect address, wished to turn our hero’s voice to less interesting
subjects, and with a bewitching smile, asked him to favour them with a
martial song. “Do, dear William,” said his mother; “but do not let it
be one song,” and here the tears filled her eyes. William, affected by
the allusion to an air, which he knew was the delight of his revered
father, requested his friend Mortimer to sing, promising he should go
on next. The penetration of Mrs. Somerive saw that a tender string had
been touched, and her feeling heart was affected. Mrs. Hamilton now
proposed to withdraw, saying, she would hear William’s other song after
tea. The ladies retired, and Miss Mortimer was very expeditious, both
in ordering and announcing coffee. Meanwhile, the captain had promoted
a very quick circulation of the bottle, and begun a round of toasts,
which he insisted should be completed, before any of the gentlemen
should leave him. Dr. Wentbridge and his venerable father claimed
a privilege of exemption, by all allowed to belong to their cloth,
_though very frequently not claimed_, and was suffered to join the
female part of the company. Before this round was over, Etterick had
become remarkably facetious, cracked jokes, and told comical stories;
but his countenance, though somewhat exhilarated, still retained the
characteristic gravity of a long Scottish face. He also entered into
narratives, which, in point of subject, formed a great contrast with
the seriousness of voice and manner. His composure of countenance did
not arise from a desire of enhancing the mirth by apparent sedateness,
but from habitual cast of muscles. Their young companions left the
three old gentlemen to themselves; Hamilton, though not intoxicated,
was in that state, which, without much disordering the understanding,
opens the heart. Accosting Mrs. Somerive, he asked her, whether she,
who was such an exquisite judge, and perfect exhibitor of beauty, had
ever seen, or could conceive any object, more lovely and fascinating
than his charming Maria? But she resembles Sophia Western more than
any of your beauties; she has the taste and genius of your heroine; the
understanding of her first friend, with all the fascinating softness
of your hero’s younger sister. Maria, wishing to shift the subject
of conversation from herself, made some remark on the one who first
appeared likely to prove the hero, and wished it had been possible
to have carried on the story without his death; but I don’t see how
it could have been managed. “I could have been very well pleased,”
said Hamilton, “if that fiery youth had wreaked his vengeance on the
villainous attorney and his two sons.” Maria now, at the request of
Hamilton, favoured them with a song, which happened to be “One day I
heard Mary say,” which she performed with exquisite taste and pathos,
and appeared to our hero to dwell with peculiar softness on the words,
“I’ll never leave thee;” Hamilton thought he had never seen her so
bewitching, and whispered to her, that he could live no longer without
her; and that unless she consented to be immediately his, his reason,
if not even his life, must pay the price of the delay. “Could you bear,
my beloved Maria, to see me a miserable lunatic or a lifeless corpse?”
“In the one or the other, I should follow you,” replied she, in a still
softer whisper. At this time, a letter was brought to Hamilton, which
Maria could not help perceiving to be in a woman’s hand. Our hero
seeing it to be the same writing as he had received the day before from
an unknown lady, put it into his pocket; but the servant telling him
that a porter waited for the answer, he went out, leaving poor Maria
pale and trembling. Opening the letter, Hamilton read the following
words:

“Charming youth,

Will you, at eleven this evening, be on the Steyne, and meet a lady,
neither old, ugly, nor disagreeable? Your appearance bespeaks you a man
of honour; I need say no more.

                                                               AMANDA.”

Hamilton was very far from being a man of intrigue; but, on the other
hand, was not a perfect Sir Charles Grandison; besides, he was now
elevated with wine, and not indisposed to a frolic; and having a ready
invention, he immediately devised a scheme for disengaging himself
from his mother and sister: he wrote the lady that he should attend so
sweet an invitation; but that, as he was engaged with a family party,
he requested that she would send a message by a different porter,
earnestly desiring his company at the Coffee-house, in the name of
Richard Scribble, esq. The lady, who highly relished every kind of
artifice, had this stratagem completely executed. Hamilton having
returned to the ladies, observed marks of uneasiness in Maria’s face,
and that though Mrs. Somerive was entertaining her with that mixture
of sense, feeling, and humour, which he knew to be most agreeable to
the taste of his mistress; she lent a very constrained attention.
Mrs. Hamilton now proposed to go home, and as she was rising for that
purpose, a servant informed her son that Mr. Scribble was at the
Coffee-house, and very earnestly requested to see Mr. Hamilton, on
most particular business. “My compliments, and I will be with him
presently.” He accordingly departed. “It is very strange what that
foolish fellow could want with my son at such an hour.” Maria was
entirely of the same opinion as to the strangeness of Hamilton’s going
out, though she had a different conception of the cause; she well knew
that Hamilton very thoroughly despised the book manufacturer, and
reckoned his particular businesses frivolous nonsense; she therefore
conjectured that he was going upon some other business, arising
from the letter she had seen him receive. Brooding over this idea,
resentment and grief filled her susceptible bosom, which finding
herself unable to contain, she hastily withdrew, and sending an apology
to the ladies, ran to her own apartment, and threw herself upon the
bed in an agony of tears. Mrs. Somerive comprehended the case, and,
that the young lady might not be disturbed, withdrew; but her friend,
Charlotte Hamilton, would not depart without seeing Maria; she repaired
to her room, and inquiring into her illness, for some time could obtain
no answer. At last, Maria informed her of her suspicions, and their
grounds. Charlotte endeavoured to convince her that she must certainly
be mistaken; and besides, from what she had read and heard, it was
possible for a man to be passionately fond of one woman, though he
might pay some attention to another. “What, though he intrigues with
another?” said Maria. “Yes,” said Charlotte; “at least so Fielding
and Smollett tell us, and they knew human nature very well.--Do not
you remember Upton, my dear?” “Yes; but did Jones leave his Sophia in
order to meet another?” “Do not you,” replied Charlotte, “remember the
grove where there was the battle with Thwackum?--Do not you remember
Roderic Random and Nannette?” “Why, Charlotte,” said Maria, half
smiling, “you have stored your memory with the best passages.” “Poogh,”
said Charlotte, “one cannot help remembering what one reads.” “But,”
said Maria, “the cases are not in point; these were all accidents, and
might be forgiven; the present is certainly an assignation,--and an
assignation, to keep which, he leaves me:” here she again burst into
tears. Charlotte wishing to comfort her friend, proposed to stay with
her all night, which was thankfully accepted.

Meanwhile, our hero repaired to the Steyne, and there met two females;
one of whom he found to be the Countess of Cockatrice, and accompanied
her to the house of a fat woman that sold toys, in the adjacent part
of North-street, while her husband exercised divers other professions
in another quarter. The attendant, who was the lady’s own waiting
maid, went into the parlour with the plump hostess, and her lord and
master, who was supping very sociably with his consort, perfectly
reconciled to the exercise of her immediate occupation, or any other
that should help to fill his pockets. The lady, with the gentleman,
went to the drawing-room. As the subject of conversation had nothing
in it of any importance to the public, our hero never detailed it
to us, and therefore, we cannot detail it to our readers. We trust,
however, should any countesses be in that number, the security and
innocence belonging to that illustrious rank will convince them, that
in conference with a right honourable lady, nothing but what was
_right honourable_ could pass. Our hero, about one, returned. The
next morning, at breakfast, inquiring where his sister was, he learned
that she had stayed with Maria, who was taken ill.--“Taken ill?” said
Hamilton, alarmed,--“my beloved Maria ill?” and without waiting for
any answer, ran out. Etterick was breakfasting in his room, and his
daughter attending him; so that with Mrs. Hamilton, there were only her
father and brother. “I have suspected,” said she, “from the first time
that I saw them together, that William and Maria Mortimer are fondly
attached to each other. She is a charming girl; but William, who is so
very fine a youth, might certainly do a great deal better in the way of
fortune.” “He certainly might,” said Doctor Wentbridge; “and besides,
he is a youth of great talents, and might so connect himself, as to be
the means of rising in the state.--What say you, father?” “I say, that
what you both say is true; he might acquire riches, as you, daughter,
observe; or power, as you, son, observe; but is he thereby to attain
happiness? besides, neither of you have practised as you preach: you,
Eliza, married a man you loved, though of small fortune, and would not
marry a suitor that you did not love, though of great fortune; you,
Edward, not having succeeded with the lady that you did love, would
not marry at all, even though you once had opulence in your power;--I
acted upon the same principle, and was happy.” “What then, sir, would
you wish your grandson to marry this young lady?” “Not immediately; I
would wish him called to the bar first; though I must confess, I should
like very well to see a great grandchild before I die.” “As we are on
the subject of love,” said Dr. Wentbridge, “I think young Mortimer is
well affected to Charlotte; that would be a very good marriage for our
girl, sister, and I should rather see a great grandson to you, father,
in that way, than by so early a marriage of my nephew.” “Mortimer,”
said Mrs. Hamilton, “is only a year older; besides, you know he is
going abroad as secretary to our ambassador in France.” “I think,” said
Wentbridge, “of late, he does not seem to relish that appointment, and
frequently enlarges upon the pleasures of agriculture, and a country
life. I observe, both he and my nephew are particularly bent on
ingratiating themselves with the captain, who is the supreme director
of the Mortimer family.”

While the venerable vicar and his children were thus entertaining
themselves about his grand-children, our hero had reached the house
that contained his adored Maria; he found his sister and young
Mortimer in the parlour, and inquiring with the most tender anxiety
for Maria, learned that she was somewhat better, but did not think
she would be well enough to go to the ball that evening; “but, cannot
I see her?” “She will be down in half an hour.” At this time the
door opened, and Mr. Richard Scribble was announced, who entered
the room with a face of joy and exultation. “Congratulate, my dear
Hamilton.”--“Congratulate you on what?” Scribble took out a card, and
presenting it, Hamilton read--“Dr. Scribble,”--“Who the devil made
you a doctor?” “The learned university of Aberdeen; but not without
expence: it costs three pounds six shillings and eight pence,--I have
got the news by this very post.” “Dr. Scribble, I congratulate not
only you, but the university of Aberdeen itself, that has got such an
accession to its doctorial dignitaries.” “What became of you,” replied
Scribble, “yesterday, that I did not see you the whole day?” Charlotte
looked in her brother’s face. “Yesterday,” said Mortimer, “did not you
spend the evening together?” “No,” answered the doctor. John perceiving
our hero colour, saw that there was some mystery. Soon after, Charlotte
went out, and sending for her brother, explained the real cause of
Maria’s indisposition, and the whole circumstances, as have been
already narrated. “Now, I dare say you know me too well, to suppose I
wish to dive into any secrets; but for the peace of Maria, whom I know
you love to distraction, give some account respecting the letter, that
may be satisfactory; even a little invention may be excuseable for
such a purpose.” “Invention,” said Hamilton, “is not necessary; the
letter came from a female that I did not know, and from whom I found a
letter, on our return from Worthing. I went out, merely to explain to
her, without offending her pride, that, however amiable she might be,
it was totally impossible for me to make any return to her partiality;
I saw her in company with her confidant, and found her to be a lady
of great fortune. She was very much affected; but said, that since it
was so, she would immediately leave this place, and bury herself in
the country.” This story imposed on the unsuspicious Charlotte, and
she hastily ran to report it to Maria, who, wishing it true, was the
more easily persuaded; her eyes brightened; she soon descended, and
found our hero alone in the drawing-room. She confessed she had been
extremely affected and angry; but he now tasted, on her charming lips,
the sweets of reconciliation. While he held her encircled in his
enraptured arms, he implored her to consent to an immediate marriage.
Her denials were fainter than formerly, and at last she promised, that,
whenever he could procure the consent of her friends, hers should not
be wanting; but, she begged him not to be too precipitate. “My beloved
William is at present in great favour with my father and uncle, and
perhaps, by cautious and skilful management, you may prevail on them to
make us happy.” The last words she spoke with inexpressible softness,
and downcast eyes. William pressed her in his arms, and ardently
kissing her, exclaimed, “Why propose time and delay? By Heavens I
cannot live without you! I will immediately apply to your father and
uncle; and though my fortune be by no means such as, on account of
my beloved Maria, I could wish; yet, with my efforts, it will be
sufficient to command independence.” Maria had almost yielded to his
intreaties, when the entrance of Mrs. and Miss Hamilton put a stop to
the conversation, and the rest of the day was spent in consultations
and dispositions for the approaching ball.



CHAPTER XV.


HAMILTON and Maria, Mortimer and Charlotte, danced together the first
two dances. A gentleman, who had for some time regarded Miss Mortimer
with fervent admiration, now requested the honour of her hand. This
was a very graceful and elegant person;--Sir Edward Hamden, a man
about seven and twenty. Having danced with Miss Mortimer, he sat by
her during the remainder of the evening; paid her compliments at once
very warm and appropriate, while his countenance expressed the ardour
of passion. Hamilton, at this time, had been accosted by the Countess
of Cockatrice, who whispered him,--“Why do not you ask me to dance
with you?” Hamilton observed, “Not having the honour of being in
public known to your ladyship, I have foreborne an application that I
did not know would have been well received.” She archly answered, “No
application that so handsome a youth can make, can be ill received by
a lady of any sensibility.” Our hero thus challenged, could not avoid
acceptance, and the attention that politeness required, necessarily
compelled his absence from Maria. As he danced down, all the ladies
of her own circle tittered, and whispered, “Cockatrice, as usual, has
taken care to provide herself with one of the handsomest beaus which
the place affords.” Indeed the fair of the age, who united the bloom
of youth with the graces of beauty, were exceeded by this middle-aged
matron in the efficacy and effect of attractions. At forty she could
distance the most charming girl of twenty; for her age had not
impaired the force of charms so much, as experience improved skilful
and efficacious direction. Having both the soar, and the eye of an
eagle, while in pursuit of the very highest game, she would pounce upon
lower, and having succeeded, resume the chace. Her desire of conquest,
like Cæsar’s, combined emulation with ambition; to supplant another was
the second wish of her soul. She had seen at the Grove our hero and his
fair companion, was struck with the manly gracefulness of his figure,
the dignified beauty of his countenance, and also readily perceived
that the young lady that was with him entertained a similar opinion.
Thoroughly acquainted with the various channels of intelligence, and
having, in the worthy hostess of North-street and her no less worthy
spouse, and many others, agents for every purpose either of truth or
falsehood that she chose to discover or disseminate, she the following
day had learned more particulars than she had conjectured. The desire
of embroiling a couple of lovers added spurs to other motives for
courting the acquaintance of our hero. To be sure he was far removed
beneath the rank of one object that the Cockatrice wished to fascinate,
but he was a gentleman destined, she understood, to be a counsellor;
and though the good humour of her lord precluded any apprehensions that
she could have occasion for the professional efforts of a legal orator
in justificatory eloquence, she might have occasion for a champion
that might conduct offensive efforts against the insolent assailants
of a right honourable reputation. These, however, were distant
considerations. Our hero was a very handsome finely proportioned young
fellow. The bearer of such accomplishments, whatever his rank and
condition might be, carried with him a passport to the Cockatrice’s
favour. She used every effort in her power to convey to Miss Mortimer
an idea that our hero was paying his devoirs to herself. She so
contrived her positions, that Maria might see her face without seeing
Hamilton’s. When he spoke on the most common topics of the evening,
she assumed the expression of a downcast blushing girl, receiving the
soft declarations of a man whom she loved, but afraid to discover her
tenderness. Poor Maria, though far superior to the Cockatrice in real
ability and comprehensive penetration, yet as far inferior to her in
the labyrinths of artifice, was actually persuaded that her lover was
caught by the enchantress. She could not herself attend to either time
or figure, but with difficulty making her way down the dance, hastily
retired to her seat. That dance being over, Hamilton was flying
to his Maria, but stopped by Captain Mortimer, who was conversing
with a middle-sized slender gentleman, of a very bold and animated
countenance. Hamilton soon found him to be a naval officer, who, though
scarcely thirty years of age, had already highly distinguished himself,
and was looked on as one of the most promising hopes of the British
navy. Mortimer having introduced Hamilton and this gentleman to each
other, said, “Hamilton, this is as brave an officer as ever stepped
between stem and stern. You, they tell me, are a fine writer; who knows
but you may yet have to celebrate his atchievements when an admiral? By
the Lord, I have no doubt but my friend here, if he live and have an
opportunity, will equal your Rodney, Hawke, Russel, or any other of his
country.” The captain, not recollecting that, highly deserved as his
eulogia might be, they were not altogether seasonable in the presence
of their subject, persevered in illustrating them by particulars. His
brother captain took the first opportunity of leaving Mortimer, and
our hero was obliged to listen while the captain proceeded. Meanwhile
the countess had directed her steps to the spot where Sir Edward
Hamden sat with Miss Mortimer. Perfectly acquainted with the baronet,
“Pray,” she said, “Hamden, do you know who that charming youth is that
danced with me?” “I understand his name is Hamilton,” replied Hamden.
“What a graceful figure, what a bewitching countenance, what eyes,
and such a look as he has with him: it is well for me that I am past
my teens, and not a susceptible romantic girl.” “That you are out of
your teens,” said my Lord Bayleaf, who had come to reconnoitre Miss
Mortimer, “and past romantic love, we most readily admit; but that
you are also out of your susceptibility, I should rather be disposed
to doubt.” “Hamden,” said her ladyship, “Do you know that Bayleaf, as
he finds age growing on, and former amusements gone off, is going to
set up for a wit. He was hard at it last Friday, and has since been in
training; he only ventures twice a week yet, perhaps as he improves he
may get on to thrice. But,” proceeded the lady, “he applies his old
tastes to his jokes, he takes them at second hand.” “In the subject,
does your ladyship mean?” says Bayleaf. “No,” says she, “but in the
execution.” But here, his lordship being called aside to give judgment
on the genealogy of a horse, the countess resumed the praises of
Hamilton; and particularly celebrated the turn of his aspect towards an
agreeable woman. “Your ladyship’s attractions,” said Hamden, “would
soften the looks of any man.” “Really, I have not the vanity to think
that my ladyship’s attractions had entirely engrossed him, he seems
to have a habit of making love, and conveyed stolen glances at two or
three others. I think Miss Louisa Primrose, and that forward young
pout, Lady Betty Ogle, will pull caps about him. I am told he is a
young man of small fortune. Primrose is mistress of a plumb, so indeed
I told Hamilton. With so very pretty a girl it would be a God-send.”
“What,” said Hamden, “is your ladyship going to turn match-maker?” “Oh
no,” said she, “but I have taken a great fancy to this young man, and
intend to make him a protegée, and I think I could not do better for
him.” The very young lady in question, with her mother, now accosted
Captain Mortimer, who had formerly been captain in Admiral Primrose’s
own ship, and was well known to his widow, and also acquainted with
the daughter; and Mortimer, who was extremely fond of Hamilton, and
desirous of extending his acquaintance and connections, introduced him
to Louisa; and as the last dance of the second set was now ending,
Hamilton could not avoid asking the young lady to be his partner in the
two next. Politeness having compelled our hero to remain a few minutes
with his new acquaintance, he found on going to look for Maria, that
she had left the room, and before her return, the dance was called.
It being Miss Primrose’s dance, the first object that struck Maria on
re-entering the room was, Hamilton leading a pretty, sweet, interesting
girl through the mazes of a strathspey country dance, to the enlivening
strains of Lucy Campbell. By her uncle, who now joined her, she was
told, that the young lady dancing with Mr. Hamilton was the only
daughter of his old friend Admiral Primrose. This intelligence,
combined with what Lady Cockatrice had said, by no means tended to
relieve the anxieties of the evening. Miss Primrose, an agreeable
and engaging girl, joined with a delicate face and figure, had a
simplicity of aspect and manner, that added an impressive interest to
her other charms. She was pleased with the music, the dance, and above
all, the attention of her partner; and blue eyes, beaming softness,
glistened with delight. Though only eighteen, she had repeated offers
of marriage, but from none that made any impression on her heart. She
was struck with the elegance of Hamilton; and though not altogether
tinder, instantaneously to catch the fire of love, she could not help
regarding him with great complacency; which the vigilant eyes of Maria
observed, and her imagination exaggerated. Nor were doubts concerning
the man whom she loved, the only disagreeable sensations Maria had that
evening to experience. She was obliged to hear overtures to addresses
from a man that she did not love, and indeed, till that evening, had
never seen. This was Sir Edward Hamden,--in person and manners equal
to most men, in conversation intelligent, animated, and engaging. But
his various accomplishments were little regarded by Maria, whose heart
was totally occupied by another object. Though he did not professedly
make love, yet the language of his tongue, and much more of his eyes,
was infinitely too warm from a stranger to an occasional partner for
the evening, unless he intended farther acquaintance. She also observed
that he had found out her father, uncle, and brother, and paid them
respectively great attention; and, her fancy ranging into the probable
motives of the baronet’s conduct, and the probable consequences, she
foreboded unhappiness. At length our hero was able to rejoin his Maria,
and observing an expression of uneasiness, he endeavoured to learn
its cause. He enquired with such a manifestation of tender concern,
as gradually lessened the effect, and she became convinced that his
absence from her, and attention to others, were merely the effects of
unavoidable incidents, and resumed her usual cheerfulness. At supper,
Sir Edward Hamden found means to place himself in the party of the
Mortimers, which the captain also prevailed on Mrs. Primrose and her
fair daughter to join. While they enjoyed themselves, a waiter who knew
Hamilton, said, “there is a gentleman, sir, enquiring, at which table
you are supping.” “Who is it,” said Hamilton. “I do not know, sir, I
rather fancy he is a physician, but here he is, sir,” when Hamilton
turning about, beheld a little figure in black, with a large bag wig,
and a sword hanging by his side; and it was almost a minute before he
recollected him to be Dr. Scribble. “Doctor,” says he in surprise,
“What is the meaning of all this metamorphose?” Maria, at this address,
turning to survey the doctor, burst out into a fit of laughter which
soon pervaded the whole company. The face, naturally diminutive, was
half covered by the wig which came down to his cheek bones, the bag
overspreading his slender back and shoulders, rendered their flimsy
contexture more visible: the coat having very large flaps, made that
part of the person which these peculiarly affected, form a striking
contrast with the short and tiny limbs, from the close grasp of the
silks, smaller, if possible, in appearance than reality. Offended at
a mirth of which he himself was so evidently the object, he, with much
solemnity, opened a speech, in which he expressed his confidence that
there was nothing ludicrous and ridiculous in his appearance, that he
trusted both his dress and deportment would be uniformly such, as was
most compatible with the dignity to which he was now elevated. “My
appearance, I will be bold to say, befits my character.” “Character,”
said Captain Mortimer, “I do not know what the devil character it
befits, unless it be Captain Mirvan’s full-dressed monkey in Evelina.”
But our hero and young Mortimer, to prevent the doctor from attending
to this remark upon his archetype, made some little motion and bustle
to procure him room at table; and, while, the company were conversing
upon the occurrences of the evening, the doctor thought it a good
opportunity of delivering a dissertation upon the nature and tendency
of the ancient dances, and in the course of his illustrations, entered
upon the Ionicos motus of the lyric bard. The baronet, who before had
enjoyed the lectures of this spontaneous instructor, now joined with
the other gentlemen in traversing this part of the elucidation. Before
the doctor would take the hint, the company broke up for the night.

