Hamilton and Maria, Mortimer and Charlotte, danced together the first two dances. A gentleman, who had for some time regarded Miss Mortimer with fervent admiration, now requested the honour of her hand. This was a very graceful and elegant person;—Sir Edward Hamden, a man about seven and twenty. Having danced with Miss Mortimer, he sat by her during the remainder of the evening; paid her compliments at once very warm and appropriate, while his countenance expressed the ardour of passion. Hamilton, at this time, had been accosted by the Countess of Cockatrice, who whispered him,—“Why do not you ask me to dance with you?” Hamilton observed, “Not having the honour of being in public known to your ladyship, I have foreborne an application that I did not know would have been well received.” She archly answered, “No application that so handsome a youth can make, can be ill received by a lady of any sensibility.” Our hero thus challenged, could not avoid acceptance, and the attention that politeness required, necessarily compelled his absence from Maria. As he danced down, all the ladies of her own circle tittered, and whispered, “Cockatrice, as usual, has taken care to provide herself with one of the handsomest beaus which the place affords.” Indeed the fair of the age, who united the bloom of youth with the graces of beauty, were exceeded by this middle-aged matron in the efficacy and effect of attractions. At forty she could distance the most charming girl of twenty; for her age had not impaired the force of charms so much, as experience improved skilful and efficacious direction. Having both the soar, and the eye of an eagle, while in pursuit of the very highest game, she would pounce upon lower, and having succeeded, resume the chace. Her desire of conquest, like Cæsar’s, combined emulation with ambition; to supplant another was the second wish of her soul. She had seen at the Grove our hero and his fair companion, was struck with the manly gracefulness of his figure, the dignified beauty of his countenance, and also readily perceived that the young lady that was with him entertained a similar opinion. Thoroughly acquainted with the various channels of intelligence, and having, in the worthy hostess of North-street and her no less worthy spouse, and many others, agents for every purpose either of truth or falsehood that she chose to discover or disseminate, she the following day had learned more particulars than she had conjectured. The desire of embroiling a couple of lovers added spurs to other motives for courting the acquaintance of our hero. To be sure he was far removed beneath the rank of one object that the Cockatrice wished to fascinate, but he was a gentleman destined, she understood, to be a counsellor; and though the good humour of her lord precluded any apprehensions that she could have occasion for the professional efforts of a legal orator in justificatory eloquence, she might have occasion for a champion that might conduct offensive efforts against the insolent assailants of a right honourable reputation. These, however, were distant considerations. Our hero was a very handsome finely proportioned young fellow. The bearer of such accomplishments, whatever his rank and condition might be, carried with him a passport to the Cockatrice’s favour. She used every effort in her power to convey to Miss Mortimer an idea that our hero was paying his devoirs to herself. She so contrived her positions, that Maria might see her face without seeing Hamilton’s. When he spoke on the most common topics of the evening, she assumed the expression of a downcast blushing girl, receiving the soft declarations of a man whom she loved, but afraid to discover her tenderness. Poor Maria, though far superior to the Cockatrice in real ability and comprehensive penetration, yet as far inferior to her in the labyrinths of artifice, was actually persuaded that her lover was caught by the enchantress. She could not herself attend to either time or figure, but with difficulty making her way down the dance, hastily retired to her seat. That dance being over, Hamilton was flying to his Maria, but stopped by Captain Mortimer, who was conversing with a middle-sized slender gentleman, of a very bold and animated countenance. Hamilton soon found him to be a naval officer, who, though scarcely thirty years of age, had already highly distinguished himself, and was looked on as one of the most promising hopes of the British navy. Mortimer having introduced Hamilton and this gentleman to each other, said, “Hamilton, this is as brave an officer as ever stepped between stem and stern. You, they tell me, are a fine writer; who knows but you may yet have to celebrate his atchievements when an admiral? By the Lord, I have no doubt but my friend here, if he live and have an opportunity, will equal your Rodney, Hawke, Russel, or any other of his country.” The captain, not recollecting that, highly deserved as his eulogia might be, they were not altogether seasonable in the presence of their subject, persevered in illustrating them by particulars. His brother captain took the first opportunity of leaving Mortimer, and our hero was obliged to listen while the captain proceeded. Meanwhile the countess had directed her steps to the spot where Sir Edward Hamden sat with Miss Mortimer. Perfectly acquainted with the baronet, “Pray,” she said, “Hamden, do you know who that charming youth is that danced with me?” “I understand his name is Hamilton,” replied Hamden. “What a graceful figure, what a bewitching countenance, what eyes, and such a look as he has with him: it is well for me that I am past my teens, and not a susceptible romantic girl.” “That you are out of your teens,” said my Lord Bayleaf, who had come to reconnoitre Miss Mortimer, “and past romantic love, we most readily admit; but that you are also out of your susceptibility, I should rather be disposed to doubt.” “Hamden,” said her ladyship, “Do you know that Bayleaf, as he finds age growing on, and former amusements gone off, is going to set up for a wit. He was hard at it last Friday, and has since been in training; he only ventures twice a week yet, perhaps as he improves he may get on to thrice. But,” proceeded the lady, “he applies his old tastes to his jokes, he takes them at second hand.” “In the subject, does your ladyship mean?” says Bayleaf. “No,” says she, “but in the execution.” But here, his lordship being called aside to give judgment on the genealogy of a horse, the countess resumed the praises of Hamilton; and