CHAPTER IX.
The old gentleman received his nephew with very great delight, and having ordered for him every refreshment that the house afforded, or at least that he could command, proceeded without delay to unfold his various reasons for requesting the presence of William. “I had,” he said, “many trials while my wife was alive, but it pleased the Lord to take her to himself. I was resigned, and since that time have lived with Susan very comfortably. She, to be sure, was down in the mouth, from the behaviour of (whispering) that damned scoundrel her husband; and sometimes I have thought that, bad as he was, she regretted his absence as much as any thing, however, that’s between ourselves. In fact, he returned about a month ago, and behaved very civilly for a week, and his wife appeared as fond of him as ever. I hoped he had taken himself up, and to encourage him, allowed him as much money as I could spare for the present, and promised to do more if he continued to behave himself: but I soon found the money did him more harm than good: he returned to his old practices, and at length became so extremely insolent that I dare hardly call my house my own. He daily abuses me for having (he says) defrauded him, by securing my property as I have done; and as to my daughter, he takes up with the vilest trollops under her very nose; and told her, no longer ago than last night, in his cups, that he knew no other use that she and the old fool her father could be of, but by their fortune giving him the means of pleasure. He has no idea that I wrote to you to come down, and talks very highly, boastingly, and falsely, about your encounter and his in Yorkshire.”—After farther conversation Hamilton retired into an adjoining dressing-room, to make some change in his habiliments, when Mr. O’Rourke, who, having been abroad, had heard nothing of the guest that was arrived, entered the apartment, and accosting the laird in a loud and imperious tone, told him that he required more money immediately. “I have a demand that cannot be put off; so I must have none of your excuses or delays.” “I have really no money for you; you know very well how I am circumstanced.” “Yes, yes, I know how those villains choused you.” “What villains, sir?” “Your brother and his son, to be sure; but I fancy the son will keep out of my way again.” “Here he comes,” said the old gentleman, “to answer for himself”; and immediately our hero presented himself before O’Rourke. Astonishment at first suspended the faculties of the preacher, but was soon succeeded by consternation and fear, and as Hamilton sternly regarded him, the impudence of the bully was totally overwhelmed by the dread of merited chastisement. Hamilton, however, abstaining from actual violence, coolly asked his uncle if he would leave the management of the man entirely to him? “That I will my dear nephew: you know I sent for you for that very purpose.”—“Then,” said Hamilton, “you, Mr. O’Rourke, withdraw, until my uncle and I determine how to proceed.” This command he very submissively and expeditiously obeyed. Having learned the details of O’Rourke’s conduct, our hero asked his uncle, whether he did not think a separation would be the wisest measure? “I think so,” said the laird, “but I am afraid Susan will not altogether agree; for she has still a great hankering after the fellow.” Mrs. O’Rourke now came to pay her compliments to her cousin, bringing with her her little boy, whom she introduced to William, who bestowed great encomiums on his young relation. The lady answered with a sigh, that he already appeared to have the look and shape of his father. Hamilton, as they farther conversed, easily discovered that an entire separation was not to the lady’s mind. Of course it would be totally inexpedient to propose such a measure. She expressed her hopes, that he might be reclaimed, and earnestly conjured Hamilton to devise some means for making the experiment. While they were deliberating, a servant entering in hurry and agitation, informed them, that there were king’s messengers[4] below, and that they were in pursuit of Mr. O’Rourke. Hamilton, having inquired into the circumstances of the case, found that they were writs against the preacher, for sums amounting to five hundred pounds, for debts incurred during his former residence in that country, and that other prosecutions were threatened from places which he had since visited, in the course of his methodistical mission or other adventures. Hamilton advised his uncle not to interfere immediately, but to suffer him to undergo, for a time, the punishment of his vices, and afterwards to relieve him conditionally, according to his future conduct. Etterick agreeing to this advice, O’Rourke was, for the present, taken to the county gaol. Hamilton, in a day or two, sent the steward to see the prisoner, and endeavour to learn from himself the amount of his incumbrances. O’Rourke, abject in adversity, humbled himself before this agent, whom, in the insolence of fancied prosperity, he had