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 LI B R.AR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVERSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 H284J 
 
 v.;
 
 JAMES HATFIELD 
 
 AND THE 
 
 BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE.
 
 ^lU^-vlt^tiiitt^W |< 

 
 JAMES HATFIELD 
 
 BEAUTY OF BUTTERMERE 
 
 ^ ^tov5 of ittotcrn Zimc^. 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS, 
 
 BY ROBERT CRU IK SHANK. 
 
 I have great comfort from this fellow; methinks he hath no drowning 
 mark upon him : his complexion is perfect gallows ! Stand fast, good 
 fate, to his hanging ! Make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own 
 doth little advantage." — Tempkst. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1843.
 
 T. C. Savil, 107, St. Martin's Lane.
 
 9^3 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The singular being to whom the following 
 '^ pages relate was, though a young man, a man 
 4 -^^of the world and a person also of education. So 
 ^ y> remarkable was he for his superiority of address 
 j^^ and courtesy of manners, that he became a favour- 
 ^ % ite in the numerous social circles into which he was 
 ^ ^ admitted ; and had, consequently, frequent oppor- 
 ^ tunities for exercising his talent at imposition. 
 '^ Such were the somewhat equivocal accomplish- 
 ^ ments of this polite delinquent, — which, how- 
 ^ ever, had the effect of exciting much interest in his 
 ^behalf on his final apprehension ; and not the less 
 tf on account of his being united to a village girl, well 
 ^ known on the spot of his later adventures, and 
 rt remarkable for her personal attractions. She was, 
 ^*^also, it should appear, a superior person for her
 
 VI ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 station in life, having been indebted for no mean 
 education to a curate in the neighbourhood. As re- 
 gards her personal recommendations in particular, 
 she seems to have been as much an object of curi- 
 osity as was our adventurer, on his part, for polite 
 imposture and accomplished scoundrelism. The 
 names of Hatfield and '' the Beauty of Butter- 
 mere," as she was called, were in the mouths of 
 every one ; and the humble but picturesque haunts 
 of Buttermere became another, though a ruder 
 Clarens for the time — which was the earlier part of 
 the present century ; and endless was the throng 
 of visitants who crowded thither. 
 
 The circumstances of the actual story have 
 been recorded without any greater licence in devi- 
 ating from their exactness, than such as may fairly 
 be conceded to the colouring of romance. In ap- 
 proaching, however, the scenes in which the events 
 took place, another and a diiferent source of in- 
 terest presents itself. When we call to mind 
 that those scenes have aided the inspiration of a 
 Coleridge, a Wordsworth, and a Southey, we feel 
 that we are treading on classic ground. 
 
 The first mentioned of these names possesses 
 indeed an increased claim to our interest, since it
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. Vll 
 
 lives hallowed, now, in the shrine of memory, and 
 invites us to dwell with affectionate regret and 
 veneration on the best and kindliest qualities of the 
 heart, and the loftiest attributes of the mind. 
 
 We are old and grey-headed now, but we can 
 recal the period (it is that of our story) when, in 
 the wild and picturesque scenes in question, the poet 
 and metaphysician first shone upon the world in 
 all the freshness of youthful fancy, and the ardour 
 of imagination. That period has long passed away ; 
 and we, therefore, turn with yet greater interest to 
 those remarkable creations which emanated from 
 his mind. Not the least striking of these is that 
 of the Ancient Mariner, which we have sought to 
 embody in one of the characters of our dramatis 
 personcBf as a tribute claimed by the recollections to 
 which we have just referred. 
 
 Nothing further seems required of us by way of 
 Preface, unless it be to state, that the char-fishe 
 is an actual portrait of a living original and a mos 
 worthy being.
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE STRANGER ARRIVED AT THE BOTTOM OF THE HILL 6 
 AND HERE HE STARTED, AS GERTRUDE HERSELF EN- 
 TERED THE ROOM 53 
 
 VOL. IL 
 
 OUR HERO NOW REINED IN HIS STEED HASTILY . . . 221 
 IN THEV RUSHED, ETC 321 
 
 VOL. IIL 
 
 SO SAYING, HE RAISED THE VEIL FROM THE FACE OF 
 
 THE FIGURE 117 
 
 " THE PETITION," SAID THE PRINCE, " IS ALREADY 
 
 granted" 209
 
 ADVENTURES 
 
 JAMES HATFIELD, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Follow, follow me ! 
 In the depth of .hose beloved eyes 
 Still saw I, 'Follow me V" 
 
 Shelley's Prometheus. 
 
 The golden glow of sunset had mellowed in 
 its lustre the yellow mosses of the Melbreak* 
 ridge, and the orb was sinking beneath the height, 
 when through its haze of glory was discerned a 
 form bright as any vision which such a scene might 
 have inspired in those gifted denizens of this 
 lovely clime — a Wordsworth, a Coleridge, or a 
 Southey. In the fulness of joy had the smiling 
 year arrayed the scene and season. In the fulness 
 of joy, too, had the summer light of youth arrayed 
 the brow and illumined the heart of the fair beins: 
 who now shewed herself, shrined as it were in 
 
 * Heights overlooking Buttermere to the westward. 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the ruddy sunlight, on the brow of the hill. To 
 witness her as she stood circled in the full lustre 
 of that halo, she seemed as some beatified form 
 lit up in the inspiration of a Raphael's pencil. 
 
 A youthful stranger, who was on his rambles 
 through that wild and interesting region, had, in 
 contemplating the features of the scene, found his 
 glance attracted towards this object of loveliness 
 above all others, even amidst a realm where the 
 beauty and magnificence of nature abound. And, 
 as the Houri charm sheds new enchantment over 
 the blooming haunts of Eden, so this radiant 
 figure centered in herself, for the present, the 
 attractions of the spot; and well may we pause 
 with the stranger to regard for a moment and 
 admire the " lovely vision," as we had almost been 
 inclined to term her. 
 
 She was of a figure where lightness and native 
 grace were combined with all the activity and vigour 
 that health and constant exercise impart. No languid 
 delicacy of hue pined on her gladsome and beau- 
 teous, but sun -burnt cheek, the healthful bloom of 
 which had enamoured the day-beam (to cite the 
 fable) so much, that it had left the mark of its 
 kisses there. The graceful loftiness of her neck 
 made her appear rather taller than she really was. 
 Her stature was not much above the middle height, 
 and her small feet seemed to touch the earth as lightly
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 3 
 
 as the breeze that skimmed it. Of such sprightly 
 ease was that gait, so airy that movement, so 
 slender and light that ancle, the graceful pedestal 
 of a stature so perfect, that a lover in his enthu- 
 siasm might have indeed deemed a spirit — a denizen 
 of ethereal birth — had descended on earth before 
 his gaze, and made him fear to intrude with his 
 more profane step on ground which such lustre and 
 charm had consecrated. 
 
 Such was the feeling of the youthful stranger 
 who now stood spell-bound in the contemplation 
 of so much loveliness : and whether his sight was 
 more dazzled by the splendour of her presence, or 
 the " glory-shrine" in which it was presented to 
 him, he was unable to determine. His heart he 
 could be sure was dazzled, and he watched for her 
 descent from the hill that he might have the op- 
 portunity, or (to use a term more suited perhaps to 
 his impatience) " snatch the happiness" of accosting 
 her, in order to learn from her his way, which he 
 had lost in rambling about the mountain mazes of 
 the district. 
 
