CHAPTER II.
Our hero and his fellow travellers now continued their journey, and, in a few hours, arrived at Bristol, and spent the remainder of that day in surveying the charming prospects which Clifton afforded. The company at the Hotwells was not numerous, and our hero found no names or people with whom he had any acquaintance. The following day they proceeded to Bath, through a most delightful country, with all the pastoral verdure of beginning summer, and yellow fruitfulness of autumn; with a picturesque succession and interspersion of hill, dale, vale, and den, watered by numberless streams which a heavy rain, the preceding night, had recruited from the drought of the dog-day heats, while it had also freshened all the other objects. At length they came in sight of the delightful city of Bath. This charming retreat is situated in a deep narrow valley, bounded on the north, south, and south-west, by lofty hills, forming a very pleasant, natural amphitheatre, and affording the city a double advantage, a barrier against the winds, and fountains of the purest waters. These hills abound with white free-stone, of which the houses are built. On the north-west side the valley widens, divided into rich meadows, watered by the river Avon. At this season of the year, the town being almost empty of visitants, the objects of their attention were the town itself, its accommodations, and ornaments. With much pleasure they found, that with the various sources of health, and provisions for gaiety and splendour, mingled numerous institutions for benevolence and compassion; and learned, that in the midst of amusement, relaxation, and abstraction, from the cares of business, there was a tear for pity, and a liberal hand for melting charity. With English generosity, they found, that there was a tincture of the unsuspicious openings of English credulity, and that Bath was a great receptacle for gamblers, quack doctors, legacy hunters, jugglers, fortune tellers, methodist preachers, and other adventurers in swindling, who wish to obtain the property of their neighbours, without giving any value in return. These, however, so far from being dishonourable to Bath, are merely symtomatic of its great and numerous delights, which attract the opulent and liberal from all parts of the kingdom, and these bloodsuckers naturally follow; and, indeed, the absence from serious concerns, which chiefly distinguishes Bath, is peculiarly conducive to the custom of either the gaming-house or the conventicle, as gallantry reigns there as well as in other places. These pastimes, particularly the itinerant assemblages, are extremely conducive to gallantry. Indeed, if Ovid, when he wrote his “Treatise on the Art of Love,” had been acquainted with Methodism, instead of directing young bucks, that might be in quest of a mistress, to the Circus and Theatre, he would have sent them to the Tabernacle; the former, as he acknowledges, might fail even in the warm latitudes of Italy, but the latter is a sure repository, in the most northern parts of Britain[1]. But to return from this digression, our hero, among other places, conducted his ladies to the south parade, whence they had so delightful a prospect. They were particularly struck with Prior Park, the aspect of which so greatly resembled Fielding’s description of Mr. Allworthy’s seat. As they walked about in this charming promenade, they felt their spirits enlivened by the number and variety of gay and agreeable objects. Though Bath was, at this time, empty in comparison to its most flourishing seasons, yet was it not without some variety of characters, with some of which our hero luckily found the means of becoming acquainted. As they were leaving the South Parade, a gentleman accosted Hamilton, whom he recognized to be a resident at Bath; that, in an occasional visit to London, he had met, in different parties, both fashionable and literary. This was a Mr. Manchester, who, a man of liberal education and good talents, had been intended for the bar, but having unexpectedly succeeded to a considerable estate, had not practised; and becoming expensive and dissipated, had wasted half his fortune. Recovering, however, from his infatuation, before he was entirely undone, he had retired from the metropolis to Bath, where he could live more cheaply, and enjoy the epitome of London pleasures. One of his chief amusements was the observation of characters, a pastime for which, naturally sagacious, thoroughly acquainted with the world, and having no serious employment, he was admirably calculated; and being somewhat soured by the consequences of his youthful follies, saw and exhibited the foibles of others with sarcastic acrimony. After some conversation, this gentleman, learning that Hamilton and his ladies intended to visit the rooms, offered to accompany them, and which was very gladly received. Till the established hour, he passed the intermediate time at the White Hart, and amused them with anecdotes numerous and satirical. At seven they crossed over to the Pump Room; and being introduced to the master of the ceremonies by Mr. Manchester, were very graciously received; and as none of them chose to dance, they listened, with very little interruption, to the remarks of their companion. “Observe,” he said, “that slender soft looking young man, that is bowing with such obsequiousness to a fat portly dowager, as he sneaks along the side of the room; what would you suppose him to be?” “Some person dependant on those that he passes.” “The supposition is natural, but not just; that is Mr. Commode, who received the chief part of his tuition in Tavistock-street, as a man-milliner, where he learned to bow with a simpering obsequiousness to the customers of the shop, until coming to a good fortune of his uncle, a rich soap-boiler, at Bristol, he was made a Captain of Militia. Still he retains the manners and habits of his former craft, and gives his directions to the orderly