particularly celebrated the turn of his aspect towards an agreeable woman. “Your ladyship’s attractions,” said Hamden, “would soften the looks of any man.” “Really, I have not the vanity to think that my ladyship’s attractions had entirely engrossed him, he seems to have a habit of making love, and conveyed stolen glances at two or three others. I think Miss Louisa Primrose, and that forward young pout, Lady Betty Ogle, will pull caps about him. I am told he is a young man of small fortune. Primrose is mistress of a plumb, so indeed I told Hamilton. With so very pretty a girl it would be a God-send.” “What,” said Hamden, “is your ladyship going to turn match-maker?” “Oh no,” said she, “but I have taken a great fancy to this young man, and intend to make him a protegée, and I think I could not do better for him.” The very young lady in question, with her mother, now accosted Captain Mortimer, who had formerly been captain in Admiral Primrose’s own ship, and was well known to his widow, and also acquainted with the daughter; and Mortimer, who was extremely fond of Hamilton, and desirous of extending his acquaintance and connections, introduced him to Louisa; and as the last dance of the second set was now ending, Hamilton could not avoid asking the young lady to be his partner in the two next. Politeness having compelled our hero to remain a few minutes with his new acquaintance, he found on going to look for Maria, that she had left the room, and before her return, the dance was called. It being Miss Primrose’s dance, the first object that struck Maria on re-entering the room was, Hamilton leading a pretty, sweet, interesting girl through the mazes of a strathspey country dance, to the enlivening strains of Lucy Campbell. By her uncle, who now joined her, she was told, that the young lady dancing with Mr. Hamilton was the only daughter of his old friend Admiral Primrose. This intelligence, combined with what Lady Cockatrice had said, by no means tended to relieve the anxieties of the evening. Miss Primrose, an agreeable and engaging girl, joined with a delicate face and figure, had a simplicity of aspect and manner, that added an impressive interest to her other charms. She was pleased with the music, the dance, and above all, the attention of her partner; and blue eyes, beaming softness, glistened with delight. Though only eighteen, she had repeated offers of marriage, but from none that made any impression on her heart. She was struck with the elegance of Hamilton; and though not altogether tinder, instantaneously to catch the fire of love, she could not help regarding him with great complacency; which the vigilant eyes of Maria observed, and her imagination exaggerated. Nor were doubts concerning the man whom she loved, the only disagreeable sensations Maria had that evening to experience. She was obliged to hear overtures to addresses from a man that she did not love, and indeed, till that evening, had never seen. This was Sir Edward Hamden,—in person and manners equal to most men, in conversation intelligent, animated, and engaging. But his various accomplishments were little regarded by Maria, whose heart was totally occupied by another object. Though he did not professedly make love, yet the language of his tongue, and much more of his eyes, was infinitely too warm from a stranger to an occasional partner for the evening, unless he intended farther acquaintance. She also observed that he had found out her father, uncle, and brother, and paid them respectively great attention; and, her fancy ranging into the probable motives of the baronet’s conduct, and the probable consequences, she foreboded unhappiness. At length our hero was able to rejoin his Maria, and observing an expression of uneasiness, he endeavoured to learn its cause. He enquired with such a manifestation of tender concern, as gradually lessened the effect, and she became convinced that his absence from her, and attention to others, were merely the effects of unavoidable incidents, and resumed her usual cheerfulness. At supper, Sir Edward Hamden found means to place himself in the party of the Mortimers, which the captain also prevailed on Mrs. Primrose and her fair daughter to join. While they enjoyed themselves, a waiter who knew Hamilton, said, “there is a gentleman, sir, enquiring, at which table you are supping.” “Who is it,” said Hamilton. “I do not know, sir, I rather fancy he is a physician, but here he is, sir,” when Hamilton turning about, beheld a little figure in black, with a large bag wig, and a sword hanging by his side; and it was almost a minute before he recollected him to be Dr. Scribble. “Doctor,” says he in surprise, “What is the meaning of all this metamorphose?” Maria, at this address, turning to survey the doctor, burst out into a fit of laughter which soon pervaded the whole company. The face, naturally diminutive, was half covered by the wig which came down to his cheek bones, the bag overspreading his slender back and shoulders, rendered their flimsy contexture more visible: the coat having very large flaps, made that part of the person which these peculiarly affected, form a striking contrast with the short and tiny limbs, from the close grasp of the silks, smaller, if possible, in appearance than reality. Offended at a mirth of which he himself was so evidently the object, he, with much solemnity, opened a speech, in which he expressed his confidence that there was nothing ludicrous and ridiculous in his appearance, that he trusted both his dress and deportment would be uniformly such, as was most compatible with the dignity to which he was now elevated. “My appearance, I will be bold to say, befits my character.” “Character,” said Captain Mortimer, “I do not know what the devil character it befits, unless it be Captain Mirvan’s full-dressed monkey in Evelina.” But our hero and young Mortimer, to prevent the doctor from attending to this remark upon his archetype, made some little motion and bustle to procure him room at table; and, while, the company were conversing upon the occurrences of the evening, the doctor thought it a good opportunity of delivering a dissertation upon the nature and tendency of the ancient dances, and in the course of his illustrations, entered upon the Ionicos motus of the lyric bard. The baronet, who before had enjoyed the lectures of this spontaneous instructor, now joined with the other gentlemen in traversing this part of the elucidation. Before the doctor would take the hint, the company broke up for the night.