 Suddenly, however, he saw her stop in her de- 
 scent, and raising a small horn to her lips, she 
 sounded a shrill and clear note, and then turning 
 the corner of the ridge, fled from his sight, and 
 mocked him, as though indeed but a vision that 
 had shone transiently before him to awaken admira- 
 B 2
 
 4 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tion and elude him. The disquiet with which 
 he saw the purple-coloured hood she wore, floating 
 in the breeze, vanish, as she lightly tripped round 
 the hill brow, may be well imagined. He imme- 
 diately hastened to pursue her track from the foot 
 of the slope where he had surveyed her ; but after 
 having toiled up the steep, he saw her at the 
 further end of a long valley below, followed now 
 by the kine which she had called together with the 
 horn that he had just heard, and which he now 
 remembered was not confined to Switzerland, but 
 was common also in the mountains of Connemara 
 in Ireland, and other mountainous districts. 
 
 He was for awhile overwhelmed with impatience 
 and vexation at having thus lost this lovely " herd- 
 mistress," (for such he took her to be.) and stood 
 watching her track as it wound along the base of 
 the ridge on which he stood, and which spread 
 onward till it overhung the waters of Buttermere. 
 The rude notes of the horn had challenged the 
 herd to the hour of milking, as the day-beam had 
 now waned, and the evening star — that Venus 
 which miojht have served for an emblem of her own 
 beauty — shone over her rustic but blissful task, and 
 smiled on her as the divinest object it looked on. 
 
 At least, so thought the person who now stood 
 watching her track, while, seeing that it wound in 
 a direction towards the lake and at the back of the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 5 
 
 ridge whence he looked, he began to entertain hopes 
 that he might yet meet the object of his admiration. 
 Nor was he disappointed, for on arriving at the 
 bottom of the height, in the direction facing the Jake, 
 he beheld her now close at hand advancing at the 
 head of the obedient herd. No form of rural loveli- 
 ness that ever saw its beauties reflected in the pure 
 Arethusan fountains it bent over was ever more 
 beautiful. Never did Doric reed celebrate in its 
 love-notes a sweeter theme for its rustic modulations. 
 She wore, beneath the mantle or short cloak 
 already described, a bodice of the old Lincoln green 
 colour, surmounted by a pink kerchief over her 
 bosom. Her small fairy feet were shielded from 
 the "rude flint" of the crag by a sort of short 
 compact buskins, worn with the hair outside; and 
 these, with a blue kirtle, completed a costume which 
 no maiden of Saxony or the Swiss mountains 
 might have disdained. This gear, though homely, 
 was marked by neatness, and that grace which 
 everything acquired on a form of so much light- 
 ness and movements so airy. They gave all she 
 wore a better appearance than it possessed in 
 itself; and not all the fictitious graces that art, 
 that modes the most studied, or invention the 
 most curious could dictate, would have added lustre 
 to, or enhanced the charm in which nature, un- 
 adorned nature, had arrayed her.
 
 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " The first mild touch of sympathy and thought." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 '* My beautiful creature," exclaimed the stranger 
 as he approached her, " would you direct me the 
 way to the village? for I have lost my path in 
 rambling about these wilds, and account myself 
 happy in having found one who I think can set me 
 right. I am sure," he added to himself, " I could 
 follow her guidance wherever she led me !" 
 
 In saying these words, the stranger arrived at 
 the bottom of the hill, and stood close before the 
 lovely object he had addressed, greeting her at the 
 same time with a graceful inclination of the head, 
 as he raised the travelling cap he wore from his 
 brow. A certain excusable interest, no less than 
 graceful deference, might have been detected as 
 characterizing his inquiry, and shewed that the 
 admiration he had conceived for this charming
 
 JAiMES HATFIELD. 7 
 
 mountain-maiden was as much expressed in his 
 address, as any alleged desire of gaining the infor- 
 mation he asked of her. 
 
 On her part, she knew not, at first, whether 
 the air of distinction which characterized him, or 
 the manly graces of his figure and handsome 
 speaking countenance, possessed the worthiest claim 
 on her attention. She did not, as is the case with 
 many of her class in life, form her estimate of 
 his right to her respect by his dress, which was of 
 the plainest description, consisting of the travelling 
 cap just mentioned as doffed in honour of herself, 
 a riding coat of rough blue cloth, a plaid waist- 
 coat, and trowsers of brown duck, coming down low 
 over the instep of a pair of short-ancle boots, well 
 calculated, from their thickness, for clambering 
 over the rocky heights over which his i-ambles ex- 
 tended ; indeed, a Cumberland peat-cutter or 
 Flemish boor with his sabots might have viewed 
 them with pardonable jealousy. 
 
 It is reasonable to suppose that the stranger's 
 manner, engaging and deferential as we have des- 
 cribed it, did not fail in tacitly interesting the fair 
 mountaineer, who insensibly felt flattered by it 
 as a compliment which she could not help 
 being conscious was paid to the power of her 
 charms. Independently of this, there was some- 
 thing so different in the style of address she now
 
 8 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 experienced, to that she had been hitherto accus- 
 tomed to meet from any of those rustic admirers 
 who might have uttered their rude compliments 
 to her, that the " novelty" of the stranger's manner 
 had no less effect in engaging her attention than 
 any grace or distinction that marked it. In fact, 
 she was at present addressed by one who to the 
 polite air of the man of the world combined a 
 complete (and possibly dangerous) understanding 
 of the female character ; and knew well how to 
 flatter insensibly its worthy self-love, and sway its 
 affections, too, in that marked respect and defer- 
 ence, tempered by a certain tenderness, which we 
 have witnessed in him. Address, air, manner, they 
 speak more than all the power of utterance or 
 eloquence in the world. 
 
 And so the lovely mountain-maiden might have 
 felt ; yet notwithstanding the air of command which 
 belonged naturally to him, notwithstanding, too, 
 the habitual disojuise of his thoughts and feel- 
 ings, — he was unable, altogether, to conceal on the 
 present occasion a certain degree of embarrassment, 
 betrayed both in his countenance and utterance, 
 and which may well be excused as the effect of 
 those charms which had so powerfully, no less 
 than suddenly, assailed him. This embarrassment 
 did not detract, indeed, in the estimation of the fair 
 herd-mistress from any interest inspired by his
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 9 
 
 address ; on the contrary, it might have increased 
 it, since it had the effect of betraying to her tlie 
 secret of the influence her charms possessed over 
 him. In effecting this, it restored to her, in no 
 small degree, her confidence, and a certain becom- 
 ing archness, which was not the least striking 
 feature of interest in her manner, and which she 
 had at first felt a little shaken by the awe with 
 which the superior bearing of the stranger had 
 impressed her. In fact, she was rendered sen- 
 sible, to use the expression with which her rustic 
 friends would have supplied her, '* that the gentle- 
 man was as much afraid of her as she of him ;" or, 
 in other words, that he stood no less in awe of her 
 charms than she on her part could feel with respect 
 to either his air of command or distinction oi 
 bearing. Accordingly, as the blush that like a tran- 
 sient gleam of light had played over her sunny 
 cheek faded away, she raised her eyes, which had 
 been for a moment cast down, on his countenance, 
 as she archly made answer, with a smile, while the 
 laughing graces of her reply rendered her yet more 
 bewitching in his eyes — 
 
 «* You must, indeed. Sir, be at a loss to find your 
 way ! since you cannot discover it while even the 
 waters of the meer, on whose brink the village 
 stands, shew themselves through the break of yonder 
 ridge. Nay, the tower of the church can be seen 
 B 3
 
 10 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 from the spot you were standing on a moment 
 past; and the road winds down to the village from 
 the height, — see, Sir," (and here she pointed it out,) 
 " shewing itself, and kindly saving a stranger the 
 trouble of making inquiries as to its direction ! Not 
 to discover a way so plain, shews indeed, Sir, you 
 must have been at a loss." 
 
