About two years before the regiment had been ordered to America, so quickly that they had not time to revisit England, and embrace their children. Our colonel was actively engaged in the battles of Long Island, New York, and White-plains, and deemed them all, in decisive success, little adequate to British force, valour, and efforts. He accompanied lord Cornwallis in his victorious career through the Jerseys, and had no doubt of capturing Philadelphia, when the commander in chief, by recalling the victorious Britons, arrested the progress as it was about to be complete.—He saw and regretted the dissipated scenes of New York winter quarters, but fortified by principle, and confirmed by habit, remained uninfected by the destructive contagion. Disapproving of plans, he was intrepid and skilful in execution. Lamenting the late outset of military operations in the campaign of 1777, and the circuitous course of invasion, which postponed active warfare till the season for it was nearly expired. When the British army at length took the field, colonel Hamilton was one of its most valiant and skilful leaders. At Brandy Wine and German town, he was particularly distinguished; he now hoped that British achievements, though tardy in commencement, would be effectual in result. But premature departure from the field completed the inutility of British valour. Northern discomfiture combining with southern inefficiency, demonstrated the contest to be henceforth hopeless. Hamilton perceived, with sorrow, the debauchery that unnerved British prowess, and with mingled pity and contempt beheld the farcical pageantry of triumph without atchievement, which terminated inglorious command. The capture of Burgoyne, and the obstinacy which continued hostile contention, after its object was desperate, rendered large reinforcements of troops necessary. The levies of new regiments procured Hamilton promotion, which permitted him to return to Britain with his lady and his daughter.
Our hero was about fourteen years of age when revisited by his parents; comely, healthy, active, and strong, and in his mental powers and acquirements far beyond most youths of sixteen. Both father and mother were proud of such a son, and anticipated future eminence from so promising talents and accomplishments. As their second son was now at the same seminary, a neighbouring boarding school was commodious for the daughter. The colonel and his lady fixed their abode in the same village. The venerable vicar of Brotherton having for upwards of forty years discharged, without assistance, the duties of his trust, was, after he had turned his seventieth year, prevailed on to delegate the most laborious part of his function to a curate, and was thus able to spend much of his time in the houses of his son or daughter.
Old Maxwell, though past his grand climacteric, found no difficulty in walking twenty miles to visit these friends, and especially to confer with the colonel on the military operations. “Please your noble honour,” he would say, “I think we have not done half so much against those yankies as we did against the French, and yet, God be praised, British soldiers have fought like——what can I say? Why, like British soldiers. But their generals——; O Lord, your honour, the slippery ground at White-plains would not have stopped general Wolfe; the heights of Abraham were a great deal steeper. Some people change by preferment. I remember at that very place general ——, then a colonel, was one of the first that got up the precipice. I must say,” continued the loquacious veteran, “Fort Washington was a gallant feat. The defence of Quebec was very well too; and so by G—d was the attack. That Montgomery was a brave fellow; from his name he must be a Scotchman by birth. Poor Fraser too—but I do not know how it was, there was a great deal of courage and valiant fighting with no upshot. We are no nearer the mark than when we began.” The colonel could not help really coinciding with some parts of this criticism, though for obvious reasons he did not reckon it expedient to open his mind without reserve.