serjeant in the same tone of voice as he used to say, ‘pray, Miss, would you have your hat done with an orange or lilac ribbon, them lilacs are now very much worn; you would have the handkerchief very small and thin.’” A very loud horse-laugh calling their attention, Mr. Manchester laughing also, though with much less vociferation; “Oh, I know that voice well, its owner is Blunderbuss the attorney, that large gigantic fellow, with the broad shoulders and thick calves, in the crimson coloured coat (and as the person in question turned about, Manchester proceeded), with a broad and thick head, the red plush waistcoat, and the nankeen breeches; that worthy litigant is also out of his element, he is a native of Bristol, and his father, being clerk to a justice of the peace, undertook to breed Bob to the law. Bob, however, having connections of his own, preferred another course; his chief intimate, a boatswain of a man of war, was extremely struck with his musical talents, and prevailed on him to accompany him to his ship; there he was soon found qualified for the place of a mate, and at length, his friend being promoted to a larger ship, he himself obtained the appointment of boatswain, which he held till some years after the end of the war: he was remarkable for domineering wherever he durst, and for truckling to all his superior officers. Returning home he resumed his legal practice, and became the attorney of the village of Hambrook, there being no other lawyer in the place, he did pretty well in common matters; but being excessively stupid, could not be trusted out of the dog-trot way.” “He has, I suppose,” said our hero, “the chicanery of a petty-fogger.” “Not much of that,” said the other, “he has good will, but not head for it: he makes sad blunders; if he is employed to hunt after evidence, instead of investigating the truth by dexterity and insinuation, and winding it out from unwilling witnesses, he talks to them as if he were at ‘a hey for the boatswain’s whistle’.” “With all his thickness, I suppose,” said our hero, “from his jolly corporation and clothes, he has got into the secret of making long bills.” “Oh, that he has, he charges as highly as the first attorney in Bristol.” “That is very unfair,” said one of the ladies, “for a man, without ability and skill, to rate his services as highly as a master of his profession.” “Not intentionally unfair in him, Madam,” said Manchester, “Blunderbuss is a blockhead, but Blunderbuss does not know himself to be a blockhead.” “How does such a fellow get business.” “He is the only lawyer in the place, courts the ‘squire and all his retinue, down to his huntsman or whipper-in; regales them with the ‘boatswain hoarsely bawling;’ and, as far as noise goes, is a very pleasing companion. He too, by some means, has succeeded to a fortune, and sets up now, as you see, for a beau.”
“Do you know that clergyman,” said Hamilton, “that is walking between two ladies on the opposite side of the room.” “Very well, he is one of our most popular preachers, a very different practitioner in his profession from Blunderbuss, and perfectly skilled in hitting the prevailing taste. The professional excellencies of our great theatrical performers are so extremely impressive, that bold adventurers in divinity, seeing the efficacy of tone and jesture in this stage, have undertaken to dramatize the pulpit; and this is one of the most successful actors. He has a fine voice, both as to tone and cadence, and thereby pleases such fashionables hearers as judge of sermons upon the principle of the Opera. He has graceful attitudes, and therefore is pleasing to church going connoiseurs in dancing: he has fine action, the see-saw of hands, with his right the touch of the heart, at once displaying his feeling and his diamond ring: he cries at the proper place, that is, where a gap in the sense requires such a suppliment. These movements are extremely delightful to such theatrical connoisseurs as regard, in the pulpit, stage-trick more than the real exhibition of nature, truth, and sense. He is besides famed for elocution, and delivers common place remark with such a degree of impressiveness, as to pass, with the bulk of his hearers, for the profoundest wisdom and most energetic eloquence. He thereby delights the many votaries of spouting and frequenters of debating societies. Such a delicacy is so very efficacious as, in a great degree, to supersede the necessity of genius, learning, and eloquence; even elegant composition is not requisite: indeed, how can one compose without materials: all that is requisite in the language, is the musical melody of the several periods, without any disposition, or connection, or adjustment of parts to the whole. There are other ingredients in his discourses that are extremely suitable to the prevailing taste, the whine of sentiment, and the vagaries of description, which are peculiarly pleasing to the novel-reading class of church-goers. You have the tender ties of affection, delicious endearments, sweet reciprocations of love, all as animated as in the tales of Derwent Priory, Sir Harry Clarendon, or any other effusion of the Gallimatia press. Besides his hair, so skilfully matted and baked, his white cambrick handkerchief, and his opera-glass, announcing a beau, naturally attract the regard of the belles. Your popular preachers are moreover men of stature, and the same figures that are in request in the pulpit, are chiefly sought to stand behind a carriage, and would also have been choice acquisitions to Serjeant Kite; and he that is born to be six feet high, is born to be a great man. With so many qualifications, you may depend on it, Mr. Gillyflower, the clerical harlequin before us, would outstrip, in favour, a Horseley, a Watson, a Blair.” “I can hardly think that,” said our hero. “Cannot you,” replied Manchester: “pray whether is Belvidera and Lady Randolph, or Mother Shipton and General Jackoo, most highly prized?”