The next day, Hamilton went early to enquire for his Maria, and after he had sat half an hour with the family, Sir Edward Hamden was announced, who having paid his respects to Maria, and the rest of the company, entered into an easy conversation with the gentlemen, cautiously adapting its range to the inclinations of the persons whom he addressed. With the captain he discoursed upon naval history; with the squire, upon agriculture, and country sports; with the young gentlemen, on moral science and literature; with the ladies, on taste, belle-lettres, music, painting, fashionable manners and diversions; and, Dr. Wentbridge making his appearance, he spoke of the question between the church and the dissenters. After he had taken his leave, all the company agreed that he was a very pleasing man. Wentbridge, who knew something of his connections, informed them he was a gentleman of great fortune, and much esteemed for his abilities and character. Captain Mortimer now reminded Hamilton, that out of politeness, he ought to ask for his fair partner Miss Primrose. Maria could have wished that her uncle had spared this admonition, but no objection could possibly be started by her, or indeed by any other, and accordingly he went to pay his respects. The mother, he found, was gone abroad, but that the young lady was at home. Miss Primrose had been deeply impressed by the charms of our hero, and had not discovered his attachment to another. On hearing his name announced, fallacious hope, in its usual way, following wish, she ascribed his early enquiries to a more potent motive than mere fashionable politeness. Under these impressions, she descended to the drawing-room with more haste, and received him with more animation than a stranger could have excited merely as her partner at a ball. Our hero entered into conversation with her, and found a great portion of good sense, united with amiable dispositions, and thought her a very engaging and interesting girl. Soon after his departure, meeting Captain Mortimer, he expressed himself in terms of great approbation and esteem on the subject of Miss Primrose, which the captain misunderstanding, conceived that Hamilton was enamoured of the lady in question; and knowing that in point of pecuniary emolument, it would be very advantageous to him, he resolved to promote it to the utmost of his power. The following day, repairing to Mrs. Primrose’s house, he, after spending some time in conversation on other subjects, found means to turn the discourse upon Hamilton, his great abilities and accomplishments, and the prospects of aggrandizement which these afforded, and took occasion to mention the high terms in which he had spoken of Miss Primrose. In this interference the old captain’s motives were honourable and pure. He knew nothing of the mutual affection that subsisted between Hamilton and Maria. He thought highly of our hero’s character and prospects. Fortune thus obtained, would enable him, he thought, to rise to great consideration and importance in the state. On the other hand, his virtues and accomplishments rendered him worthy of Miss Primrose, and the happiness of both parties would, he conceived, be thus promoted by an union. Captain Mortimer was a man of an ardent mind, and whatever he desired, he strongly desired. On his friend’s account he was as anxious for the completion of this project, as if he himself had been to derive from it the highest benefit; and in his zeal he made his advances without communicating with Hamilton himself. The great point, he concluded, was to gain Miss Primrose, as Hamilton could not fail, in the captain’s opinion, to accede with joy to a scheme which would make his fortune. Mrs. Primrose and the captain reciprocally dined at each other’s houses. Miss Primrose became daily fonder of our hero, cultivated a close intercourse with his sister, and also with her friend Miss Mortimer, whom she repeatedly saw in company with Hamilton, without suspecting their mutual love. This absence of apprehensions on that subject, was not entirely owing to the simple naïvete of Louisa’s character, but also to other circumstances.
Within a few days after the ball, Sir Edward Hamden publicly made his addresses to Maria Mortimer, and both her father and uncle thinking her affections unengaged, with much pleasure expressed their approbation of the offer, and rather too hastily announced their conviction, that it could not fail to be agreeable to Miss Mortimer. Maria, though unalterably resolved to be either the wife of Hamilton, or of none; yet apprehending as both her father and uncle were very positive, and even violent in their opinions and resolutions, a very disagreeable contest with those whom she most highly valued, did not peremptorily avow her sentiments. When the proposition was made, she declared her very high opinion of the proposer’s merit, but that she never would marry a man upon so short an acquaintance, and without being more thoroughly acquainted with his character. Her uncle and father regarded these declarations as the mere effects of coyness and coquetry, which they supposed would soon give away to the accomplishments of the baronet, to interest and to ambition. They both, therefore, the captain especially, encouraged the baronet to perseverance, and assured him of success. These girls, the captain would remark, do stand so shilly shally, and will pretend to object to what they have most a mind to. Hypolita, whom we saw the other evening at the play, is the picture of the larger half of them; but you see she comes after her lover at last. Hamilton immediately informed by Maria of the offer that was made, after an interchange of the most solemn love and constancy, proposed to declare his passion publicly; but Maria, alarmed at the consequences which such a proceeding might produce, prevailed on him to forbear it for the present, at the same time agreed to abide by it should urgency arise to violence. Her purpose at present was to work on the honour and generosity of the baronet, of whom she entertained a very high opinion, and to induce him to desist from an application which would be fruitless. Hamilton, finding her heart completely his own, and that he was the ultimate end of her conduct, agreed to the means which she proposed, though not altogether the same which he himself would have chosen. John Mortimer, though sufficiently desirous of the aggrandizement of his sister, if attainable consistently with her happiness, yet had either observed or learned the state of her heart and affections so fully, as to be convinced that her happiness depended upon his friend Hamilton. But knowing the eagerness of his father and uncle that Maria should become lady Hamden, he observed a strict neutrality, determined to let the matter take its course, and perfectly aware what course it would most probably take.