&c. &c. &c.
LETTER V.
Rippon, August 6th.
As soon as Aurora came sun-rob'd and flaunting,
Our party arose to continue their jaunting,
But think not our hurry to run after pleasure,
Could make us forget a good breakfast to treasure,
Tho' we talk'd of fine colouring, site and vertû,
Yet we gave the hot rolls and the muffins their due;
And even those misses, "who died to be moving,"
Bare martyrdom well while the toast they were proving;
Our wisdom and foretl ought admit no denial,
Since our strength was about to experience a trial;
For a medical work in the very first chapter,
Declares that "exhaustion arises from rapture,"
And that 'vessels well laden may prove the occasion,
Of giving the head a complete gravitation,' 444
Ye Naiads and Wood-nymphs, ye Sylphs, and ye Gnomes,
Who flirt on the sun-beams, or languish in tombs,
Who skim o'er the foam on the flow'r wave your pinion,
The brilliant machinery of pages Darwinian.
Oh would that your legions so tiny and taper,
Would light on my pen and illumine my paper;
Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall thy praises,
And paint all the beauties I found in thy mazes,
Those mazes where nature and art have combin'd,
To spread all the charms they together could find.
'Tis fairy land all, yet majestic and great,
Where Solitude sweetly reposes in state,
And smiles on her mansion with features so mild,
We conceive her most pleas'd where the scene is most wild;
Here gurgles the Eure, thro' a thousand meanders,
And unrivall'd cascades swell the stream as it wanders,
Affording such pictures for light, form, and shade,
As Claude might have gaz'd on, or Roussin pourtray'd,
Or Wilson who gave to his country a name,
To rival the proudest possessors of fame.
But alas my poor muse to this subject must knuckle,
Since her song never reaches to more than a chuckle.
Her flame is unlit, and unfledg'd is her wing,
Untun'd too her lyre, for it has but one string;
Therefore 'tis in vain, I sit down to my desk,
To paint the sublime, or the true picturesque,
For my muse is unworthy poor ignorant Vandal,
To pipe on the genius of Hackfall's old sandal.
So imagine dear mother whatever you please,
Of rocks, rivers, waterfalls, temples, and trees,
And now with the grotto, the dell, and the dingle,
Sweet Masham must rise and its sylvan scene mingle;
While Swinton appears in the far distant shade,
By Danby and taste, a new paradise made.
While thus you're employ'd, I'll my pegasus whip on,
For once more the dinner is waiting at Rippon. 482
With tongues like the lark, and with cheeks like the ruby,
See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby,
Where we saw a fine gall'ry of gods, and a goddess,
Dressed quite à la mode, with short coats and strait boddice.
An empress in robes, and likewise a hero,
Caligula's bust, and a scarified Nero;
I believe they were all very ancient and fine,
For our connoisseur party cried "charming! divine!"
Talk'd much of contour and the taste of the Greeks,
Said the art was now lost or but found in antiques;
But just to refute the false blame of the scorner,
I pointed to two modern boys in a corner,
Who proved without saying a word in their favour,
Our sculptors make cupids as lovely as ever.
Having view'd the sarcophagus too and admir'd it,
The tapestry came next as the ladies desir'd it;
But fine as I thought it, I soon was withdrawn,
By a glance of the family crossing the lawn;
For in that I saw beauty enough I am sure,
To enchant and delight the most nice amateur,
Nor was it the less to my untutored notion, 498
'Cause glowing with life and completed by motion;
But I said not a word, (tho' 'twas hard to refrain,)
Lest the dead should be call'd up in judgment again.
At Rippon next morning we went to the Minster,
But no lady amongst us or matron or spinster,
Propos'd the fam'd Needle of Wilfred to enter,
Tho' all to the Bone-house were willing to venture;
Where one lectur'd shrewdly on Gall's craniology,
And turn'd o'er the skulls without fear or apology;
But so pretty she look'd as she handed them round,
No doubt can I have but her learning's profound;
So chang'd are the ladies since your day good mother,
They are all literati, in one way or other;
But in all my life long, I ne'er saw so much on't,
As during this journey when each gave a touch on't,
At Fountains they spoke of memento and data,
And dirtied their hands to examine the strata.
At Hackfall they seized on the weeds and the grasses,
To determine the genus and settle the classes;
Spoke much of alembics and oxygen gas,
Nor suffered a stone unexamined to pass;
Unmindful meantime of the scene that was nigh,
To awake the full heart and entrance the fond eye,
And to gaze on a speck when a world was before 'em,
Seem'd foolish to me tho' so much I adore 'em;
And I could'nt help thinking good madam between us,
Philosophy's seldom the study of Venus;
'Tis hers the bright flame of the poet to swell,
Lead the gay mystic dance or resound the sweet shell,
To guide the soft pencil with delicate finger,
And scatter life's roses whilst o'er them we linger,
Concentring the charms we should never dispart,
The gifts of the mind with the truth of the heart.
But no longer I'll venture this subject to dash on,
Since I know the dear creatures but follow the fashion,
Nor should I have dar'd just to touch on this thistle,
But just to wind up my long winded epistle. 536
&c. &c. &c.
LETTER VI.
High Harrogate, August 10th.
Since the world and all in it are subject to changing,
I hope my dear mother you'll pardon my ranging,
Nor think it surprising to find your son plac'd
'Mongst the very first people for fashion, and taste,
You must know that last week to read novels I took
And had stepp'd up to Wilson's to get a new book,
When who should I hear in the reading-room laughing,
But our Yeomanry Col'nel and Major O'Baffin;
So I stepp'd to the first with a very low bow,
And he was transported to see me I vow,
Call'd me neighbour, and friend, brother soldier, and all that,
Introducing the Major with plenty of small chat;
In short we became all so happy together,
They thought it was best I should just remove hither;
In fact as High Harrogate's now all the go,
'Twould be folly to stay any longer at Low.