 She was right, perhaps, in the exercise of her 
 irony; for, in good truth, the stranger himself 
 would have confessed that if he had not lost his 
 way, he would have been glad to say that he had, 
 as an excuse for opening a conversation with the 
 object of his admiration. He replied, smiling in 
 turn, as he fell into the track she took, and walked 
 by her side, " Indeed, I must have been dull or 
 blind, I suppose ! but, however, I esteem myself 
 happy in my want of perception, since it has thrown 
 me on your guidance. In truth, you may make 
 some excuse for me, for after I had seen yourself, 
 I had no eyes for any other object, — no thought 
 for the pursuit of any other track than that which 
 you follow !" 
 
 These words indeed evinced that all disguise of 
 the interest with which she had inspired him 
 was now willingly thrown aside. She laughed, 
 however, as if not heeding the compliment, though 
 the blush that again kindled in her cheek bespoke 
 she was not altogether insensible of it, while she
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 11 
 
 replied hastily, «' Thercj see ! you cannot mistake 
 your way ; there is the church-tower now plainly 
 apparent at the end of this hollow." 
 
 *' The church-tower ! a happy omen, indeed, 
 my beauty !" said the stranger, rallying in turn, 
 and regaining now the air of composure he had 
 felt half-ashamed at having so lately almost lost 
 before the spell of charms so powerful. "The 
 church-tower ! Many would say it was a happy 
 omen that our first meeting should have been in 
 sight of such an object. As if it admonished us we 
 were destined for one another one of these days !" 
 
 She laughed at his raillery, while she banished 
 from her mind the visions, not unpleasing indeed, 
 which it had transitorily awakened, as she replied, 
 '' It is a pity. Sir, your compliments are not be- 
 stowed on some one they would be less lost upon 
 than myself, — some one more credulous, and whose 
 faith in omens is a little more strong ! There is 
 many an humble village girl like myself, whom you 
 may possibly find more superstitious." 
 
 " Indeed ! but I have known less probable au- 
 guries than this verified ere now, my charming 
 herd-mistress," continued her admirer, in the same 
 tone of chastened raillery, in which, however, there 
 was no derogation from that air of respect which 
 was the main secret of the influence his words pos- 
 sessed ; for though his fair comrade was indeed but
 
 12 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 an " humble village girl," as she had herself ex- 
 pressed, yet she was neither without her pride nor 
 possibly her reasons for keeping it in view. " You 
 know not," continued the stranger, while he pro- 
 ceeded in a more serious tone than before, and with 
 a significance that occasioned her to turn her eyes 
 on his face with something like a look of inquiry. 
 " You don't know what a person may be, or what 
 his condition or circumstances, by his mere outward 
 appearance.'' 
 
 " We cannot know people on a first acquaint- 
 ance you should rather say. Sir," (tempering her 
 former archness with a somewhat graver air also;) 
 " for humble person as I am, you are not the first 
 gentleman out of the many I have seen as visitants 
 to these lakes, and therefore I cannot mistake you 
 for any other than you are." 
 
 The stranger involuntarily bowed his head, and 
 was silent a moment; and something like a sigh 
 escaped him as he continued — 
 
 " The world, circumstances, the misfortunes of 
 many, the adventure of some, often occasion people 
 variously to assume shapes and characters that do 
 not belong to them. The poor man, for instance, 
 though of superior mind and feelings, is obliged to 
 play a part and appear of better condition than 
 he is, in order to gain respect from the world and 
 worldlings ; while the rich man, on the other hand,
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 13 
 
 is often disguised under the meaner array of seem- 
 ing poverty. So again the man of genius, more 
 really wealthy in his mental store than the paltry 
 minion whose worldly parade is his only claim to 
 respectability, is often disregarded and despised 
 from the humility of his appearance. The knave, 
 the swindler, the man who lives by dishonest acts," 
 (and here his voice was raised and his manner be- 
 came more impassioned,) " often, meantime, bears 
 about him the appearance of distinction, and im- 
 poses on the world he perhaps despises and secretly 
 rejoices in making his dupe !" 
 
 *' Yes, Sir, all this is no doubt true," she replied, 
 " and in your placing before me the arts by which 
 some men disguise their characters, you confirm me 
 in the opinion you led me to express, — excuse me, 
 Sir, — of yourself, as regards appearances ; for no 
 one but a gentleman surely could express himself 
 or think and feel as you have suggested. There- 
 fore, Sir, though you might choose to entertain 
 yourself by the compliments you paid me a mo- 
 ment ago, be assured they do not blind me to the 
 sense of my own situation, and the distance that 
 exists between " 
 
 " What a clever, delightful creature she is !*' 
 interrupted the stranger to himself, surprised at 
 finding so much propriety of sentiment and supe- 
 riority of expression in an humble village girl.
 
 14 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " You have a good school, I suppose, in the vil- 
 lage ?" he asked. 
 
 " No, there is none. There is one at Keswick, 
 which is not far off." 
 
 « You have had the benefit of some education ? 
 Assuredly you must ! Did you go to Keswick ?" 
 
 " No I I am indebted for my education (a better 
 one, I think, than I should have gained, perhaps, 
 at a village school) to a clergyman of the neigh- 
 bouring parish of Lorton, where he still resides, 
 and where I was for some time brought up when a 
 child." 
 
 *' The parish of Lorton !" said the stranger, with 
 an interest he was unable to suppress. " What is 
 the clergyman's name ? — is he a curate ? — had he 
 any child?" were the questions he asked hurriedly. 
 
 She gazed on him now with surprise, as she 
 answered his questions as briefly as his anxiety 
 seemed to demand. 
 
 " He had no children that I remember, — yes, I 
 believe he had a son ; but he died abroad. He is 
 a curate, and poor." . . . 
 
 ..." But his name ? — his name ?" . . . 
 
 « Fenton." 
 
 " Good God !" exclaimed the stranger, and was 
 nearly sinking back, so much so that, had he not 
 supported himself by a rude mountain-ash bough 
 that protruded itself from the bankside, he would.
 
 JAJMES HATFIELD. 15 
 
 in all probability, have fallen. He soon, however, 
 came to himself, and resumed his self-possession, as 
 he replied to her inquiry " whether he knew Mr. 
 Fenton?" 
 
 " No, no, — that is, — I have heard of him. A 
 good man, and struggling, as I have been informed, 
 with difficulties." 
 