—Captain Mortimer not suspecting any difficulty, considered the affair as entirely settled, and described it as such in various places, especially at Mrs. Primrose’s. He also continued his high commendations of his friend Hamilton, and thereby so fanned the passion of poor Louisa, that her heart was gone before she suspected any danger. Meanwhile the baronet was very urgent in his addresses. Maria firmly and decisively told him, that she never could be his; but as she always deported herself with her habitual politeness, and with the respectful attention due to his character, he contrary to his usual discernment, drew from her manners inferences concerning intentions, and, misapprehending her dispositions, supposed that she affected the rejection in order to enhance the value of acceptance, or, that pride contributed its share to her professed determination of refusal, and that she forebore immediately yielding, least it might be imputed, either by him or by the world, to his rank and fortune. As he farther knew her, he discovered the vigour of her understanding, and the independence of her soul; that she was not to be obtained by wealth or distinction, and that she was not to be bought, but to be won. His own person and accomplishments were such as afforded him a fair prospect of success with any woman that was unengaged; and not having discovered the state of Maria’s heart, he trusted that he would be ultimately successful. He was extremely struck with Hamilton, whose genius and erudition, his own enabled him to appreciate, and whose knowledge and conversation might be useful to him in his parliamentary exertions. Hamilton, too proud to court rank in the baronet, respected talents, the appearance and reputation of honour and patriotism, and did not reject his advances; and increasing his esteem, as his acquaintance grew towards intimacy, he, as a man of honour, resolved to seek a favourable opportunity of opening the situation of his own and Maria’s affections.
CHAPTER XVI.
Meanwhile the baronet was almost constantly with him and Mortimer; and becoming acquainted with Dr. Scribble, and having a genuine taste for humour, he entered thoroughly into the character of arrogant emptiness, and literary scrap-writing. The doctor was very vain of this acquaintance, as in discourse with his friend Nincompoop, or with any of his fellow journeymen employed on Nin’s manufactures, he could talk of “my friend the baronet,” as I observed to Sir Edward, who was greatly struck with the depth of the observations. Scribble had taken it into his head that no employment could be more suitable to his capacity and fulness, than making speeches for members of parliament. One day, as the Baronet was walking alone on the Steyne, expecting our hero and the Mortimers, the Doctor accosted him, and, after the first salutations, requested the honour of some private discourse. Accordingly, they walked along Eastcliff, and the doctor began: “Sir Edward Hamden, I deem myself happy in the honour of your acquaintance, and should rejoice very much in an opportunity of rendering myself beneficial to a young gentleman, whom I think destined to be an orator and a statesman.” “Sir,” said Sir Edward, “praise from Dr. Scribble, must be always adequately valued, by every one who has discernment to appreciate his character, which is too strongly marked, not to be easily comprehended.” “Sir,” said the doctor, “you do me infinite honour; you have heard of me then before;—you have, I presume, read my history of Jack the giant killer.” “Oh! undoubtedly;” “which part of it do you think most striking?” “It is all so conspicuous,” replied the baronet, “that I find it difficult to select one part, more characteristic of the author, than another: which do you think the best yourself?” “Why, I think the dissertations upon dress, and especially shoe-strings in the time of the ancient Britons, is one of the most profound; but the most pathetic, is the Hero’s Adventure in the house of the two giant misers; I think that is fully equal to Livy’s story of the Horatii and Curatii, far surpassing any modern historian. This hero’s reception from his uncle, is chiefly to be admired, for exhibiting my powers of moral precept and inculcation. An insolent reviewer charged me with borrowing from Mother Goose’s tales, especially from Bluebeard, and Little Thumb and the Ogre, but it was all false. History, however, is not my only fort; indeed I can write every thing, for instance, what a fuss there is about that fellow Moore’s Travels; I can write travels better than he;—I have brought you a specimen of a new work I am bringing out for Mr. Nincompoop, the famous bookseller. It’s title is, A curious and interesting Tour to Maidenhead; back by Windsor, Stains, Sunbury, Hampton-Court, Kingston, Twickenham, and home by Richmond. I flatter myself, you will find novelty, ingenuity, and humour.” Accordingly, the Baronet read: “Tuesday, June 24th, we set off on horseback from the Black Bear-inn, Piccadilly, before Six; when we passed St. James’s church, the clock wanted seven minutes; meet turnip carts coming to market; arrive before the Duke of Queensberry’s house;—fine prospect of St. James’s park and the Surrey hills.” “You see I make observations as I go along, sir.” “Arrive at the turnpike—find it is exactly six; compare our watches with the clocks;—we have taken seven minutes from St. James’s church. N. B. A wise man rides more slowly over the stones, than on the road. Proceed on our tour—arrive at Knightsbridge; to the left, there turns off a new street, called Sloane-street, from Sir Hans Sloane.