formerly treated with imperious rudeness; in the most supplicatory terms entreated his interposition, acknowledged his own unworthiness, and confessed that his debts were not much less than a thousand pounds. He wrote letters to his wife, father-in-law, and our hero, reproaching himself and praying forgiveness. These humiliations wrought upon the feelings of Mrs. O’Rourke, and at her earnest entreaties it was agreed that the laird should privately guarantee a loan for the liquidation of the debts, but that the land-steward, who was to be the ostensible lender, should take O’Rourke’s bond, to be held in terrorem, with a threat of execution if he repeated any of his former misconduct. Hamilton both before and after the release spent much time in exhorting the husband of his cousin to act as became the connection which he had formed, and advised him particularly to abstain from hard drinking and from methodism, both of which intoxicating the brain, unhinging the faculties, and giving full reins to passion, often led to madness, profligacy, or both. O’Rourke acknowledged that it was very true, and promised faithfully hereafter to avoid the drunkenness of either strong liquor or fanaticism, both of which he confessed from experience, heightened the propensity towards loose women and other irregularities. Though Hamilton did not altogether rely on the conscientious penitence of this person, yet knowing that his fears, wherever circumstances led them to operate, would powerfully influence his actions, desired to have him under his own eye. He, therefore, prevailed with the father and daughter to spend the following winter in London, and to pass the intervening time at different watering places, whither he promised occasionally to join their party. Arrangements being made for their meeting in England, our hero informed them that he had engaged to visit a college-friend in Yorkshire. He took his uncle’s horses to Berwick, whence he set out by the mail, in which, though full of passengers, nothing occurred interesting in itself, or, at least, that engaged the attention of our hero, which was entirely engrossed by the anticipation of the pleasure he was to receive at Oak-Grove. Arriving at Northallerton, and inquiring about Mr. Mortimer’s family, he had the happiness to hear that they were all in perfect health; and hastily dining, he walked on towards Oak-Grove.
The morning on which the squire and his daughter had parted with Hamilton, they had immediately gone home; Mr. Mortimer retired to bed and to sleep; his daughter to bed, but not to sleep. Some hours after she descended to the parlour, where she found herself in the affectionate arms of her brother John. Having asked many kind questions about herself and their father, and how she liked London, he could not help observing, that, retaining all her sweetness and tenderness, she was much less sprightly and communicative.—“What’s the matter with you, Maria? have you lost your heart that you are so pensive?” At this question, Maria bushed, but pretended to laugh. Before she could answer the question, her father making his appearance, after the reciprocity of embrace, of looks, and expressions, that parental and filial love might be expected to produce, and some discourse on private and domestic affairs, he turned to his daughter:—“Well, Maria, how long,” he said, “have you been up?” “Near these two hours, sir.” “O, then you have been telling John all the fine sights you have seen, at the plays, and operas, and Ranelagh, and Vauxhall.” “Very little of that,” said John. “And of his friend, our fellow-traveller.”—“My friend, your fellow-traveller?” said the son: “no not a word: who was he?” “Lord, girl, how came you to be so forgetful? Besides, the young man was really very civil to you.” Maria again blushed. “Who is the subject of your discourse?” said John. “Your friend Mr. Hamilton was our fellow traveller from Hertford; and as fine a young man as ever I saw; is he not, Maria?”—“Pretty well, pretty well,” replied the lady; “nothing extraordinary,” repeating her blushes. “Pretty well!” replied the father; “by the lord Harry, miss, I believe you had not the use of your eyes. I think he’s a very handsome and a very fine young man. I am sure John does not agree in your opinion, do you, John?” “Not in the opinion which she has expressed.” “And besides you are to consider you are very much obliged to him; he saved you from a very bad fall.” Maria now pretended some errand out of the room, and the father continued to descant upon the agreeableness of Hamilton, and his attentions to Maria and to him on finding who they were. “I don’t know how it was,” he said, “Maria is an excellent girl, and a daughter to my wish, and I have hardly any occasion to find fault with her, but she was silent and reserved during most of the journey. I invited your friend to visit us as he returns from Scotland. I winked and even whispered to her, that out of common civility she ought to join in the invitation, but she did not say a word.”