A groupe now attracted their eyes, consisting of several pairs; first, there was a tall, raw boned, elderly officer, with a lady, his co-temporary in years, but very gayly and youthfully dressed. Miss, for so it seems she was, primmed and simpered with a capacious mouth, while Master sighed and ogled, from eyes whose regard was oblique, the one looking to the right, while the other turned in towards the nose; and the lady was heard to whisper, “There is not a decent-looking person in the room out of our own party; what frightful mawkins the women are!” Next came a smart girl about twenty, squired by a gentleman whom she called captain; thirdly, a young lady about the same age, with a stalking form of godliness by her side, while a youth brought up the rear, whose countenance denoted a great mixture of archness and simplicity. “This,” said Manchester, “is the family of the Clodpoles, that have come to have a peep at Bath, and to get acquainted with the grandees. Aunt Deborah, who takes the lead, is entrusted with the care of the young folks, and a precious governante she is, and a precious set of acquaintances has she formed. Deborah has been ogling at the other sex until her eyes are almost dim with the exercise. For five-and-forty years that she has continued in a state of celibacy, thirty of the time has she been trying to get out of it. The old gentleman whom she now assails having been a merchant, and not succeeding so well while he was whole, found himself much better off, when, after due preparation, he broke. Finding the experiment answer very well once, he thought it would not be amiss to try it twice, when it did still better; to be sure he could not obtain his certificate, but that signified little, he could now live without trade. The young one is his nephew, who also began by being a merchant; his uncle advanced him the money, with which he established a good credit in business, that, as soon as he had atchieved, he broke also, and with the proceeds is come to live at Bath, to try what he can do in the matrimonial way. Miss Jenny Clodpole is greatly taken with Captain Bilkum; for, in imitation of the worthy Gibbet, he assumes that as a “good travelling name,” while Mr. Nicholas, the Moravian preacher, takes Miss Grizzle in hand; and of his instructions no doubt, in due time, the effects will be manifest. Nicholas is also a nephew of the old gentleman’s, and was extremely serviceable to his cousin the Captain, by his friendly testimony before the Commissioners at Guildhall.” “I think I remember something of that,” said Hamilton; “was he not pillored?” “Oh yes; and the following Sunday preached at Mr. Coalheave’s Tabernacle, on the text, ‘Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.’ The worthy senior, to promote the views of the two no less worthy youths, attends to Miss Deborah, who conceives him smitten with her own charms. The Captain is a buck, and swears bloodily, and ridicules Nicholas; while the preacher seriously and meekly reproves the unchristian demeanour of the Captain, and fervently prays for his conversion. Of an evening they often meet at the house of a hospitable lady (here Manchester whispered our hero). The gambler, and his friend the saint, are both extremely attentive to the young ‘squire as well as his sisters; the former gives him a lesson at unlimited loo, the latter on subscriptions for the good of the brethren. Next advanced a party consisting of four: first, a gentleman in canonicals, with the priggish primness of a dissenter, instead of the frank openness of a church divine. With him walked an old lady, arrayed in very tawdry finery; simpering and smiling, and endeavouring to assume the air and manner of a boarding-school miss; though really bearing more the appearance of having been a boarder in a very large house at the bottom of Moor-fields. Then followed a middle-aged man, with a very capacious mouth, and great grey goggling eyes, staring and gaping, and having every mark of what the Scotch would call a gilliegaapus[2]. The partner of this accomplished person was a broad, fat, frouzy woman; bearing a rubicund face, plentifully studded with carbuncles, whose chin descended in dewlaps, like those of a cow, which nearly approached another part of her person; that also, in shape, position, and dependency, resembled the appurtenances of the same animal. The first remark of the reverend gentleman, was a conjecture concerning the state of the thermometer at Bath, while his lady made some enquiries concerning the circulating library. The fat person meanwhile was listening with admiration to the wisdom of the preacher; and regarding, with no less admiration, the figure and face of her elegant spouse, whose eyes were turned to some young ladies that appeared to have come from Queen-Anne-street East. Mr. Manchester fortunately happened to know this party, and after slightly bowing to them, gave the following account to our travellers. This is the Reverend Mr. Nicknack, one of the dissenting tribe of spiritual teachers, remarkable for exactness in little things; he keeps a diary, in which is recorded every occurrence of his life. By referring to his valuable manuscript, he can inform you who called upon him, and upon whom he called, every hour of the day; and every day in the year 1740, and downwards: how he relished his breakfast; whether his dinner was hot or cold, over or under roasted or boiled, during the same period. He commenced his observations on the thermometer in the hard frost with which that year began, and knows its state and changes to the present moment. No less careful has he been in recording his state of health and person. I once had a sight of his diary, and remember the following passage: ‘Sunday, April 20th, 1746, (whispering our hero,) 9 o’clock, breakfast half past nine—excellent advice of Locke—costive this morning—twelve, delivered my first sermon—difficult trial, strain hard, and make it out—touch upon the victory of Culloden—greatly admired by my Lady Dunderhead and Mrs. Sarah Sapscull—Robertson of Gladsmuir present. I am told censures my sermon—no judge—old ladies the best judges of composition, after all. It is said Robertson is about a history—dare say it will be sad stuff.’ Mr. Nicknack came to London, and made a very decent livelihood in the preaching line. Among his flock, he is a great advocate for wills; and, in visiting the substantial sick tradesmen, never fails to remind them of their testament. Out of gratitude, they do not forget their counsellor; he, with modest humility, accepts the bequests; and, as he has a sharp eye after fees, Nicknack has picked up a good deal of money. His spouse, both in her state of maidenhood, and long after, even to the time of her marriage, had been known by the name of Margery Macgregor, and was nearly related to a worthy dowager of that name; long eminent for the virtue of hospitality, which she exercised in an elegant and airy situation at the top of Henderson’s stairs. Dame, or, to use the Scottish phrase, Lucky Macgregor, was remarkably pious, and her visitors never failed to find her reading the bible. While she recommended the care of her youthful guests to elect ladies, she herself persevered, like the Bereans of old, in searching the Scriptures. The exact relation between Lucky Macgregor and Miss Margery, I really do not know; but I think it must have been near, as both in person and mind they strictly resembled each other. Miss Margery was no less holy than the dowager, nevertheless she was a gay, sprightly lass, with the true Secederian articles of faith and practice. If she was long unmarried, it was not for want of good will; often did she make the attempt, and often did she fail; but at last she succeeded. Having for many years set her cap at man after man, she, in her forty-seventh spring, became the spouse of Mr. Nicknack. From that time she has taken to religion in its Calvinistic forms, doctrines, and adjuncts; is a zealous votary of free grace; and, both in theory and practice, testifies her conviction of the efficacy of faith, without the trouble of works. Besides studying the gospel, her favourite pastime is reading novels[3]. These occupations, with gossipping and gadding, defamation, and what she calls dress, pretty well employ her time. No doubt, her happy state may partly arise from religion; not but that a cordial, known by the name of gin, contributes its aid. Mrs. Nicknack is no less dexterous than her husband in fishing out presents. She is a very zealous friend, and will stick at no assertion, true or untrue, in recommending the brethren; and sometimes, indeed, she has got into scrapes, by recommending that stupid dog behind: he is a near relation of hers, a fellow who undertakes to print, without being able to read. The old lady herself is a most furious democrat, abuses the king, and one of the ablest ministers that the world ever beheld, the bishops, and all constituted authorities. On that score, she might deserve to be apprehended, were the ravings of an old woman of any consequence to the state. She has an innocent delight in demolishing reputations, and setting people by the ears: she says she is a Christian.” “If she be,” said our hero, “her Christianity is not the Christianity of the Scriptures; at least, I do not recollect any passages of sacred writ that inculcate greed, gossipping, disloyalty, lying, and slandering, which appear to be the virtues which adorn this devotee of spiritual and spirituous comforts. But who is the relation behind her?” “her nephew, Malcolm Macandrew, a fellow who, with a very small portion of sense and knowledge, contrived to get a very great portion of notoriety. He was a poor orphan, bred up in an hospital at Edinburgh, taken out of charity to be apprentice to a printer, to whom his father had been servant: in return for this kind patronage, as soon as he was eighteen, he debauched his master’s wife, and was said to have joined her in embezzling effects. He afterwards seduced the sister of one customer, and the daughter of another; and, finding his character notorious in the Scottish capital, he found it necessary to decamp: but, that he might leave none of the things undone which ought to have been done, he married two wives within a week of his departure; set off, and left the spouses to contest precedency, and shift for themselves. One of them dying for want, he escaped a prosecution for bigamy. He came to England, for reasons best known to him. At length, his other wife being dead, he married a fat widow, that kept an ale-house, where he had run a score, which he could not otherwise discharge. With this lovely partner, he got several hundred pounds, which afforded him for some time the means of keeping a couple of mistresses; and, after his money was gone, he picked up a little from his holy aunt; in return for his assiduity in fetching and carrying scandal for that pious cousin of Lucky Macgregor, collecting for her use spiritual hymns and amorous histories, and ministering to her when she happens to be overtaken with liquor. This worthy relation is thoroughly acquainted with his history and conversation; but, in the piety of her friendship, bears frequent testimony that he is possessed of ability, honour, integrity, and every other meritorious qualification. The fellow was beginning to pick up business in London from people that knew nothing of his character, or attended to the attestations of that good Christian Mrs. Nicknack; but, by a combination of rascality and ingratitude, guided by ignorance and folly, he provoked an able and willing satirist, who will not spare him; so that Malcolm Macandrew will come to be as notorious in London as he was in the north, when obliged to leave Edinburgh for his profligacy.”