 " He is, indeed, a good man. I do not speak 
 from his kindness to myself alone ! He was ever 
 the father of the unfortunate, the destitute, in his 
 parish ; or, I may say, the whole country round. 
 His means would not afford him the power of doing 
 much ; but he ever shared his little — he ever 
 ' broke his crust* — with the sufferer that asked aid 
 of him." 
 
 " 111 recompensed as excellent being ! I knew — 
 that is, I mean/' replied the stranger, evading the 
 conclusion to which his first words promised to 
 lead, " I mean to say," he continued, half speaking 
 to himself, and half to her, " that the instance of 
 Mr. Fenton is a melancholy illustration of the un- 
 worthy recom pence with which so many of our more 
 exemplary workers in his vocation are visited ! . . . 
 But we are now near the village ; it is close, I see, 
 at hand," he added abruptly to his fair comrade. 
 
 She had been insensibly so much engrossed by 
 the interest awakened in her mind from the cir- 
 cumstance of her early friend and educator, Mr.
 
 16 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Fen ton, being known (iis it should appear) to the 
 stranger, that she had involuntarily permitted her- 
 self to continue in the same path with him, without 
 considering about the observation that might pos- 
 sibly be drawn upon her in consequence of being 
 seen walking side by side with a gentleman into the 
 village. She therefore took advantage of a turning 
 which led by a rather more circuitous track than 
 the one before them into the village, and telling the 
 stranger that '' this was her way, while his own he 
 could not mistake," she bade him good evening, 
 and was preparing to leave him, when he said — 
 
 " What ! will you not let me accompany you 
 into the village ? I had many things to ask you 
 about the spot." 
 
 " Of all those. Sir, you will be able to gain 
 information on your arrival there. ... So come, 
 Fan ! come, Rossette !" she exclaimed, calling to 
 her truant cattle, as she again proceeded to turn 
 away. 
 
 '' But can you not," continued her interrogator, 
 wishing to detain her, *' can you not recommend 
 me to any inn where I can be accommodated ?" 
 
 " None in particular. Sir. The few that there 
 are, are all equally humble." 
 
 " But I think I have heard of one near the 
 border of the lake, where the celebrated Beauty of 
 Buttermere is to be seen, — eh ? though, indeed, I
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 17 
 
 shall be surprised to find her lovelier than your- 
 self." 
 
 " I can scarcely say which that inn may be," she 
 replied, hastily, as she turned aside her face to con- 
 ceal the smile that on some account or another the 
 above inquiry occasioned, while she added, " There 
 is certainly one inn that is held in more estimation 
 than the rest, as commanding a better view of the 
 lake ; but this you will readily find when you reach 
 the village, — but see!" she added, "my cows are 
 straying from the path ; so I must bid you good 
 evening once again, Sir !" 
 
 Saying these words, she tripped lightly up the 
 bank before the stranger could utter another word 
 to protract the conversation, while she called again 
 to the two or three truant kine that had wandered 
 from the track. They were soon summoned by her 
 challenge, and also by the signal of the horn which 
 she aojain wound ; and havinjj brought them back 
 to the ranks, she pursued her way, while the 
 stranger stood looking after her as the music of 
 her voice still vibrated on his heart, and the radi- 
 ance of her countenance still beamed in delightful 
 vision before him. He remained fixed to the spot, 
 though the turning in the ridge had now hidden 
 the lovely herd-mistress from his view ; and some 
 moments had elapsed ere he roused himself to pro- 
 ceed, as he stood dwellinor on her imacfe. When
 
 18 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 he was at length roused, it was at the thought of 
 her mention of " the good Mr. Fenton," as he 
 was deservedly designated throughout the neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 The spell of her beauty at once vanished (for a 
 time at least) from his senses at this thought. It 
 seemed as though the lash of the furies had stung 
 him to the heart as he started and proceeded for- 
 ward with unequal pace, now hurried and now 
 more slow, betokening the agitation of his mind, 
 while " a change" had come over his countenance 
 as darkly as over " the spirit of his dream."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 19 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " You are well overtaken ! I shall, by your favour, bear you 
 company as far as Theobalds." Izaak Walton. 
 
 The reflections that agitated the stranger we 
 shall, by and by, have an opportunity of express- 
 ing ; at present they were momentarily suspended 
 by his finding himself now at the entrance of the 
 village, and he stood awhile hesitating to pass its 
 threshold, as it were unable to make up his mind to 
 finish his ramble, so beautiful was the evening, and 
 inviting him in its calm persuasion to linger abroad 
 a short time longer ere he housed him for the night. 
 The reflection of the sunset glow shed its burning 
 lustre over the meer, and lit it up in one broad 
 sheet of ruddy gold, putting him in mind of the 
 '* red gold" that glitters in our old ballads, so gor- 
 geously was it arrayed in its wide mantle of crim- 
 son. At length he turned listlessly round, and 
 wandered slowly down to the water's edge, pursuing
 
 20 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 his stroll along the bank, and seeming for an inter- 
 val beguiled of his bitterer thoughts, and deriving 
 pleasure from a contemplation of the beauty of the 
 scenery and the loveliness and repose of the lake, 
 which, slumbering as it did amidst the wild and 
 craggy grandeur of the heights that form its barrier, 
 well illustrated Byron's picture of " Beauty lying 
 in the lap of Terror." 
 
 ..." What scenes of happiness," he thought 
 to himself, " exist, if our minds and feelings were 
 not so warped by circumstances as to render us 
 unable to enjoy them — nay, force us to feel that 
 those scenes in their very cheerfulness do but mock 
 us. To me , , , , my life appears one hideous 
 dream, whose fears I scarce dare relate to the 
 solitude here around me ! — hunted, pursued from 
 the haunts of men under a fatal charge, — « frighted* 
 almost at my own shadow, in my too just sur- 
 mises that the myrmidons of ' doom' are waylaying 
 me, — compelled to exist under one perpetual dis- 
 guise !" . . , 
 
 He paused a moment, and sat down by a rock 
 that bowed over the water, and looked on that 
 tranquil wave and scene with a mingled sense of 
 admiration at their beauties, and regret that it was 
 forbidden him to share the repose to which they in- 
 vited. He was not insensible of the mild influence 
 of the soft air as it came on gentle pinions float-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 21 
 
 ing over the waters that undulated harmoniously 
 with it ; — but that blissful communication of peace 
 spread not to him. Vainly the breeze fanned his 
 burning forehead with its cool wing — it poured no 
 refreshing balm over the anguished spirit of his 
 " unrest." Vainly the charm of that seclusion smiled 
 for him along those tranquil banks. He felt him- 
 self an invader of the calm sanctuary which nature 
 had dedicated to repose, shrining her amidst those 
 majestic heights, those russet banks, those placid 
 waters around him. He seemed to hear the chiding 
 whispers of the spirit of the scene and of the waters 
 reproach him, and ask, " What so turbid and un- 
 hallowed a spirit as his did there ?" In that whisper 
 God seemed to repudiate and convict him no less 
 than man. 
 