Mr. Mortimer was an extremely worthy man; but, totally without disguise himself, he did not readily suspect it in any other. John was a man of abilities, penetration, well-acquainted with the world, and with the fair sex, and not ignorant of the artifices and dissimulation which modesty and delicacy often introduce in the most virtuous and elevated female bosoms. He heard from the communicative old gentleman, all the detail of their journey, including the dashing miss that set off with Hamilton. In various conversations with his sister he turned the discourse upon his friend, but observed that she rather shifted the subject. She was much graver than usual, or if she attempted the appearance of gaiety, it was evidently an effort. One day a family in the neighbourhood was dining at Mr. Mortimer’s, and Maria, with a companion, was seated near a window that commanded a view of Northallerton, and the interjacent fields, and exerting herself to amuse the company, she had begun a very animated account of the comic performance of Mrs. Jordan in the country girl, and had placed her on the table sealing the letter, when the gate-bell ringing, she hastily turned about, and as hastily withdrawing her eyes, was overspread with blushes, and stopped short in the middle of her description. “Dear Maria,” said the father, “what’s the matter with you, girl?” A servant now entering addressed Mr. Mortimer, saying, “Here be a young squire axing for my measter and young measter:” and immediately after, our hero made his appearance, and was received with warm affection by his friend, and cordial kindness by the old gentleman. His reception from Maria appeared to her father too cold a civility to an acquaintance, who was the friend of her brother, to whom she herself had been obliged. When the ladies withdrew, they all, with the exception of Maria, united in praising the face, figure, and address of the young stranger.—Though Miss Mortimer was far from dissenting in her heart from these opinions, yet she had several reasons for concealing her acquiescence. Maria had often, among her companions, ridiculed the folly of love at first sight, and declared the thought it impossible for a rational woman to be enamoured of a man, however agreeable in appearance and manners, before she had an opportunity of knowing the qualities of his understanding and heart; and also, unless she had reason to conceive him attached to herself. This theory Miss Mortimer had often supported with brilliant ingenuity, but had begun now to apprehend that, like many plausible and splendid hypotheses, it would not stand the test of experiment. She really feared that she prized her fellow-traveller much too highly for so short an acquaintance, and besides, had not been without uneasiness since his departure, in company with the lady from Northallerton. Delicacy had restrained not only the tongue, but the eyes of our hero from that expression which his heart dictated, and though the young lady would have been ashamed and vexed by the repetition of the looks which she had received in the coach, she, perhaps, was not altogether pleased at what she, not certain as to the motive, considered as a change. A lady whose affections are perfectly unengaged, may be pleased with attentions, which are merely homage to her charms, and, though indifferent to the man who has bestowed them, may be piqued or mortified at their discontinuance, real or imagined. The mind of Maria, however, was too strong to be much affected by pique. She was less mortified than anxious. She recollected, however, that there was no motive, which she could avow, for coldness and distance to a gentleman who was her father’s guest, the intimate friend of her brother, and whose manners and deportment had a claim to every attention which the politeness of hospitality could exact from a younger and fair hostess: she, therefore, resolved to attempt a greater degree of care and frankness. At tea, the worthy host, in order to amuse the company with a joke, a pastime of which he was very fond, began to roast our hero about his fellow-traveller to the north. Hamilton, whose eyes were turned towards Miss Mortimer, observed her flush and suddenly look to him at this address, but on perceiving the direction of his eyes withdraw hers in confusion. Animated by these movements, which he flattered himself indicated, at least, a curiosity about his conduct, he very eagerly and briefly related her meeting with an officer, who appeared to be her husband; and having spoken very slightly of the appearance and accomplishments of the lady, he, for some reason, chose to descant on the grace, elegance, and manly beauty of the gentleman whom she had met. He did not, he said, know who they were, having parted with them at Morpeth, and having heard nothing, and indeed thought nothing of them from that time to the present. Maria in this account saw two circumstances, with neither of which she was displeased: first, that Hamilton had cultivated no acquaintance with the lady: secondly, that he was extremely desirous to make that known. One or two opportunities had occurred for his countenance speaking to Maria the energetic and impassioned language of love; and she did not misunderstand the expression.