—N. B. He was a great naturalist.” “Biography, you observe, sir,” said the doctor. “Oh yes,” answered the baronet. “Another road turns off to Fulham;—Latin pun on two soldiers went to Putney: ‘Ibant tinctores animæ duo ponere juxta. Explanation: duo two, animæ soul, tinctores diers, ibant went, ponere to put, juxta nigh,’ A little farther on, is the pound,”—“Yes,” said the doctor, “curiosities.” “Beyond Knightsbridge, Hyde Park wall,—crowds of strawberry girls in the foot-path;—meet long coaches. N. B. That road a great thoroughfare;—Kensington George II. died here.” “I give my companion a sketch of his history: Holland-house not in the modern style of building;—dissertation upon architecture;—my companion observes I know every thing. Attending too earnestly to my subject, run against a carter—scoundrel hits me with his whip;—I turn about and swear at him. He comes back;—I ride on.” Dipping into another page, the Baronet found “Brentford, said to be a royal city; entrance not remarkable for royal magnificence.” “You observe,” said the Doctor, looking with arch sarcasm, “my friend advises me, as a great antiquarian, to write the history of the monarchs of Old and New Brentford. Sion-house, my remarks on the Percies, and the battle of Chevy Chase. Approach Smallberry-green; inform my companion of my extreme intimacy with Sir Joseph Banks; my comrade happens to know him a little. Observe a person before his house, whom he insists to be, I, not to be Sir Joseph;—I ride on—my companion certainly mistaken.” The Baronet, rather tiring of this, turned over a good many pages, and found “Chertsea, St. Ann’s hills, house of Charles James Fox,—Fox no orator.” “Original discovery,” said the Doctor, “hem.” “I perfectly agree with you sir, it is,” “The world is totally mistaken in him.” “Demonstrate to my companion, that I surpass Fox in every thing;—comrade hard-headed won’t be convinced,—less agreeable than I thought him.” The Baronet skipping again, dipped into “Hampton Fishery, they catch Gudgeons here; I observe they also catch Gudgeons in town. Bon mots for you,—I excel in wit, as much as in philosophy.” “That I can perceive,” said the Baronet; “I see, sir, this is just such a performance, as I should have expected from Dr. Scribble.” “Since you do me the honour to entertain so very high an opinion of my abilities; how happy I should be, in devoting them to your information and instruction. I should, with much pleasure, sir, on any important question, make such speeches, as would astonish the senate, if you were to speak them.” “That sir, I am convinced you could,” “and in any manner that you chuse.” “I am very happy in imitating Burke; but that’s not difficult; Burke is, after all, only shallow. I could enliven a speech with better wit than Sheridan’s;—indeed, that’s no great matter. His School for Scandal, that the world so much admired, is but a poor performance; I, myself, could far surpass it, were I to descend to writing for the stage, but that I despise.” “Did you never write for the stage, doctor?” “I once wrote a tragedy.” “What was the subject?” “The death of Colebrand, or the history of Guy, Earl of Warwick.” “And how was it received, doctor?” “Whatever I write, has numberless enemies;—they had the insolence to damn it. Pit, boxes, galleries, all hired to join against poor Guy;—there was a great deal of nature and of wit in the dialogue, for it made them laugh a good deal; but it was damned. The whole world were in a confederacy against me; but I wrote and published an address, which proved every one that spoke or hissed against me, to be a dunce.” “How did you prove that, doctor?” “How did I prove that;—how do I prove any thing? but by giving my own judgment, that it is so. I declare they were all dunces, and God confound them all for dunces. They had the insolence to say Dr. Scribble was a dunce;—the whole audience called out, Dicky was a dunce:—could flesh and blood bear it? Was it not a libel?—I believe Lord Mansfield would declare it so.” Without attending to this legal illustration, the doctor proceeded; “I published a work a few days after, proving them all to be in a conspiracy against me, for my superior genius; but to return, I again proffer you, Sir Edward, my political services.” “Doctor Scribble,” replied the Baronet, “I have a just sense of the importance of your offer; but I am sorry, that I cannot think of shining by a borrowed light, and must make the best of my own powers and knowledge;—but there comes your friend Sir Joseph, shall we go and meet him?” “Not at present,” said the Doctor, “being engaged very particularly on the other side of the town.” Sir Edward now joined the other baronet, and after the common salutations, “I have just parted with your friend, Dr. Scribble.” “My friend!” returned Sir Joseph, “I do not know him;—I know there is such a man, and that he pretends to be a kind of an antiquarian.” “I thought you had been extremely intimate,” said Sir Edward. “Oh no, I have not the least acquaintance with the man.” Not long after the baronet was joined by our hero, and communicated the discourse that had passed between him and Dr. Scribble. Our hero was amused by the oratorial propositions of this learned person; but soon forgot the doctor and all his concerns, in subjects that concerned himself much more nearly. Sir Edward and he happening to pass near the lodgings of Miss Primrose, the baronet expressed his opinion, that the young lady was passionately in love with Hamilton; that she was a charming girl; would bring him an ample fortune; and he was assured that Hamilton might soon obtain a seat in parliament, and must rise to distinguished eminence. “I hope, Hamilton,” he continued, “that my beloved Mortimer will cease to be so insensible, at least so inflexible, as I have now experienced; how happy, my dear friend, for short as is our acquaintance, so I consider you, if our respective nuptials could take place at the same time; and if the two families continued to cultivate the intimacy that their respective masters would wish. Your inamorata and mine appear extremely attached to each other,” Our hero thinking the present a favourable opportunity of opening his mind to Sir Edward, proposed to walk a short way from town, “wishing,” he said, “to have the pleasure of a very particular conversation.” The baronet, not doubting that our hero wished to give him his confidence, particularly on the subject of Miss Primrose, and equally desirous of consulting with him concerning Miss Mortimer, most readily agreed; and they were preparing to take a turn to the race ground, when a