The next day, Hamilton went early to enquire for his Maria, and
after he had sat half an hour with the family, Sir Edward Hamden was
announced, who having paid his respects to Maria, and the rest of
the company, entered into an easy conversation with the gentlemen,
cautiously adapting its range to the inclinations of the persons whom
he addressed. With the captain he discoursed upon naval history;
with the squire, upon agriculture, and country sports; with the
young gentlemen, on moral science and literature; with the ladies,
on taste, belle-lettres, music, painting, fashionable manners and
diversions; and, Dr. Wentbridge making his appearance, he spoke of the
question between the church and the dissenters. After he had taken
his leave, all the company agreed that he was a very pleasing man.
Wentbridge, who knew something of his connections, informed them he
was a gentleman of great fortune, and much esteemed for his abilities
and character. Captain Mortimer now reminded Hamilton, that out of
politeness, he ought to ask for his fair partner Miss Primrose. Maria
could have wished that her uncle had spared this admonition, but no
objection could possibly be started by her, or indeed by any other,
and accordingly he went to pay his respects. The mother, he found,
was gone abroad, but that the young lady was at home. Miss Primrose
had been deeply impressed by the charms of our hero, and had not
discovered his attachment to another. On hearing his name announced,
fallacious hope, in its usual way, following wish, she ascribed
his early enquiries to a more potent motive than mere fashionable
politeness. Under these impressions, she descended to the drawing-room
with more haste, and received him with more animation than a stranger
could have excited merely as her partner at a ball. Our hero entered
into conversation with her, and found a great portion of good sense,
united with amiable dispositions, and thought her a very engaging and
interesting girl. Soon after his departure, meeting Captain Mortimer,
he expressed himself in terms of great approbation and esteem on
the subject of Miss Primrose, which the captain misunderstanding,
conceived that Hamilton was enamoured of the lady in question;
and knowing that in point of pecuniary emolument, it would be very
advantageous to him, he resolved to promote it to the utmost of his
power. The following day, repairing to Mrs. Primrose’s house, he,
after spending some time in conversation on other subjects, found
means to turn the discourse upon Hamilton, his great abilities and
accomplishments, and the prospects of aggrandizement which these
afforded, and took occasion to mention the high terms in which he had
spoken of Miss Primrose. In this interference the old captain’s motives
were honourable and pure. He knew nothing of the mutual affection
that subsisted between Hamilton and Maria. He thought highly of our
hero’s character and prospects. Fortune thus obtained, would enable
him, he thought, to rise to great consideration and importance in the
state. On the other hand, his virtues and accomplishments rendered him
worthy of Miss Primrose, and the happiness of both parties would, he
conceived, be thus promoted by an union. Captain Mortimer was a man of
an ardent mind, and whatever he desired, he strongly desired. On his
friend’s account he was as anxious for the completion of this project,
as if he himself had been to derive from it the highest benefit; and
in his zeal he made his advances without communicating with Hamilton
himself. The great point, he concluded, was to gain Miss Primrose, as
Hamilton could not fail, in the captain’s opinion, to accede with joy
to a scheme which would make his fortune. Mrs. Primrose and the captain
reciprocally dined at each other’s houses. Miss Primrose became daily
fonder of our hero, cultivated a close intercourse with his sister,
and also with her friend Miss Mortimer, whom she repeatedly saw in
company with Hamilton, without suspecting their mutual love. This
absence of apprehensions on that subject, was not entirely owing to the
simple naïvete of Louisa’s character, but also to other circumstances.

Within a few days after the ball, Sir Edward Hamden publicly made his
addresses to Maria Mortimer, and both her father and uncle thinking her
affections unengaged, with much pleasure expressed their approbation
of the offer, and rather too hastily announced their conviction, that
it could not fail to be agreeable to Miss Mortimer. Maria, though
unalterably resolved to be either the wife of Hamilton, or of none; yet
apprehending as both her father and uncle were very positive, and even
violent in their opinions and resolutions, a very disagreeable contest
with those whom she most highly valued, did not peremptorily avow her
sentiments. When the proposition was made, she declared her very high
opinion of the proposer’s merit, but that she never would marry a
man upon so short an acquaintance, and without being more thoroughly
acquainted with his character. Her uncle and father regarded these
declarations as the mere effects of coyness and coquetry, which they
supposed would soon give away to the accomplishments of the baronet, to
interest and to ambition. They both, therefore, the captain especially,
encouraged the baronet to perseverance, and assured him of success.
These girls, the captain would remark, do stand so shilly shally, and
will pretend to object to what they have most a mind to. Hypolita,
whom we saw the other evening at the play, is the picture of the
larger half of them; but you see she comes after her lover at last.
Hamilton immediately informed by Maria of the offer that was made,
after an interchange of the most solemn love and constancy, proposed to
declare his passion publicly; but Maria, alarmed at the consequences
which such a proceeding might produce, prevailed on him to forbear
it for the present, at the same time agreed to abide by it should
urgency arise to violence. Her purpose at present was to work on the
honour and generosity of the baronet, of whom she entertained a very
high opinion, and to induce him to desist from an application which
would be fruitless. Hamilton, finding her heart completely his own,
and that he was the ultimate end of her conduct, agreed to the means
which she proposed, though not altogether the same which he himself
would have chosen. John Mortimer, though sufficiently desirous of
the aggrandizement of his sister, if attainable consistently with her
happiness, yet had either observed or learned the state of her heart
and affections so fully, as to be convinced that her happiness depended
upon his friend Hamilton. But knowing the eagerness of his father
and uncle that Maria should become lady Hamden, he observed a strict
neutrality, determined to let the matter take its course, and perfectly
aware what course it would most probably take.--Captain Mortimer not
suspecting any difficulty, considered the affair as entirely settled,
and described it as such in various places, especially at Mrs.
Primrose’s. He also continued his high commendations of his friend
Hamilton, and thereby so fanned the passion of poor Louisa, that her
heart was gone before she suspected any danger. Meanwhile the baronet
was very urgent in his addresses. Maria firmly and decisively told
him, that she never could be his; but as she always deported herself
with her habitual politeness, and with the respectful attention due
to his character, he contrary to his usual discernment, drew from
her manners inferences concerning intentions, and, misapprehending
her dispositions, supposed that she affected the rejection in order
to enhance the value of acceptance, or, that pride contributed its
share to her professed determination of refusal, and that she forebore
immediately yielding, least it might be imputed, either by him or
by the world, to his rank and fortune. As he farther knew her, he
discovered the vigour of her understanding, and the independence of
her soul; that she was not to be obtained by wealth or distinction,
and that she was not to be bought, but to be won. His own person and
accomplishments were such as afforded him a fair prospect of success
with any woman that was unengaged; and not having discovered the state
of Maria’s heart, he trusted that he would be ultimately successful. He
was extremely struck with Hamilton, whose genius and erudition, his own
enabled him to appreciate, and whose knowledge and conversation might
be useful to him in his parliamentary exertions. Hamilton, too proud
to court rank in the baronet, respected talents, the appearance and
reputation of honour and patriotism, and did not reject his advances;
and increasing his esteem, as his acquaintance grew towards intimacy,
he, as a man of honour, resolved to seek a favourable opportunity of
opening the situation of his own and Maria’s affections.



CHAPTER XVI.


MEANWHILE the baronet was almost constantly with him and Mortimer;
and becoming acquainted with Dr. Scribble, and having a genuine taste
for humour, he entered thoroughly into the character of arrogant
emptiness, and literary scrap-writing. The doctor was very vain of
this acquaintance, as in discourse with his friend Nincompoop, or with
any of his fellow journeymen employed on Nin’s manufactures, he could
talk of “my friend the baronet,” as I observed to Sir Edward, who was
greatly struck with the depth of the observations. Scribble had taken
it into his head that no employment could be more suitable to his
capacity and fulness, than making speeches for members of parliament.
One day, as the Baronet was walking alone on the Steyne, expecting
our hero and the Mortimers, the Doctor accosted him, and, after the
first salutations, requested the honour of some private discourse.
Accordingly, they walked along Eastcliff, and the doctor began: “Sir
Edward Hamden, I deem myself happy in the honour of your acquaintance,
and should rejoice very much in an opportunity of rendering myself
beneficial to a young gentleman, whom I think destined to be an orator
and a statesman.” “Sir,” said Sir Edward, “praise from Dr. Scribble,
must be always adequately valued, by every one who has discernment
to appreciate his character, which is too strongly marked, not to be
easily comprehended.” “Sir,” said the doctor, “you do me infinite
honour; you have heard of me then before;--you have, I presume,
read my history of Jack the giant killer.” “Oh! undoubtedly;” “which
part of it do you think most striking?” “It is all so conspicuous,”
replied the baronet, “that I find it difficult to select one part,
more characteristic of the author, than another: which do you think
the best yourself?” “Why, I think the dissertations upon dress, and
especially shoe-strings in the time of the ancient Britons, is one
of the most profound; but the most pathetic, is the Hero’s Adventure
in the house of the two giant misers; I think that is fully equal to
Livy’s story of the Horatii and Curatii, far surpassing any modern
historian. This hero’s reception from his uncle, is chiefly to be
admired, for exhibiting my powers of moral precept and inculcation.
An insolent reviewer charged me with borrowing from Mother Goose’s
tales, especially from Bluebeard, and Little Thumb and the Ogre, but
it was all false. History, however, is not my only fort; indeed I can
write every thing, for instance, what a fuss there is about that fellow
Moore’s Travels; I can write travels better than he;--I have brought
you a specimen of a new work I am bringing out for Mr. Nincompoop,
the famous bookseller. It’s title is, A curious and interesting Tour
to Maidenhead; back by Windsor, Stains, Sunbury, Hampton-Court,
Kingston, Twickenham, and home by Richmond. I flatter myself, you
will find novelty, ingenuity, and humour.” Accordingly, the Baronet
read: “Tuesday, June 24th, we set off on horseback from the Black
Bear-inn, Piccadilly, before Six; when we passed St. James’s church,
the clock wanted seven minutes; meet turnip carts coming to market;
arrive before the Duke of Queensberry’s house;--fine prospect of St.
James’s park and the Surrey hills.” “You see I make observations as
I go along, sir.” “Arrive at the turnpike--find it is exactly six;
compare our watches with the clocks;--we have taken seven minutes
from St. James’s church. N. B. A wise man rides more slowly over the
stones, than on the road. Proceed on our tour--arrive at Knightsbridge;
to the left, there turns off a new street, called Sloane-street,
from Sir Hans Sloane.--N. B. He was a great naturalist.” “Biography,
you observe, sir,” said the doctor. “Oh yes,” answered the baronet.
“Another road turns off to Fulham;--Latin pun on two soldiers went
to Putney: ‘Ibant tinctores animæ duo ponere juxta. Explanation: duo
two, animæ soul, tinctores diers, ibant went, ponere to put, juxta
nigh,’ A little farther on, is the pound,”--“Yes,” said the doctor,
“curiosities.” “Beyond Knightsbridge, Hyde Park wall,--crowds of
strawberry girls in the foot-path;--meet long coaches. N. B. That
road a great thoroughfare;--Kensington George II. died here.” “I
give my companion a sketch of his history: Holland-house not in
the modern style of building;--dissertation upon architecture;--my
companion observes I know every thing. Attending too earnestly to my
subject, run against a carter--scoundrel hits me with his whip;--I
turn about and swear at him. He comes back;--I ride on.” Dipping into
another page, the Baronet found “Brentford, said to be a royal city;
entrance not remarkable for royal magnificence.” “You observe,” said
the Doctor, looking with arch sarcasm, “my friend advises me, as a
great antiquarian, to write the history of the monarchs of Old and
New Brentford. Sion-house, my remarks on the Percies, and the battle
of Chevy Chase. Approach Smallberry-green; inform my companion of my
extreme intimacy with Sir Joseph Banks; my comrade happens to know
him a little. Observe a person before his house, whom he insists
to be, I, not to be Sir Joseph;--I ride on--my companion certainly
mistaken.” The Baronet, rather tiring of this, turned over a good many
pages, and found “Chertsea, St. Ann’s hills, house of Charles James
Fox,--Fox no orator.” “Original discovery,” said the Doctor, “hem.” “I
perfectly agree with you sir, it is,” “The world is totally mistaken
in him.” “Demonstrate to my companion, that I surpass Fox in every
thing;--comrade hard-headed won’t be convinced,--less agreeable than I
thought him.” The Baronet skipping again, dipped into “Hampton Fishery,
they catch Gudgeons here; I observe they also catch Gudgeons in
town. _Bon mots_ for you,--I excel in wit, as much as in philosophy.”
“That I can perceive,” said the Baronet; “I see, sir, this is just
such a performance, as I should have expected from Dr. Scribble.”
“Since you do me the honour to entertain so very high an opinion of my
abilities; how happy I should be, in devoting them to your information
and instruction. I should, with much pleasure, sir, on any important
question, make such speeches, as would astonish the senate, if you
were to speak them.” “That sir, I am convinced you could,” “and in
any manner that you chuse.” “I am very happy in imitating Burke; but
that’s not difficult; Burke is, after all, only shallow. I could
enliven a speech with better wit than Sheridan’s;--indeed, that’s no
great matter. His School for Scandal, that the world so much admired,
is but a poor performance; I, myself, could far surpass it, were I
to _descend_ to writing for the stage, but that I despise.” “Did you
never write for the stage, doctor?” “I once wrote a tragedy.” “What
was the subject?” “The death of Colebrand, or the history of Guy, Earl
of Warwick.” “And how was it received, doctor?” “Whatever I write, has
numberless enemies;--they had the insolence to damn it. Pit, boxes,
galleries, all hired to join against poor Guy;--there was a great
deal of nature and of wit in the dialogue, for it made them laugh a
good deal; but it was damned. The whole world were in a confederacy
against me; but I wrote and published an address, which proved every
one that spoke or hissed against me, to be a dunce.” “How did you prove
that, doctor?” “How did I prove that;--how do I prove any thing? but
by giving my own judgment, that it is so. I declare they were all
dunces, and God confound them all for dunces. They had the insolence
to say Dr. Scribble was a dunce;--the whole audience called out, Dicky
was a dunce:--could flesh and blood bear it? Was it not a libel?--I
believe Lord Mansfield would declare it so.” Without attending to this
legal illustration, the doctor proceeded; “I published a work a few
days after, proving them all to be in a conspiracy against me, for my
superior genius; but to return, I again proffer you, Sir Edward, my
political services.” “Doctor Scribble,” replied the Baronet, “I have
a just sense of the importance of your offer; but I am sorry, that I
cannot think of shining by a borrowed light, and must make the best of
my own powers and knowledge;--but there comes your friend Sir Joseph,
shall we go and meet him?” “Not at present,” said the Doctor, “being
engaged very particularly on the other side of the town.” Sir Edward
now joined the other baronet, and after the common salutations, “I have
just parted with your friend, Dr. Scribble.” “My friend!” returned
Sir Joseph, “I do not know him;--I know there is such a man, and that
he pretends to be a kind of an antiquarian.” “I thought you had been
extremely intimate,” said Sir Edward. “Oh no, I have not the least
acquaintance with the man.” Not long after the baronet was joined by
our hero, and communicated the discourse that had passed between him
and Dr. Scribble. Our hero was amused by the oratorial propositions of
this learned person; but soon forgot the doctor and all his concerns,
in subjects that concerned himself much more nearly. Sir Edward and
he happening to pass near the lodgings of Miss Primrose, the baronet
expressed his opinion, that the young lady was passionately in love
with Hamilton; that she was a charming girl; would bring him an ample
fortune; and he was assured that Hamilton might soon obtain a seat
in parliament, and must rise to distinguished eminence. “I hope,
Hamilton,” he continued, “that my beloved Mortimer will cease to be
so insensible, at least so inflexible, as I have now experienced;
how happy, my dear friend, for short as is our acquaintance, so I
consider you, if our respective nuptials could take place at the same
time; and if the two families continued to cultivate the intimacy that
their respective masters would wish. Your inamorata and mine appear
extremely attached to each other,” Our hero thinking the present a
favourable opportunity of opening his mind to Sir Edward, proposed to
walk a short way from town, “wishing,” he said, “to have the pleasure
of a very particular conversation.” The baronet, not doubting that our
hero wished to give him his confidence, particularly on the subject of
Miss Primrose, and equally desirous of consulting with him concerning
Miss Mortimer, most readily agreed; and they were preparing to take
a turn to the race ground, when a servant came to inform Sir Edward,
that a gentleman, whom he named, and who was of great consequence, in
the county represented by the baronet, had called at his lodgings, and
was very desirous of seeing him immediately. Sir Edward accordingly
went in quest of him, and found it was necessary, for the present, to
relinquish the engagement with Hamilton. That day the Mortimers, old
and young, had gone to the captain’s cottage, which the old gentleman
wished to visit, in order to give directions, and was to return in the
evening. Our hero, after dinner, strolled along the Arundel road, not
without secret hopes of meeting the company, of which his beloved Maria
was one. The Mortimer family, by taking a different road, did not meet
with our hero, and having returned to Brighton, learned that Hamilton
had taken an afternoon-walk, and was not returned. John concluded he
had met with some engagement, and his own family conceiving the same
opinion, the Mortimers and Hamiltons parted for the night, and the
former had supped, and were preparing to go up stairs to bed, when the
servant, a simple country lad, ran into the parlour with terror and
consternation, and addressing his master, exclaimed, “Oh, zir, this be
a terrible _pleace_; there is a murder just done by the church; the
two poor gentlemen that comes so often here, the baronight.” “Who,”
said Captain Mortimer, “and ’Squire Hamilton, are lying a corpse.”
Maria, in the most terrible apprehensions, from the exordium of this
narration, at its conclusion, fell lifeless on the ground. The captain
and his brother, both imputing this paroxysm of grief to her love
for Hamden, recommended to young Mortimer the care of his sister;
ran towards the place which the servant mentioned, hoping that the
accounts might be false; yet, in their agitation, took no pains to
examine the man, as to the source and particulars of his information.
Mortimer, with the assistance of Maria’s maid, at length brought her to
her senses, but only to open to her visions of despair. She instantly
conceived that Hamilton had unbosomed himself to his rival, and
that the pride of disappointment overpowering the generosity of the
baronet’s disposition, they had quarrelled and fought, and that she was
the cause of her beloved Hamilton’s death. She called on his name in
the phrenzy of desperation; vowing, that she would follow him, and be
buried in the same grave. Mortimer, though extremely anxious to inquire
more particularly into the fate of his friend, could not leave his
sister, who exhibited symptoms of distraction, that he was afraid might
terminate in insanity. A physician being immediately sent for, and
hearing the case, administered a composing draught, which gave to Miss
Mortimer a temporary oblivion of her grief. Young Mortimer now sallied
forth, anxious to learn the particular circumstances of the death
of his friend; wishing, yet fearing, to mingle his sorrow with the
grief of Charlotte; he betook himself, to the house of Mrs. Hamilton.
Approaching the door, all was dark; listening in expectation to catch
the sounds of mourning, all was still, and wore the appearance of sleep
undisturbed; perhaps it was the tranquillity of exhausted nature,
obtaining some repose, after the paroxysms of lamentation; should he
interrupt the short intermission of woe, soon enough would mother and
sister be fully awake to the sense of irretrievable loss. Now he would
indulge the melancholy pleasure of contemplating his fallen friend, so
soon to be mingled with primeval dust. The clock had struck twelve;
it was the gloomy stillness of departing October, without a breath
of wind, or any sound to be heard, except the hollow murmur of the
becalmed sea. As Mortimer walked up the Downs, to the reported scene
of his friend’s assassination, he reached the church, there expecting
to find a crowd, seeking or bearing the corpse. He thought he heard
voices at a distance;--he moved towards the place whence they issued;
a tall figure approached by the pale and twinkling light of the
fading stars; it appeared, either to his senses or fancy, to resemble
the murdered Hamilton. Mortimer, though a young man of vigorous
understanding, sound and rational piety, without any consciousness of
superstition, yet, believing in the immortality of the soul, could see
no impossibility in the appearance of disembodied spirits: what was
possible, though not probable, might exist. He was riveted to the spot;
from the approaching figure a voice issued, “Keep your distance, as
you value your life.” The voice was Hamilton’s; he could not disobey
the awful intermination; strong as his nerves were, they were not
a match for his sensations; the figure passed on,--Mortimer sank to
the ground; at length recovering, he, with slow and trembling steps,
crept homewards: meeting a watchman at the outskirts of the town, he
begged for his arm and assistance, and was conducted to his house;
entering, he found his father and uncle just returned, after a search
entirely unsuccessful: still leaning upon the watchman’s shoulder,
with his knees tottering, his face staring, wild, and bloodless, he
presented himself to his astonished friends. “Good Heavens! what is
the matter?” said his father. “I have seen him,” replied he, in a
hollow voice. “Seen whom?” said his uncle. “My dear deceased friend,
William Hamilton.” The hearers eagerly inquired, when, where, how:
before he could answer, there was a tap at the parlour window;--one
light only glimmered on the table, in crowding too near which, some
person overturned it, and it blew out; the tap was repeated, and a
voice, pronouncing John Mortimer, was distinctly heard: the company,
which had received the addition of Hodge, the footman, made no answer;
a soft knock was heard at the street-door,--no attention was paid;
the watchman declared his inability to return alone to his station,
and the dawning morn found them all assembled in the same spot. The
reflection of John at length operating, he imputed his apprehensions to
some accidental resemblance, and he retired to rest;--after broken and
confused slumbers, finding it in vain to hope for comfortable sleep, he
was preparing to rise about ten, when the voice of his sister assailed
his ears, calling, with phrenzy, upon her murdered Hamilton. As he was
hastily equipping himself, he heard a loud scream at the door of his
apartment, which quickly opened, and there appeared the very image
which he had seen on the Downs the night before. Gazing intently, he
faultered, “you certainly are Hamilton’s apparition.” “Apparition!”
replied the figure; when the voice of Maria through a thin partition
assailed his ears:--“my only love,--my murdered Hamilton, I will follow
him to the grave.” Mortimer was staring on his visitant, but on the
last words that issued from the next room, hastily rushed thither.
Maria perceiving the spectre, stretched out her hands, but sank into
insensibility. Mortimer rushed in, saw his sister again lifeless, and
heard from the spectre the mildest tones of impassioned love; still,
under the impression which had been conveyed so deeply the former
night, he approached the figure--not without fear and trembling; but
the spectre asking him, in a tone at once calm and pathetic, what
caused the illness of his beloved Maria, and happening accidentally
to touch him, John was convinced it was not only a visible, but a
tangible spirit. “Good Heavens!” said Mortimer, “my dearest friend,
Hamilton, you you--are are alive.” The figure, without answering
this application, continued addressing Maria, who, opening her eyes,
and again beholding Hamilton, relapsed into insensibility. At this
instant, Charlotte Hamilton hastily entering the room, said to him,
“Good God, William, what a strange report there is through the town,
that you were murdered last night, and that your ghost appeared near
the church.” Mortimer, eagerly taking hold of the figure that stood
before him, and feeling the same hard muscular arms, and examining him
with an accuracy that evidently surprized the object of scrutiny; “do
you know, Hamilton, I thought you was dead: this notion operated so
strongly upon me, that I was convinced I had seen your ghost.” “But,”
replied the other, “my dearest Charlotte, administer to my beloved
angel.” “The same idea,” said Mortimer, now more master of himself,
“operated upon my sister.” Charlotte now reminded them of their being
in Maria’s apartment, in circumstances, which from her suggestion, they
first recollected; and on seeing marks of re-animation, before Maria
could again distinguish her lover, they withdrew. Mortimer, satisfied
that his identical friend was now by his side, alive and well, before
he thought of entering on the particulars of the report, or it’s
foundations, somewhat impressed with the apprehensions of his sister,
that a fatal quarrel had taken place between Hamilton and Hamden;
“poor Hamden,” he said, “was an amiable and accomplished man, and I
lament his death.” “Death,” said Hamilton, “I do not think his wound
is dangerous.” “I am surprized, my dear friend,” said Mortimer, “that
being to have such an encounter, you did not apply to me.” “How could
I?” said the other, “when it was so unexpected.” “Did you fight with
sword or with pistols?” “First sword, and then pistols.” “Did you wound
Sir Edward with a ball?” “I wound Sir Edward,” said Hamilton, “what
do you mean?” At this instant a note was brought to our hero, which
opening, he read as follows:

  “My brave deliverer,

I am just able to inform you, that the Surgeon this morning pronounces
me out of danger; but, as writing somewhat pains me, I can only say,
that I owe my life to you. Your most grateful

                                                        EDWARD HAMDEN.”

Hamilton having shewed Mortimer this letter, he informed him of the
circumstances, which it seems were as follow:

Being now the end of October, and the evenings soon closing in, night
overtaking him, first reminded him of the expediency of returning;
finding, however, that he was not far from Shoreham-bridge, where
there was a comfortable inn, he walked thither, and ordered some
coffee, which was brought him in a public room; there were several
persons in the apartment, and the conversation happened to turn upon
footpad-robberies, which, though in that neighbourhood very unusual
before, had taken place the preceding evening near Arundel, and were
ascribed to part of a gang of smugglers, whose contraband goods had
been seized a few nights before, by the custom-house officers, and a
party of dragoons. The banditti being thereby ruined, and desperate,
had taken to a course, with which the fraternity is well acquainted.
Two or three very suspicious fellows had passed eastwards in the dusk
of the evening; our hero hearing this account, thought it would be
necessary for him, in his return, to be cautious, and resolved to take
the upper, instead of the lower road, because, though solitary, he
thought it less dangerous than a path that led along the precipitate
cliffs; conscious of his own strength and courage, and generally
walking with a strong sword-cane, he resolved to take his chance. A
little before his departure, he observed one person in company eyeing
him, rather sternly; he returned the examination, and saw, that in
point of muscular strength, there could be little danger, if he had
to encounter this fellow alone; and the person going out, he soon
after sallied forth, that he might pass him, before he could be far
enough from the houses to attempt an attack, or could join companions
who were likely to be on the road; at a shed near the house, he saw
sitting on a bench, a tall stout soldier, in the Highland dress, with
the forty-second regiment on his buttons; he asked him which way he
was bound; the other answered in a Scotch accent, for Brighton,
please your honour; I am come from Hilsea barracks, with a message
from the Colonel to Captain Malcolm Macniel of our regiment. Hamilton
informing him he himself was going to Brighton, said he would be very
glad of his company; the soldier, with much pleasure, embracing this
proposal, they set off. Hamilton, thoroughly confiding in the honest
and intrepid countenance of his companion, asked him if he saw a fellow
pass a little before he spoke; the other answered in the negative;
but said, that though he had nothing to lose himself, hearing there
were smugglers and footpads on the road between Hilsea and Arundel,
he had brought a bayonet as well as a broad-sword, and that either of
them were at his honour’s service. Hamilton thanked him; but said, he
trusted the sword which he had would be sufficient, if there was any
danger. When they had walked about half a mile, they heard a whistle;
they moved cautiously, but firmly on. A little after, two villains
sprang upon our hero, and presenting pistols, demanded his money
and watch. The soldier, whom not expecting, they had not observed,
advancing softly with his bayonet, ran it into one of the ruffians;
the other fired a pistol, which luckily missing Hamilton, he wrested
it from his hand, and felled the villain to the ground. Searching
the ruffians, the conquerors found two brace of pistols on each, all
loaded except the one that had been fired; of these they possessed
themselves, as a further security upon the road; and leaving the fallen
assailants, resolved to proceed with all possible dispatch to the first
inhabited place, to procure assistance, which might at once attend
to the wounds of the robbers, and secure their persons. With this
intent they walked forward till they came to a cross road that turns
to the north; and they were in a declivity, descending into a hollow
between two hedges: here they heard a voice, calling, kill him; moving
softly forward, they saw a postchaise standing, and heard a person
praying they would spare his master. “I will be d---- if we do,” said
the voice that they had first heard; the soldier whispered “Let us
proceed, sir, by surprise, as we once did in America, when six of us
at night pretending to be a large party, took twenty prisoners;” and
immediately called out, “surround the fellows--fire,” Hamilton obeyed
the order; two men were wounded at the first round, the others being
still three in number; but supposing their adversaries twice as many,
ran different ways. Our hero now coming to a gentleman that was lying
on the ground, called to his servant and the postillion to assist in
carrying him to a house, whilst they should watch against the return of
the robbers; The servant, on hearing the voice of Hamilton, immediately
said to him with great eagerness, “Oh sir, you are a friend of my poor
master!” “Who is he?” The other answered, “Sir Edward Hamden.” “Good
Heavens!” said our hero, “I left him at Brighton only a few hours
ago.” Endeavouring to stop the blood, they directed the postboy to run
for assistance to an adjoining farm-house, as it would be impossible
for him to bear the jolting of the chaise. Help was immediately
procured, and the wounded gentleman was carefully borne to the hamlet.
Hamilton having some slight knowledge of surgery, found means, with
the assistance of the farmer’s wife, to stop the further effusion of
blood, and a messenger was dispatched for the most skilful surgeon
in Brighton; but with strict orders not to mention the name of the
gentleman, least his friends should be prematurely alarmed. The surgeon
soon arrived, and found that the wound did not proceed from a ball, as
had been apprehended, but from a cutlass; and that, though the patient
was faint from loss of blood, there would be no danger, unless from a
fever, the prevention of which would be the chief object of his regimen
and medicinal applications; it was necessary in the first place, to
keep the patient quiet. Leaving the room for that purpose, Hamilton
had now an opportunity of learning the circumstances of the accident,
which were briefly these: After parting with Hamilton, Sir Edward
had joined the gentleman that was in quest of him, found that he was
about to leave Brighton upon county business of considerable importance
to Sir Edward’s interest, but in which the baronet could not appear
himself. Sir Edward, to converse fully on the subject, accompanied
him the first stage on his road to town, and having dined with him
at Henfield, returned in the evening; the postboy having taken the
circuitous, instead of the direct road, they were met by six fellows,
who surrounded the chaise, demanding his money: Hamden at first offered
them his purse; they insisted also for his watch; this having descended
to him from his father, he was reluctant to part with it, and pledged
his honor, that the following morning he would pay one hundred guineas
to any person that they should send to Sir Edward Hamden, and that no
questions should be asked. One or two of the fellows, who were young
in the gang, proposed to accept this offer; but the more experienced
villains regarding it as a present evasion, and future trap, not only
refused to consent, but were enraged against the proposer; and while
he still urged his request, one of the most desperate called, “d----
your palaver, I’ll put an end to that,” and fired into the carriage.
The Baronet, conceiving that their intention was now to murder him,
determined it should not be with impunity, returned the fire, which
brought the ruffian to the ground; all the fellows had not pistols, and
though those that had used them, yet, fortunately, the Baronet escaped;
and while two kept the servant-boy, and another the postillion, the
two remaining fellows pulled Hambden out of the carriage; one of them
hit him with a cutlass, and they were about to perpetrate the murder,
when the intervention of Hamilton and his gallant comrade effected his
delivery. The messenger that had sent the surgeon, though expeditious
in executing that part of his commission, had not equally attended to
the charge of secrecy; going in to take a social pot with one of his
acquaintances, he had given a most tremendous account of the exploit
that had been atchieved; he said, several gentlemen, however, had been
murdered; he did not know the names of the rest, but two were Hambden
and Hamilton. After this information, he left his friend, and returned
home; the other quickly joining a party of acquaintances, informed them
of the dreadful doings that had been going on on the Church Downs,
(for he brought the scene two miles nearer to Brighton) and that Sir
Edward Hambden and Mr. Hamilton and six more were murdered; as it was
yet hardly ten, the news soon spread through the whole place, and
among others, reaching the footman of Mr. Mortimer, had caused the
dreadful alarm which we have seen. Hamilton, having waited till Sir
Edward’s wound was dressed, had returned to town, and seeing a man at
so late an hour, had used the words which John imputed to the spirit
of his murdered friend. Having perceived a light in Mr. Mortimer’s
house, and heard the voice of John, he had knocked at the door, tapped
at the window, called on his friend’s name, and thereby caused such
consternation: thus the mystery was solved, and the ghost, like other
ghosts, proved to be flesh and blood.

Just as Hamilton had finished his narrative, they heard, in the
adjoining room, Maria eagerly addressing her friend Charlotte: “Do not
flatter my hope, my dear Charlotte, but is my William alive?” “Alive?
he is, and has never been hurt.” Hamilton, regardless of his dear
Maria’s situation, rushed into her apartment, and in a fond embrace,
enjoyed the delight with which she received him, as if recovered
from the dead: her father and uncle were soon informed of the actual
circumstances of the encounter, and with the sincerest pleasure,
learned that both Hamilton and Hamden were alive, and in no danger.

Hamden was brought to Brighton in a litter, and gradually recovered.
During his convalescence, our hero and Maria thought it would be unwise
to explain to him the footing on which they were, and the time arrived
for leaving Brighton before any eclaircissement took place.



CHAPTER XVII.


BEING returned to London, our hero chiefly devoted himself to literary
pursuits, and especially to the work which he had engaged to execute.
As he had now advanced considerably in reputation, many applied to him
for his judgment concerning literary works, and on other subjects.
Female authors brought him their novels and dissertations, and some of
them appeared willing to submit to any terms he chose to prescribe,
provided Hamilton would give a favourable review of the productions
of their brain. They cared little what their other works might be, if
their literary works underwent a favourable investigation. In reviewing
the publications of men, Hamilton was very fair and impartial. But
the effusions of female pens he generally regarded with an eye of
indulgence; and, indeed, a critic must be very austere, who, when
an agreeable young woman brings her intellectual offspring for his
inspection, will very severely scrutinize every part. Observations
may be common-place, but a kiss of the fair deliverer’s sweet lips,
might convince even Aristarchus himself, that actions in which there
is little novelty, may still be very pleasing. Perhaps there may
be a small forgetfulness in such matters as nominatives and verbs,
relatives and antecedents; _whom_ where a pedantic grammarian might
require _who_, or it may be spelling somewhat different from the formal
stiffness of Dr. Johnson, or some little inadvertencies in the way
of geography, chronology, or history, such as that the Earl of Essex
commanded an expedition against Calais in Henry Vth’s wars; Algernon
Sidney lived in the time of Queen Elizabeth; or that Admiral Hawke
defeated the Spanish armada at La Hogue; or any little trifling mistake
of that kind. The sweet smile of harmony and good humour will atone
for a false concord. Our hero, in his criticisms upon the productions
of ladies, shewed, that with him at least, the age of chivalry was not
gone.

It was now the month of December, when one morning Hamilton was told
a young woman wanted to speak to him. “I have seen her before,” said
the servant; “I remember her shop-woman to Miss Edging the milliner.”
“Oh, I suppose she must want you, Charlotte?” “Very probably,” said
Charlotte; “I expect a cap home.” “No, miss, the cap will not be
ready till to-morrow morning; it is my master she wants.” Our hero
accordingly attended in the drawing-room, and saw a very pretty little
girl about twenty, who somewhat flurried, and blushing, begged pardon
for the great liberty she had taken; “but when business is slack,”
she said, “during summer, I have been doing a little in the novel
line; and Mr. Nincompoop, who keeps the eminent press for that kind
of _larning_, and who is a most capital judge, has been pleased to
think very well of it, and now it is published. But they tell me that
it is of great consequence to have it well spoken of in the Reviews.
Having, therefore, the honour of serving your mother and sister, and
having, I believe, given them satisfaction, particularly in bonnets
(for Miss Hamilton is very partial to my bonnets); I have even had
the honour of lacing cravats for you, sir: therefore, sir, I thought
you would excuse my freedom in begging a merciful criticism. I am a
young beginner, sir, and I hope you will make allowances.” “He must
be a very insensible critic,” said our hero, “that could see so very
sweet a girl, and be disposed to severity.” “Oh, sir, you gentlemen do
flatter so:” and now our hero, pulling a table before them, requested
Miss Lacecap to sit down upon the sofa, that they might with the more
convenience look over the work together. On the sofa accordingly did
our author and our critic sit. Miss pulled out two volumes, one of
which our author opening, read the title page, which was as follows:
“The Maze, of Marvels: or, the Loves of Carolino and Athalia.” “Very
pretty soft names your hero and your heroine.” “I am happy to have
your approbation, sir. I have an abstract of the plot written, sir.”
Accordingly she produced a paper. “I have to observe, sir, that what
put the plot in my head first, was reading a book called Ovid, I
believe Dryden is the author, where there was a very pretty affecting
story, called, ‘Pyramid and Thisby.’ I dare say you know the story?”
“Yes, I recollect something of it.” “Now, sir, I think a great deal in
a story is a pretty name.”