 " How different is the tumult within" he 
 thought, '' to all this luxury of repose without. 
 Oh ! it were happiness this moment to finish this 
 anguish of the soul by sinking into that peaceful 
 flood, and find in its calm depths an oblivion of 
 all the vexatious spirit-stir that renders life a hell !" 
 Then looking round him, he continued, " If a 
 retreat of safety is to be sought anywhere, I should 
 deem it might be here. This spot seems shut out 
 from the world, and the disguise I wear, as regards 
 my name and history, with the caution to be ob- 
 served in retiring from the presence of those who 
 may visit the spot, ought, I think, to be the means
 
 22 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 of security ; for to this spot — to the remembrances 
 of my childhood — I am coerced — urged by a sort of 
 fate — it may be, a fatality ! I might have escaped 
 to a foreign shore, — I might have sailed for Ame- 
 rica, or to the French coast ; but some destiny for 
 good or for evil whispered to me, and irresistibly, 
 to come hither !" And his thoughts now recurring 
 to the subject of Fenton and the character the fair 
 herd-mistress had given of him, he exclaimed, " He 
 is then the same kind and indulgent ' friend and 
 father' of all around him that he ever w^as. ... I 
 yearn to go to him. — to ask his forgiveness for the 
 wrong of an earlier day, to own to him that I am 
 .... No ! no ! Gracious God, no ! Why should 
 1 contaminate his fair name with the impurity, 
 the disgrace, that attaches to my own — at least, 
 the name that, erewhile, passed for my own. I 
 cannot ! I must not ! If I could be sure of 
 escape — of security from detection — of freedom — 
 why then I might gratify such an inclination. 
 Eventually I might ; but at present, I fear it is im- 
 possible ! Impossible !" he repeated the word aloud 
 in a sort of mental agony, where all struggle of doubt 
 seemed despairingly overcome by the painful pros- 
 pect of some doom, the contemplation of which at 
 once excited his anguish, remorse, and shame ; and 
 which he might attempt indeed to evade, yet with 
 but precarious hopes of success. 
 
 Scarcely had the sound escaped his lips before
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 23 
 
 he was startled by a footstep, and looking round he 
 perceived a person with a fishing-rod and landing- 
 net, and other implements of angling, coming to- 
 wards him, followed by a liver-coloured water- 
 spaniel, which he called Bryan. Any one who had 
 seen the stranger's face a moment before, and had wit- 
 nessed the deep and passionate workings of anguish, 
 shame, and alarm portrayed in it, would scarcely 
 have believed they beheld the same person when 
 they saw the appearance of serenity that now again 
 took possession of his countenance as he looked up 
 in the face of the angler who approached him, 
 and, while he maintained his seat on the rock, 
 answered the other's salutation with an inclination 
 of the head and a smile. In fact, suspicion was 
 baffled in his presence by that calmness and 
 mingled dignity, that cheerful and easy frankness 
 of manner, which he habitually wore, and which, 
 if it had not even been natural to him, (which it 
 was in an eminent degree,) would have been ren- 
 dered a second nature by that vigilant exercise of 
 it, which was no less expedient to throw suspicion 
 off its guard, than it was agreeable to all who were 
 brought in contact with him. To look at the 
 stranger, and imagine from his appearance, ad- 
 dress, and bearing, that he was capable of a dis- 
 honourable or guilty action was impossible. 
 
 '' A lovely evening this for fishing," he said,
 
 24 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " and I dare say you have had a good day's sport, 
 though I should think the water a little too clear 
 just here for the trout to rise readily at the fly." 
 
 The angler was pleased to find from this remark 
 that he had fallen in (as he imagined) with one who 
 appeared initiated in the mysteries of the angle, 
 of which he was himself a devoted professor. He 
 was no light, romantic stripling visiting these wilds 
 with the accompaniment of his angle rod ; on the 
 contrary, his appearance indicated that he was past 
 the middle age considerably, and his figure and 
 bearing were rather calculated to inspire a feeling 
 of drollery than any other sensation. He was, in 
 a word, of a short, pursy stature, and waddled in 
 his gait, or rather "jolted" forward, (it may be 
 said,) the rotundity of figure he bore in front 
 well illustrating what Homer calls in the Odyssey, 
 " capacious caverns" in the corpulency of his 
 goodly person. He panted like a decoy -fowler's 
 spaniel of the fens (or his own trusty Bryan beside 
 him), fighting his way through the stiff sedge and 
 weeds of the bank as he drives the ducks before 
 him. Our angler's stumpy legs and rotund figure 
 gained an additional clumsiness of appearance 
 from the short small-clothes and tight gaiters 
 which exhibited in exact symmetry those substan- 
 tial " logs" which he called " legs." The little 
 bulk of his upper man was as closely incased as
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 25 
 
 the lower, and becomingly set off in a short 
 velveteen shooting-jacket, which, when flung open, 
 exhibited, as if in emulation of the ruddy orb 
 itself of day, the crimson rotundity of his waistcoat 
 bulging over a person that forced it out to its 
 full tension. To regard it, you would imagine 
 it must burst asunder ; but this consequence was 
 prevented by the proud resistance of a row of 
 sugar-loaf gilt and chased buttons, which, glowing 
 over this capacious eminence of crimson, arrayed it 
 in additional lustre. A coloured kerchief girt the 
 throat of the little Doctor, (so was he called, having 
 taken out a Scotch diploma of '' M.D.,") and 
 with a straw broad-brimmed hat on his head, thus 
 arrayed and accoutred, he used to sally forth on 
 his favourite excursion of angling, his range being 
 between Crumnock, Buttermere, and Keswick, 
 which last place was his head-quarters. 
 
 The portrait of Dr. Esdaile (such was his name) 
 would be scarcely complete without a sketch of his 
 countenance in addition. This, at a general view, 
 you would pronounce very much like a large, 
 swelling and steaming, round plum-pudding ; for 
 the honest ruddy brown of its ground, and the 
 freckles that spangled it, made it look for all the 
 world just like the above-mentioned joyous Christ- 
 mas fare, studded with its countless plums. Add to 
 this, a little snub nose, dabbed like an effigy of 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 putty upon the face, a pair of scanty red whiskers, 
 and good-humoured, small, light blue eyes, and 
 you have the Doctor before you to the very life. 
 
 Such was the appearance of this medical and 
 piscatorial oddity ; yet there was no one who, after 
 conversing with him, did not like him, and feel sen- 
 sible of the influence of that good-humour which 
 his countenance promised, and his cheerfulness of 
 manner subsequently confirmed. 
 
 " You say truly," he replied to the stranger's 
 remark ; '' the water is much too clear just here ; 
 and nothing but a net will ever secure a char or 
 trout in this part of the meer.'* 
 
 " A char ? What, then, this is the renowned 
 prey you seek in this water ? I did not know it was 
 an inhabitant of this lake." 
 
 *« Yes it is ; but not so fine as in Coniston.* 
 Do not imagine, however, I have been wasting my 
 time in trying to hook a fish in the meer itself, — no, 
 no ; — it is in yonder little streamf that runs into it 
 just at that creek, that I have been plying my 
 angle, and with what success you shall judge." 
 
 So saying. Doctor Esdaile, while he placed his 
 tackle down, and bid Bryan crouch down in the 
 
 * In this lake the finest char are found : those of Ullswater 
 are the lowest in repute. The waters also of Windermere, 
 Wastwater, Crumnock, and Buttermere, contain them. 
 
 t In this stream is the famous fall of Scale Force.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 27 
 
 sedge by the side of it, deliberately wiped his brow 
 with a capacious brown silk handkerchief, and seated 
 himself on the bank near his new acquaintance. 
 