servant came to inform Sir Edward, that a gentleman, whom he named, and who was of great consequence, in the county represented by the baronet, had called at his lodgings, and was very desirous of seeing him immediately. Sir Edward accordingly went in quest of him, and found it was necessary, for the present, to relinquish the engagement with Hamilton. That day the Mortimers, old and young, had gone to the captain’s cottage, which the old gentleman wished to visit, in order to give directions, and was to return in the evening. Our hero, after dinner, strolled along the Arundel road, not without secret hopes of meeting the company, of which his beloved Maria was one. The Mortimer family, by taking a different road, did not meet with our hero, and having returned to Brighton, learned that Hamilton had taken an afternoon-walk, and was not returned. John concluded he had met with some engagement, and his own family conceiving the same opinion, the Mortimers and Hamiltons parted for the night, and the former had supped, and were preparing to go up stairs to bed, when the servant, a simple country lad, ran into the parlour with terror and consternation, and addressing his master, exclaimed, “Oh, zir, this be a terrible pleace; there is a murder just done by the church; the two poor gentlemen that comes so often here, the baronight.” “Who,” said Captain Mortimer, “and ’Squire Hamilton, are lying a corpse.” Maria, in the most terrible apprehensions, from the exordium of this narration, at its conclusion, fell lifeless on the ground. The captain and his brother, both imputing this paroxysm of grief to her love for Hamden, recommended to young Mortimer the care of his sister; ran towards the place which the servant mentioned, hoping that the accounts might be false; yet, in their agitation, took no pains to examine the man, as to the source and particulars of his information. Mortimer, with the assistance of Maria’s maid, at length brought her to her senses, but only to open to her visions of despair. She instantly conceived that Hamilton had unbosomed himself to his rival, and that the pride of disappointment overpowering the generosity of the baronet’s disposition, they had quarrelled and fought, and that she was the cause of her beloved Hamilton’s death. She called on his name in the phrenzy of desperation; vowing, that she would follow him, and be buried in the same grave. Mortimer, though extremely anxious to inquire more particularly into the fate of his friend, could not leave his sister, who exhibited symptoms of distraction, that he was afraid might terminate in insanity. A physician being immediately sent for, and hearing the case, administered a composing draught, which gave to Miss Mortimer a temporary oblivion of her grief. Young Mortimer now sallied forth, anxious to learn the particular circumstances of the death of his friend; wishing, yet fearing, to mingle his sorrow with the grief of Charlotte; he betook himself, to the house of Mrs. Hamilton. Approaching the door, all was dark; listening in expectation to catch the sounds of mourning, all was still, and wore the appearance of sleep undisturbed; perhaps it was the tranquillity of exhausted nature, obtaining some repose, after the paroxysms of lamentation; should he interrupt the short intermission of woe, soon enough would mother and sister be fully awake to the sense of irretrievable loss. Now he would indulge the melancholy pleasure of contemplating his fallen friend, so soon to be mingled with primeval dust. The clock had struck twelve; it was the gloomy stillness of departing October, without a breath of wind, or any sound to be heard, except the hollow murmur of the becalmed sea. As Mortimer walked up the Downs, to the reported scene of his friend’s assassination, he reached the church, there expecting to find a crowd, seeking or bearing the corpse. He thought he heard voices at a distance;—he moved towards the place whence they issued; a tall figure approached by the pale and twinkling light of the fading stars; it appeared, either to his senses or fancy, to resemble the murdered Hamilton. Mortimer, though a young man of vigorous understanding, sound and rational piety, without any consciousness of superstition, yet, believing in the immortality of the soul, could see no impossibility in the appearance of disembodied spirits: what was possible, though not probable, might exist. He was riveted to the spot; from the approaching figure a voice issued, “Keep your distance, as you value your life.” The voice was Hamilton’s; he could not disobey the awful intermination; strong as his nerves were, they were not a match for his sensations; the figure passed on,—Mortimer sank to the ground; at length recovering, he, with slow and trembling steps, crept homewards: meeting a watchman at the outskirts of the town, he begged for his arm and assistance, and was conducted to his house; entering, he found his father and uncle just returned, after a search entirely unsuccessful: still leaning upon the watchman’s shoulder, with his knees tottering, his face staring, wild, and bloodless, he presented himself to his astonished friends. “Good Heavens! what is the matter?” said his father. “I have seen him,” replied he, in a hollow voice. “Seen whom?” said his uncle. “My dear deceased friend, William Hamilton.” The hearers eagerly inquired, when, where, how: before he could answer, there was a tap at the parlour window;—one light only glimmered on the table, in crowding too near which, some person overturned it, and it blew out; the tap was repeated, and a voice, pronouncing John Mortimer, was distinctly heard: the company, which had received the addition of Hodge, the footman, made no answer; a soft knock was heard at the street-door,—no attention was paid; the watchman declared his inability to return alone to his station, and the dawning morn found them all assembled in the same spot. The reflection of John at length operating, he imputed his apprehensions to some accidental resemblance, and he retired to rest;—after broken and confused slumbers, finding it in vain to hope for comfortable sleep, he was preparing to rise about ten, when the voice of his sister assailed his ears, calling, with phrenzy, upon her murdered Hamilton. As he was hastily equipping himself, he heard a loud scream at the door of his apartment, which