“Story--Carolino and Athalia often see one another at a _windore_, and
being both extraordinary handsome, they fall in love with each other;
but their parents being rival shopkeepers, is not friends, and so
they are against the lovers, and they are obliged to whisper secretly
through a crany in the wall of the back-yard. Accordingly they lament
that they cannot be oftener together and nearer, and agree to have
an assignation in a church-yard, when the neighbours should be in
bed.” “A church-yard!” said our hero; “is not that a melancholy scene
for a meeting of lovers?” “Oh, no. In the story-book Pyramid meets
with Thisby in a church-yard, near a great lord’s tomb, for it seems
lords did not then bury in the church. To be understood, I suppose,
the church-yard to be near town, at Mary-le-bone, for instance; so
off they set out to meet. Athalia gets first to the place.” “Do not
you think that makes Carolino very ungallant?” “Oh no, sir. You see
Carolino is her first love, and she has been to boarding school, and
reads novels and love-stories, and is therefore the more coming.
Thisby, in the story, gets to the church-yard before Pyramid; it is as
it were more a novelty to her.” “A most excellent comment upon Ovid’s
Thisbe,” said our hero. “Yes Sir,” said the young lady, simpering;
“that same Ovid knew our _sect_.” By this time, in the progress of
criticism, our Longinus’s hand happened to have doubled the fair
Sappho’s neck, with its course directed onwards, and his lips had
reviewed hers in a kiss. When after an “a fie, sir,” in which the
smiling eyes did not correspond with the chiding tongue, she went
on; “Athalia is flustrated, on finding Carolino not there; but in
a few minutes he comes, a little afraid at being in the dark alone
in so dismal a place, and whistling ‘Lango Lee,’ to keep himself in
courage.” “Do you think that a natural circumstance?” “Oh, yes, I once
knew an instance myself: A gentleman belonging to the guards (but
interrupting the instance)----the bravest man in the world might be
afraid of apparitions.” “Certainly, no hero that was to meet with so
lovely a girl as you, in a sweet solitary retirement, could be under
the influence of fear.” “No, sir, Carolino and Athalia are not afraid
after they do meet; then they have something else to think of. But we
will go on with the story if you please, sir.” “Carolino and Athalia
meet at the gate of the Mary-le-bone burying-ground, by the light of
the moon, and they embrace one another with the warmest affection, and
reciprocate the sweet strains of love; when a watchman, almost at their
ears, calls past twelve o’clock.” Here the author observed, “I did not
know, sir, how to bring in a lion, because them kind of beastesses
are not to be found in the fields; but only at Exeter Change, and the
Tower.” “Why, my fair friend, you observe probability much better than
many of your sister novelists, and perhaps a watchman might occur to
your fancy as a more probable intruder into such a tender scene than
a lion.” “Oh yes, sir, but let us go on.” “The lovers, to escape the
questions of the watchman, cross the New Road into the fields near the
Jews Harp. For several months the fond lovers have interviews, but
ah the cruelty of destiny! poor Athalia finds a change in her shape,
which a cruel and unfeeling world is so malignant as to censure. She is
likely to be a mother without being a wife.” “Poor Athalia!” said the
critic; “but one comfort to her is, her case is not singular.” “Alas!
no,” said the author; and here she sighed, and was in some little
agitation; but our hero either not noticing, or not appearing to notice
her, proceeded, and read in the synopsis “a pathetic letter of Athalia
to Carolino, on discovering her condition.” Hamilton turned to the
place, and read as follows:

 “My beloved Carolino,

How shall I communicate to you the fatal secret; alas! I am betrayed.
I will not reproach you. I am betrayed into _mistake_ by the soft
sensibility of too tender a heart. I cannot reproach you; I can only
blame myself, and a worthless and malignant world. Ah! why (as the
king of German moralists observes so strongly) should that be reckoned
dishonourable in event which proceeds from no malevolent intention?
Why should the indulgence of the sweetest of affections be reckoned
a crime? Why should it be deemed shameful to obey the impulses of
nature? Ah! when shall the corruptions of society suffer actions to
be estimated according to the divine sentiments of the “Virgin of the
sun,” even after the title ceased to be applicable. When, like Clara
and Lindor, shall we look on such incidents as innocent and even
laudable. I need not say, shall _we_ look, but shall a worthless and
wicked world look upon such occurrences in the right point of view.
Oh! sentiment, thou source of every thing that is great, and noble,
and refined, how are thy rights violated! It was only last night,
just as I had returned from meeting him that is so dear to my soul, my
mother, I found, had discovered _the sacred secret of my heart_: alas,
to be a secret no longer, for to her it was not long confined. These
human monsters, these foes to all fine sentiment, these repressors of
all delicate feeling!” “Who can these be,” said our hero. “Oh, sir,”
said the author, “do not you know who it means. I thought that one of
the best parts of my descriptions: but you will see as you go along.”
Our hero still not discovering, she said in a half whisper, “I mean,
sir, _the parish officers_, but I did not know how far they could
with propriety be mentioned in a pathetic scene. Perhaps you would
object to their introduction after interviews of sentimental love and
tenderness.” “Their introduction,” said our hero, “frequently takes
place after scenes of sentimental love: but let us go on with the
letter. And they say that these brutes in human shape, are endeavouring
to get hold of my charming Carolino, because he has felt the delicacy
of refined sentiment for his Athalia,--because we have loved beyond
vulgar rules. Oh, my Carolino, elude their search, and when safe beyond
their jurisdiction, inform your doating Athalia.”

From the letter he returned to the story: “Carolino betakes himself
to sea, and according to the song, ‘Syrens in every port he finds;’
but being a brave fellow, and becoming an able seaman, rises in his
profession; in a year or two is made a captain, and takes a Spanish
prize; his share of which is about two hundred thousand pounds. He
purchases a fine estate, and is made a lord. In all this time he
forgets sentiment and poor Athalia; but she adheres to sentiment
and elevation of mind. She incurs great distress, _advertises in the
newspapers for the protection of a man of honour and sentiment_:
finds one in a worthy gentleman who benignantly undertakes the causes
of distressed fellow-creatures, persecuted by the rigidity of the
law. From this protector, she passes to one of his clients, who is
extricated from the danger by which he is threatened, and afterwards
accompanies a friend of his on his travels. Returning after a great
variety of adventures, she still solicits and obtains patronage; and
while under her succession of guardians, she cherishes her exalted
sentiments, and preserves her mind constant to her first lover.” “In
short,” says our hero, “Athalia appears to be like a ship, which
having one captain, has a great number of lieutenants, that in turns
super-intend the quarter-gallery in his absence.” “I hope, however,
the captain comes on board at last.” “Oh, yes sir, I bring it all
right before the end.” “She comes home; finds her boy, who, as the
great Rousseau directs, had been sent to the Foundling, a fine youth
of eighteen, enlisted in the guards; but totally ignorant of his
parents. She makes herself known, and promises in a few days to inform
him who was his father. The very next evening he rescues a gentleman
from robbers. The gentleman takes him to his house, and behold, it is
discovered that he is his own father Carolino, now earl of Muscadello,
Baron Bobadilio. Finding his Athalia is still alive, he instantaneously
repents, and has a tender interview, in which she acknowledges all her
_mistakes_, at least as many of them as she can remember. The earl
finds that her heart and sentiment had been uniformly true to him,
recovers all his former love, marries her, and procures an act for the
legitimation of his son, who is thenceforth my Lord Bobadilio: is first
a great rake, but after continuing three years in that capacity, falls
in love with Lady Bella Rosebud, marries her, and becomes instantly
eminent for virtue and religion. The earl and countess of Muscadello,
my lord and my lady Bobadilio, vie with each other in holiness, wisdom,
and goodness. Carolino and his Athalia, when they behold the children
of their beloved Bobadilio sporting before them, contemplate with
delight the Mazes of Marvels, and see sentiment triumphant, and bless
the happy night when they first met at Mary-le-bone burying ground, and
crossed into the fields between the Jews-harp and old Mother Red-cap’s.”
“Now for the moral. It is in the last sentence, sir; that is the right
place you know, sir, for the _moral_.” “So your sister novelists seem
to think, and with many of them it is certainly the only place.”

“Hence we may learn that the highest perfection of human nature is
sentimental refinement; that endowed with this gift, though youth may
fall into those _mistakes_[3] from which humanity can never be free,
and to which sentimental susceptibility is peculiarly exposed from its
exquisite fineness, yet the heart will regain its purity and elevation,
and after the rectification of venial mistakes, resplendant brilliancy
of character will ensue. Cultivate then, my dear young friends, above
all excellencies, sentimental refinement.”

“Well, sir,” said miss rising, making a curtsey, “How do you approve
of my work?” “It is like yourself, lovely and charming.” “Would you
have the goodness, sir, to write a review of it?” “I can refuse nothing
to so fair an applicant, I could be the Carolino myself to such an
Athalia.” He now thought he heard some one on the outside of the door,
and did not doubt but female curiosity in the person of the maid might
be listening to what was going forward; he accordingly suspended some
_part_ of his remarks, and made an appointment for the evening, by
which time, he said, he should do full justice to the subject; and
after again very closely reviewing her lips, he asked if she would not
see his mother and sister, and they parted. Our hero accordingly set
about the review, which he executed to the following purport. “It was
avowedly and evidently the work of the young beginner, but displayed
considerable genius. Led by fancy, more than experience and actual
knowledge, the author had too much given way to the marvellous; but on
the whole, it far surpassed the usual productions of Mr. Nincompoop’s
press,” This review, with a favourable analysis, and the best specimens
that could be selected, our critic carried to the fair author, who was
very much gratified.

About this time a new species of writings began to make its appearance
in works of fancy, and professed imitation of life and manners. Le Sage
and Fielding had carried the exhibition of human nature and passions,
the manners and characters of the times, to a degree of perfection
that has not been equalled, and scarcely could be surpassed. Miss
Burney pursuing the same track, but possessing greater originality
of genius, introduced an extensive variety, not resembling Fielding
in detail, but like him, copying from life--excelling in strength of
delineation and in humour of colouring. Less comprehensive in range,
but acute in observation, picturesque in description, interesting in
tale, impressive in character, and pathetic in incident, situation,
and feeling, Charlotte Smith headed a different species of just
representers of conduct, character, and passion. From the strong, but
somewhat coarse and farcical satire of a Roderic and honest Strap,
to the delicate tenderness of Adelina, Emeline, and Godolphin, the
various classes of the comic epopee, appear to have been exemplified
by masterly writers, all adhering to existing or probable archetypes.
The Recess and Emma Corbet, verging to the province of Melpomene rather
than Thalia, are still imitations of probability. Genius, ardent after
novelty, will sometimes leave an old road, not because it may not lead
it to its journey’s end, but because it is old. There was at this time
a great disposition to literary innovation, that shewing itself on
subjects of serious reasoning, religion, morality, and politics, was
also manifest in works of amusement. Conception far out-went actual
existence and experience. The object of ingenuity appeared to be to
enchain and petrify by astonishment more than to allure by pleasure,
impel by profit, or guide by wisdom. There was a very prevalent
disposition to question established truths, and to transcend admitted
probabilities; and while serious pretenders to philosophy proposed new
principles and rules for governing social and political man, literary
dispensers of amusement also chalked out a new system of tales and
exhibitions, and instead of the probable, frequently substituted the
marvellous. Some persons of great genius began, and others followed
this style of writing. The Eloise of Rousseau rendered it very popular
on the continent. It glided along all the eccentricities and easy
extravagance of the French ingenuity, and was dragged through all the
studied wildness of German labour. Genius relieved the marvellous by
the probable, introduced its fanciful beings in circumstances which,
diminishing or overpowering the incredible, gave full force to the
appearance; while pains-taking dulness never failed to introduce such
adjuncts and appendages as broke the spell, and shewed the improbable
absurdity. Shakespeare could manage a ghost; but if he introduced
a ghost, he brought such a being discovering a foul and unnatural
murder, not amusing himself with a tune on an organ. This new style of
writing, or old romance revived, generated or regenerated in France
or Switzerland, received its clothing from the literary taylors of
Germany; and a ponderous garbit was containing the heavy armour and
escutcheons, and heraldic blazonry of the feudal times, and the motly
patch-work of modern illuminism. It obtained from its uncouth enormity,
the name of the _Gigantesque_. If dexterity or skill happened, at
any time, to betake themselves to this species of exhibition, they
excited a horror and amazement, which, for a time, might suspend the
faculties of the reader, but the gross improbability soon dispelled
the deception; but it was reserved for English genius so to temper the
marvellous with the probable, and so to mingle both with the pleasing
and pathetic, as to hurry on the reader wherever the writer chose. Such
were the reflections of our hero, when the “Romance of the Forest” was
first sent for his critical examination. The able and inventive author
chusing a different tract from a Burney and a Smith, and accommodating
herself to the growing taste for the gigantesque, admitted it with the
modifications of judgment in her scenery and machinery, but did not
chuse it as the ground-work of her story. The actual tale is natural,
and during the age and manners which she describes, is probable. No
object is actually presented which was not within the compass of known
existence at the time. The impressions though arising from imaginary
beings, were natural in the characters and state of mind represented.
An innocent and inexperienced girl, dejected with the consciousness
of her destitute situation, conceiving herself the victim of villany
and treachery, where she for a time had experienced protection, torn
from the man that she loved, and apprehensive of violation from the man
that she hated, in a vast and desolate edifice, which she had recently
discovered to be the scene of murder, hearing noises at the still
hour of midnight, is perfectly consonant to nature, in apprehending a
visitation from the apparitions of the dead. The fears which disturb
the marquis, and drive him from the abbey, the scene of conscious
murder, is perfectly consonant to the feelings of enormous guilt.
La Motte vacillating between the depravity of habitual indulgence
ripened into profligacy, and the remains of honourable and virtuous
feelings, by temporary impulse driven to crime, but by the remnants
of humanity held from hardened atrocity, is a character at once
natural and instructive, and very forcibly pourtrays the proclivity
of pleasurable vice. The passions, characters, and manners, are in
this production natural, striking, and impressive; the fable in its
principal constituents, sufficiently probable to interest the reader
in the fortunes of the actors; the descriptions of external nature,
perhaps too exuberant; but it is the exuberance of genius prompted
by taste and sensibility, exquisitely susceptible of the beauties of
nature; she cannot restrain her fancy from expatiating on subjects
which have afforded to herself so delightful sensations and images.
Her marvellous is not improbable. Such were the critical reflections
of our hero on his examination of this novel, together with the taste
of the times, when it made its appearance. He predicted, however, that
attempted imitation, by inferior genius, would inundate the public
with monstrous fictions, bearing no resemblance to any thing that ever
existed in any age or country, and as it afterwards appeared, he was
not mistaken in his prophecies.



CHAPTER XVIII.


OUR Hamilton employed the winter in Parliamentary attendance, literary
criticism, and the commencement of the great work which he had
undertaken.

The hours that he could possibly spare from the imperious calls of
engagement and duty, were chiefly enjoyed in the company of his beloved
Maria. Captain Mortimer having business that required his frequent
attendance at the admiralty, found it necessary for several months to
reside in London, and his brother being obliged to return to Yorkshire,
earnestly requested and obtained permission for Miss Mortimer to remain
with him in town. Besides his fondness of the company of his niece,
the captain had another reason which, without mentioning to her, he
communicated to his brother. Sir Edward Hamden, though by his wound
unable to follow Miss Mortimer to London, had declared to her father
and uncle, that the first use he should make of his recovery, would
be to throw himself at her feet. Sir Edward’s wound, though never
dangerous, had been more serious than was first apprehended, and the
cure was tedious, procrastinated perhaps by the irritation of his
impatience, and January arrived before he was able to reach London.
Hamilton earnestly entreated Maria to consent to his undeceiving the
captain, her father, and Sir Edward, and to become immediately his.
But she so strongly represented the effect which such a disappointment
might have on Hamden, in his unconfirmed state of health, that he,
however reluctantly, suspended his application. John Mortimer, after
a long attention and repeated avowals of affection for Miss Hamilton,
at last obtained an acknowledgment of a return: but, aware of the eager
desire of his father and uncle that he should avail himself of the
appointments which he had procured, she, however contrary to her own
inclinations, urged him to depart; and to add force to her instances,
gave him a conditional promise, that if he complied with the wishes
of his friends in going, she should comply with his on his return.
His destination was Paris, a scene which before his acquaintance with
Charlotte, he had long wished to behold; and which a totally new set
of actors had, within a few months, rendered a different spectacle
from what it exhibited at any former period. It was the beginning of
February, however, before he supposed all the proper dispositions made
for his mission, which was principally commercial with an eventual
opening to some political trusts.

Hamilton found the wound inflicted by the assassins upon Hamden,
tolerably healed, but the wound from the bright eyes of Maria, more
deep than ever. He renewed his addresses, but though Maria received
him with the respect due to his rank and virtues, and the compassion
excited by his sufferings, yet she continued firmly to assure him,
that his suit could never be successful. Being repeatedly urged, she,
with much reluctance, and downcast looks, confessed that her heart
was irretrievably engaged by another, who possessed it long before
she had the honour of being known to him. She did not doubt but he
would immediately discover who the other was, but she was mistaken.
Of Hamilton he had no conception, and it may seem surprising, that
to a man of his penetration this was the case; but it was so. The
truth was, Captain Mortimer, from the warmth of his friendship, eager
for the marriage of Hamilton with Miss Primrose, had passed from wish
to hope, and from hope to conviction, and publicly talked of it as
a matter certain. The report was current through Brighton. It had
been, by officious curiosity and gossiping impertinence, repeatedly
introduced before the young lady herself, and it was easily discerned
that she listened with confusion, but not with displeasure. Her mother,
loving the daughter for her child’s own sake, and not regarding her
as a mere instrument of her own vanity and ambition, was resolved in
the most momentous action of her life to consult her happiness, and
not the increase of wealth, which she did not want, or the acquisition
of title, which might not augment her solid comfort and enjoyment;
and not to oppose her union with any gentleman of sense, honour,
and character, who might win her daughter’s affections. She had soon
discovered Louisa’s partiality for Hamilton, and having made particular
enquiries, learned that though of small fortune, he was a man of
amiable and estimable character, with talents and acquirements which
must throw a lustre on any connection that he might form, and adorn any
situation he might be called to fill. She was therefore not averse to
the wishes of her daughter, and when an opportunity offered, expressed
her very high opinion of the gentleman in question. She had seen
Hamilton and her daughter twice or thrice in company together, when our
hero, much interested by the engaging simplicity of Louisa, and totally
unconscious of her sentiments respecting himself, paid her every
attention which benignant disposition and moral approbation can prompt
in a discerning and polite man towards a young, beautiful, and lovely
woman, without any mixture of love. The mother in a great degree, and
the daughter much more, had misconstrued these attentions, and neither
of them doubted that the increased intercourse that would probably
take place during the winter, would produce a declaration. Various
engagements with which the daughter would have gladly dispensed, but
which the mother thought it necessary to fulfil, detained them till
February between Brighton, Bath, and the country; and no explanation
having taken place, it was believed by Sir Edward Hamden, and by
others, except those in Hamilton’s secrets, that Miss Primrose was to
bestow her hand and fortune on Mr. Hamilton.