Both the Messrs. Wentbridge concurred in censuring the execution of the war, but carried their strictures also to its plans and origin. Hamilton as a military man had lofty ideas of the submission due to government in every department, political as well as military; and various disquisitions took place from a diversity of opinion, sufficient to enliven and animate conversation without causing asperity of dispute. Our hero was often present at these dissertations; and being permitted to deliver his opinion, and instructed to support it with acuteness and force, though with modesty and candour, he greatly promoted the extension of his knowledge, as well as the invigoration of his powers, by these exercises. He was himself strongly inclined to the whig side, a reader of the newspapers, and a profound admirer of Charles Fox. He often expressed the delight he should feel on being the author of such speeches as were delivered by that celebrated orator. His father would answer, “You may, if you have merit enough. There are some eminent men in parliament, who raised themselves from a situation no higher than yours.” Topics of this sort sometimes led to considerations respecting the future profession of our hero, especially when he approached the age of seventeen, and acquired a degree of classical literature, as well as other knowledge, that rendered him fit for being sent to an university. His grandfather reviewing the happiness which he himself had enjoyed in a sequestered life, and in the vigour of his own constitution hoping for several years longer life, wished to secure the reversion of his living to his grandson. The doctor, who by long residence at college chiefly regarded academic dignities and promotion, did not doubt that the genius and erudition of his nephew might rise to the highest appointments in the university, if not in the church. He himself had by his college connections procured a living, formed his school, and lately obtained a more valuable benefice. He knew that a contented and unambitious temper only prevented him from rising still higher, and saw that Hamilton was of a much more aspiring disposition. The colonel, much as he venerated the elder, respected and esteemed the younger Wentbridge, yet valued political more than ecclesiastical advancement, and desired his son to rise in the state rather than the church.—They all, however, agreed that he should speedily be sent to an university; and as Cambridge was best known and most highly prized by Dr. Wentbridge, that was the seminary chosen for young Hamilton, and preparations were made for his being entered of Trinity college.
Before William’s departure for the university, he unexpectedly became acquainted with relations whom he had never as yet seen. The laird of Etterick had, as we have recorded, returned to the north, possessing all the charms of his Grizzle’s person, and the half of her twelve thousand pounds, the old lady having retained the other during life, a period which the honest laird could not help thinking very long. Etterick had not all the satisfaction in this connection that he had hoped;—not that he felt or had any reason to feel jealousy. The amiable Grizzle had indeed had the good fortune never to excite any inordinate desire: during her virginty the views of her suitors had been bounded by her pockets; and since her entering the marriage-state, all men that saw her regarded her as having disposed of the only temptation which had been ever in her power; and the laird when in his cups, sometimes wishing to celebrate the wonderful purity of his wife, would declare that she was not only singularly virtuous, but that he would venture to say no man ever desired her to be otherwise. So wrong-headed women are sometimes found, that the lady did not relish this compliment, and no subject was more grateful to her than assertions that attempts had been made upon her virtue. The laird and she, after the honey-moon was over, were not extremely rapturous in their expressions of affection. Sometimes, indeed, they fell into little sparring matches which temper the sweets of connubial ecstacies. In these family-pieces Mrs. Sourkrout would now and then take a part. The chief subject of dispute was the rank and consequence of the respective families, whether the daughter of a mayor or the laird of Etterick brought the greatest honour. This point was frequently contested with warmth, and introduced a great variety of narratives, of arguments, replies, and rejoinders. The laird would mention the many centuries during which the family of Etterick had lasted. They had often been in the suite of the earls of Douglas, and had been extremely active in plundering the English borders. They had three boars’ heads for their arms: from which it was inferred by themselves, that their forefathers had been intrepid and successful hunters; whereas the detractors of the family derived those emblems from the will and bequest of one of its maternal uncles, who, having been an eminent pork-butcher at Newcastle, in leaving his wealth to a nephew, proprietor of Etterick, then much involved, had chosen to annex to his legacy a condition referring to his own profession. To this last interpretation the lady would adhere. The laird would farther asseverate, that the family of Etterick had from many generations in its marriages kept to its own rank; and that if he had a little demeaned himself, he still thought Grizzle ought to be sensible of the promotion she had received, and duly to value the alliance to which she had been raised.—The lady’s first line of arguments by which she opposed so unwarrantable attacks on the dignity of the Sourkrouts consisted of the mayor and his importance, and corporation dinners and election balls, and the mayoress partner to the chief candidate my lord Ethelwald Mercia, son to Edgar earl of Pentweazle, the Countess of Coventry’s Minuet danced by the said lord and said mayoress. But if the first line by the force of his charge did not discomfit the boars’ heads and the Etterick antiquity, there was a strong line of reserve, commanded and with impetuous fury led on by Mrs. Sourkrout herself, consisting of her uncle the bishop. The laird of Etterick ought to remember, that the lady who had honoured him with her hand was great niece to a spiritual lord. Was any of his boars’ heads a right reverend father in God? could any of them shew a mitre on their carriage?—The laird, finding his opponents more voluble than himself, at last desisted from contesting the point; unless now and then when he returned from a conference with the parson over Maggy Wood’s whisky-punch, or from a meeting of justices held to promote good morals and especially sobriety among the poor, or from a Monday’s dinner after the administration of the sacrament.