A country performer, who had learned that there was a party at Oak Grove, arrived with his violin and rural second, to exhilarate the company. The strains of loyalty, begun in the vestibule, announced his arrival. He and his comrade were instantly introduced; and Hamilton requested the hand of the charming hostess. Both gentleman and lady excelled in agility, grace, and justness of musical ear; and though all the other young people acquitted themselves extremely well, yet no couple equalled, or nearly equalled, William and Maria.—In the course of their festive amusement, and in the intervals of rest, our hero did not fail to tell his fair partner how beautiful she was, how lovely, how irresistibly interesting. She pretended to consider these declarations as mere words of course, and to answer with gay indifference. Gaiety, sprightliness, and brilliancy she displayed; indifference did not appear. Our hero, inspired by Maria, and moreover warmed with the social bowl, to which the old gentleman had allowed but little respite, gave vent, after supper, to his imagination; delighted by the novelty and beauty of his imagery, and by the sallies of his wit, surprised and fascinated his hearers. The stage happening to be mentioned, and Mrs. Siddons in Belvidera called from our youth the pathos of genius so irresistibly impressive, that glistening eyes and moistened cheeks of the fair auditors bore unequivocal testimony to the softness of their sensibility. Far transcending all the female guests, in the vigour of her imagination, and the tenderness of her heart, Maria, by the action and reaction of fancy and of feeling, was more enchanted and affected by the descriptions and exhibitions of our hero, than any of her companions. She saw how exquisitely his countenance corresponded with the varying subject; and, indeed, though she did not see it, her own was in changing unison. The members of the party were so extremely pleased with each other, that the dawning morn was the first intimation that midnight was passed. Late as it was, and though William had not been in bed the preceding night, yet he lay awake, meditating on love and Maria, and wholly bent on winning the affections of so charming a fair. In the tumultuous eagerness of passion, reason did not altogether neglect one of her favourite votaries, but asked, to what end could he indulge his affection? was his situation in life such as to justify so early a marriage, deserving as the young lady might be? would not it be prudent to defer his advances until he had made greater progress in the destined pursuits of life?—Honour and humanity said, “Do not irretrievably engage the heart of this lovely and interesting young woman, before you are assured that no impediments may retard, or obstacles obstruct gratification.” To these monitors the ingenuity of love answered, “That instead of opposing he would satisfy them all.” He was conscious that he possessed talents, erudition, and literary powers, which, if steadily and uniformly exerted, would procure him an income sufficient for real happiness; that Maria would stimulate exertion; and that so inspired he would probably be greater and richer than if acting without any such motive; but, at least, he would be happier. At length he was overpowered by sleep, and was in a dream caressing the object of his waking thoughts, when his jolly host entering his apartment roused him to breakfast, that, according to an appointment on the former evening, they might take a ride over his farm and estate.—“I suppose, my young friend, you are like John, therefore I need not offer you a tankard for your morning draught.” Hamilton acknowledged the resemblance in that part of their taste, and the squire left him, and, while he equipped himself, went to pay his compliments to the other guests. Having left his room, he was preparing to descend to the parlour, whence he heard the cheerful voice of his host; when a door opening into the landing place, Maria unexpectedly presented herself to his enraptured view.—He thought her somewhat pale, and inquired after her health, not as a compliment, but as one whose whole soul was concentrated in its object. She answered him with sweetness, but still attempted indifference. He softly took hold of her hand, and earnestly requested one moment’s conversation. Confounded by his address, she at first stood still, but recollecting herself, gently withdrew her hand, saying, she must descend to the breakfast-room. The allegation of reason sounding so like an apology for departure, delighted our hero, who confidently expected ere long he might have the opportunity which he wished. Most of the morning was occupied in viewing the farms of the squire and his tenants. His own demesnes evinced the skill and ability of the farmer and gardener, that happily mingled utility with pleasure; in whose plans, culture was the groundwork, while decoration was the edging and interspersion, in which productiveness, the primary object, did not preclude delight. The fields, husbandry, houses, dress, and persons of his tenants, evinced the industrious and thriving farmers of Yorkshire.