The Countess of Cockatrice, who still kept up her acquaintance
with our hero, was not without some knowledge of the truth, but was
desirous, for various reasons, that a matrimonial connexion might be
formed between our hero, and the great heiress Miss Mortimer. She had
studiously sought an opportunity of knowing Maria, and though that
young lady had declined her advances, and avoided intimacy, yet they
had repeatedly met at public places. Cockatrice, herself discerning,
discovered ability and penetration in Maria, and heard the same
accounts from others, whom she instructed to enquire and examine,
much more than opportunity had enabled her to discover herself. To
seduce the affections of married men, had nothing in it repugnant to
the countess’s moral creed, either speculative or practical. It was
indeed not to be expected, that she who so little regarded her duty to
her husband, would care for the duty of another man to his wife. If
Hamilton married Maria, the wife might be a formidable and overpowering
rival, but if he should wed the fortune of Miss Primrose, it would, she
apprehended, be no difficult matter to retain a superior interest in
his heart. Besides, the countess, though a votary of love, coupled it
as often as possible with ambition and interest, including pecuniary
convenience. Like Lady Townly, she much oftener wanted money than her
husband gave it, or indeed could give it. Drafts were returned from
bankers, not honoured; also those visitations known by the name of
executions, were familiar to Cockatrice’s house; and though too common
to be much regarded on their own account, yet they were aukward and
troublesome. The agents, of John Doe and Richard Roe, though officers,
were not deemed pleasing companions even by ladies. No visitants
could be more likely to excite among many of the guests, disagreeable
recollections, or still more disagreeable forebodings, and so to break
the harmony of the company. But what was worse than executions for
the past, was the refusal of credit for the future. The insolence of
tradesmen often demurred at sending in goods where there was no chance
of being paid; and thus the brilliancy of galas, the splendour of dress
and equipage, must fall infinitely short of right honourable taste and
conceptions. For all these, and many other good reasons, money was a
very useful commodity, and if it could be acquired along with love,
all the better. Now Hamilton by marrying Miss Primrose, would command
a great sum of ready money, and as the countess proposed to have the
sway over Hamilton, her dominion would also extend to the cash, which
he would receive from the fond affection of the heiress, and she might
have the lucrative situation of co-partnery with the husband in the
property of the wife, as a set off against her co-partnery with the
wife, in the affections of the husband, proposing in the last case
that the nominal chief of the firm should not be the acting partner.
One objection the lady foresaw to the accomplishment of this scheme:
without certainly knowing, she strongly suspected that Hamilton was
very deeply attached to Maria, but measuring his sentiments by her
own, she made little doubt that the very fine person of Maria was the
sole object of his love. She well knew that Hamden was rapturously
enamoured of Miss Mortimer, and readily guessed the reason of the young
lady’s coldness. Entertaining apprehensions that Hamilton was so fond
of Maria, that to gratify his inclinations he might marry her, she
considered whether, without disappointing the lover, it might not be
possible to supersede the necessity of the ceremony. It appeared to the
ready invention of this notable contriver, a very feasible project,
that though Hamilton and Maria were not, she thought, rich enough
to marry one another with prudence, they might love as much as they
pleased; and then might respectively marry the heiress and the baronet
for convenience, and might even manifest their affection after such
nuptials had taken place. The countess, as we have seen, never wanted
agents well fitted for carrying a project into execution. There was a
widow lady of a moderate income, who having for several years lived
respectably in a circle of acquaintances fitted to her rank, had at a
watering place made some great acquaintances, and became unfortunately
smitten with the charms of fashion and high life. By complaisance
and subserviency she endeavoured to obtain that place in fashionable
circles, which her fortune little enabled her to fill. When John or
Richard were out of the way or otherwise employed, Mrs. Dicky used to
call at the milliner’s, explain and enforce my lady’s orders, or any
other little odd jobs that might be wanted. For these good services and
attentions, she was to have free egress and regress to the breakfast
table, and in due time was admitted to dinner when there was nobody but
themselves, or perhaps grand mama and the young men with their governor
come home from Eton, with the sweet and charming Lady Selina, and the
angelic Aurora, who though not twelve years old, had such wonderful
wit and accomplishments, and could perform so divinely on the piano
forte; knew God Save the King from Rule Britannia, and even could
make out part of a lesson. To praise so extraordinary endowments, was
one part of Mrs. Dicky’s province, and if no company was expected for
the evening, she was to make one in the drawing-room to whistle to
the bird, to play with Pompey, and celebrate his beauty; or while my
lord, my lady, and their eldest son and daughter played a rubber at
whist, to take a round game with the younger honourables, the governor
and governante. Advancing in promotion, Mrs. Dicky became a member of
larger parties, when my lord’s sister, Lady Betty, and her husband Sir
Ralph, came to pay a visit, and two or three cousins of the family
made up an evening party. Now Mrs. Dicky, instead of belonging to a
light infantry detachment at a round table, was stationed as a corps of
reserve to bring up the rear at Cassino or Whist was sometimes asked,
to cut in if nobody else was to be had, and even has had the honour
of holding my lady’s own cards. Nor did her honours rest here; while
my lady and her party went to the opera with their elder hopes, Mrs.
Dicky became chaperon to the governante and the younger ladies, when
with the governor and the younger lords they went to the theatre to
contemplate the ingenuity of Harlequin, and admire the wisdom of mother
Shipton triumphant. Ascending higher in the ladder of fashion, Mrs.
Dicky rose at last to a seat in my lady’s own carriage, in which, like
a lion retreating she faced those that pursued; and would accompany
her lady to Hyde Park, nay, even to the opera itself. For such a
consummation of glory, gratitude required very great efforts. Mrs.
Dicky would abase herself to any humiliation, that she might thereby
be exalted. She would do homage to Mrs. Pinup, my lady’s maid, or to
Mr. Secondhand, my lord’s gentleman, that she might thereby have a
favourable report with my lady and my lord. She was the willing and
humble agent of this my lady and my lord, and that my lady and my
lord; adapting her expressions, sentiments, and conduct to her right
honourable patrons, whatsoever they might be. With the duchess of
Whiglove, abusing secret influence; and the countess of Placehunt,
exclaiming against the coalition. Without ill-nature, retailing scandal
to the countess of Backbite, and without benevolence, informing Lady
Generous of a distressed widow and fatherless children. Among other
acquaintances that Mrs. Dicky had made in the fashionable world,
was the countess of Cockatrice, for whom she had made assignations,
managed appointments, spread stories, deposited jewels, arranged the
substitution of Dovey’s paste, and rendered various other services;
in short, shewed herself willing, by any means in her power, to earn
the favour of the countess. Cockatrice having arranged her plans,
instructed Mrs. Dicky to make an acquaintance with Captain Mortimer,
and gave her a clue by which she might be favourably received by the
honest and unsuspicious seaman. Having learned that an officer of
whom Mrs. Dicky had some slight knowledge, had been lately one of
the captain’s lieutenants, she instructed her to call on the captain
and make particular enquiries, speak highly in praise of the youth,
who she had learned was a great favourite with the captain, and find
some means of becoming acquainted with Maria. Mrs. Dicky executed the
commission with such dexterity the very next evening, that Mortimer,
pleased with the interest she took in his young friend Bowsprit,
introduced her to Maria, and engaged her to dine the following day.
Hamilton, who was one of the party, thought Mrs. Dicky a good passable
common-place woman, of whom if he had never again heard, he would have
never again thought. In a few days the countess of Cockatrice was to
give a masquerade, to which she sent tickets for our hero and three
more, desiring he would bring his friend Captain Mortimer and his
niece, and also Miss Hamilton. Our hero was not desirous that either
of the ladies should be present on such an occasion, but the captain
over-ruled his objections. Charlotte, however, resolving to partake of
no such amusement in the absence of her beloved Mortimer, resolutely
refused to go. On the day of the masquerade they were engaged to dine
at Mrs. Dicky’s, who was in the evening to see masks before they went
to Cockatrice’s house. The dinner was appointed at so unfashionable an
early hour as four o’clock, and by the countess’s assistance, without
great shew, consisted of every delicacy that the season afforded, with
various ingredients adapted to the occasion. Besides the hostess,
Hamilton, the uncle and niece, there was one gentleman, who, both
by precept and example, strongly recommended the wines, and during
dinner, the captain and he were very free with the madeira. Mrs. Dicky
persuaded Miss Mortimer to join her and the rest of the party in two
glasses of champaign, and afterwards to taste a highly-flavoured
liqueur. In the course of the afternoon, she prevailed on her to take
a glass or two of wine more, so that she had somewhat exceeded her
usual quantity, and a good deal more, as she afterwards found, in the
quality. The fruits were of the finest flavour, and Maria remarked
that in the grapes there was something delicious and peculiar. The
gentleman who acted as landlord possessed a great degree of colloquial
pleasantry; and he, together with the wine, set the brilliant genius
and wit of our hero agoing. Maria was also very much animated, and
several bright sallies escaped from her lips, while the penetrating
sparkling of her eyes even outwent the lively and forcible sayings of
her tongue. The ladies did not retire till coffee was announced. In
this beverage the young lady found also a flavour at once exquisite
and peculiar; and after it was finished, the hostess, with an urgency
so polite, that she could not resist it without an appearance of
rudeness, prevailed on her to drink another glass of liqueur. From this
apartment they ascended to the drawing-rooms which, by the removal
of a folding-door, made one, and though not large, being splendidly
illuminated, it added to the animation and spirits of the now volatile
Maria. Mrs. Dicky now thought that the company of Hamilton and Maria
might be mutually agreeable, and ascended to the second floor, where a
temporary drawing-room had been made for the purpose; she accordingly
sent for Hamilton, wishing, she said, to explain to him the mode and
arrangement of a reception of masqueraders, which would begin in the
course of an hour. Having learned their intended dresses, she had
ordered them to be brought at eleven, by which time the masks would
be gone; meanwhile the dominos would suffice. After some immaterial
conversation, a servant having asked to speak to Mrs. Dicky, she
requested them to excuse her for a few minutes, and departed. Hamilton
had drank so much wine, as to animate sentiment and impulse, while
it suspended reflection; Maria was also much more enlivened than he
had ever seen her; her eyes darted fire, and when turned to Hamilton,
glistened with undissembled love. He swore he had never seen her so
exquisitely charming. She answered, “my dearest William, I can return
the compliment: I never saw you so lovely and so graceful.” The reply
to this answer was obvious; the fondest caresses and endearments
succeeded; but though prudence was asleep, honour, though somewhat
inclined to slumber, was not altogether overwhelmed, and fear, perhaps,
proved as effectual a sentinel. Apprehensions of the arrival of their
hostess were unfounded, as she had no intention of interrupting their
conversation; but this forbearance our hero did not know. Soon after,
the masks began to make their appearance, and several characters
were well supported. One of the best was a Scotchman, carrying two
snuff-mills, respectively replenished with snuff of very different
qualities and operations, which he described; “the one (he said)
is constitutional, and the other innovation snuff. The first has a
pleasant wholesome scent, and diffuses an agreeable animation over the
active faculties; the second is very highly flavoured, but so pungent
and strong, as to tear and overpower the olfactory nerves; it is a
composition of hartshorn and sal volatile, with the strongest rue.”
Hamilton tried a pinch of each; the first was mild and relishing.
“Ye had better be sparing of the other, or it will set your nose a
bluding; it has already had that effect over the water; an’ if I dinna
mistaak, it will gar their noses blude a great deal mair, if they go
on with it; and may bee it’s strength may strain it’s votaries, till
they burst blude veshels.” “Are there any so foolish, as to indulge in
a scent so very pernicious?” “Oh yes, there are fules eneugh in the
warld: it is not, however, that the quality is altogether so noxious,
as the quantity or the unskilful application; there are cases in which
it will du vara well; for instance, in habits that are vara relaxed;
it may gee a better tone to the feebres; in a palsy, it is the only
specific; but on the contrary, if there is any thing faverish, it
rapidly increases inflammation.” “What are its effects upon a person
in vigorous health?” “When ane is weel, he is a damned fule to be
dabbling in medicines.” So saying, he was departing, when returning
back, “let me gee you ae bit o’ advice before I gang; if you be
naturally a little paper-sculled and scatter-brained, have nothing to
do with the innovation snuff, or it will make you as mad as a March
hare, and you will do sic a devilish deal of mischief, that it will be
necessary to blude you and drench you, and chain you to the bed-post;
and sometimes to divert the wildness of your phrenzy, your keeper may
let you amuse yourself with a rattle; even if you come back to your
senses, he will keep you confined for twa razons; first, because it
is his interest; and secondly, because if you got loose again, your
indignation would certainly gar you dash the fallow’s brains out.”
“But if it have so maddening effects,” said Hamilton, “how am I to
submit to a keeper?” “Oh, he’ll first flatter and cajole you, till he
get you to take the strait waistcoat; by degrees he’ll bind you to a
post, and afterwards chain you to the ground.” Having thus described
innovation snuff, it’s progressive operations and ultimate result, he
set off to other hearers. Our hero next met a groupe, consisting of
a representative and constituents, a lawyer and his client, and many
others, breathing kindness, with a Harlequin Touchstone bringing their
professions to the test of truth. The representative was accosting his
electors immediately after the return; “Gentlemen,” said he, with his
hand on his breast, “language is inadequate to the task of expressing
the grateful feelings of my heart, at this auspicious moment, that
this ancient and honorable borough of Braywell has conferred on
me the inexpressible happiness of supporting it’s interests; I
shall not lavish words in a multiplicity of professions, but shall
briefly, yet I hope clearly, describe the line of conduct which I am
determined unalterably to pursue; I shall (here Harlequin applied to
his touchstone) bawl against the minister until he gives me a place,
and then bawl for him through thick and thin; as to you, you stupid
blockheads--you gentlemen, forsooth, with blue aprons, I consider you
merely as steps for me to rise upon, and when I am once up, you and
your borough may go to the Devil.” “I think,” said our hero, “the
representative has expressed himself briefly and clearly.” An attorney
was expatiating to his client, on his extraordinary disinterestedness,
and eager anxiety for the service of any one who should commit a cause
to his management; “for it is ever a rule with me (Harlequin touched
the stone) to split attendance into as many subdivisions as possible,
so as to multiply the six-and-eight-pences, by calling, and inspecting,
and attending, and advising, and engrossing, and instructing, and every
other item to long billing, and the client may”--(here the speech was
not concluded). Next came, in the most engaging and humble smiles, a
courtier, _booing_ to the great man for a place; “I consider myself
as peculiarly fortunate in having the honor to be patronized by the
virtues and talents of a statesman, who (Harlequin was not idle) is
one of the damnedest noodles that ever a poor applicant was obliged
to flatter; a mere despicable nay and yea retainer of ministry; an
impartial adherent to whatever side is uppermost.” Next two came
forward, one with the most ardent expressions of affection; “My dearest
friend, intimate companion of my infancy and youth, with what delight
I received an obligation from my oldest and most beloved of comrades;
your superior talents formed and arranged our plans, and enforced our
pretensions, with a vigour of reasoning, and an energy of eloquence,
which would have been certainly successful, if they had been carried
into execution; but the failure was our fault, not yours. Oh! that I
had an opportunity of testifying my grateful affection.” The other
replied, “an opportunity now occurs; I have a particular occasion for
two hundred pounds, with which, I need not say, I know you, who have
two thousand a year, can, and I have as little doubt, will, supply me.”
This application seemed to supersede the necessity of the touchstone.
“Two hundred pounds!” said he, faultering; “really I am extremely sorry
I could not spare so large a sum; I have been at very great expence,
and have many calls, imperious and indispensible, for (Harlequin moved)
I have thoughts of making alterations in my dog-kennel; I am about to
purchase a couple of brace of hounds, I intend to give a grand gala,
and” (here Harlequin made the other speak) “where frivolous amusement
or silly vanity interferes, the friendship of an insipid heart,
governed by a weak head, is at an end.” A lover now came forward,
expressing the most passionate fondness and adoration for his mistress,
declaring that his happiness depended solely upon the return she made
to the most ardent and honorable passion that ever inflamed a human
breast; “it is the most earnest desire of my soul, (Harlequin touched
the stone) to pursue my own gratification, by bringing you to misery
and ruin.” A methodist preacher was sufficiently characteristical;
he whined and canted, made love to the women, procured contributions
for charitable purposes, and kept the greater part to himself. The
lady of the house now coming up, brought with her a domino, who, she
said, knew most of the people in the room, and was very well qualified
for giving an account of them. “Observe,” said the domino, “that
mask so gorgeous in apparel, and resplendent with jewels.” “The very
large woman with the red hair, you mean?” “The same; that is a great
nabobess, just returned from the banks of the Ganges; her husband, a
journeyman druggist in Spitalfields, fell in love with her as she used
to carry beer from her father’s, at the sign of the Pewter Pot, and
they married; an uncle of Mr. Pestle having become a great merchant at
Calcutta, sent for his nephew, who accepted the invitation; went out;
was taken into the business; in a short time the uncle died, Pestle
got his fortune, became a great man, sent for his wife, who obeyed
the summons, and became as great a woman; but in the midst of her
splendour, retained all her vulgarity, which her airs and pomposity
rendered more glaringly conspicuous: as a considerable portion of the
society in Calcutta is genteel, she was a laughing-stock among the
parties, and as she was extremely arrogant, not a few attempts were
made to mortify her to a sense of her intrinsic insignificance; she
was very desirous of sinking her origin, but the Pewter Pot being
known, that was quite impracticable; they were now returned with a
large fortune, tried to get into fashionable society, and did not find
it altogether impracticable, as there are gentry and nobility, who,
without relishing the company of Mrs. Pestle, had no objection to the
company of her husband’s money, which by flattering my lady’s vanity,
some of them find means to borrow; but whoever would gain or keep her
favour, must carefully abstain from mentioning the Pewter Pot.” The
company now began to leave the house of Mrs. Dicky, and before twelve
they were all departed, except our hero and heroine; they had both
to make some change in their dress, before they joined the masks at
Cockatrice-house. Captain Mortimer had returned home, and gone to bed,
the only scene for which he now, with three bottles of wine under his
belt, was fit; Mrs. Dicky was departed, and not a soul there was in
all the house, but one single servant, at midnight, except Hamilton
and Maria. William having descended to make some inquiry about his
carriage, found that the only person, except Miss Mortimer and himself,
in the house, was an elderly domestic, whom he had interrupted in a
comfortable sleep by the kitchen fire, and who appeared disposed to
return again to the arms of Morpheus. He now rejoined Maria, who
was dressed with simple, but most attractive loveliness, as a Nun,
while William had from some whim taken it into his head to act the
part of Ovid. The master of the art of love, at midnight, alone, even
with a Nun herself, was dangerous company, tending to demonstrate the
fragility of vows. Maria’s flutter had been increased rather than
diminished, by the scenes of the masquerade; Mrs. Dicky had prevailed
on her to take some lemonade, which most unaccountably had the same
peculiarity of flavour that she had experienced in the fruit, liqueurs,
wine, and coffee. Hamilton having taken her hands, the same kind of
conversation insensibly revived, which the coming of masks had, above
two hours before, interrupted; Maria was extremely agitated, and when
our hero clasping her in his arms, pressed her to his bosom, and
declared his ardent wishes that she were his wife;--“nay, my dearest
Maria, you are my wife, and as a husband,”--here followed impassioned
kisses, which poor Maria, with a quick sigh, returned. One sentiment
only seemed to predominate, and the project of Cockatrice was on
the eve of success, when a noise in an adjoining apartment startled
Hamilton, and approaching the door, he heard a man’s voice, saying,
“take care of your footing, hold the ladder firm at the bottom.”
Immediately comprehending the case, he whispered to Maria to keep
still, put out the light, and having seen the key on his side, very
softly locked the door. There was still the remains of a fire, in which
a poker happened to be left; this weapon he snatched, and taking it
for granted that some little time would elapse before the ruffians
could enter, he softly conducted Maria to the stair; just as they
had got down a few steps, they observed the other door open, and a
fellow come out with a dark lanthern; they were now in the turn of the
winding, so that the fellow did not perceive them, but he returned
again into the room. Our couple stole down by the light of the lamp to
the street-door, where a coach was waiting for them; the watchman was
passing, and at the desire of our hero, sprung his rattle. The sound
of this instrument alarmed the villains, and one of them being before
the rest, was running out at the street-door, when our hero’s poker
saluting him in the face, arrested his steps. Several watchmen now
entered the house, and searched, but could find no one, till reaching
the upper room, they found a window open, and saw a ladder moving, and
the fellows in the back yard. It would have been easy, by descending
immediately, to have secured them; but as these nocturnal guards had
the usual deliberation and caution, before they had got down, the
ruffians were gone. Maria meanwhile, partly from fear, and partly
from reviewing the other events of the night, was in such agitation
and tremor, that in attempting to reach the coach, she fainted in
her lover’s arms. An hotel being luckily within a few doors, she was
carried there, and being, by the care and assiduity of the hostess,
recovered, the coach was ordered to Captain Mortimer’s instead of the
masquerade; to the surprize of his mother and sister, Hamilton returned
about two, though they did not expect him till several hours after.

