'JACK CONNOR.'
'Jack Connor' is another instance of the novels written by imitators of Fielding. Aiming to produce an unaffected and easy style of fiction, enlivened by incidents of every-day interest, it falls far short of the standard to which it aspires, as one would reasonably suppose. The book is anonymous, and is dedicated to Henry Fox, 'Secretary at War,' and was published in 1752; it is founded on a rambling plot, detailing the adventures of a 'waif' thrown on the world by his Irish parents. The first volume is mostly occupied by youthful 'amours,' and ends with the 'Story Of Polly Gunn,' which unfortunately bears a certain resemblance to De Foe's 'Moll Flanders,' in a condensed form.
'Jack Connor' had a patron, a marvellously proper man, the 'model of righteous walking,' and the dispenser of admirable precepts, over which the hero grew eminently sentimental; but directly after acted in direct opposition to the teaching of this worthy guardian. The pencilling we have selected from the margin of vol. i. illustrates a passage describing the scandals of the kitchen, which affixed to Jack Connor's benefactor, Mr. Kindly, the questionable honour of being father to his protégé.
'I hope,' said Tittle, 'your la'ship won't be angry with me, only they say that the boy is as like Mr. Kindly as two peas; but they say, "Mem"——'
'Hold your impertinent tongue,' said my lady; 'is this the occasion of so much giggle? You are an ungrateful pack. I am sure 'tis false,' &c.
'Indeed,' said Tittle, 'if I've said anything to offend your la'ship——'
'Yes, madam,' said my lady, 'you have greatly offended me; and so you all have,' &c.
Poor Mrs. Tittle was not only vastly disappointed, but greatly frightened. She informed the rest of the reception she had met with. The servants were quite surprised at the oddity of her ladyship's temper, and quoted many examples diametrically opposite.
'I'm sure,' said Mrs. Tittle, 'had I told as much to Squire Smart's lady, we should have laughed together about it the livelong night!'
'Ay, ay,' said Mrs. Matthews, 'God bless the good Lady Malign! When I waited on her in Yorkshire, many a gown, and petticoat, and smock have I gotten for telling her half so much; but, to be sure, some people think themselves wiser than all the world!'
'Hold, hold,' said Tom Blunt, the butler. 'Now, d'ye see, if so be as how my lady is wrong, she'll do you right; and if so be as how my lady is right, how like fools and ninnihammers will you all look!'
In vol. ii. we find Jack Connor resorting to the reputable profession of 'gentleman of the road;' he plans his first 'stand-and-deliver' venture in company with two experienced highwaymen. Hounslow is the popular spot selected for his début. Thither he proceeds in a post-chaise from Piccadilly, having arranged for his horse in advance. Two circumstances favour him; he knows a family in the neighbourhood, and he wears a surtout of a cloth that is blue on one side and red on the other, and that has no other lining. In a blue coat with scarlet cuffs he orders wine, arranges for a return post-chaise, and enquires the address of the people whose name he knows. He then departs, secures his horse, and turns his coat; he is behind-hand, and the coach just then coming up, the two highwaymen lead the attack: one is shot, and the other disabled and captured. Connor escapes in the confusion, ties up his horse, turns his coat, and walks back to the inn for his post-chaise, which is delayed, one horse being wanting. The landlord enters. 'There, now,' said he, 'is two fine gentlemen that have made a noble kettle of fish of it this morning!'
'Bless me, my dear,' said his wife, 'what's the matter?'
'Not much; only a coach was stopped on the heath by three highwaymen, and two of 'em is now taken, and at the next inn.'
'Dear sirs,' said the landlady, ''tis the most preposteroustest thing in life that gentlefolks won't travel in post-chaises; and then they're always safe from these fellows.'
'Well,' said the husband, 'I must send after the third, who escaped; I'll engage to find out his scarlet coat before night.'
Connor, recollecting his situation, chimed in with the hostess, and spoke greatly against the disturbers of the public. At last he took leave, mounted his chaise, and got safe to London; but often thought the horses very bad.
Jack Connor, after various vicissitudes, was at last reduced to service, and was employed as secretary by Sir John Curious, an infirm compound of wealth and avarice, married, in his last days, to a young wife. Connor became unpopular with the ladies of the establishment, on account of his over-correct behaviour. One day he was busy reading to Sir John, when Mr. Sampson, a wine merchant, entered. The knight had a great regard for this gentleman, and was extremely civil to him. 'Well, friend Sampson,' said he, 'time was when we used to meet oftener; but this plaguy gout makes me perform a tedious quarantine, you see.'
'Ah, Sir John,' replied Mr. Sampson, 'you are at anchor in a safe harbour; but I have all your ailments, and am buffeted about in stormy winds.'
'Not so, not so,' answered the knight; 'I hope my old friend is in no danger of shipwreck. No misfortunes, I hope.'
'None,' said Mr. Sampson, 'but what my temper can bear. I have lost my only child, just such a youth as that (pointing to Jack). I have lost the best part of my substance by the war, and I have found old age and infirmities.'
Sir John regretted that he could not assist his friend with a loan, but he paid his account for wine, and handed over Connor to assist Mr. Sampson in his business.
After a long letter on the state of Ireland—which appeared even in 1744 a question beyond the wisdom of legislation to dispose of satisfactorily—the author apologises for his digressions with considerable novelty. 'I am afraid I have carried my reader too far from the subject-matter of this history, and tried his patience; but I assure him that my indulgence has been very great, for, at infinite pains, I have curtailed the last chapter (the Irish question) at least sixty pages. Few know the difficulty of bridling the imagination, and reining back a hard-mouthed pen. It sometimes gets ahead, and, in spite of all our skill, runs away with us into mire and dirt; nay, at this minute I find my quill in a humour to gallop, so shall stop him short in time.'
The life of Connor is chequered. He finally figures as a captain of dragoons in the campaign in Flanders, under the 'Culloden' Duke. He performs deeds of valour with the army, and rescues a Captain Thornton from three assailants, preserves his life and secures his gratitude. He next appears at Cadiz, on a commercial errand, and he regains his long-lost mother in Mrs. Magraph, a wealthy widow, to whom he had made love. This lady, who had saved thirty thousand pounds, was very communicative; she finally recognised him as her son, and acquainted him that Sir Roger Thornton, the life of whose son he had preserved, was in reality his father, and not Connor, as he had previously believed. The hero then set out for Paris. The ship was ready to sail. All were concerned at losing so polite a companion, and he was loaded with praises and caresses. His mother could not bear it with that resignation she at first thought; but, however, she raised her spirits, and with many blessings saw him set sail.
The voyage was prosperous, and he arrived at Marseilles, safe and in good health. He took post for Paris, and embraced his dear friend Captain Thornton, as indicated in the marginal illustration. Jack Connor marries a lord's daughter, and becomes an Irish landed gentleman. The author concludes with the regret that he has not the materials to reveal his hero's future.