André was then eighteen years of age; a handsome, slender, graceful, and vivacious youth, with features as delicate as those of a girl, and accomplished beyond most young men of his time. He was five feet nine inches in height, dark complexion, dark eyes, brown hair, with a somewhat serious and tender expression. His manners were easy and insinuating. The young couple fell desperately in love with each other at their first meeting.
Anna was delighted, and she fostered the passion. The lovers were betrothed before the summer was over; but "Love's young dream" was disturbed. The father of Miss Sneyd and the mother of André decided that both were too young for wedlock then, and it was agreed that at least two years should intervene between betrothal and nuptials. It was also deemed proper that they should be kept apart as much as possible during that period, in order to test the strength and reality of their attachment, and for other prudential reasons.
With this understanding André returned to his desk in London, a hundred and twenty miles away. He had sketched two miniatures of Miss Sneyd. One he gave to Anna Seward, the other he placed in a locket and carried it in his bosom. He also arranged for a correspondence between Miss Seward and himself, of which Honora was to be the chief burden. Three of these letters have been preserved, and are printed in this volume. "His epistolary writings," says Dr. Sparks, "so far as specimens of them have been preserved, show a delicacy of sentiment, a playfulness of imagination, and an ease of style, which could proceed only from native refinement and a high degree of culture."
André had an aversion to mercantile pursuits, and had told his Lichfield friends that he greatly preferred the military profession. Miss Seward urged him to stick to his desk, as the only sure promise of a competence which would enable him to marry Honora. Her persuasion prevailed, and he resolved to remain a merchant, for a time at least. In one of his letters to her he wrote:
"I know you will interest yourself in my destiny. I have now completely subdued my aversion to the profession of a merchant, and hope, in time, to acquire an inclination for it.... When an impertinent consciousness whispers in my ear that I am not of the right stuff for a merchant, I draw my Honora's picture from my bosom, and the sight of that dear talisman so inspirits my industry that no toil seems oppressive."
This correspondence was kept up several months, but André's suit did not prosper. Distance, separation, and various circumstances cooled the ardor of Miss Sneyd's love for her young admirer, and correspondence between them ceased. She had other suitors; and, in 1773, she married Richard Lovell Edgeworth, a gay young widower of twenty-five, who possessed a handsome fortune in the form of a fine estate in Ireland. Honora became the mother of Maria Edgeworth, the novelist. She died of consumption a few years afterward. In compliance with her dying request, her husband married her sister Elizabeth for his third wife.
André remained faithful to his first love, and carried Honora's miniature in his bosom until he died. He abandoned the mercantile business in 1771, joined the royal army with the commission of lieutenant in 1772, and went over to Germany. He joined his regiment—the Royal English Fusileers—in Canada, late in 1774, having made a farewell visit to his stanch friend Miss Seward before he sailed for America. During that visit a singular circumstance occurred. Miss Seward took André a little distance from Lichfield to call upon two literary friends, Mr. Cunningham, and a curate, the Rev. Mr. Newton. She had apprised them of the intended visit.
Mr. Cunningham afterward related to Miss Seward a singular dream he had on the night before this visit. He was in a great forest. A horseman approached at full speed. As he drew near, three men suddenly sprang from their concealment in bushes, seized the rider, and took him away. The appearance of the captive's face was deeply impressed upon the dreamer's memory. He awoke, fell asleep again, and dreamed. He was now in a vast crowd of people, near a great city. The man whom he saw captured in the forest was now brought forth and hanged. This dream was related to the curate the next morning, and when, a while afterward, Miss Seward with her friend arrived, Mr. Cunningham recognized in André the person he saw captured and hanged.
Other presaging visions concerning André's fate have been related, some of them being undoubtedly pure fiction. For example: Soon after the evacuation of Philadelphia by the British in 1778, and the Americans had taken possession of the city, some of the Continental officers gave a dinner-party to Washington at a spacious mansion in the suburbs, once belonging to one of the Penn family. At that banquet were two ladies who had known Major André during the British occupation, and had dined with him at this Penn mansion. As they were passing through a grove near the house on that occasion, they both saw at the same moment the body of a man suspended from a limb, and recognized his features as those of André. They spoke of the vision at the table, and were laughed at; even Washington joining in the merriment. This ghost-story may be thus disposed of: Washington was not in Philadelphia at any time in the year 1778. At the time above mentioned he was chasing Sir Henry Clinton across New Jersey.
The following account appears to be well authenticated: A feminine friend of Miss Mary Hannah, a sister of André, shared a bed with her one night at about the time of her brother's execution. The friend was awakened by the loud sobs of Miss André, who said she had seen her brother made a prisoner. Her friend soothed her into quiet, and both fell asleep. Soon Miss André again awoke her friend, and said she had again seen her brother on trial as a spy. She described the scene with great particularity. Again she was quieted, and both fell asleep. Again she aroused her friend by screaming, "They are hanging him!" They both made a memorandum of the affair. The next mail brought the sad news of André's execution at about the time when his sister, Mary Hannah, saw him in her vision.