Maria having, in the morning, leisure and opportunity to reflect on
every thing that had passed, with most grateful delight, dwelt on the
approach of the robbers, which had saved her from a much greater evil
than any their mere depredations could have effected; she compared the
various circumstances; the conduct of Mrs. Dicky, in repeatedly leaving
her and Hamilton alone, and revolved in her mind, the particulars which
she could not avoid imputing to design; at the same time, she could
conjecture at no feasible motive; she, however, ascribed no blame to
Hamilton; the raptures which he had expressed, she with shame and
confusion acknowledged to herself, were, in a great degree, transcripts
of her own. Her chief apprehension was, that she had lessened herself
in his opinion, by not repelling, instead of permitting such advances:
even Hamilton himself, when he coolly considered the last night’s
adventure, had too much real love for Miss Mortimer, not to rejoice
at the event. He repaired early to the house of the Captain, and
found Maria at breakfast, alone. She received him with downcast
looks, and her ingenuous nature could not forbear shewing, that she
considered herself as having deviated from propriety, and was fearful
of having, in some measure, impaired his esteem; he said nothing of
the occurrences at Mrs. Dicky’s, but his very avoidance of the subject
affected Maria, as her anxiety construed it into an impression, that
the reflection must give her pain;--an impression that would imply that
she had so acted, as naturally to excite displeasure with herself.
Hamilton having at length discerned her actual feelings, soon dispelled
every fear of a diminution of his esteem; and after a very long and
tender conversation, she consented that he should apply to her father
and uncle; but first, it was agreed that he should immediately open
the case to Hamden, to prevent that amiable and worthy gentleman from
suspecting any deception or duplicity; and accordingly he, without loss
of time, set out in quest of the Baronet.



CHAPTER XIX.


AS Hamilton was proceeding to the house of the Baronet, he met his
worthy and respected friend, Dr. Scribble, in company of the no less
respectable bookseller, whom he had once seen, Mr. Jeffery Lawhunt.
The Doctor, with eager warmth, ran to take hold of Hamilton, whom he
had not seen for several weeks, and declared himself extremely happy
in the interview. Lawhunt and he were about a project, in which the
assistance of Hamilton would, the Doctor said, be of great use to them;
and he proposed that they should immediately form an appointment.
Our hero, besides the business about which he was employed, had no
curiosity to interfere in any publication, in which Jeffery was to be
the pecuniary, and Scribble the literary manager. Scribble, however,
pressed him very much. Hamilton replied he was engaged to meet Sir
Edward Hamden upon business, and that, uncertain how long time that
might occupy, he could fix no appointment. At this instant, a carriage
passing, a voice called the name of Hamilton, and turning about, he
beheld the subject of his conversation. Hamilton informed him, that
he was on his way to his house, and wished for a long conversation.
Hamden told him he was going out of town, by an appointment, at that
time; but would either visit, receive, or meet him, the following
morning, at any hour he should name. This matter being arranged, the
Baronet departed, and Scribble and his companion, who had heard what
passed, and understood that he was unengaged, insisted on his listening
to their project; and at length, overcome by their importunity, he
consented. Accordingly, walking to the outskirts of the town, they
reached a coffee-house, which Hamilton found was to be the scene
of their deliberations. They were no sooner arrived than Scribble
proposed, seconded by Lawhunt, that they should give directions for
dinner. Hamilton, though vexed at the prospect of losing time, in
company that promised so little information, instruction, or benefit,
yet, not wishing to shock Scribble, by shewing the real estimation in
which he held his discourse, consented to continue one of the party;
they took possession of a back parlour; down they sat, and opened the
business. Scribble commenced with a dissertation on the wonderful
benefits that must accrue to British literature, from foreign works,
and especially from the modern erudition of Germany. “There,” said
Dicky, “they bestow due pains on investigating the valuable secrets of
nature; thence are derived our most accurate knowledge on accoustics,
acroatics, astrology, astronomy, anatomy, beatifics, botany, chemistry,
drill-husbandry, excrescences, eclipses, electricity, in short, why
need I enumerate particulars of all knowledge, philosophy, and art,
ancient and modern; they have brought illuminism to it’s present
wonderful height; they have their Weishaup, and their numberless other
enlightened sages, upon morals and politics; then they have their
novels, and poems, and plays, manifesting such new views of substances,
modes, and relations, shewing God, nature, and man, in lights in which
the dullness and ignorance of British genius and erudition never
before represented such objects; and they possess that perseverance
and industry, which I hold to be the chief constituent of genius. It
is a mistake, that intellectual superiority depends upon any natural
gift, it is merely the result of exercise and effort; but this subject
you will see fully illustrated in my preface to my history of Jack
the giant-killer; for instance, as I there admit, I, myself, was not
naturally very greatly beyond my cotemporaries. It was my ardent desire
of literary excellence, that stimulated me to the extraordinary efforts
which have raised me so far to transcend ordinary men; but this is a
digression, though tending to illustrate my praises of the Germans,
for their meritorious industry: and here let me remark one conspicuous
superiority of German over British diligence, in literary subjects;
our countrymen, adhering to the absurd doctrine of utility, are loth
to apply with equal diligence to all subjects; for instance, a common
reviewer would not bestow equal minuteness of attention on the wings
and abdomen of a bee, as on the fate of a nation. How different a
German, who will employ as profound research, in investigating the
various members of a fly, as the powers and qualities of the human
understanding and heart; this is, indeed, a minuteness of inquiry,
in which I vouchsafe to copy the Germans, both in criticism and in
original composition, as you may have observed in various reviews,
which bear themselves to be mine, and also in my other writings;
but most of all in “_my essay upon cats_,” including my scheme for
improving their moral habits, and teaching them to be more attentive to
decency and silence, when inspirited by omnipotent nature; also in my
history of Jack the giant-killer: but as I admire German learning to
imitation, I think it my bounden duty to naturalize as great a quantity
of that valuable erudition, as my time and engagements will admit. A
more munificent patron of learning is no where to be found, than this
worthy gentleman, Mr. Jeffery Lawhunt.” “Oh yes,” said Jeffery, “I am
very fond of encouraging _larning_, and do all I can for it, _except
during the term_, when I am so _construpated_ by lawyers, that I have
no time. Never man was so tormented, yet,--it is not my fault; if they
let me alone, I let them alone. I hardly ever am plaintiff, unless
indeed it be in _filing bills_ but always defendant. If I happen to
give an acceptance, and can employ my money to more advantage than
paying it, is not it extremely hard that I must be sued? I have
lost at least five thousand pounds, where I should have gained with
costs; but juries and judges are so unreasonable, and will hear what
even strangers say of me, sooner than what my own intimates say, and
confirm with an oath. I very lately lost, by an arbitration, a great
sum, though I thought I had every thing cut and dry: I spoke to my
brother the fruiterer to come as a witness; he did so, and brought
his man with him. This evidence was a hollow thing; but what do you
think of the arbitrator,--a counsellor too? Merely because my brother
happened, out of forgetfulness, _to say something contrary to what he
had said before_; from that time, I am convinced, he did not pay any
regard to what he said.” “How do you know that, Mr. Lawhunt?” said
Hamilton. “How do I know it,” replied the other, “because my brother
swore point blank I did not owe the plaintiff one hundred pounds,
and the arbitrator gave an award of seven hundred, and did not that
prove how little they regarded Ned’s evidence?” addressing Hamilton.
“Undoubtedly it did,” replied our hero. “But what was worse than that,”
said Jeffery, “there was my own foreman, a good obliging fellow as ever
lived, that would not stick at a trifle; he and I had a great deal of
talk before, and we settled about his evidence. The first day he was
called, it was on a Saturday; I remember he was very clear--all for me;
plaintiff’s counsel did not ask him a single question. On the Sunday he
dined with me; we were quite jocose.” “Dingwal,” said I, (his name is
Donald Dingwal) “you did very well yesterday; but get through as well
to-morrow, and we will do.” “Why,” says he, “that Chiswick, Farragan’s
council (Farragan was the plaintiff, a damned Scotch Highlander;
‘perhaps you know him, sir.’ ‘Oh, very well,’ said Hamilton) was not
at all captious.” “With that I agreed; but what do you think? Chiswick
was laying a trap all the time. Dingwal having finished what we had
agreed, Chiswick began that damned cross-questioning, and dodged and
winded the poor fellow so about, that on the Monday, as ill luck would
have it, the poor man swore the direct contrary to what he had done on
the Saturday. Chiswick had not lain by for nothing, and from the award,
it was evident that the arbitrator believed my friend Dingwal against
me, though he would not believe him for me. However, I cannot blame
Dingwal; he had the good will, and if it had not been for Chiswick’s
cross-questioning, would have been a most serviceable witness; and I
must say, I before found him very obliging in his testimony; he went
through like a hero when he was not so cross-examined. In the instance
that I have just mentioned, I lost my cause; so you see I have had
trials and tribulations in this world; nevertheless, I am a man of
great property, and can afford to pay for a good commodity, in the
literary line, as much as any man.” Mr. Lawhunt having favoured his two
companions with this biographical sketch, then proceeded to business.
“Dr. Scribble here,” says Mr. Lawhunt, “we all know to be a man of very
extraordinary genius and larning. He has been a mentioning to me a plan
of translating German books, of plays and histories, and philosophers,
and _luminies_, and other pastimes, which he thinks would make very
clever books; and if any one can do the job, he is the hand; but I
need not mention him to you,--you know Dr. Scribble.” “Yes, yes,” says
Dicky, “he knows me.” “That I do,” replied Hamilton, “most thoroughly.”
“And I will venture to say,” rejoined Scribble, “that he has a just
value for me.” “That you may safely affirm,” said the other. “But,”
continued the Doctor, “what we particularly want with you, is to do us
_justice in the reviews_ and conversation, _by speaking very highly_ of
the work. I have already written a specimen; it is the translation of
a play, one of the finest that ever entered into the human imagination
to conceive; it is the story of Hurlobothrumbo, a Spanish hero, who
sets off to the war with the Moors in Andalusia, with four attendants;
he overcomes fifteen thousand, enters the city of the enemy alone,
encounters twenty thousand, formed in a hollow square, in one of their
narrow streets.” “Very well,” said Hamilton, “that’s a good idea.” “He
couches his lance, charges the first five thousand that extended across
the lane; defeats them; takes the city by storm.” “That was a great
hero,” said Jeffery. “Yes,” said Scribble, “I will defy any writer
but a German to think of such a hero.” “Oh do not,” said Hamilton,
“disparage our own country too much;--what think you of Drawcansir?”
“You know, Hamilton,” said Scribble, with much pomposity, “I do not
like jesting upon serious subjects; I have often given my admonitions
upon that topic.” “Which I hold in due estimation,” replied Hamilton.
“But you do not always attend to them,” rejoined Scribble, a little
sharply. “That does not contradict my position,” said the other.
Scribble taking this as a compliment, proceeded, “Hurlobothrumbo sets
all the prisoners free, returns to his own country, finds his mistress
confined in a castle, guarded by a thousand giants, with one more
enormous and fierce than all the rest, breaks through seven iron gates,
kills the head giant, and five hundred more. The five hundred and
second, with the other four hundred and ninety-eight, disheartened by
the fall of their master and companions, yield to the heroic conqueror.
He learns that his old father is somewhere confined in a dungeon, that
nobody knows where but the ghost of a female, that at midnight amuses
herself with playing a pibrach upon a Scotch bagpipe, accompanied
by two others, performing on the hurdy-gurdy and the Jew’s harp. It
is said, by the now subjected giants, to be reported, that the head
ghost will answer no questions, unless a tune is hit to her mind.
Various airs had been tried, but to no effect. The hero swears he will
venture, though a hundred ghosts assail. Midnight arrives, and a dark
and gloomy night it is. Hurlobothrumbo goes to the _oratory_, which
all know is the favourite walk[4] of ghosts, and there he meets the
three apparitions; the head one in a white silk negligee and petticoat;
the other two in muslin. The lady begins Rothie Murcus’s rant, that
convinces Hurlo that she is fond of Scotch music, which he, having met
among the Moors with a Highland fidler from Strathspey, thoroughly
understands. Fortunately there is a fiddle at hand; he answers Rothie
Murcus by Money Musk; the ghosts fall a dancing, from which he
conceives a good omen. The head lady strikes up Nancy Dawson, and
makes a motion for him to join in the reel. The intrepid Hurlo foots it
with the head spectre, playing all the while; the hobgoblins, warm with
the exercise, sit down upon a bench. The hero regales them with Moggy
Lawder; Hobgoblina, delighted with this melodious air, rises, and is
making a very low curtsey; but sinking too much, falls to the ground;
quickly starting up, she speaks:

    My boy has won: behold your granny’s ghost;
    Your hapless father is in durance vile;
    But now by thee his son shall be releas’d.
    Art thou the image of my grand-mamma?
    Said Hurlo to the dame, who answered, yes.
    And these the spectres of thy virgin aunts,
    At least maids deem’d:--Alas! not justly deem’d,
    For ah confessors are most dangerous men,
    So may Grizzelda from experience say:
    An Alguazil was chaste Susannah’s love.
    The maidens interrupted Mother Mum;
    Methinks a goblin need not be a blab;
    Revolve the wisdom of the English sage,
    Deliver’d after the dire fall of rug,
    In Molly’s garret, to his rival Jones;
    _Acts there are most fitting to be done,
    Which are not fitting to be made a boast_;
    Therefore, again, we say good Mother, mum,
    The proverb calls, dead men tell no tales,
    (To the virgins thus replied their mam)
    But must dead women also hold their tongues,
    And e’en when frailties of friends are known?
    ’Tis very hard; but since it must be,--mum”