quickly opened, and there appeared the very image which he had seen on the Downs the night before. Gazing intently, he faultered, “you certainly are Hamilton’s apparition.” “Apparition!” replied the figure; when the voice of Maria through a thin partition assailed his ears:—“my only love,—my murdered Hamilton, I will follow him to the grave.” Mortimer was staring on his visitant, but on the last words that issued from the next room, hastily rushed thither. Maria perceiving the spectre, stretched out her hands, but sank into insensibility. Mortimer rushed in, saw his sister again lifeless, and heard from the spectre the mildest tones of impassioned love; still, under the impression which had been conveyed so deeply the former night, he approached the figure—not without fear and trembling; but the spectre asking him, in a tone at once calm and pathetic, what caused the illness of his beloved Maria, and happening accidentally to touch him, John was convinced it was not only a visible, but a tangible spirit. “Good Heavens!” said Mortimer, “my dearest friend, Hamilton, you you—are are alive.” The figure, without answering this application, continued addressing Maria, who, opening her eyes, and again beholding Hamilton, relapsed into insensibility. At this instant, Charlotte Hamilton hastily entering the room, said to him, “Good God, William, what a strange report there is through the town, that you were murdered last night, and that your ghost appeared near the church.” Mortimer, eagerly taking hold of the figure that stood before him, and feeling the same hard muscular arms, and examining him with an accuracy that evidently surprized the object of scrutiny; “do you know, Hamilton, I thought you was dead: this notion operated so strongly upon me, that I was convinced I had seen your ghost.” “But,” replied the other, “my dearest Charlotte, administer to my beloved angel.” “The same idea,” said Mortimer, now more master of himself, “operated upon my sister.” Charlotte now reminded them of their being in Maria’s apartment, in circumstances, which from her suggestion, they first recollected; and on seeing marks of re-animation, before Maria could again distinguish her lover, they withdrew. Mortimer, satisfied that his identical friend was now by his side, alive and well, before he thought of entering on the particulars of the report, or it’s foundations, somewhat impressed with the apprehensions of his sister, that a fatal quarrel had taken place between Hamilton and Hamden; “poor Hamden,” he said, “was an amiable and accomplished man, and I lament his death.” “Death,” said Hamilton, “I do not think his wound is dangerous.” “I am surprized, my dear friend,” said Mortimer, “that being to have such an encounter, you did not apply to me.” “How could I?” said the other, “when it was so unexpected.” “Did you fight with sword or with pistols?” “First sword, and then pistols.” “Did you wound Sir Edward with a ball?” “I wound Sir Edward,” said Hamilton, “what do you mean?” At this instant a note was brought to our hero, which opening, he read as follows:
“My brave deliverer,
I am just able to inform you, that the Surgeon this morning pronounces me out of danger; but, as writing somewhat pains me, I can only say, that I owe my life to you. Your most grateful
Edward Hamden.”
Hamilton having shewed Mortimer this letter, he informed him of the circumstances, which it seems were as follow:
Being now the end of October, and the evenings soon closing in, night overtaking him, first reminded him of the expediency of returning; finding, however, that he was not far from Shoreham-bridge, where there was a comfortable inn, he walked thither, and ordered some coffee, which was brought him in a public room; there were several persons in the apartment, and the conversation happened to turn upon footpad-robberies, which, though in that neighbourhood very unusual before, had taken place the preceding evening near Arundel, and were ascribed to part of a gang of smugglers, whose contraband goods had been seized a few nights before, by the custom-house officers, and a party of dragoons. The banditti being thereby ruined, and desperate, had taken to a course, with which the fraternity is well acquainted. Two or three very suspicious fellows had passed eastwards in the dusk of the evening; our hero hearing this account, thought it would be necessary for him, in his return, to be cautious, and resolved to take the upper, instead of the lower road, because, though solitary, he thought it less dangerous than a path that led along the precipitate cliffs; conscious of his own strength and courage, and generally walking with a strong sword-cane, he resolved to take his chance. A little before his departure, he observed one person in company eyeing him, rather sternly; he returned the examination, and saw, that in point of muscular strength, there could be little danger, if he had to encounter this fellow alone; and the person going out, he soon after sallied forth, that he might pass him, before he could be far enough from the houses to attempt an attack, or could join companions who were likely to be on the road; at a shed near the house, he saw sitting on a bench, a tall stout soldier, in the Highland dress, with the forty-second regiment on his buttons; he asked him which way he was bound; the other answered in a Scotch accent, for Brighton, please your honour; I am come from Hilsea barracks, with a message from the Colonel to Captain Malcolm Macniel of our regiment. Hamilton informing him he himself was going to Brighton, said he would be very glad of his company; the soldier, with much pleasure, embracing this proposal, they set off. Hamilton, thoroughly confiding in the honest and intrepid countenance of his companion, asked him if he saw a fellow pass a little before he spoke; the other answered in the negative; but said, that though he had nothing to lose himself, hearing there were smugglers and footpads on the road between Hilsea and Arundel, he had brought a bayonet as well as a broad-sword, and that either of them were at his honour’s service. Hamilton thanked him; but said, he trusted the sword which he had would be sufficient, if there was any danger. When they had walked about half a mile, they heard a whistle; they moved cautiously, but firmly on. A little after, two villains sprang upon