With these little interruptions they were not on the whole deficient in family harmony, and Providence blest their loves with a daughter, who, followed by no sister and interrupted by no brother, was destined heir of the estate of Etterick and the money of Sourkrout, both considerably increased by the œconomy of her parents. Mrs. Sourkrout passing the summer in Scotland generally wintered at her house in Doncaster: there she was at this time situated. The laird not having for many years seen his brother, proposed to fetch the dowager, and with his wife and daughter to visit the colonel. Accordingly they set out, and in due time reached the abode of our hero’s parents. The colonel and his son were abroad on a visit; and Mrs. Hamilton, having completely forgiven the machinations of the quondam Miss Sourkrout, now received her with a cordiality and kindness of a sister-in-law, and was no less affectionate in her treatment of the laird and their young Miss. The heiress of Etterick was now about fifteen years of age but a very forward plant, combining her father’s height with her mother’s breadth and rotundity: she also inherited the maternal locks with a ruddy complexion and sanguine aspect. Though father and mother did not coincide in every subject, they agreed respecting Sukey; both indulged her without restraint or moderation. The old lady, though it must be confessed not very prone to kindness, cherished this her heir and representative with more boundless fondness than even her parents themselves. Miss Sukey was accustomed to speak without reserve whatever she thought or felt. She had not been half an hour in the house before she asked Mrs. Hamilton if they had many fine young men about the place? and whether her cousin William was not very handsome? The lady of the house having smiled without returning a direct answer, she went on to an account of the different gentlemen she knew, with an accurate description of their respective features, face, height, and shape. She was standing by a window expatiating on these subjects, and her aunt and mother were sitting at some little distance, when suddenly stopping and gazing out for a minute she exclaimed, “Good Lord! mother, what a lovely youth!” but before the mother came to make her observations, the young man was out of sight. A few minutes after, colonel Hamilton entered the room; and after a very affectionate meeting with his brother, and paying his respects to his sister-in-law and niece, he sent a servant to the doctor’s to summon his two sons. Henry, the youngest, first made his appearance; a fine, active, blooming boy of fourteen, with the carelessness about dress incidental to boys before the ideas of commencing manhood give them different sentiments. Soon but not immediately after arrived William, and was recognized by his cousin to be the person whom a little before she had so lavishly praised. William was now entered the eighteenth year of his age, with an animated, expressive, and engaging countenance, above the middle size, well proportioned, graceful, active, and muscular, with a frank and manly address, and manners which, though they did not amount to courtly politeness, coming directly, were more impressive than the most studied refinement. His charms and accomplishments had already made an impression on some of the young Delias who had learned, while perusing their prayer-book at church, to take a glance at the Damons, and with soft eyes, pouting lips, and dimpling cheeks to indicate the blossoming emotions of nature. William however, though fully sensible to female charms, had not fixed his attentions on any particular object; or rather was the admirer of every pretty girl he saw, and of her most whom he had last beheld. Young as he was, he moreover possessed a very considerable discernment; and though he might be pleased for a time he could not be long interested, by any object that did not add good sense and sensibility to beauty. His cousin, minding mere external appearance, was captivated at first sight with our young hero; and having been instructed by her grandmother and her old nurse that a young lady of fortune is to be baulked in nothing that she may please to desire, instead of concealing her sensations, she with much pains displayed them to their object; and though William certainly did not make the expected return, yet, as she could not learn that he was attached to any other, she hoped her battery might ultimately be effectual. But before that blessed time arrived, our hero set off for the university.
CHAPTER VI.