Manchester having for some time amused them with these and other anecdotes of persons whom he happened to recognize, they departed for the evening. Our travellers continued several days at Bath; and, after seeing every thing that was remarkable, set off towards London. Having breakfasted at Chipenham, as they were proceeding on to Marlborough, they, at Cherril Downs, alighted to take a view of the white horse, which they had seen at so great a distance. After viewing with admiration its shape and proportions, as they were crossing to a different part of the eminence, which appeared to promise an extensive and charming prospect, they found a woman, decently dressed, but with evident marks of deep dejection, sitting in an hollow. A pale and disconsolate countenance did not prevent her from exhibiting the mien and expression of a gentlewoman. Our hero accosted her with a tone and expressions of soothing compassion, enquired whether he could be of any service to a lady, who evidently laboured under some great distress. “Oh, sir,” she said, “it is not in your power to relieve my afflictions.” She said no more, but burst into tears, which terminated in a fit. The ladies, by smelling bottles, endeavoured to restore her perception and consciousness, and at length succeeded. Moved by their kindness and tenderness, she, in a low voice, expressed her gratitude: “Charming ladies,” she said, “you are bestowing your goodness on a wretch unworthy to live! leave me to my fate; I wish by death to terminate an existence, miserable from the most irremediable cause, a wounded conscience.” “Whatever,” said our hero, “madam, may be the source of your sufferings, I trust they admit of alleviation, which my wife and my sister will join me in administering to the utmost of our power. Let us conduct you to Marlborough, and perhaps there you may favour us with so much confidence and information, as may enable us to devise some mode of effectual relief.” The lady was long inflexible; but at length yielded to their generous urgency. Our hero handed her into the chaise, which he ordered to drive gently, while he walked by its side. Having arrived at Marlborough, and dined, the soothing attention of the travellers wrought so much upon the stranger, that she could no longer refuse their intreaties to give them such outlines of her story as she could bear to recite. “From your appearance and goodness, I am confident that I may rely upon your honour that, whatever you may discover, you will not divulge.” After this preface, she proceeded as will be found in the following chapter.
CHAPTER III.
Fifteen years ago I was married to a very amiable and worthy man, and highly esteemed and respected. Heaven can witness I long loved him dearly, and still regard him as much as ever! During the first ten years of our union, although we spent the winter in town, and mingled with people of our own rank, our pleasures were principally domestic; our parties were select and elegant, and not indiscriminate and numerous. We occasionally attended at operas, routs, and other fashionable amusements; but did not place our chief enjoyment, in such scenes of glare, noise, and insipidity; for insipid I then thought them. Would to Heaven my sentiments had always continued the same! About six years ago, in an evil day, I became acquainted with the Countess of Cheatwell. Her ladyship’s manners are very insinuating towards those whom she wishes to win. Our acquaintance commenced at Buxton, where, she declared, the retirement of the place was much more agreeable to her than the gaieties of Brighton, or even Bath itself; and that though she was obliged, on account of some friends and connections, to be frequently in great and numerous parties, for her own part, her chief delight was selections of friends, sociable and rational conversation. She had heard, she said, of our wise mode of enjoying society, and was eager to be able, by detaching herself from many of her present acquaintances, to imitate so laudable an example: in short, she won my friendship and confidence. The following winter we often visited. She confessed to me, it was impossible at once to leave off her former acquaintances; and appealed to me if it would not be better to effect her intended change gradually, and so ultimately please herself without disgusting those, to gratify whom she had sometimes engaged in amusements, of which SHE HERSELF TOTALLY DISAPPROVED. Her plan I thought perfectly reasonable; but warned her against contracting a fondness for such pursuits. ‘Believe me,’ said the countess, ‘there is no danger of that: the more I see of gaming and its consequences, the more do I hold it in detestation, and the more firmly am I resolved to keep out of its destructive vortex. Indeed, I know of no more effectual means of producing an abhorrence of that vice, than by frequenting scenes in which it is practised. On a weak mind, to be sure, they may have a contrary tendency; but, on a vigorous understanding, with a firm, self-possessing heart, their effects are most certainly beneficial. You yourself, my dear, whose mind surpasses in strength that of most ladies, by occasionally witnessing such fashionable amusements, (as they are called, very improperly, I admit,) would be, if possible, more riveted in your aversion.’ In the course of our intimacy, I was prevailed on to be present at some of her ladyship’s routs; and, though she and I in private concurred in expressing our reprobation of gaming, I did not find my aversion by any means increase, and was indeed so delighted with her ladyship’s own particular friends, whose manners were extremely engaging; and with the exquisite music, and other parts of her entertainments, in which nothing was neglected to gratify the taste, and enchant the fancy, that I insensibly became passionately fond of such parties. I even began to try my town fortune at amusements, which appeared to me so much to engage the earned attention of my new acquaintances. Lady Cheatwell, in very friendly terms, advised me to refrain; but, when she found me determined to persevere, said, she would commit my tuition to her own particular friends, who would take care to guard me against imposition, which, as she observed, is too frequently employed on such occasions. Indeed, they taught me so well, that I was very successful; and had in a short time, at my command, a much greater sum than ever I had in my possession from my husband. Although our fortune was considerable, yet he was economical; a disposition I acquiesced in as prudent, as we had several children, all of whom were daughters; and a great part of the estate, with the title, would go to the heir-male. Having now plenty of money, I indulged in various expences, which I should not have before thought of. I proposed to my husband to imitate some others of our own rank, by giving splendid routs, balls, and masquerades: and, trusting to my own stores, I assured him that the expence would not be heavy. My husband, who was very