 This person at once found the way to his heart, 
 by appearing to take a deep interest in the subject of 
 the char, which now the Doctor proceeded to exhi- 
 bit with all the pride felt by the captor and con- 
 queror of so wily and difficult a prey. And we may 
 here observe, that one of the arts of the stranger 
 was to make all he fell in with pleased with him. 
 " He glided," as Dryden says, " unfelt into their 
 secret hearts." Like Alcibiades, (though in a more 
 contracted sphere of action,) he adapted himself, 
 with consummate address and natural ease, to all 
 tastes, and was uniformly a favourite with all whom 
 he had ever encountered — except, indeed, it need 
 scarcely be added, those whom he had wronged, — 
 those few whom peril and necessity compelled him 
 to avoid, (as we have been enabled at least to glean 
 from the avowal that has been overheard to escape 
 him,) in such retreats of security as that which he 
 now hoped he had discovered. 
 
 Another art he possessed was that of discerning at 
 a glance almost, the character of the person, whoever 
 he might be, with whom he came in contact. Self- 
 preservation rendered such discrimination neces- 
 sary, though, on the present occasion, he was glad to 
 feel there was not much need of its exercise ; for he 
 c 2
 
 28 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 was satisfied that there was little danger to be ap- 
 prehended from the companionship of the good- 
 humoured Doctor ; and as he surveyed this worthy 
 himself with a grin of satisfaction, in opening the 
 perforated tin box which held the fish, in order to 
 exhibit the trophies of his sport, he could not help 
 regarding him with something like a smile of con- 
 tempt, — it might be compassion, — to think that a 
 being existed who appeared to have no care in 
 the world beyond the anxiety of securing a good 
 day's amusement with his angle rod ! 
 
 '* There !" said the Doctor, giving forth his whole 
 soul in the monosyllable. '' There !" he said, ex- 
 ultingly producing a splendid fish from the wet 
 mosses that the box was inlaced with like a water- 
 fowl's lair, dashed with the dews of the river that 
 hurries past. *' Now, just look ! — that is a fish that 
 will do your eyes good to dwell on V* 
 " A couple of pound weight at least ?" 
 " Yes ; and the char seldom exceed that in either 
 the meer here, or the brook in which I have been 
 fishing. But if you admire it as it looks in propriis 
 naturalibus, which means wwdressed, and without 
 any sauce but the dews of the brook on it, what will 
 you say when you see it teeming and steaming in- 
 vitingly before you in the savoury richness of sauces 
 aiding its own flavour ! It were a banquet for 
 Epicurus ! Imagine it, my dear Sir," exclaimed the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 29 
 
 little Doctor, warming in his enthusiasm, and ex- 
 hibiting to the stranger^s amusement another trait 
 in his character, namely, that of gastronome, in 
 addition to that of angler, " Imagine it, I say, 
 inviting the impatience of your palate to luxuriate 
 in its richness — the rare combination — the minorled 
 sweetness and delicacy of the fish, aided by the ex- 
 citing piquancy of the sauce I hope to put to it. 
 Oh! the palate tingles at the thought!" And the 
 little convivialist was well nigh capering in ecstasy 
 at the savoury images his gourmandise conjured up ; 
 while his companion could not suppress a laugh as 
 he replied — 
 
 " Upon my word, you must excuse me for being 
 a little surprised to hear you thus eloquent on a 
 theme, no doubt very inviting, but not such as I 
 had imagined the contemplations of anglers had 
 usually embraced ! I had fancied that all brothers 
 of the angle were of the contemplative school, and 
 confined their dreams to the philosophy and quiet 
 self-commune which the genius of solitude inspired 
 amidst the pensiveness and tranquillity of seques- 
 tered brooks and shadowy banks . . . where the 
 hollow sound of falling waters, the hum of insects 
 floating through the lambent lustre of azure air, 
 or the tinkling of sheep bells over the distant heath, 
 alone broke the grateful silence !" . . . 
 
 " Capital ! capital !" interrupted the little Doc-
 
 30 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tor, laughing with all his characteristic goodhumour 
 at his companion's irony, as the latter proceeded 
 in the same vein. . . . 
 
 . . . *' Not to mention all those pretty reflec- 
 tions suggested by the fish catching the bait, just 
 as worldlings do the lures and baits of vanity ! — 
 with a host of other equally seductive — or, if you 
 please, sedative — dreams. Add to this, the sad 
 compunction, all the while you are torturing the 
 fish, that you are so compelled to lacerate the poor 
 thing's jaws for your own amusement !" 
 
 . . . *' Hold, hold, my friend, there you are 
 mistaken, and must absolve me and my brethren of 
 this compunctious whimpering and real cruelty ! 
 For know, Mr. Satirist, that loving the dear fry too 
 much to hurt them, I am happy at thinking that 
 they feel no pain from my hook, which sticks in 
 the leathery substance of the mouth, where no 
 nerves are, and consequently no pain !" 
 
 «' Well said ! I am glad to hear such is the case, 
 and can now give the 'gentle angler' credit for 
 somewhat less cant than I had hitherto been inclined 
 to attach to him !" 
 
 " To be sure ! to be sure ! You will find us 
 brothers of the angle no such ' placid tormenters' as 
 you imagined ; and with respect to ' contemplative 
 habits,' on which you descanted in such brave terms 
 a moment past, why, I may say, ' so I am fond of
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 31 
 
 contemplation !' — very fond ; though, I am willing 
 to own, that my piscatorial musings have generally 
 a hankering after those savoury prospects which I 
 just now portrayed, and which I hope, ere the day 
 closes, to witness agreeably realized ! As for the 
 philosophy merely, and reflection that * shadowy 
 brooks, murmuring falls,' &c. inspire, I leave 
 these to the more sublime votarists of Messrs. Izaak 
 Walton, Cotton, & Co." 
 
 " I see you are an ' original* amongst the angling 
 fraternity," observed his companion, smiling. 
 
 '' Assuredly I am no ruminating or, at least, 
 * patient angler' as Pope says, but a very inpatient 
 one — very eager to catch my game by all the lures 
 of black gnat, dun, may, and palmer fly; and for 
 a ground bait, a grasshopper or cad are my delight. 
 You are an angler yourself?" added the little 
 man, looking up in the stranger's face with a broad 
 grin. 
 
 " Oh yes ! — a little," was the reply. 
 
 " Well said ! I thought so. We'll have a day's 
 fishing, then, together. But that we will arrange 
 in due time," . . . continued the little man, busy 
 now in replacing his fish in the tin box. . . . 
 " Are they not beauties ! . . . No, no !" he pro- 
 ceeded a moment after, " I am no ' dreamer' whilst 
 I have an angle rod in my hand ; and I will confess 
 my exercise of it is not so much for the mere amuse-
 
 32 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ment of the ' gentle craft' as the luxurious char 
 repast I look forward to as its reward ! . . . And 
 what, pray," added the hon vivant with a naive 
 look of inquiry, " should a man come to this place 
 for, unless it were for this ?" 
 