The Col'nel and Lady reside at the Granby,
But the Major and I who are good friends as can be,
Prefer at the Dragon to take up our quarters;
Where the company's charming, tho' some of 'em Tartars,
And the eating's so good and the claret so fine,
'Tis worth riding post fifty miles just to dine,
And in spite of the bustle (good madam don't frown,)
The house and the garden's as neat as your own.
Here's a young widow Jointurewell lately come dashing,
But the Countess of Allwit's the woman for splashing,
Her bays in their coach are as constantly prancing,
As the widow's black eyes on the strangers are glancing.
The fam'd ——r——n—— he is this moment arriving,
To strangers well known by the style of his driving
For he sports his own mail his own trumpet he blows,
So he well may be known wheresoever he goes,
He's the soul of good humour, of frolic, and whim,
And High Harrogate owes half its pleasures to him.
Lady Shufflecut's here and her husband Sir Ned,
She games all the night while he's snoring in bed,
And tho' handsome and young he's so idle all day,
That he seldom assists in her labours at play;
So the lady transacts all the business alone,
Tho' he on her efforts subsists 'tis well known,
Her friend Lady Sweepstakes oft comes for a rubber,
And gen'rally finds some one willing to drub her,
But tied by her Lord to play only for guineas,
She bites while she's bit and then laughs at the ninnies;
Who in losing their time have egregiously blundered,
In but taking ten pounds where they hoped for a hundred;
For wit and good humour this lady can boast,
And her temper can keep when her money is lost.
We've a dashing buck Parson among us a creature,
I can never describe since 'tis quite out of nature,
Tho' the race is antique for I'm sure 'tis the same,
That St. Paul has declar'd can take "glory in shame,"
For he's constantly gaming or quizzing the church,
Where he holds two good livings but leaves in the lurch,
Tho' the "fusty old bishop" has sought to restore him,
To residence, duty, and "stupid decorum." 590
In other bad men I am sorry to say,
We wink at the sin when the humour is gay,
And trusting the evil's not sunk in their hearts
Their errors o'erlook for their temper or parts;
But he who embracing an holy profession,
Thus robs some good man of a needful possession;
While conscious his heart is abandon'd and vicious,
Is disgustingly wicked, thence seldom pernicious;
So a beacon of warning this coxcomb supplies,
Since few men will follow what all men despise;
And bad as the world is he stands by himself,
We have good ones enow to lay him on the shelf;
Who e'en in this place of profuse dissipation,
Still honour themselves, and adorn their vocation.
The comical Banker from C—t—r is here,
Whom Blackett retail'd to us often last year,
His humour is droll and his tongue like a sickle,
Cuts so sharp, and so smooth, that you bleed while you tickle;
Lady Shufflecut oft from his spleen gets a hit,
But she pockets his money which pays for his wit,
As beauties the ——nds are at present the rage,
And one has two strings to her bow I'll engage,
But I'm sorry to say that the elegant Julie,
Has the fault of the day and forgets to love truly,
For a fine showy rake whose pretension to merit,
Is a far distant title he ne'er may inherit,
She forsakes a most excellent well manner'd youth,
Who deserves her no less for his virtue than truth.
How soon will she learn from her new master's teaching,
"She has cast off a pearl", but I've no time for preaching;
So I only shall mention one family more,
Tho' I wish to describe you at least half-a-score;
'Tis an old fashion'd gentleman drest like a show,
As his grandfather was just a cent'ry ago,
While his wife in like habit obedient to him,
Tho' still a fine woman complies with the whim,
But his daughter an elegant lovely young creature,
Steals a spice of the mode in her dress tho' not nature,
For a being so lively, yet modest, and charming,
So simple so wild to the heart so alarming, 630
This world or its customs e'er form'd I believe,
From the very first days of our grandmother Eve.
From a Cumberland castle I find they have crept,
Where from ages to ages their ancestors slept;
And 'tis vastly amusing to see how they look,
On the Harrogate world, as a new open'd book,
Where many new faces appear to delight 'em,
But many new manners to wound and affright 'em
The old man is shock'd to find gamesters in orders,
And barons whose names are well known on the Borders,
Now the rivals of grooms a degen'rate race,
The days and the deeds of their grandsires disgrace,
Nor less does he mourn o'er the ladies undrest,
While his delicate daughter, tho' silent's distrest;
But his lady bewails with an innocent sigh,
That women should gamble, should flirt, or look sly,
And declares when they wish to do any thing odd,
They should ask their liege lords for a smile and a nod,
A practice she thinks in a great many cases,
Would save much confusion 'mongst knaves, queens, and aces;
So contracted her conscience, illiberal her notion,
She fancies submission allied to devotion,
And thinks (as she promis'd it once) that a wife,
Should remember her vow all the days of her life,
The Dragonite ladies all laugh loud enough,
At her doctrine, her caps, and her long ruffled cuff,
Declaring her creed like her dress is replete,
With all that is outré, antique, obsolete,
'Tis the very worst part, of the very old school,
Detested by instinct——exploded by rule——
Lady Shufflecut vows she'll to Coventry send her,
And the Countess declares not a soul shall defend her,
Mrs. Rantipole wishes all women so silly,
Were tied by the neck to the heels of her filly,
But somehow I feel in the midst of this pother,
I should much like a wife who had had such a mother,
With this hint dearest madam I'll bid you good bye,
Most likely you're tir'd and in truth so am I. 668