The rest of the visitors were now departed, and Hamilton was the only guest. They returned to dinner. The squire, convivial from sociability, but not intemperate from habit, promoted neither by precept nor by example the absorption of any more liquor than suited the tastes of his company. After a cheerful but moderate glass, the gentlemen joined Maria in the garden. Young Mortimer was soon after summoned to Northallerton, on some business which would require about half an hour’s attendance, and the squire was a little after obliged to give audience to one of his tenants; so that now there remained only our hero and the object of his adoration. The reader will not doubt that Hamilton embraced so favourable an opportunity of unfolding his sentiments, which he did with mingled ardour, tenderness, and delicacy. The young lady heard him with agitation, but an agitation that appeared to arise more from apprehension than from anger. Educated with the strictest sense of decorum and propriety, as well as modesty, she thought she was wrong in listening to him; but his deportment was so respectful, engaging, and persuasive, that though she once or twice attempted it, she was unable to chide him for so hasty a declaration, or even abruptly to leave him and retire. She, in a very low voice and faltering accents, requested him not to talk on such a subject to her; they were almost strangers to one another; it was impossible he could know so much of her mind and dispositions as to justify the preference which he professed; though accident had left them alone at this time, she would take care to prevent the recurrence of such a situation; at least, unless he promised to desist in future from such a topic. Hamilton declared his resolution to open his sentiments to his friend John, and she was deprecating the application, when her father rejoining them, interrupted their discourse.
The following day a hunting party prevented the intended explanation in the morning; and when they returned to dinner, a neighbouring gentleman, who invited himself to Oak Grove, was of the party. This was squire Blossom, whose father, a very great farmer near Richmond, had acquired a considerable property by speculating in corn and cattle, and by horse-dealing; and his fortune being more than doubled by the death of a brother, an opulent manufacturer: a short time before he had died, leaving to this his only child, an estate of two thousand pounds a year. This youth having been intended by his father for following his own footsteps, had received little education, except so far as related to rearing horses, and disposing of them to the best advantage. In this last branch he, though only six and twenty, had already attained such skill that he could over-reach colonel O’Blackleg himself, and was fast adding to his fortune. He, like his father, was also a skilful corn-dealer and grazier. Acquing his money with great ease, though not liberal to other persons, he was not sparing in what ministered to his own pleasures; being a fresh-coloured strapping fellow, he was a successful gallant in the country; and young as he was, was a kind of a patriarch. This person having neither birth, abilities, or any other source of distinction but his riches and his vices, considered money as the first constituent of eminence, and next to that the deception of female credulity. Blossom had frequently seen Maria Mortimer, and though without taste, feeling, or comprehension to do justice to many of her charms, yet from sentiments purely animal, he regarded her as a very desirable object. The fortune of Mr. Mortimer he well knew was considerably inferior to his own, and as he had several children, the portion of his daughters could not be great. He himself was determined not to marry but merely as a matter of convenience, and had in his eye the only child of an opulent button-maker of Sheffield. This fellow had the presumptuous wickedness to conceive dishonourable intentions towards the virtuous and elevated Maria. But, though not without courage in rencounters of wrestling, cudgel-playing, or boxing, he was no friend to sword and pistol, which he well knew such an attempt would immediately raise against him from Maria’s brother, who was brave, intrepid, and high spirited. Knowing, however, that John was soon to leave the country, he determined to execute his nefarious design, when its object should, he conceived, be less guarded. He therefore had often visited Oak Grove. The father and brother, though they had no suspicion of his real designs, yet did not much approve of his attention to Maria, and were not so sordid as to desire, for the sake of mere fortune, that she should sacrifice herself to a man whom she did and must despise. Maria, from whom he had not completely concealed his real design, regarded him with contempt and indignation; but her fear of involving in a quarrel that might prove fatal to those whom she most dearly loved, prevented her from explanations. In such circumstances all that she could do was to avoid his company as much as possible, and when in it to treat him with chilling coldness.