 His companion could not forbear another smile. 
 '' Oh ! " he calmly replied, " a dish of char is a 
 very desirable thing, and which, no doubt, would 
 whet a man's appetite for a visit to the lakes. How- 
 ever, I will plead guilty to not having thought of 
 this in my wanderings hitherto, which were merely 
 to enjoy the lake scenery — " 
 
 " Until / taught you better ; come, confess it. 
 Oh, I am glad you have fallen in with me ! What 
 matters the ' outside' of the lake, or the beauties of 
 scenery, if you can't have some agreeable recrea- 
 tion after your fatigue ? The lack of which, many, 
 I can promise you, have experienced in their un- 
 wary and too adventurous rambles. Fine scenery 
 is doubtless a fine thing ! fine thoughts, too, are 
 mighty sublime and divine ; but a fine well-dressed 
 char — every other contemplation vanishes at the 
 thought ! So, via ! presto ! let us to the village. 
 If you admire their rich ruddy tint," added the 
 facetious little man, as he opened the gills of one 
 of his victims, *' as you see them now, what will 
 you say when they are cooked ? when (as I shall 
 shew you) no Maltese orange, with its rich
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 33 
 
 crimson glow, can surpass them. Come ! my way 
 is towards the village ; and yours — " 
 
 " Is in that direction too. I am passing on 
 my way through, merely." 
 
 ^' Might I make bold to ask if you have any 
 particular destination ? Indeed, there is but one 
 decent inn in the place." 
 
 " No indeed ! I shall proceed to some inn — I 
 believe it is one looking on the meer. I expect 
 some baggage to be sent for me there, and then am 
 uncertain when I shall proceed." 
 
 " So you are bound for the inn, then ? I esteem 
 myself happy in being able to conduct you there. 
 At no place can you be better accommodated than 
 the ' Traveller's Rest ;' and if you will afford me 
 the pleasure of your society, I may beg in re- 
 turn that you will satisfy your curiosity in tasting 
 the char, which you will not, perhaps, have a bet- 
 ter opportunity of doing in your way through this 
 region, to which they belong almost exclusively. 
 We should always," continued the Doctor, with 
 a merry grin and most important air, " always 
 honour the festive charter of any place through 
 which we pass.'' 
 
 " Assuredly," interposed the stranger, smiling ; 
 " and I never pass through Banbury without re- 
 membering its cakes, — through Burton without 
 quaflBng a draught of its ale, — through Epping 
 c 3
 
 34 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 without regaling myself with a chicken well flank- 
 ed with its sausages, — and uow — " 
 
 — '* You are acting with laudable consistency in 
 doing honour to the char of the meer !" interposed 
 his companion, laughing, as they proceeded walk- 
 ing side by side, and had now reached the village, 
 followed by Bryan. ..." I shall be most happy," he 
 added, " to join you ; and if I mistake not, the 
 sign floating in the air that comes up so refresh- 
 ingly from the water should be the spot of our des- 
 tination," 
 
 In fact, so it was. A few paces more brought 
 them in front of the '' Traveller's Rest," to which 
 pretty little hostelrie the Doctor hastened his step 
 in eager anticipation of the savoury joys in which 
 his soul was now centered ; while the stranger 
 paused to take one more view of the lovely waters 
 of the meer, and the rich foliage along its mar- 
 gin, that seemed to dream over the wave through 
 the softened light of evening; and he then fol- 
 lowed his companion slowly to the threshold.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 35 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Come, hostess, dress it presently . . . and thanks be to 
 honest, pretty Maudlin." Izaak Walton. 
 
 The " Traveller's Rest'* did not take a designa- 
 tion inappropriate to the character it really pos- 
 sessed ; in which respect it was laudably dissimilar 
 to the instances of sundry more modern specimens 
 of domestic architecture which parade in their 
 fronts the alluring title '' Belle Vue Terrace," 
 where nothing is to be seen but a dead wall ; or 
 ** Mount Paradise," or " Pleasant Row," where 
 nothing presents itself more " elevated/' in the 
 one instance, than a heap or two of rubbish, scat- 
 tered in unseemly confusion over " ground let on 
 building leases," — or more " pleasant " in the 
 other than a brick-kiln, regaling the neighbour- 
 hood with its perpetual tribute of smoke, stench, 
 and suffocation. Unlike, again, the " self-recom- 
 mending" attribute which may be witnessed, for
 
 36 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 example, in those volumes whose chief claim to at- 
 traction is in the flourish of the title-page, the 
 *' Traveller's Rest" did not belie the promise held 
 out by its frontispiece, by any defalcation of good 
 cheer and accommodation, on an experiment being 
 made of its internal economy. Tantalizing, indeed, 
 vv^ould it have been if such defalcation had ex- 
 isted ; for the " outward sign/' the pictorial " fron- 
 tispiece," was most " inviting,'* and suggested the 
 blandest associations of recruital and repose. In 
 it you might witness, portrayed by the village Os- 
 tade, the figure of an honest wayfarer seated be- 
 neath a canopy, copied from the porch of the little 
 inn itself, while the rural interest of the scene was 
 heightened by a back-ground of the Borrodale 
 hills, where the moon sailing " high in aether" 
 (whose " subcerulean," by-the-bye, was somewhat 
 washy,) sufficiently indicated, after the sublime 
 fashion of Hogarth, the late period to which the 
 said wayfarer had protracted his rambles previ- 
 ously to courting repose. The smoke, meantime, 
 from his pipe certainly rendered it doubtful whe- 
 ther the moon was intended to shine clear and un- 
 sullied, or whether that splendid effect was to be 
 produced of which the renowned Sylvester Dag- 
 gerwood was so ambitious, when he paraded in 
 his prospectus of scenery, amongst other effective 
 items in his playbill — « the moon behind a cloud !"
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 37 
 
 Such was the scene in the outworks or prosce- 
 nium of our theatre of repose ; and swinging as it 
 did, not on a single post, but suspended between 
 two, might have awakened certain unpleasant 
 ideas of a gallows in the minds of those who were 
 thievishly or feloniously inclined ; consequently, 
 like Selden's distich* over his door, it warned away 
 all nefarious characters by this significant memento, 
 no less impressively than it invited all worthy 
 " lieges" to march into the porch and seek the 
 recruital the house afforded. Of course it is not 
 meant to insinuate that ideas so disagreeable sug- 
 gested themselves to either of the persons now be 
 fore the hostelrie, or even if it were possible they 
 could have so arisen, yet the smiling neatness, 
 prettiness, and order of the house itself and its 
 frontage of garden, would have been sufficient 
 to dissipate them. 
 
 The porchway, which was deep, and fitted with a 
 rude bench on either side for the swains that regaled 
 them there, was canopied over with the clustering ex- 
 uberance of the convolvulus, white, pink, and violet- 
 streaked, whose tendrils drooped down over the arch 
 
 * '* Gratus, honeste mihi non claudar inito sedeque, 
 Fur abeas non sum facta soluta libi." 
 The reader may see this distich, carved by the hand of Selden, 
 over the door of the cottage where he was born, at the village 
 of Savington, in Sussex.
 