much under my influence, agreed, though I believe not altogether consistently with his own judgment and wish. At this rate we went on during the winter. I was often at Lady Cheatwell’s petits soupers, where I began to think the company really enchanting. So easy, good humoured, agreeable, and engaging were the ladies; so soft, so insinuating, so winning were the gentlemen; that I thought I was in a much more delightful society than I had ever witnessed. I was not, however, without some crosses; the expences of our entertainments, when the bills came in, turned out to be infinitely greater than we had anticipated; my own good fortune began to change: towards the end of the season, I found that I was, on the whole, a loser to the amount of fifteen hundred pounds; so that I was by no means in a condition to assist, as I once had proposed, in defraying the extraordinaries of our winter campaign. At this time, a note from a lady of fashion reminded me of a debt incurred at hazard for twelve hundred pounds, which she requested I should have the goodness to pay immediately, as she was herself much distressed for one of the same kind. I considered my own winnings in reversion as a certain resource for my debts of honour; and luckily, as I thought, that evening there was to be an assembly at Lady Cheatwell’s, where the play would be deep. Thither I accordingly went at the appointed hour; and soon going to pharo, was for some time successful with a young nobleman, an intimate friend of Lady Cheatwell, of all our parties, and whom I greatly admired for the elegance of his manners, and gracefulness of his figure. Encouraged by my success, I proposed very high stakes; but, after many vicissitudes, found myself three thousand pounds in debt; and went home in deep despair. The next morning, I had a visit from my antagonist; who, from the distress in which he saw me, conceiving the real state of the case, begged me not to be uneasy on his account, and, taking out his pocket-book, presented me with my own note to him cancelled, and also with a receipt from the fair applicant of the preceding day. He had, it seems, heard of the circumstance, and settled the account in half an hour after. I confess I was charmed with this youth’s behaviour, and I am afraid not the less from the uncommon fineness of his face and person, and evident attachment to myself. My opinions had become less austere, from my intimacy with Lady Cheatwell and her coterie. They persuaded me, that a married lady might have a sentimental affection for another man, without interfering with her duty to her husband; and spoke much in favour of Platonic love. Before we went out of town, I became fonder and fonder of this generous man; and not the less so, as I found my husband much out of humour on account of the expences we had incurred. I felt a reluctance at the thoughts of going to the country, the greater as I found my husband had conceived a very bad opinion of my sentimental friend, so that it would be impossible for him to visit me at our country seat, as we had projected. Two evenings before we were to leave town, I was invited to sup with Mrs. Cogdie and her charming daughter Biddy, Miss’s sentimental friend, a married gentleman I had often seen, Lady Cheatwell, my admirer, O’Blackleg, and one or two more of the peculiar intimates of our set. A more exquisite and enchanting party, I thought, I had never been in! The conversation was all interest, all sentiment, all love. My Lady Cheatwell delivered her opinion on marriage and its duties, in a way I once should have disapproved; but was then quite fascinated. By some means or other, small and select as our party was, it was thought expedient to divide it into smaller sets. Pairs filed off together (as I since have known it to be the custom of that mansion); I was left alone with my charming youth; and—(she sobbed out)—we ceased to be Platonists! My gallant contrived to pass a good part of the summer in disguise, near our country-seat; and I became daily fonder and fonder of him. We frequently indulged in gaming, and I was much oftener a loser than a winner. One day, after he had spent about a fortnight at Bath, he returned with a melancholy countenance. I was extremely alarmed, and endeavoured to discover the cause. He long refused to inform me; but at length acknowledged he had been stripped of all his money, and contracted a very large debt, which he had no means of paying, as he entirely depended on his father, who would be very much incensed were he to hear of his folly, as he necessarily must, from his inability to discharge the debt himself. I myself owed my lover more than four thousand pounds; for which he had taken, as he said, merely as a matter of form, my notes at different times. I prayed him to endeavour to raise money on them; and that, by the time they were payable, I should be in town, and have an opportunity of disposing of my jewels, and getting Dovey’s paste; as usual with my Lady Cheatwell’s friends, and other ladies of fashion, when they have great debts to pay, for either losses at play, the emergencies of their gallants, or any other extravagance. After much reluctance, he consented; and we abandoned ourselves to our passion as before; but managed with such secrecy, that I was totally unsuspected. In a few weeks, my lover told me he was obliged to be absent for a month on a family party, at his father’s, in a county two hundred miles from our mansion. The month appeared an age to me; but, when it was finished, he did not return: a week, and another passed away; still I saw or heard nothing of him. It was now the middle of November, when a servant announced a gentleman from Lady Cheatwell, who wanted to see me. I desired him to be shewn into my dressing-room; and I found the gentleman was Mr. Patrick O’Blackleg. He had, he said, made use of Lady Cheatwell’s name, to obtain admittance on a business which he explained in a few words. He had procured money to my lover on my notes, and was engaged for their punctual payment; and, from what my lover had said, trusted to the disposal of my jewels for cash, for that purpose. He gave me also to understand, to my great surprise, mortification, and affliction, that my gallant had eloped with another married lady, and was gone to the Continent. To add to my shame and affliction, I could perceive that O’Blackleg thoroughly knew the footing on which the nobleman and I had been. On coming to town for the winter, O’Blackleg paid me very close attention, and found means to raise money upon my jewels; and, in short, so ingratiated himself in my favour, that he succeeded as my lover. I was now a confidential member of the gaming society at Lady Cheatwell’s and her friends; and could tell you of many instances both of married and unmarried women, who have been seduced into profligacy, from the morals of the gaming circles, and the difficulties from gaming losses; but I do not propose to mitigate my own unworthiness by pleading the example of others.