Our hero arriving at Cambridge was entrusted to the care of the head of a college, the old intimate friend of his uncle, and entered as a pensioner. Hamilton had carried with him a stock of classical literature that equalled the proficiency of any cotemporary youth from even Westminster or the other great schools. He also had made some progress in mathematics. This happened to be what Cantabs call a good year; among the fresh men there were a great proportion of hard students. Our hero made one of the number, and made a distinguished figure in the various exercises. He excelled both in Latin and English composition in prose and verse, and made several essays at poetry that displayed a fancy both strong and brilliant. His satiric vein, which grew with his age, was not unemployed. Enraged against Mr. Fox for coalescing with a statesman whom in the judgment of Hamilton he had execrated so justly, he for a time forgot his attachment to the transcendent orator, and wrote a ludicrous poem in the measure of Hamilton’s Bawn, containing a brilliancy and force of imagery with a satiric poignancy not unworthy of a Sheridan. This essay was the more highly relished at Cambridge because it sided with Mr. Pitt, the proud political boast of that university. But these sportive exercises of his genius were far from chiefly employing the talents of our youth. According to the inculcations of his preceptors, and the example of the most admired students, he applied himself with peculiar vigour to mathematics; and as he approached the year of his graduation, was farther stimulated by the hopes of academical honours. He also added metaphysics on a more extensive scale than is usual at English universities, and did not neglect ethics and political œconomy. He imbibed the high spirit of liberty which Cambridge breathes, was a bold and constitutional whig, and a great friend to Smith’s doctrines of free trade. He approved greatly of Mr. Pitt’s principle of commercial politics, the expediency of exchanging surplus for supply; and wrote in one of the periodical publications an essay on the Irish propositions, which was very highly valued by both parties, both for the vigour of reasoning and eloquence of impression. Some of his academical friends, to whom he communicated this production, strongly advised him to superadd the lighter graces of rhetoric; and by their advice he read Cicero, Quintilian, and Blair. This last work was the subject of his studies during one of the vacations while he visited his friends in Yorkshire.
There he passed about two months, delighted and astonished them by his powers and attainments. Care had been bestowed on his accomplishments as well as his erudition. His mother saw with pleasure he was the best dancer at Doncaster ball. His father having introduced him to the officers of his own corps quartered at Leeds, he was universally allowed to be one of the finest men on the parade. Old Maxwell vowed that he ought to be at the head of the grenadier company. The young farmers acknowledged that at foot-ball, wrestling, and cudgel-playing, young Mr. Hamilton was a match for any man in the West Riding. The young damsels bore witness to the handsomeness of his face, the sweetness and spirit of his eyes, and the fineness of his figure; not forgetting the charmingness of his dancing. William himself, though sensible of the power of beauty, was not smitten, at least deeply, by any young lady. With very considerable sensibility, he had little of the delicate and sentimental: he liked a pretty girl when he saw her, and another pretty girl when he saw her; but without being the votary of languishing and pining love.
His cousin Susan had not yet forgotten her sweet William, as she styled him. Not but that she had flirted with a cornet of horse, a lieutenant of marines, the young laird of Mospaul, and some others of late. She had from being giddy taken rather a serious cast, and it seems from the following cause. One Roger O’Rourke, a native of Carrickfergus, had come to Edinburgh to push his fortune, with one coat, one shirt, one fiddle, and no pair of breeches, and had been employed as a performer by a dancing-master. Being himself a muscular active fellow and a capital hand at an Irish jigg, in summer, when his master’s business was slack, he resolved to try his hand, or rather his legs, in delivering instructions himself through country villages. In the course of his itinerancy, he had arrived at Etterick, and had the honour to give lessons to Miss, in order, as the laird phrased it, to keep her in exercise. The following winter he had been induced by a female acquaintance to visit the Methodist chapel, where, as this friend instructed him, he would hear the choicest doctrines for poor frail sinners. O’Rourke soon became a convert to tenets which he found very accommodating, and readily entered into a compromise to swallow all their articles of faith and keep to his own articles of practice. Being a fellow of lively fancy, an enterprizing and adventurous disposition; he having during