“I think, doctor, your ghosts speak blank verse.” “Oh yes, you would
not have a ghost speak plain prose, would you?” “But when the Moors
had Andalusia, how came the ladies to be acquainted with Tom Jones,
which was not written for several centuries after? Are you not out
in chronology?” “Pshaw, who the devil ever expected chronology in
German literature; you might as well expect history, geography, or
probability, which would entirely destroy the gigantesque.” “I admit
the justness of your remark, and stand corrected; but proceed, if you
please, with your story.” “Thrumbo, the old lady, and the _maidens_,
sally forth in quest of the father; the hero encounters no obstacles
but iron bars, which he cracks like walnut-shells, until he reaches
the kernel. The five hundred and one giants supposed dead, rise
to the tune of ‘Up and war them a’ Willie,’ and by the enchanting
melody, are made virtuous and holy. Hurlothrumbo marries his beloved
Aldonazina, and with marriage and reformation the piece concludes.”
“Well,” said Jeffery, “how do you like this production, Mr. Hamilton?”
Before he could answer, “I will venture to speak for him,” said Dr.
Scribble, “such a treat he has rarely enjoyed. This is a sample of our
German plays, which must prove a most valuable accession to English
dramatic literature, and poetry in general. Would your Murphys or
your Vanburghs, and your Steeles and your Congreves, your Homes, your
Rowes, your Southerns, or your Otway, equal this work?” “I dare say,”
said Hamilton, “no production of theirs would ever resemble it; even
Sheridan himself, if he were to try his hand, would not make it so
pure; he certainly has astonishing genius, but I doubt if he were to
try this German mode, with all his brilliancy of fancy, if he could
make so unique a performance, and resolutely exclude from every scene
and passage, nature, truth, and probability. This production, in it’s
beginning, middle, and end, is thoroughly consistent. The incidents
are all of a credibility, so nearly equal, that if the fancy can
stretch so far as to take in one, it may swallow all the rest. The
single captor of a strongly fortified town might vanquish a thousand
giants, crack iron bars like walnuts, or dance Rothie Murcus with his
deceased grandmother.” “Yes,” said Scribble, “your criticism is right;
it is the _pure gigantesque_.” “But how comes the German author to be
so well acquainted with Scotch and English tunes?” “Oh, the tunes I
introduce myself, in order to accommodate them to a British audience.
I have several others in hand; in one, there is a new way of making
love, or rather of introducing a lover to his mistress; and how do you
think it is contrived?” “Faith I cannot say; though in this age of
innovation, I should not be surprized, if a scheme were devised for
making love after the fashion of the Irish sociables.” “But will you
hear how they meet? A youth falls in love with a nun; she is closely
guarded in the convent; he wishes an interview, but how is it to be
effected? He tries to bribe the servants; it will not do; to scale the
walls--too steep and high; to get a rope-ladder, narrowly escapes being
caught, but succeeds at last by----the ministration of an earthquake.
There comes a convulsion so delicate and nice, as to make a chasm large
enough for the lovers, without being seen by any body else.” “A most
civil and accommodating earthquake, indeed,” said Hamilton. “The lovers
meet every night, and continue in an adjoining grove till morning, and
often repeat their interviews. The effects of the earthquake become
daily more visible: but the morality is marvellous and gigantesque, as
well as the fable. When it is obvious that poor Miss experiences the
consequences of sentimental susceptibility, and is taken to task by
the rest of the sisterhood, she admits the fact, but denies guilt.
She had found her lover a very pleasant youth; it was agreeable to
benevolence to make such a youth happy, especially when she could
make herself happy to boot; forms were mere inventions of priests, to
subjugate the best and most delightful feelings of nature to their
controul. Was it a crime, to add to the number of mankind? Here you
have the liberal and expanded morality of the German drama. I could
give you various instances of the superlative excellence of modern
Germanic literature, on subjects of property, establishments, religious
institutions, and many other topics; but the present samples shew the
nature, objects, and character of the works which I wish to translate.
Do not you think the infusion of German productions will tend very much
to improve the literature and science of Britain, physical, moral,
and political?” Hamilton made it a rule not to enter into disputes
with persons, from whose knowledge and arguments he was sure he could
derive neither valuable information nor instruction, and thence he
had usually abstained from argumentation with Dr. Scribble. In the
present instance, conceiving that there was no ground of apprehension
that such incongruous absurdities could be favourably received by the
vigorous and discriminating understandings of Englishmen, he thought
that the publication would be perfectly harmless, would be little read,
make no impression, and be speedily forgotten. For rapidly steering a
literary bark to the gulph of oblivion, he knew no one could be better
qualified than Dr. Scribble; indeed his very name had a Lethean effect,
as it precluded the perusal of works, which a sight of the title-page
associated with the idea of nonsense. “Do you mean,” said our hero,
“to put your name to it, Doctor?” “Oh certainly,” inter-posed Lawhunt,
“we must have the Doctor’s name.” “Yes,” said the Doctor, “my name will
have it’s weight; I believe I have published more volumes than any man
of my age.” “Especially,” remarked Hamilton, “first editions.” Lawhunt
happening at this instant to go out, the Doctor said, “I do not like
those kind of sneering animadversions, I have often hinted so.” “Come
come, Scribby, do not be angry now.” “Nothing galls me so much as any
reflection upon _my talents_; I should rather you would think me wicked
than dull; I have been always labouring not to be thought dull.” “And
an up-hill work it is,” said Hamilton. “Now, sir, I will not bear
that,” said Scribble, “curse me if I do.” “Do not let it get into a
passion?” said Hamilton. “I must say you are an impertinent, insolent
fellow,” replied Scribble. “Harkee, sir,” rejoined Hamilton, “whatever
opinion I have entertained of you myself, I have religiously forborne
delivering my sentiments, so as to affect your employment; the same
forbearance I will now observe. Before this man, Lawhunt, I shall still
abstain from expressing that opinion; but even from you, contempt will
not suffer the insolent expressions that you have dared to use, or let
them pass without suitable chastisement; till to-morrow morning I give
you to think of the subject.” The courage of poor Scribble was much on
a par with his bodily strength and mental abilities. He was beginning
to make an apologetic speech, when Jeffery entered in considerable
agitation, saying, he had seen a glimpse of two men that he did not
want to meet; he therefore requested Scribble to settle for him, as he
could not wait to call for a bill, and before the other could answer,
departed with great expedition, by a door that opened into a lane.
The fact, it seems, was, in returning to the parlour, he had, through
the glass door of the coffee-house, seen two persons reconnoitring
the boxes. One of the persons he well knew, and in company with whom
he had oftener been than he wished. Fortunately recollecting that one
door of the back parlour afforded an escape by the lane, he had bolted
that which communicated with the passage, so as to obstruct pursuit;
and he had not been gone two minutes, when a rough voice called at the
door, “open.” The waiter, comprehending the case, ran round the other
way, and told the gentlemen, for God’s sake, if they were afraid of
bailiffs, to make haste away. They both assured him they were under
no apprehensions. “Then sir,” said he, “if the other gentleman is
safe, we had better open the door; but let us lock this door to keep
back pursuit.” A very thundering knock with a foot now forced open
the door, which was slight. Hamilton started from his seat, and as
one fellow entered, in an angry tone demanded who they were, and what
they wanted? “We want Lawhunt, and you are he,” said one of them,
collaring Hamilton. Though the fellow was strong, yet the other was
much stronger, and at one blow felled his assailant to the ground. The
master had, meanwhile, been occupied with another gentleman, whom he
had discovered in a corner box in the coffee-room, when the waiter,
with much exultation, roared out, “By the Lord, the gentleman is
mauling the catchpole.” The master hearing this intelligence, ran to
the assistance of his follower, without considering his own engagement,
and finding him prostrate at Hamilton’s feet, rashly attacked the
conqueror, and in a few moments experienced the same fate. The room
was now filled with spectators, and the fellows being brought to their
senses, intimated a disposition, jointly, to assail an antagonist,
to whom they had been, severally, so unequal; and to some menacing
words, Hamilton coolly replied, “that they were the aggressors, he
believed, in a mistake; but if they began again, he should have them
severely punished, in two different actions, for forcible entrance,
and assault.” The master now recollecting his acquaintance in the next
room, hastily went out, and returning, called, “Jem, Jem, the prisoner
is gone, let us haste away.” “But,” said the landlord, who knew the
gentleman that he was pursuing, “you shall not hasten away, you have
made a riot in my house, and one of you has broken open a lock;” and
calling two watchmen, who were in waiting for the purpose, he gave
charge of the two prisoners. The event of this business was fatal to
the catchpole; the person arrested had writs in the office against
him for two thousand pounds, on account of a security, into which he
had been villainously trepanned. He had procured an appointment at
Hamburgh, and was preparing that very night to set off for Yarmouth,
and a chaise was in waiting to carry him to the first stage, to join
the mail, when he conceived all his prospects blasted by the arrest;
but when the fellow left him, he hastily entered his carriage, and
drove at full speed to Stratford; reached Yarmouth; and found the
packet just sailing. The bailiffs being detained in captivity till the
next morning, for want of bail, were not able to take measures for
pursuit, till it was too late. Proof was easily found by the plaintiff,
that the defendant had actually been in custody; accordingly, recourse
was had upon the sheriff,--the bailiff of course was ruined; to escape
the Fleet, took to the highway, and from the Drop left a lesson to the
brotherhood, to refrain from brutal execution of just and beneficial
laws.

But to return from this episode. Dr. Scribble was much alarmed with the
thoughts of Hamilton’s displeasure, and frightened, even to tremor,
after beholding his terrible prowess; to avert his anger, he was
willing to make the humblest concessions. Commencing a penitent and
deprecatory speech, he was suddenly interrupted by our hero, who,
shaking him cordially by the hand, told him to think no more of it,
assuring him, that he should not himself, and acknowledged that he
had rather been the aggressor, by his strictures upon Dr. Scribble’s
talents and erudition. Quite delighted with this explanation,
Scribble’s eyes sparkled; “and so you allow me, my dear Hamilton, to
have extraordinary genius and learning.” “Yes, yes, I do; but suppose
we have coffee, we have had wine enough,” “Oh, not yet,” says Scribble;
“we must have another bottle for our reconciliation.” Hamilton never
exceeded a bottle from choice; yet, when conviviality invited, could
drink double the quantity, without intoxication; and now consented.
They enjoyed themselves very sociably, conversing chiefly upon the
adventure of the catchpoles; Scribble assuring Hamilton, he could have
encountered any of them with a small sword; but he believed they would
have been an over-match for him at boxing. Without investigating this
question, Hamilton said, he thought the most important part of the
adventure to Scribble, was the object of the pursuit. “Do you think
that this fellow, Lawhunt, can pay you for so voluminous a work as this
must prove?” Scribble, archly winking, went and shut the door, which
happened to be ajar: “Oh no, he will not be able to go through with
it; but let him begin it, that’s enough, it will not be lost, Billy
Nincompoop will take it up--Billy’s the man. If any one starts an idea,
Bill out with his tablets--down with it--makes it his own. If any one
broaches a new book, Billy out with another upon the same subject, like
an opposition stage-coach, so that you will see that Nincompoop will be
the chap for German literature. I have engaged with this stupid beast,
Lawhunt, for two volumes, and have got bills in advance.” “It would
appear,” observed Hamilton, “from his own acknowledgement, that his
bills are not very punctually honoured,” “Oh, I made allowance for that
in our bargain; he agreed to fifty _per cent_ more than any body else
could give.” “How did you manage that with him, Doctor?” “Very easily;
I shall suppose a work worth a guinea _per_ sheet.” “Very moderate
indeed.” “Oh it’s very good pay; if it were such as I would do for Bill
for one guinea, I would ask Lawhunt two; he knowing nothing of the
matter, being a low mechanic, and addicted to hagling, would chiefly
bend his thoughts to beating me down. I, after much difficulty, would
give up first half-a-crown, then another half-crown, at last, well,
my good friend, Jeffery, you are an honourable man, but lower than
the half guinea, by God, I will not go. He agrees, chuckling all the
while, in the idea of having cheated me of half-a-guinea _per_ sheet,
and I have the odd fifty _per cent._ to meet the law expences that may
occur in the recovery.” Scribble having thus explained his mode of
bargaining, to his own thorough satisfaction, the conversation took a
turn to some topic of the day, that required reference to an evening
paper, in quest of which our hero proceeded to the coffee-room, when
a voice called Hamilton, and turning, he beheld his admired friend,
Dr. William Strongbrain. Telling him he was engaged in the next room
with Doctor Scribble, “Scribble,” repeated Strongbrain, “a poor stupid
animal; how the devil can you associate with that fellow?” “Never
mind his stupidity now; but come in for half an hour with us to the
other room.” Strongbrain having agreed to this invitation, Hamilton
recalled an order, which he had just given for coffee, and desired
another bottle of Port to be substituted in it’s place. Strongbrain had
been dining in a party, and like our hero, was exhilirated, without
any approach to intoxication. Doctor Scribble was farther advanced:
perceiving Strongbrain enter with Hamilton, Dr. Scribble ran up, took
him by the hand, and expressed the pleasure he had in meeting with a
man of so great ability; “I understand you are engaged in criticism,
politics, history, and philosophy, and really your works, in several
respects, meet my approbation. Let me recommend to you some essays
that I am writing, and it will greatly improve your views, your
arrangement, and language.” One of the predominant companionable
qualities of Strongbrain, was good humour; the preceptorial directions,
therefore, of Dr. Scribble, excited a good-natured smile; but no angry
or indignant sensation. Scribble was suffered to talk, and grew greater
and greater with every glass that he swallowed, till at last his
greatness had a fall _under the table_. Having consigned the learned
Doctor to the care of the waiter, Hamilton and Strongbrain departed to
their respective homes.



CHAPTER XX.


THE next morning, our hero, according to appointment, called upon
Sir Edward Hamden, and after a considerable portion of preface and
circumlocution, opened to him the state of Maria’s affections. From
the general character and conduct of Hamilton, together with the
various circumstances of the case, Hamden was thoroughly convinced
that Hamilton possessed Miss Mortimer’s heart, before he was himself
acquainted with her; that he had long before intended to disclose the
truth to Hamden, but had been withheld by considerate humanity. He was
convinced, that Hamilton, in every respect, had acted honourably and
nobly. He esteemed and admired his genius and virtues, and regarded
him as the preserver of his life; still, however, Hamilton had gained
the love which he had most ardently sought. His wisdom, his virtues,
his liberality, candour, and gratitude, could not altogether stifle
that sentiment; all his generosity could not preclude a regret, not
untinctured by envy. He endeavoured to dispel the last-mentioned
passion, and in the conflict of emotions, was silent and distracted;
having been a considerable time in a reverie, his countenance was
overcast with a gloom, which our hero imputing to displeasure, rose to
withdraw. Roused by this movement, Hamden sprang from his seat, and
eagerly grasping Hamilton’s hand, said, “my dearest friend, preserver
of my life, forgive the temporary impulse of feelings, of which you
so justly and highly prize the cause; I am enraged with myself, for
having for a moment suffered them to operate; but (and here he sighed,
and appeared to struggle with himself) Maria cannot be mine; and why
should I repine that she is to be his, whom I value above all men.”
He then asked, if Hamilton thought it was in any way in his power to
promote the views and interests of two persons, whom he so very highly
regarded? Hamilton, with considerable solemnity, answered, “Sir Edward
Hamden, I came with the highest sense of your honor, magnanimity, and
generosity, and by concert with Miss Mortimer, to open confidentially,
whatever regards us, to one whom we both equally esteem. I saw your
agitation and temporary feelings, and therefore resolved to suspend my
communication and consultation; but knowing, that strength of head and
of heart would soon on your side overcome present impulse, I resolved
at a very early future opportunity to resume the subject; but now I
see that the reasons no longer exist for postponing our application.”
Hamden replying, that any advice or assistance within his power would
be afforded, with gratitude for the request, Hamilton freely and
candidly explained to him, that both Miss Mortimer’s father and uncle
had been very anxious for her marriage with Sir Edward; that though he
believed they both entertained a very favourable opinion of him, as an
acquaintance and a friend, yet they would be very much disappointed
by Maria’s refusal of Sir Edward, and preference of a man beneath
him in rank, and so very far below him in fortune. Inferior as his
property was, to what he might desire on account of his Maria, yet it
was sufficient to preserve independence; and his efforts, he trusted,
would produce progressive improvement. Captain Mortimer had, in a
great degree, the direction of his brother; both Maria and Hamilton
were particularly anxious to secure his consent, which the father’s
would certainly follow. Having unfolded all these circumstances in
ample detail, Hamden took him by the hand, and pledged himself to use
every possible argument with Captain Mortimer, and stated the topics
on which he would principally insist; viz, the necessity of studying
the happiness of the parties more than any other circumstance; that the
happiness of Maria was inseparably attached to Mortimer, and that he
would enlarge on the character and prospects of Hamilton, the fortune
and station to which they might lead. Having concerted and formed his
plan of application, to the satisfaction of our hero, he dispatched a
note to Captain Mortimer, proposing an appointment for the following
day. Hamilton, after remaining with him till the evening, returned to
Maria.

Sir Edward waited upon Captain Mortimer, who learned with great
surprize, and greater disappointment, that all hopes of his niece
of becoming Lady Hamden were at an end, and though much attached to
Hamilton, he repined at his having captivated Maria. Hamden, with the
most liberal generosity, praised the talents and accomplishments,
face, countenance, and figure of our hero, and declared he thought it
impossible for any young lady, whose heart was unengaged, to refuse his
addresses, as it was for any young man unengaged, not to love Maria.
“Why, to be sure, he is a very fine fellow, as handsomely built as
any man that ever walked a quarter-deck, or the parade at Portsmouth,
and, to be sure, young girls are very much taken with the outside of a
man; but still I am very sorry that Molly had given her heart to him,
and wish most sincerely it had been otherwise.” Hamden proceeded to
paint his prospects and abilities so strongly, that the Captain began
to be more reconciled; he was, indeed, in a great degree, an optimist,
and not only with ease accommodated himself to actual events, but had
a sanguineness of temper, which, from most occurrences anticipated a
great degree of happiness. Maria being purposely absent, Sir Edward
staid most of the day with the Captain, and at length reconciled him
to the proposal, and even procured his promise to use his influence
with his brother. Hamden leaving the Captain, repaired to his friend
Hamilton, and suspecting that Maria was there, requested to see him
alone. Being introduced into his library, he was immediately joined
by Hamilton, who felt all the gratitude that a very high benefit can
excite in a susceptible and benignant heart. Hamden could not be
prevailed on to join the ladies; and candidly acknowledged, that as
yet, he would rather not encounter the sight of Miss Mortimer, but that
in a short time he hoped to be able to congratulate her, on being the
wife of the man that she loved. In less than a week, Captain Mortimer
received an answer from his brother, though he certainly wished very
earnestly that his daughter had accepted the offer of Sir Edward, he
would yet be guided by the opinion of his brother, and in the course of
a fortnight would set off for London. In the interval, Miss Primrose,
who with her mother had been some weeks in town, made several
overtures to cultivate an intimacy with Miss Hamilton. That young lady
perceived the chief purpose of Miss Primrose; thoroughly assured of
the state of William’s affections, though she could not avoid liking
the amiable qualities of Louisa, without discouraging, as much as
possible, avoided an intercourse, which feeding hope that was totally
groundless, must eventually enhance disappointment. Our hero himself,
notwithstanding his extraordinary personal charms, was far from being
addicted to an easy belief of being beloved by women; nevertheless he
could not avoid discovering the affections of Miss Primrose, nor even
that it was approved by the mother. Thinking her a very amiable and
interesting girl, he was extremely sorry that her affections were so
directed; but no opportunity offered that enabled him, with proper
regard to delicacy and humanity, to undeceive either the daughter or
the mother.

At length Mr. Mortimer arrived in town, and had repeated consultations
with his brother, and also Mrs. Hamilton, who had similar objections
on the score of interest. Finding opposition vain, they endeavoured to
postpone the nuptials; but the eager entreaties of Hamilton, seconded
by the friendship of Hamden, wrung a reluctant consent. After they
did agree, the parents resolved to contribute, as far, respectively,
as their pecuniary circumstances would admit, for the service of the
young couple. Her father bestowed on Maria a thousand pounds; Captain
Mortimer as much: Mrs. Hamilton would have given up one half of her
annuity, but her son and Maria would not hear of the alienation; and
Dr. Wentbridge added another thousand; so that with the interest of
his own property, he would have about four hundred a year, and already
made about four hundred more by his literary employment, and was in a
fair way of greatly increasing his emoluments; and this, with such a
mind and soul as he possessed, though not rich, he was independent.

The arrangements and preparations for the intended marriage, though
conducted with privacy, yet were not so secret as to escape the
notice of the Countess of Cockatrice, who, for the various reasons
which we have before stated, was extremely inimical to an affiance
that interfered so much with her own wishes and views. She suspected
that the plan, of which, Mrs. Dicky had been the instrument, was
unsuccessful; her lowly minister had been received with extreme
coldness, in subsequent visits to Miss Mortimer; and on being
officious and impertinent in her inquiries, had been refused
admittance. The Countess having no means of intercourse with Miss
Mortimer, nearly despaired of effecting a breach between the lovers;
but her invention being extremely ready, especially where mischief was
the object, she conceived a project which she thought very feasible.

There was a person, that having published several obscene and
slanderous productions, took to himself the name of a bookseller. This
fellow (whose name was Blackball) was peculiarly distinguished for
what was some years ago denominated by the cant term of _ink-making_,
that is, threatening to publish defamation, unless he was paid for
concealment, an employment, in point of turpitude and infamy, analogous
to the practice of that class of highway-robberies which extorts money
by threatened charges of flagitious criminality; but not like these,
subjecting the perpetrator to the gallows.

The first in the calumnious line, Blackball, was in some request in
the fashionable world, and well known to the Countess: To him she
applied in the present case, and instructed him to hunt for anecdotes
concerning Hamilton and also Miss Mortimer. The countess learned that
Maria had, about three years before, been for some months a parlour
boarder at a respectable school in a village in which there was another
much less respectable, and which about that time had been the subject
of some discussion, on account of an adventure of one of the young
ladies and a Frenchman: Blackball had heard the particulars from a
young teacher, an intimate friend of his, that used to convey to the
misses of the boarding-school such books and pictures as he was in
the habit of collecting and vending; and for which the seminary in
question afforded a sure and rapid sale. The story, it seems, had
been hushed, and Blackball having been paid for secrecy, and also
afraid if he published any thing on the subject, it might interfere
with his custom, had adhered to taciturnity. On hearing the village
mentioned, calling the circumstance to mind, he said, that he thought
it would be no very difficult matter to confound the two schools, and
attach the report in question to Miss Mortimer.--“Suppose, please your
ladyship, we were to revive that story by a few smart paragraphs in the
newspapers?” “How would you manage to introduce so old a story?” “Oh
very easily!” said the other; “give it first as new, then acknowledge
the mistake, and attack the illiberality of ripping up such matters
at such a time.” He entered into particulars, which he explained to
the satisfaction of his right _honourable_ employer. Accordingly the
next day there appeared the following paragraph: “In a certain boarding
school not a hundred miles from one of the great northern roads, a
French dancing-master has been teaching one of the scholars a new
_step_.”--Two days after, another journal had it as follows: “The young
lady that has been taking French lessons, has retired towards Yorkshire
to meditate upon her instructions.” Next came paragraph third: “What
a dearth of intelligence and entertainment there is to be found among
our brother scribes! The story of the boarding-school is more than
two years old.” In another part of the same journal the affection of
obsoleteness was repeated with a moral reflection on the illiberality
of reviving what had been almost forgotten, and a flaming metaphor
about “calumny’s envenomed tooth.” The fifth article was,--“The young
lady that was so shamefully traduced by a false report about a French
dancing-master, has so satisfactorily cleared her character, that she
is about to give her _hand_ to a young baronet of great and increasing
parliamentary eminence.--If he be satisfied, who has a right to be
otherwise?” The sixth; “We can assure our readers, that Sir E. H. is
not to marry Miss M----; the reasons of this change we do not undertake
to explain.” Seventh,--“The boarding-school report still continues to
_haunt_ poor Miss M----r; not that she is under any dread of spectres;
her disturbance is _from flesh and blood_.”--Eighth, in another paper,
the same morning: “It has been reported that a young man of high and
rising literary reputation is about to lead to the altar a young lady
that has for several days engrossed the attention of the public; as
he is a very respectable young man, we, on his account, hope he will
look before he leap. What feeling heart but must deplore the fate of
Altamont, though only fictitious! how much deeper must be regret when
the case is real! Alas! we fear that like Horatio’s discovery, it will
be too late.” Ninth was an advertisement in the same paper: “Tomorrow
morning will be published, a faithful narrative of the Yorkshire
Calista, including some anecdotes of the gay and sportive Lothario;
humbly dedicated to Altamont H----n, Esq. of Lincoln’s Inn; _not_ by
permission; by the profound admirer of his genius and erudition, and
the friend of his virtues, Horatio. Printed for J. Blackball.

