Pursuant to his advice, they drew the Moor, at the distance of five miles, where they started a hare, killed her after a fine chace, and immediately put up another:—just at this moment came up Mr. Woodburn, foaming with anger, swearing most terribly, and threatening to send Metcalf to the devil, or at least to the house of correction; and, his passion rising to the utmost, rode up with an intention to horsewhip him, which Metcalf prevented, by galloping out of his reach.—Mr. Woodburn then endeavoured to call off the hounds; but Metcalf, knowing the fleetness of his own horse, ventured within speaking, though not within whipping, distance of him, and begged that he would permit the dogs to finish the chace, alledging that it would spoil them to take them off; and that he was sure they would (as they actually did) kill in a very short time. Metcalf soon found that Mr. Woodburn’s anger had begun to abate; and going nearer to him, pleaded in excuse a misunderstanding of his plan, which he said he thought had been fixed for the day after. The apology succeeded with this good-natured gentleman, who, giving the hare to Metcalf, desired he would accompany him to Scotton Moor, whither, though late, he would go, rather than wholly disappoint Mr. Trapps. The reader, by this time, knows enough of Metcalf to believe he was not averse to this proposal; so leaving the hares with his comrades, and engaging to be with them in the evening, he joined his old associate. The day being advanced, Metcalf objected to the circuitous way of Harrogate Bridge, proposing to cross the river Nidd at Holm Bottom; and Mr. Woodburn not being acquainted with the ford, he again undertook the office of guide, and leading the way, they soon arrived at Scotton Moor, where Mr. Trapps and his company had waited for them two hours. Mr. Woodburn explained the cause of the delay, and, being now able to participate in the joke, the affair ended very agreeably.
Metcalf stayed with this company until three in the afternoon, and then set off for Harrogate, crossing the river. He had not tasted food that day; but when he got to his friends, he found them preparing the brace of hares, with many other good things, for supper; and after spending many jovial hours, he played country-dances till day-light.
When the Harrogate season was over, it was Metcalf’s constant custom to visit at the inns, always spending the evening at one or other of them. At the Royal Oak (now the Granby) in particular, scenes of mirth were often going forward; and at these he greatly attracted the notice of one of the landlord’s daughters.
In the summer he used often to run his horse for the petty plates or prizes given at the feasts in the neighbourhood; and on all these occasions, when in her power, she was sure to attend, with her female friends. By frequent intercourse, the lady and Metcalf became very intimate; and this intimacy produced mutual regard and confidence. Her mother being a high-spirited woman, had brought up her daughters, as she hoped at least, with notions ill suited to the condition of Metcalf; so that in order to disguise the state of their hearts from her parents, the lovers agreed on a set of names and phrases, intelligible to each other, though not so to them. He used to call himself Mary, or Tibby, (at once changing the sex, and speaking as if of a third person); and she, Harry, or Dickey, or some such name. Whenever he sought to intimate to her his intention of visiting her, he would say, “You must tell Richard that Mary will be here on such a day.” Her mother would perhaps ask, “Who is that?” To which she would reply, that it was a young woman who was to meet her brother there.—But if the day appointed by Metcalf was not convenient, she would say, that “Richard had called, and had left word that Mary should call again at such a time;” meaning the time she wished Metcalf to come.—And as she commonly fastened the doors, when she expected him she always left a door or a window open.
One night, in particular, Metcalf having, in consequence of an appointment, arrived there about midnight, and got in by a window that had been designedly left open; in his way to the young woman’s room, he met the old one in the middle of the stair-case! Both parties were much surprised; and the mistress asking angrily “Who’s there?” “What do you want?” he knowing that she always went to bed early, replied “I came in late last night, sat down in a chair by the fire-side, and fell fast asleep.” She then called loudly to her daughter, “Why did you not shew Jack to bed?” “I was not to sit up all night for him;” replied the lass. He then pursued his way up stairs, and the girl conducted him to a bed-room.
In summer he would often play at bowls, making the following conditions with his antagonist, viz. to receive the odds of a bowl extra for the deficiency of an eye.—By these terms he had three for the other’s one. He took care to place a friend and confidant at the jack, and another about mid-way; and those, keeping up a constant discourse with him, enabled him, by their voices, to judge of the distance. The degree of bias he could always ascertain by feeling; and, odd as it may seem, was very frequently the winner.
Cards, too, began to engage his attention; all of which he could soon distinguish, unassisted; and many were the persons of rank who, from curiosity, played with him, he generally winning the majority of the games.
But the achievements already enumerated were far from bounding either his ambition or capacity: He now aspired to the acquaintance of jockies of a higher class than he had hitherto known, and to this end frequented the races at York and many other places; when he always found the better kind of persons inclined to lend him their skill in making his bets, &c. impressed, as they no doubt were, with sympathy for his situation, and surprize at his odd propensity.
He commonly rode to the race-ground amongst the crowd; and kept in memory both the winning and losing horses.
Being much in the habit of visiting York in the winter time, a whim would often take him to call for his horse at bed-time, and set out for Knaresborough, regardless of the badness of the roads and weather, and of all remonstrance from his friends; yet the hand of Providence always conducted him in safety.—It was quite common for him to go from Skipton, over the Forest Moor, to Knaresborough, alone; but if he had company, and it was night, he was, of course, the foremost.