that winter heard the sermons, joined in the private devotions, partaken of the love-feasts, given and received the holy kiss, experienced the communion of saints, in short, served the apprenticeship of Methodism, he determined to set up as a journeyman, and the following summer to have two strings to his bow,—dancing and preaching. Our strapping missionary set out and was not long a visiting the mansion of Etterick; but with his dress and appearance very greatly changed. For whereas in the former year, he had been a smart fellow, with a bonnet and green ribbon, a short green coat, tartan waistcoat, and trowsers, he had now a slouched hat, a complete suit of black, which he had got through the munificence of a taylor’s lady, that described him to her husband as a powerful labourer in the vineyard of the Lord. Miss, who had regarded her dancing-master with much complacency, scarcely recognized him under this metamorphosis; and, at first, when informed of the double capacity in which he proposed to act, treated him with ridicule. Her mother, however, was of a different opinion; that good lady was not without a pre-disposition to Methodism. She had spent some part of the preceding winter at Glasgow, and was much pleased with the sublimated Calvinism which she there heard; as she, indeed, always had been the friend of faith without works. She had at Edinburgh attended the chapel of Lady Glenorchy, or, as it was usually called, the Lady’s Kirk; and, finally, she had quarrelled with the parson of her own parish, because he had given shelter to a servant whom she had been pleased to buffet and discharge, though not in the wrong. Being, therefore, not disinclined to undergo conversion, she chid her daughter for treating so sacred things lightly. Suke, having reconsidered the matter, reflected, that, though the outward man was different, the inward was the same; she even complimented him on the change; in his trowsers, she said, he had looked too robustious, in his blacks he was more genteel. Under this instructor Miss Sukey made rapid progress in grace; she had learned all the spiritual terms, and had read Whitfield’s and many others’ Sermons, and, through the ministry of the fervent Roger, had very nearly reached the goal of female saintship[2]; when, behold, a letter arrived from a friend at Doncaster, that knew nothing of Miss Sukey’s spiritual change; describing the appearance of William Hamilton at the ball, and setting forth his charms, and the many young ladies whom they had captivated. The evangelical pastor and this wandering sheep (not, like Miss Prudence, little, but of the Tiviot-dale breed,) were sitting on a sofa, discussing the doctrine of spiritual love, which he elucidated by apt illustrations; he had exemplified the kiss of peace, and was imprinting on her lips the kiss of joy, when a foot on the stair made them withdraw from the closeness of their devotions, afraid lest their holy zeal, being misconstrued, might be a stumbling-block to the ungodly; and she had reached the window, when a servant brought the letter. Miss Sukey having read and reread this epistle, her affection for Hamilton immediately rekindled in her combustible bosom. Roger and his kiss of joy had no longer any joy for her. She resolved that her father and mother should immediately accompany her to Yorkshire. Again looking at the dear letter, she observed a postscript which had before escaped her, mentioning that it was remarked that the excellent old Mrs. Sourkrout had been of late declining much; she ran to her mother and shewed her this postscript, and did not fail to recollect a dream which she had about her grandmamma:—she had seen that beloved lady lying on her death-bed, reproaching her daughter and grand-daughter for neglecting her in her last moments. Her conscience could not be at ease unless they posted instantly to the house of their parent. The mother, who was incapable of refusing any requisition to her daughter, granted this the more readily, as she wished to take cognizance of the old lady’s progress in grace. The laird, who was generally passive on such occasions, did not object to the intended expedition; and, when his wife and daughter had left the room, ringing for his chief confidant and counsellor, the footman, with much glee squeezed him by the hand, saying, “Andrew, my boy, the everlasting dowager is going at length; by the Lord she has had a tough time of it; when we have her once under ground, we shall have a ranting night of it at Maggy Wood’s.” They prepared to set out immediately; Roger accosted Miss as she came into the hall equipped for her journey, but to his astonishment received no answer. She hurried into the carriage, was followed by her parents, and they drove off, leaving the preacher to account for this sudden change; all he could learn from the servants was that the old lady was at the point of death, for so Andrew had reported. He wished Providence had deferred this intelligence a little longer: meanwhile he addressed himself to the hearts of other devotees.