—Blossom, who considered his own face and figure as irresistible, imputed this behaviour to artifice and coquetry, and persisted in his scheme. Accordingly, having met with the father and son, he offered them his company, intending to return the hospitality of the family by ruining the daughter. As Blossom and the old gentleman were riding before, John in a few words communicated the heads of his character;—that he was a rich blockhead of a profligate horse-jockey; that he hated his company and conversation, as he was ignorant, impudent, and gross; but that the reception of such fellows was in the country a sacrifice, which must be frequently made to social neighbourhood. Maria was dressed that day with an elegant simplicity, that rendered her irresistibly bewitching. Blossom and Hamilton, different as they were in their sentiments and views, both agreed in being more than ever fired by her charms. Our hero could have instantly married her, to have such corporeal and mental attractions his own; and Blossom would have almost encountered any risk to perpetrate his purpose. He easily saw the fondness of Hamilton, but estimated its nature and object by the grossness and depravity of his own mind. Hamilton, he could not help perceiving, was extremely handsome, and as such might doubtless procure a rich match; he, therefore, could, in Blossom’s opinion, only pursue Maria as a mistress. He could not avoid observing, that Miss Mortimer treated Hamilton with much more complacency than himself. Rivalry and resentment added fresh incentives, and he resolved, cost what it would, to snatch from the stranger so delicious a morsel. Having, both during dinner and after, indulged freely in the bottle, his passion was more and more inflamed, though somewhat dissipated by long and boasting narratives of his own amours. In the drawing-room he became excessively troublesome, and, in the temerity of insolent brutality, conceiving himself not observed by the gentlemen, offered the young lady a gross affront. The eyes of the virtuous and delicate Maria flashed fire. She threw in his face the scalding teapot, and forgetting all her caution, called to her brother to come to turn the fellow out of the house. John hastily seized the offender, who smarting with pain, maddened with liquor and with anger, began to pour out the abuse of enraged vulgarity, calling, he was richer than them all put together. Here’s a fuss, because——, and he stated the offence. John returned this speech by a blow, which levelled Blossom with the ground; and after he recovered, seizing him, and being superior in strength, dragged him to the door, and thrust him out of the house. Blossom, enraged and bloody, hastened to the inn at Northallerton, thence wrote a defiance, conceived in the grossest terms of abuse, avowing his design, and swearing that it should be effected. Mortimer having read this letter, declared his resolution to meet the fellow immediately. His father and sister eagerly beseeched him to disregard a challenge from such a man. John, however, hastily ran out, followed by his father; and was immediately after heard above stairs in his own room. Hamilton was following him, when Maria, afraid he was going to accompany him as his second, eagerly grasped his arm, and prayed he would hear her for one minute. “One minute, my lovely Maria! for my life and for ever.” “O my dear sir,” she proceeded, “prevent my brother from exposing himself, perhaps, to death: it is all my rashness and precipitancy. I shall be the murderer of my kind, accomplished, and beloved brother. I shall deprive my father of his darling son, and bring his grey hairs with sorrow to the grave. Do, Mr. Hamilton, prevent this calamity, and you will merit my eternal gratitude.” Hamilton told her, that he had just formed a scheme, which he trusted would prevent the extremities she apprehended. He went to his friend, whom he found vehemently contending with his father, that he must meet and chastise the villain. “My dear friend,” interrupted our hero, “do you believe me a man of honour, or that I would suffer an insult to pass without a punishment adequate to the subject and object?” “I know you would not.” “Do you think I would accept a challenge from a footman?” “Unquestionably not.” “Or from any one not a gentleman?” “Certainly not.” “Can you think the writer of this letter entitled to the treatment of a gentleman?” “Not by conduct; but by his situation in life, and the estimation of society.” “His situation in life is nothing to us,” replied our hero, “and if you will follow my advice, you will satisfy society, even that part of it that supports the factitious honour of duelling, and punish the fellow without degrading yourself, a gentleman, to the low level of a brutal clown.” William accordingly explained his proposition; that John should write an answer, declaring “that he would not admit a man of such behaviour to the privilege of a gentleman; but that he would personally chastise him, and would not suffer him to appear in any public meeting, until he had publicly asked pardon for his infamous behaviour.”—John at last agreed to this expedient, and also to defer the answer till the following morning, when Blossom might have had time to cool and reflect on the exact predicament in which he stood.—Maria and her father regarded our hero with the most delighted gratitude, and the remainder of the evening passed in tranquillity.