Vain is the idea of long persistence in vice without discovery. The change of female conduct from rectitude to profligacy generally affects the outward manners; and I apprehend mine must have undergone an alteration. Besides, the company that I now kept were not favourable to fame. My reputation suffered; and the reports of my infidelity at length reached the ears of my husband. In the grief of so ill requited love, he wrote me a letter, containing no reproaches, but more rending to the heart than the most opprobrious charges. He simply desired me to review his conduct in every circumstance and relation towards me and our children, and to ask myself whether he had ever given me reason to inflict so grievous an injury on my husband and my daughters. He was, however, convinced, that my deviation had been caused by the depraving company into which I had lately fallen, and that I was still retrievable: though he could not promise immediately to live in the same house with me, yet he wished, for my own sake and our offspring, and my noble-minded brother, that my reputation might still be preserved; he would retire for some years to the Continent; I should occupy the country-house, and totally break off acquaintance with those fashionable connexions, which had effected such an evil to him and to myself. There he hoped my own deportment would be such as would justify and invite his speedy return. A reproof so mild, but yet so poignant; forgiveness so generous and so humiliating, aggravated my shame, compunction, and remorse. For several hours these most painful sentiments were so predominant, as to overpower every other, and to prevent me from forming any resolution concerning the acceptance of the proffered pardon: But, re-reading the letter, I perceived, what had at the first perusal escaped my observation, that my husband presumed my guilt not to be made public. This supposition I well knew was unfortunately without grounds; my profligate paramour had blazoned my disgrace. To have carried conscious, though concealed guilt into a house where innocent virtue had always reigned, would have been extremely grating; but to carry public infamy into the house of so honourable a master—here she sobbed, and for some time was unable to proceed; but at length recovering, and assuming a firmer tone, no, I was not so much lost to ingenuous feeling as that. Revolving on the miserable condition into which I was reduced by my own conduct, I came to a determination to secrete myself for ever from my brother, children, and husband, all of whom I still most fervently love. My few remaining jewels I sent sealed to my husband’s banker; money I have none, but raised a hundred pounds by the disposal of some less valuable effects. I intended to retire to the west of England, in quest of an old servant of my mother’s, whom I knew to be honest and faithful, and to conceal myself with her until death should relieve my sufferings, which I hoped, from my declining health, might speedily be the case. To conceal my rout I took a circuitous course, and sometimes walked from a post-town two or three miles, and sat down to await the arrival of some periodical or chance vehicle. The person whom I sought is the wife of a small farmer, near Cherril. Having walked this morning from Chipenham, I was overtaken by a return-chaise, which carried me to the Downs; leaving the carriage I struck to the right in quest of the hamlet, which I knew to be within two miles of the White Horse. As I pursued my solitary course a fellow started up from an hollow, who with a very short preface began to make proposals, that lost as I was I received with the indignation they deserved. As he became urgent I swooned away. When I returned to life I found the ruffian waiting my recovery, as he avowed his determination to perpetrate his purpose; looking about he suddenly ran off. Perceiving a chaise at some distance I accounted for his departure. I now found out that my pockets were rifled, and that I had not a single shilling left in the world. My strength quite exhausted, I was totally unequal to the short distance that I had to surmount; and now that my little store was plundered, I was reluctant to seek the intended asylum: to burden the scanty subsistence of hard earning industry, with the maintenance of inefficient idleness. I felt myself an outcast from society. My desolate situation, a wounded conscience, readily brought me home to myself. I wished to terminate my sufferings by death. Such were the feelings of a guilty mind in extreme misery, when your generous intervention enabled me to exercise cooler reflection.