    Were you, ye fair, but cautious whom ye trust,
    Did you but think how seldom _fools_ are just,
    So many of your sex would not in vain,
    Of broken vows and faithless men complain:
    Of all the various wretches love has made,
    How few have been by MEN OF SENSE betrayed!”

Meanwhile our hero had seen the first paragraphs without any emotion;
but he was struck with the article that mentioned a baronet of great
parliamentary abilities, inserted in a morning paper, which he happened
to see in a coffee-house. He reviewed the antecedent paragraphs. Firmly
assured of the dignified virtue of his Maria, he did not, for a moment,
feel any uneasiness on that account; nevertheless, one afternoon,
suspecting that they meant to apply to her, he was filled with rage:
an evening paper just coming in mentioning Sir E. H., initials that
applied to no member of parliament but Sir Edward Hamden, he had no
doubt but some villainous calumny was machinated against the adored
mistress of his heart. He first thought of immediately interrogating
the editors; but on a little cooler reflection he saw the propriety
of consulting his friend, Sir Edward, and requesting him in the first
instance to demand an account of the freedom used with his character,
and who the young lady was who had been so disgracefully appended to
his name. Sir Edward was abroad; and, though boiling with impatience,
Hamilton was obliged to suspend all investigation till the next
morning. Repairing home in the greatest agitation he found his mother,
Charlotte, and Maria together. Having embraced Maria with impassioned
violence, he recollected his resolution of concealing his partial
discovery until he was able to make out the whole. He endeavoured
to appear calm, but the attempt was unavailing, and the effort was
obvious. Maria, with the most soothing affection, entreated him to
inform them what had distressed him. He at first attempted to laugh
away the idea, but finding that they were not to be imposed upon, he
acknowledged that there was a paragraph in a newspaper, that appeared
to convey an implication concerning Sir Edward Hamden that was very
injurious, and which he was determined to investigate:--to-morrow
morning, after seeing his friend, he would get at the particulars. The
arrival of Captain and Mr. Mortimer, prevented any farther discussion
of this subject; but Maria was extremely uneasy; she thought the
agitation of Hamilton much greater than even friendship for Sir Edward
Hamden could produce, and could not avoid thinking that she herself
was somehow or other concerned. No opportunity occurred of making
any enquiry that evening; she went home with her father and uncle,
and immediately retired to her room, and brooding over the idea that
Hamilton was distressed upon her account, she turned her imagination
through the wild region of possibility, and coming to plausibilities,
made a conjecture, not wide of the truth, that some attempt had been
made in the public papers, in some way or other, unfavourable to
her. She was conscious of no act or thought that could expose her
to reproach; what could be the motive or cause of such an attempt?
Bewildered in her labyrinth of possibilities, where she had no probable
clue, she tormented herself with conjuring up successive phantoms of
evil, and at last concluded that some rival was endeavouring to part
her and her beloved Hamilton. Of the Countess of Cockatrice she knew
nothing as a rival.--Louisa Primrose, she was well assured, was fondly
attached to Hamilton, yet she appeared a very amiable girl; could such
be guilty of suborning calumny? This idea she dismissed as illiberal
and unjust; but was the more distressed that she could find no other
to substitute in its place. After a sleepless night she rose early,
and telling her servant she was going to call on Charlotte Hamilton,
with whom she often walked before breakfast, she went out. Although
it was hardly seven o’clock when she arrived at Mrs. Hamilton’s, she
found that William had gone out at six, and had come back about half
an hour after in a very great _fluster_, as the servant expressed it,
had gone up stairs, and after staying some time was just gone out
again. Charlotte presently joined her, and the maid coming to arrange
the room in which they were, they moved into Hamilton’s library;
there Charlotte happening accidentally to cast her eyes to the place
where her brother’s pistols used to hang, perceived that the cases
were empty, and without consideration remarked the circumstance
to Maria. Miss Mortimer was extremely alarmed; remembering he had
mentioned his intention of seeing Sir Edward early in the morning,
they immediately concluded that William was engaged in some dangerous
quarrel, in which his friend was to be his second; no time was to be
lost; a coach was ordered immediately, and directed to drive with all
speed to Sir Edward’s. It had reached the corner of Portland Street,
where Maria eagerly exclaimed, “Mr. Hamilton.” William instantly
joined them, and perceived the terrified countenance of both; they
informed him of the cause of their alarms. He assured them that it
was totally groundless; that he was on his way home to wait for Sir
Edward, who would be with him in half an hour; and after giving orders
to the coachman, reflecting that they might hear of the slanders
from some other person, he resolved and promised to inform them as
soon as he was at home. Accordingly he told them of the paragraphs
he had seen the preceding day, and added that as he was repairing
early that morning to the house of Sir Edward, he had seen several
papers, two of which contained most infamous insinuations, and one an
advertisement worse than the rest. In his anger he had determined to
pistol the fabricator; but his friend Sir Edward had fully convinced
him of the impropriety of such a proceeding, and that a resolute
coolness only could effectually investigate the villainy, and bring
its authors to condign punishment. By this time Mrs. Hamilton was up
and breakfast was prepared, and while they were informing her of what
had happened, and she making the comments of honour and rectitude upon
such villainy, Sir Edward’s servant arriving told Hamilton his master
was waiting at the Gray’s Inn coffee-house. They first proceeded to
the house of the editor, in whose papers the most flagrant and pointed
paragraphs had been inserted. Hamilton, on their way, expressed his
surprize that so malignant a calumny should appear in a journal of
considerable ability, and that did not require scandal to supply
the want of valuable materials; besides, the editor, whom he knew
very well, was a man of fair and respectable reputation. Sir Edward
observed, that in the vast multiplicity of matter it must be difficult
for the editor of a daily newspaper to guard against the insertion
of very objectionable passages. Being introduced to the gentleman in
question, Sir Edward opened the business as relating to himself; Mr.
Hamilton stated its other objects, branches, and connections, and
very strongly represented its gross falsehood and malignant tendency.
Their purpose in troubling the editor, he said, was to require the
name of the author. As the language and manner of both was temperate
and polite, the editor conducted himself accordingly: he declared,
upon his honour, that the paragraphs of both that and the preceding
day had been inserted without his knowledge; that he had been out
of town the two last days, and was only arrived that morning. He
had seen his paper of the day before at Salt Hill, on his way to
town, and was extremely sorry to observe a paragraph alluding to so
respectable a member of the senate as Sir Edward Hamden. The paragraph
in his paper of to-day was equally unknown to him; in itself it was
insignificant, but connected with the advertisement, other paragraphs
both in his and other papers, he acknowledged it appeared to be all
one chain of defamation. He, himself, protested he did not know whence
it proceeded; but as his paper had been one vehicle of the calumny,
he would be extremely happy to trace it to its source; and added,
that they themselves should dictate, as far as respected his paper,
any strictures upon the slander, which they should judge expedient.
Convinced that this editor was not intentionally to blame, they
accepted of his apology, and Hamilton asked whether he could not see
the hand writing in which the calumny had been conveyed. The editor
not immediately answering this proposition, our hero observed that
he was convinced no writer known to or approved by the editor could
have sent such defamatory libels; but an anonymous calumniator was
an assassin that attacked in the dark, and ought to be made public.
The editor said he had not seen the hand-writing, but that there was
a general rule to withhold from persons complaining of a libel, the
means of establishing the proof. Hamilton immediately answered to
this,--“Mr. Editor, I must take the liberty of observing that you
misconceive my meaning; we do not want the hand-writing as the means
of establishing the libel. The libel, sir, is printed and published by
you, you assert, and we believe, without your knowledge, and contrary
to your practice. But I am determined that the libel shall undergo
the prosecution which its atrocity deserves; but we wish to prosecute
the real author, and request from you the only means you can have,
according to your statement, of giving the desired information; but
I do not say I require or demand, because you have an alternative.”
Hamilton now asked Sir Edward if he would go; Sir Edward answered he
made no doubt but the editor would, on reflection, afford them the
satisfaction which they desired. The editor asked if they could defer
till the following morning pressing for a sight of the hand-writing?
“I had much rather you would discover the truth in any other way; and,
upon my honour, I have not seen the hand-writing. I think from the
_last_ part of the advertisement you have some kind of a clue.” “Well,
sir,” said Hamilton, “I believe I comprehend you, and I shall promise
not to require an answer to my questions about the hand-writing,
till to-morrow morning.” At this time a servant calling the editor
forth, he begged to be excused for a few minutes; and on his return
said, that he had just learned the insertion to have arisen from the
inadvertence of the person that acted for him as editor in his absence.
The hand-writing he had now seen; but would say nothing on the subject
until the following day; “I have only to observe one thing, that if you
should happen to suspect any individual person, perhaps by pretending
to know more than you do, you may best answer your purpose.”

Hamilton and Hamden now set off to the house of Blackball, and finding
that worthy person at home, desired a few minutes conversation. He,
bowing very obsequiously, requested their attendance in a back parlour.
Hamilton, profiting by the hint of the editor, told Mr. Blackball
that they had examined the paragraphs which they now presented to
him, and found they were all deduceable from the same origin. “Now,
Mr. Blackball, what we have to say to you is short; you will either
confess yourself the author of the paragraphs in question, or stand
the actions for defamation of Miss Maria Mortimer, in the paragraphs
which we will prove to be from you. Will you or not?” “Gentlemen, you
are very sudden,” said Blackball. Finding them, however, inexorable he
fully confessed the whole. The different papers acknowledged themselves
completely deceived: the countess’s scheme was entirely discomfited,
and Blackball, for the present, was allowed a respite from the pillory.

Hamilton having returned, informed Maria of Blackball’s confession, but
without taking any notice of the prompter.

The attempted obstacles to the marriage of our hero and heroine were
now entirely removed. Old Mr. Wentbridge came to town to perform the
ceremony, and was accompanied by his son the doctor. Charlotte being
bridemaid, and her father giving the bride away, the nuptials were
solemnized on the 17th of May, 1790, and the lovely Maria became the
wife of Hamilton.


END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.



_Books printed for_ T. N. LONGMAN and O. REES, _No._ 39,
_Paternoster-Row_.

1. ST. CLAIR OF THE ISLES; or the Outlaws of Barra; a Scottish
Tradition, by ELIZABETH HELME, Author of “Louisa, or a Cottage on the
Moor,” &c. &c. in 4 vols. Price 14s. boards.

2. THE SWISS EMIGRANTS, A TALE, in 1 volume, 12mo, Price 4s. in boards.

 “With regard to the following little Narrative, it is not necessary
 to give any account of the manner in which it came into the Editor’s
 possession, or of the circumstances which have delayed its publication
 so long after the time when it appears to have been written. In
 offering it to the world, he has been actuated chiefly by an opinion
 of its useful and instructive tendency. If virtue be promoted by the
 view of characters which rise above the ordinary standard, those
 exhibited in the following pages seem well calculated to produce
 that effect. In the first part we discover the principle of active
 benevolence operating in somewhat of a new direction. There may not
 be many who could with propriety adopt the precise manner of life
 which is there described; yet there are perhaps few whose characters
 would not be improved by imbibing some portion of the spirit which it
 breathes.

 At the present moment also, when our independence, and our very
 existence as a nation, are threatened by the same restless and
 domineering potentate, the examples here exhibited of love for our
 country, and courage in defending it, may not be without their use.”

                                            _Extract from the Preface._

3. THE ADVANTAGES of EDUCATION, or The HISTORY of MARIA WILLIAMS,
a Tale, for very Young Ladies, by MRS. WEST, Author of “A Gossip’s
Story,” “Tale of the Times,” “Infidel Father,” &c. &c, in 2 vols,
12mo. Price 7s. in boards, the second Edition.

4. WOMEN: their CONDITION and INFLUENCE in SOCIETY, by JOSEPH ALEXANDER
SEGUR, translated from the French, in 3 vols. 12mo. Price 12s. in
boards.

 ⁂ “These Volumes exhibit entertaining anecdotes of the more
 distinguished females characters of France, from the earliest period
 of French History, to the present period--The first Volume contains
 General Remarks and Anecdotes of the Sex; and will afford a reasonable
 share of amusement.--Some of the Anecdotes are new, and related with
 a considerable degree of vivacity and interest.”--_British Critic_,
 _November_, 1803.

5. THADDEUS of WARSAW; a Novel, by Miss PORTER, in 4 vols. Price 14s.
in boards.

6. The INFIDEL FATHER, a Novel, by Mrs. WEST, Author of a “Gossip’s
Story,” “Tale of the Times,” &c. 3 vols. 15s. boards.

7. A SERIES of NOVELS, from the French of Madame de GENLIS, in 4 vols.
12mo. Price 18s. boards.

 “These volumes are selected from the Bibliothèque des Romans, and
 contain such of that collection as were contributed by Madame de
 Genlis. That much admired author is too well known, and has been too
 much praised, to require another testimony from us. If the tribe of
 novelists would be careful to write after nature, and keep her and
 some other excellent models in their eye, we should not be reduced to
 the unpleasant necessity of condemning, as we are now forced to do,
 nineteen in twenty of the books that go under the title of novels.”

                                                           _Crit. Rev._

8. The RIVAL MOTHERS; or, CALUMNY: a Novel, translated trom the French
of Madame de GENLIS, in 4 large vols. 12mo. Price 18s. sewed.

 “The literary reputation of Madame de Genlis is so well established,
 that the public are readily disposed to anticipate pleasure from
 every new production of her cultivated mind; and we have satisfaction
 in acknowledging, after having perused the volume before us, that
 disappointment has not superseded expectation.

 The narrative of the novel is pleasing and interesting, the style of
 these letters is sprightly and animated, bidding defiance to the foul
 fiend Ennui.”

                                              _Monthly Rev. Oct._ 1801.

9. FOLLIES of FASHION; a Dramatic Novel, 3 vols. Price 13s. 6d. boards.

10. SOMETHING NEW; or, ADVENTURES at CAMPBELL HOUSE; by ANN PIUMTRE,
Price 15s. boards.

11. The HISTORY of RINALDO RINALDINI, CAPTAIN of BANDITTI; translated
from the German of VULVIUS, by J. HINCKLEY, Esq. In 3 vols. Price 10s.
6d. boards.

 “This celebrated history had an unexampled sale throughout Germany,
 where many large editions were printed in the course of a few months.
 The Adventures of Rinaldini, a real character, who lived in the
 early part of the present century, are truly surprising, and almost
 incredible. The author possesses all the fire and spirit of the German
 writers, and if we are now and then struck with improbabilities,
 bordering on fiction, we are often delighted with deeds of heroism and
 courage, not unworthy of a greater name than this daring Captain of
 Banditti.”

                                           _Monthly Mirror, Nov._ 1800.

12. RIMUALDO; or, the CASTLE of BADAJOS; a Romance, by W. H. IRELAND, 4
vols. 14s. boards.

 “This is by no means an uninteresting story, nor ill told; and if its
 author, quitting the path of literary deception, can content himself
 with the humble fame of a novel writer, his invention and industry
 will entitle him to a respectable rank.”

                                             _European Mag. Oct._ 1800.

13. ASTONISHMENT! a ROMANCE of A CENTURY AGO. By FRANCIS LATHOM, Esq.
Author of “Men and Manners,” “Mystery,” “Midnight Bell,” &c. In 2
volumes, 12mo. Price 9s. boards.

14. MEMOIRS of a FAMILY in SWISSERLAND, founded on Facts, In 4 volumes,
Price 14s. boards.

 “This story has a claim to much more praise than it is in our power to
 bestow on the greater part of the novels that come before us. There is
 a great deal of virtuous sentiment breathed throughout the work; and
 the youthful Gertrude is an amiable character.”

                                             _Critical Rev. Oct,_ 1802.

Printed by A. Strahan, Printers-Street.


FOOTNOTES:

[1] A bathing-man under the west cliff, in great request among the fair.

[2] Meaning, perhaps, _toujours perdrix_.

[3] Miss Lacecap here uses a different word from many of her sister
novelists when expressing the same idea. With them the favourite
word is _error_. If a man seduces the sister, daughter, or wife of
his friend, that is an _error_. If a woman leaves her husband for a
gallant, the poor lady is in an _error_. Should a young lady, in the
elegant periphrasis of modern novels, be a mother without being a wife,
the unfortunate girl is in an _error_. However, I think Miss Lacecap’s
phrase of mistake may answer the purpose as well, and may also suit in
other kind affections as well as love. Should a person’s sentimental
susceptibility, instead of your wife or your daughter, fancy your purse
or your watch, and under the influence of too ardent passion, happen to
put his hand into your pocket, why not call this error a mistake? Or
should the same susceptibility be turned towards your cups and spoons,
and should its votary with two or three more as sentimental as himself,
pay your house a nocturnal visit and elope with the beloved objects,
why should not this error be called a _mistake_? Or if one should
happen to put another person’s name to a bill or bond instead of his
own, soft and sentimental phraseology may also call that a mistake.

Fielding has expressed it otherwise. For instance: We do not find that
Miss Maria Seagrim, the sentimental sensibility of whose heart had
betrayed her into error with Will Barns, Tom Jones, and Square the
philosopher, is even, by the eloquence of Parson Supple, exhibited
with such courtly circumlocution. See the chapter in which that worthy
clergyman informs Squire Western and Sophia of the state of the too
susceptible Maria, with the penetration and facetious remarks of the
squire on the occasion.

[4] See Castle Spectre, Cambrobritons, &c.



Corrections

The first line indicates the original, the second the correction.

p. viii (Table of Contents)

 CHAP. XV.         Page 113
 CHAP. XV.         Page 133

p. xi

 Harlobothrumbo, a Tragedy,
 Hurlobothrumbo, a Tragedy,

p. 21

  on this delighful spot
  on this delightful spot

p. 38

  physics and metapyhsics, history
  physics and metaphysics, history

p. 110

  displays strong discrimination; he is a of naturally good intentions,
  displays strong discrimination; he is of naturally good intentions,

p. 133

 CHAPTER XVI.
 CHAPTER XV.

p. 159

 CHAPTER XVII.
 CHAPTER XVI.

p. 197

  CHAPTER X.
  CHAPTER XVII.

p. 179

  you certainly are Hamilton’s appatition.
  you certainly are Hamilton’s apparition.

p. 225

 CHAPTER XIX.
 CHAPTER XVIII.

p. 265

 CHAPTER XX.
 CHAPTER XIX.

p. 301

 CHAPTER XXI.
 CHAPTER XX.

p. 302

 He esteemed and admired his genins and
 He esteemed and admired his genius and


Erratum

p. 47

There is no division for Chapter XII.



*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Modern literature: a novel, Volume II (of 3)" ***

Copyright 2023 LibraryBlog. All rights reserved.