Early in the morning Hamilton betook himself in quest of the esquire.—Blossom, being informed that a gentleman from young Mr. Mortimer desired to see him, was very little pleased with the message. His courage had in a great degree flowed from the wine which he drank, and as the fumes were now in a considerable degree evaporated, part of the valour had also oozed away. To give it time to return, or to deliberate how it might be unnecessary, he proposed to defer the interview about two hours. Our hero returned at the appointed time, and was introduced to the apartment of Blossom, whom he found sitting with a bandage round his head, which, however, did not so completely cover his face as to prevent it from exhibiting impudence contending with shame and fear. He received Hamilton civilly, and then in a blustering tone proceeded to exclaim against young Mortimer. Hamilton cut him short by telling him, his business was merely to deliver him a letter, and, according to the reply, to add a subsidiary message. The esquire having read the letter; “And so,” says he, “master Mortimer refuses the challenge?” “But,” says Hamilton, “he states his reasons and determination.”—“Pretty reasons: cowardice; don’t you think so, Clump?” turning to his groom, who had continued in the room. “Before,” said our hero, “Mr. Clump has the trouble of delivering his sentiments, I have to ask simply, Will you apologize in the required manner?” “I’ll be d—d if I do.” “That’s right,” said the groom, “don’t be timbersome.” “Then I have farther to inform you, that Mr. John Mortimer will, in half an hour, be in the public room, in this inn, to cane you, if you dare appear there; and that he will repeat the same discipline in every public place where you dare appear, to teach you the manners befitting such a person as you, if admitted into the company of ladies and gentlemen.” Having delivered this embassy, our hero departed. Blossom having shut the door assumed a very valiant face, and said to Clump, “Did you ever hear so insolent a fellow as this messenger? Hamilton they call him: it was with difficulty I could keep my passion. Did not you remark how red and angry my face looked?” “No, I thought it was rather pale, please your honour, and whitish as it were.” “But did not you see me even trembling with rage?” “O yes, when he spoke about the cane in the public room, your honour did tremble.” “I think I will run after him yet,” said the esquire, clapping himself on a chair, “to teach him to talk so to a man of my consequence: but now that I think of it, I cannot well go out as my head is tied up. I believe it will be as well to avoid the cold and keep quiet to-day, Clump; I shall not go down stairs.”—Clump, who was his master’s chief confident, and was a sharp fellow, did not fail to perceive the real motive; but professed to acquiesce in the ostensible. Some time afterwards as the esquire was declaring his ardent desire of having an opportunity of chastising both Mortimer and Hamilton, Clump standing at the window, informed him that an opportunity was arrived, for they both were entering the house. “I will go down, don’t say a word against it, Clump.” “I, please your honour, I am saying nothing against it.” “However you may go down first, to see what is going on.”—Clump in a few minutes returned, bearing in his hand a paper to the following effect:—
“Whereas, a peasant and clown named Bartholomew Blossom, cow-keeper and horse-jocky, of Docktail-Place, near Richmond, impudently and falsely calling himself a gentleman, did audaciously, in a vulgar and ribaldrous letter, send me a challenge. I hereby declare, that I will not accept a challenge from the said Bartholomew Blossom, peasant and clown as aforesaid; but I come prepared to chastise the presumptuous insolence of the fellow, by caning him in the public room, or streets of Northallerton, or wherever else I may have the good fortune to find him. At the same time believing him to be a poltroon and a coward, I shall forbear beating him if he confines himself to the kitchen or stables, without arrogating to himself the privilege of making one of a company of gentlemen.
August 29. 1789. John Mortimer.”