Our travellers were much affected by the lady’s narrative; Hamilton used his eloquence to console her, and to persuade her that the circumstances which she mentioned, and the contrition which she displayed, evinced such a mind as when restored to its place in society, would first compensate, and finally obliterate the unhappy effects of artful and pernicious companions, in suspending rectitude of principle, and perverting justness and vigour of understanding. “I am convinced,” he said, “that still your husband, whose character your account and his letter so clearly elucidate, will be deeply grieved at your disappearance, and would with joyful delight adhere to his proposal. Will you, madam, suffer me to apply to any of your friends who might be entrusted with the important charge of mediating between you and your brother, and husband?” “Ah, no, sir, I wish to be for ever hidden from their eyes, I could not bear to see their faces turned on me with unmerited kindness, they are both men of the highest merit; my husband engaged in the exercise of private and domestic virtues, has it is true not signalized himself in public efforts; my brother, hardly five-and-twenty, is already the admiration of the senate. Alas! poor Edward, with the highest accomplishments of person and mind, he was unhappy before his sister’s disgrace could reach his ears. Hamden lamented the disappointment of virtuous love; here his susceptible heart must feel rage and indignation for the vice and degeneracy of his sister.” At the name of Hamden, Maria and her husband were aroused; and the latter, with some impatience waiting till the conclusion of the sentence, eagerly asked, are you, madam, the sister of Sir Edward Hamden, my most intimate and admired friend? “Good Heavens!” replied the lady, “are you that Mr. Hamilton that saved my brother’s life; and is this the lady that was Miss Mortimer? But I need not ask. The description and circumstances render the question quite superfluous.” Hamilton hastily answering it was as she supposed, and proceeded to inform her, that he had now a clue to guide him in promoting her comfort and peace of mind. “Hamden,” said he, “has a liberality of soul equal to the extent of his understanding, and in estimating every act, or series of acts, makes allowance for the circumstance and situations.” “But what liberality or candour,” replied she, “can palliate such infidelity as mine, against such a husband.” Here she again fell into a paroxysm of passion, and our hero resolved to forbear the renewal of the subject until she was more composed. Meanwhile they agreed to pass the evening in their present quarters, and to view this ancient and venerable town[4], that gave its title to one of the greatest heroes that ever graced the annals of England. The lady not chusing to accompany them, was prevailed on to try the effects of repose, in order to tranquillize her agitated spirits. Having viewed the town and environs, they returned to their place of sojourning for the night. Our hero communicated to his wife and sister a project he had formed of applying to his friend Sir Edward Hamden, and explaining the circumstances of his sister Mrs. Raymond’s case and sentiments; convinced that he would be able to effect an impression in her favour. Meanwhile he intended to offer her a secret asylum in or near London, and requested the ladies to join in endeavouring to persuade her to accompany them to London, without particularizing the scheme in her favour which he had in agitation. Mrs. Raymond long resisted their application, and declared her resolution never to receive from her husband or brother, kindness, every title to which she said she had entirely forfeited. Without professing to confute her reasoning, or oppose her determination, they endeavoured to reconcile her in some degree to herself. In the course of their conversation they found that she had a strong and lively sense of religion, although its practical operation had in her late conduct been so fatally suspended. To this principle they addressed themselves, and powerfully inculcated the meritoriousness and efficacy of the penitence which she so clearly evinced, that it would certainly conciliate every candid and christian reviewer. They appealed to her self-estimation, and tried to impress on her the merit that attached to the energetic effort of restored virtue, and without diminishing that shame which follows unhackneyed vice, or softening the calls of conscience, they persuaded her that future performance of her religious and moral duties would heal the wounded spirit, and regain the esteem and approbation of the worthy. Grateful for their goodness, rather than convinced by their reasoning, she yielded to their instances more than their arguments, and agreed to accompany them to London; and a post-coach was bespoken for the morning. After an early breakfast they set off through the forest, which not exceeding twelve miles in circumference, and containing a most delightful seat, Hamilton persuaded them to view. Marlborough forest belongs to the Earl of Ailesbury, and is almost the only privileged ground of that denomination possessed by a subject. It is in circumference about twelve miles, plentifully stocked with deer of a large size, and rendered very pleasant and delightful, by the many walks and vistas cut and levelled through the several coppices and woods, with which it abounds. Eight of these vistas meet in a point near the middle of the forest, where a late lord prepared and cleared the ground for erecting an octagon tower, whose sides were to be correspondent to the vistas; through one of which we have a view of the seat, at about two miles distance, called Tottenham, from a park of that name, in which it is situated, contiguous to the forest. It is a stately edifice, erected on the same spot of ground where stood an ancient palace, destroyed by fire, of the Marquis of Hertford, afterwards Duke of Somerset, so justly celebrated for his steady adherence, and powerful assistance to the royal cause, during the whole course of the civil wars; from whom the Earl of Ailesbury was descended. The present edifice was begun, carried on, and finished after the model, and under the direction of our modern Vitruvius, the late Earl of Burlington, who, to the strength and convenience of the English architecture, has added the elegance of Italian taste. The house has four towers, and four fronts, each of them diversely beautified and adorned; to which are now added four wings, wherein are rooms of state, a noble and capacious room for a library, containing a judicious and large collection of several thousand books, in all languages, but especially the modern. The beauty of the buildings is much augmented by the large canals, the spacious and well planted walks which surround it; one of which, leading to the London road, extends two miles in length. About the same distance from hence, on the opposite side, are to be seen the remains of a large house, called Wolf-hall, the seat of Sir John Seymour, father of the unfortunate protector, of which no more is standing than suffices for a farm house. Here King Henry VIII. as tradition goes, celebrated his nuptials with Lady Jane Seymour, and kept his wedding dinner in a very large barn, hung with tapestry, on the occasion; for confirmation of which they shew you in the walls some tenter-hooks, with small pieces of tapestry fastened to them: and between this place and Tottenham there is a walk, with old trees on each side, still known by the name of King Henry’s walk. Wolf-hall was anciently the seat of St. Maurs, or Seymours, who, from the time of Henry II. were hereditary bailiffs and wardens of the forest of Savernac, in memory of which a large hunting horn, ornamented with silver, is still preserved by the present noble owner, the Earl of Ailesbury, together with a beautiful pedigree of the family, from William the Conqueror. They proceeded through the charming confines of Wiltshire and Berkshire, and arrived at the castle at Speenhamland, where they dined, and in the evening they proceeded to Reading[5], and the following day arriving in London, completed their excursion.