our hero, and presenting pistols, demanded his money and watch. The soldier, whom not expecting, they had not observed, advancing softly with his bayonet, ran it into one of the ruffians; the other fired a pistol, which luckily missing Hamilton, he wrested it from his hand, and felled the villain to the ground. Searching the ruffians, the conquerors found two brace of pistols on each, all loaded except the one that had been fired; of these they possessed themselves, as a further security upon the road; and leaving the fallen assailants, resolved to proceed with all possible dispatch to the first inhabited place, to procure assistance, which might at once attend to the wounds of the robbers, and secure their persons. With this intent they walked forward till they came to a cross road that turns to the north; and they were in a declivity, descending into a hollow between two hedges: here they heard a voice, calling, kill him; moving softly forward, they saw a postchaise standing, and heard a person praying they would spare his master. “I will be d—— if we do,” said the voice that they had first heard; the soldier whispered “Let us proceed, sir, by surprise, as we once did in America, when six of us at night pretending to be a large party, took twenty prisoners;” and immediately called out, “surround the fellows—fire,” Hamilton obeyed the order; two men were wounded at the first round, the others being still three in number; but supposing their adversaries twice as many, ran different ways. Our hero now coming to a gentleman that was lying on the ground, called to his servant and the postillion to assist in carrying him to a house, whilst they should watch against the return of the robbers; The servant, on hearing the voice of Hamilton, immediately said to him with great eagerness, “Oh sir, you are a friend of my poor master!” “Who is he?” The other answered, “Sir Edward Hamden.” “Good Heavens!” said our hero, “I left him at Brighton only a few hours ago.” Endeavouring to stop the blood, they directed the postboy to run for assistance to an adjoining farm-house, as it would be impossible for him to bear the jolting of the chaise. Help was immediately procured, and the wounded gentleman was carefully borne to the hamlet. Hamilton having some slight knowledge of surgery, found means, with the assistance of the farmer’s wife, to stop the further effusion of blood, and a messenger was dispatched for the most skilful surgeon in Brighton; but with strict orders not to mention the name of the gentleman, least his friends should be prematurely alarmed. The surgeon soon arrived, and found that the wound did not proceed from a ball, as had been apprehended, but from a cutlass; and that, though the patient was faint from loss of blood, there would be no danger, unless from a fever, the prevention of which would be the chief object of his regimen and medicinal applications; it was necessary in the first place, to keep the patient quiet. Leaving the room for that purpose, Hamilton had now an opportunity of learning the circumstances of the accident, which were briefly these: After parting with Hamilton, Sir Edward had joined the gentleman that was in quest of him, found that he was about to leave Brighton upon county business of considerable importance to Sir Edward’s interest, but in which the baronet could not appear himself. Sir Edward, to converse fully on the subject, accompanied him the first stage on his road to town, and having dined with him at Henfield, returned in the evening; the postboy having taken the circuitous, instead of the direct road, they were met by six fellows, who surrounded the chaise, demanding his money: Hamden at first offered them his purse; they insisted also for his watch; this having descended to him from his father, he was reluctant to part with it, and pledged his honor, that the following morning he would pay one hundred guineas to any person that they should send to Sir Edward Hamden, and that no questions should be asked. One or two of the fellows, who were young in the gang, proposed to accept this offer; but the more experienced villains regarding it as a present evasion, and future trap, not only refused to consent, but were enraged against the proposer; and while he still urged his request, one of the most desperate called, “d—— your palaver, I’ll put an end to that,” and fired into the carriage. The Baronet, conceiving that their intention was now to murder him, determined it should not be with impunity, returned the fire, which brought the ruffian to the ground; all the fellows had not pistols, and though those that had used them, yet, fortunately, the Baronet escaped; and while two kept the servant-boy, and another the postillion, the two remaining fellows pulled Hambden out of the carriage; one of them hit him with a cutlass, and they were about to perpetrate the murder, when the intervention of Hamilton and his gallant comrade effected his delivery. The messenger that had sent the surgeon, though expeditious in executing that part of his commission, had not equally attended to the charge of secrecy; going in to take a social pot with one of his acquaintances, he had given a most tremendous account of the exploit that had been atchieved; he said, several gentlemen, however, had been murdered; he did not know the names of the rest, but two were Hambden and Hamilton. After this information, he left his friend, and returned home; the other quickly joining a party of acquaintances, informed them of the dreadful doings that had been going on on the Church Downs, (for he brought the scene two miles nearer to Brighton) and that Sir Edward Hambden and Mr. Hamilton and six more were murdered; as it was yet hardly ten, the news soon spread through the whole place, and among others, reaching the footman of Mr. Mortimer, had caused the dreadful alarm which we have seen. Hamilton, having waited till Sir Edward’s wound was dressed, had returned to town, and seeing a man at so late an hour, had used the words which John imputed to the spirit of his murdered friend. Having perceived a light in Mr. Mortimer’s house, and heard the voice of John, he had knocked at the door, tapped at the window, called on his friend’s name, and thereby caused such consternation: thus the mystery was solved, and the ghost, like other ghosts, proved to be flesh and blood.