 38 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 in front, and straggling into the interior of the 
 porch, partially roofed it as well. Over the walls of 
 the house the vine and an ancient pear-tree with a 
 massive rugged stem formed a rich mantle in front; 
 and over the sides the verdure of the hop lux- 
 uriated and wove its way in at the casements, 
 while half way up the wall the yellow and crim- 
 son nasturtium also ran. The garden, which sur- 
 rounded in its lively sweep the whole circuit of 
 the house, was chiefly extended at its back ; and, 
 here, along the walls of the lower rooms, there 
 was a verandah of green painted trellis- work, fes- 
 tooned over with the China-rose and woodbine, 
 and to which access was given from the house by 
 a glass door. From the verandah you stepped 
 upon a bowling-green, on which it was luxury to 
 set foot, so soft and velvet-like was it. A Persian 
 poet, in speaking of a piece of lawn such as 
 this, calls it " soft as silk." We Europeans are 
 satisfied with the more common " velvet" simile, 
 which expresses the notion of smoothness better 
 than all the silk in a sultan's wardrobe. At the 
 end of this verdant carpet, a venerable mulberry- 
 tree on one side, and a huge walnut-tree on the 
 other, afforded a canopy where many a rustic meet- 
 ing was held, and many a friendly contest at skit- 
 tles or bowls instituted. 
 
 As a boundary to this lawn, and the garden toge-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 39 
 
 ther with it, a brook urged its course, heightening 
 the rural charm and peaceful spell of the spot by the 
 rude murmur of its babblings. The truant stream 
 brawled along, urging its headlong course over huge 
 slabs of black rock, and forming many a cascade as 
 you regarded its far progress from the hills behind, 
 till it swept past along the level — a native ram- 
 bler, that not even the " Traveller's Rest" could 
 persuade to stay or slacken its pace. From its 
 margin the iris and water-lily looked on them- 
 selves in the crystal mirror of the flood, while the 
 rude stream dashed the long lily tresses about 
 with its wanton current, though the flowers smiled 
 on its rudeness the while, as they tinted with their 
 reflected hues its clear translucent surface. 
 
 Perhaps now and then the merry voices of 
 the players at bowls would startle the moorhen, 
 where it lurked amidst the yellow osier stems and 
 rich luxuriant sedge that fringed the bank ; or some 
 stray bittern, it might be, would spring forth, 
 mingling (delightful discord!) its shrill cry with 
 the laugh of the rustic revellers, and the rude 
 minstrelsy of the pipe, tabor, or viol, that pro- 
 voked the dance over the sward. And then the 
 flower-borders with which the lawn was encom- 
 passed, what studious neatness did they exhibit ! 
 " Surely some more than ordinarily cunning hand 
 had shaped and superintended them," thought the
 
 40 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Stranger, as he glanced round on them. There 
 the good old-fashioned sunflower, (old-fashioned 
 now, but not at the time of which we speak,) the 
 carnation, balsam, rose, and sweet-william, com- 
 bined with many a shrub, and many a humble 
 flowret — heart's-ease, and bachelor's button, and 
 violet, and lily of the valley — to add beauty to 
 the spot and balm to the air. 
 
 If such was the picture of rural repose, neat- 
 ness, and charm, that the exterior of the Travel- 
 ler's Rest presented, it was well supported by that 
 which its internal economy now exhibited to the 
 stranger, whose attention it excited more than the 
 little Doctor's, the latter having been a constant 
 visitor at the hostelrie on many a previous char- 
 fishing and eating expedition. 
 
 *' A delightful little inn, indeed !" said the 
 stranger, as he entered a small and comfortable 
 room called " the parlor," at the back of the 
 house, and looking upon the verandah and bowl- 
 ing-green just described. Into this apartment 
 "of honour" the companions were ushered by 
 the landlady, Mrs. or " Dame" Wetherby, as she 
 was called in the village. 
 
 '^ Excessively neat !" continued the stranger to 
 Dr. Esdaile, as he glanced round the apartment, 
 " and evidently bears marks of good housewifery ! 
 It is surely indebted to some more eminent hand
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 41 
 
 for this quiet effect, nay, even elegance of its ar- 
 rangement, I might say, than is ordinarily to be 
 traced in these rustic ' hospitia !' No coloured 
 daubs on the walls of shepherdesses, in black and 
 gilt frames, — no spun-glass poodles, and miniature 
 wooden flower-pots. There is a chaste neatness 
 and taste prevailing that it surprises me to meet !" 
 
 '' Ay, this is Gertrude's doing, our landlady's 
 fair daughter ; is it not, Mrs. Wetherby ?" replied 
 the Doctor, turning to the " good woman" of the 
 house, who was arrayed in a formidable widow's 
 cap, which looked like the ruff of a Poland hen, 
 or a crested white-mackaw. Mrs. Wetherby ac- 
 knowledged the compliment by a curtsey, though 
 it struck the stranger that its demeanour was rather 
 marked by stiffness than complaisance, while she 
 replied at the same time, addressing herself to him, 
 that '*she was glad the gentleman found himself 
 comfortable ;" and then proceeded, to Dr. Esdaile's 
 infinite satisfaction, to the important topic of the 
 " arrangement" for dinner of the char, which the 
 Doctor had consigned, tin box and all, to her 
 hand as he had entered the hostelrie. 
 
 " Would you please to have the large brace 
 dressed, Sir, or — " 
 
 " Oh ! by all means, the larger brace, and a 
 
 small one or two as well, that Mr. , 1 beg 
 
 your pardon," he continued, turning to the stran-
 
 42 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ger, " I have not the honour of knowing your 
 name." 
 
 *< Colonel* Renmore," was the reply, accompanied 
 by a bow ; and if he seems somewhat young for a 
 Colonel, we shall not marvel at this, when we 
 hear it in due time explained. 
 
 *' And mine, Dr. Esdaile, at your service, 
 Colonel," continued the merry little man, who, by- 
 the-bye, was never in such good spirits as when 
 he was discussing that cordon sanitaire of his own, 
 the arrangement of his favourite char. " Well, I 
 was going to say, Mrs. Wetherby, that we should 
 give Colonel Renmore a specimen of the quality of 
 both the larger and smaller fish, — for they differ 
 often very much, Colonel, I can assure you," he 
 added, with an air of ludicrous seriousness that 
 called forth a smile on the lip of his companion. 
 " Then the large brace, Sir, and two small ones?" 
 *' Ay, — or three small ones, say," observed the 
 Doctor with continued gravity. 
 
 " And dressed as you had them last time, or — " 
 " Oh, precisely," interposed anxiously our epi- 
 curean Doctor. " And let me inform you. Colonel," 
 he continued, turning to Renmore, " that if you 
 admire the taste with which Gertrude, (I beg 
 
 * That is, " Lieut.-Col.'* The name of the family really 
 assumed is of course suppressed.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 43 
 
 pardon, Mrs. Wetherby,) Miss Wetherby, I ought 
 to say, has decorated or dressed the room, the 
 garden, and all in fact you see around you, you 
 will hold her good taste in yet higher estimation 
 when you perceive how she can dress the char ! you 
 will pronounce this the perfection of that ' arrange- 
 ment' that has hitherto so laudably struck you. Eh, 
 Mrs. Wetherby, — what do you say V* 
 
 In reply to this testimony of the merits of Ger- 
 trude's cooking, amongst her other accomplish- 
 ments, Colonel Ren more observed, as he smiled 
 at the eulogistic Doctor, and made a courteous 
 inclination of the head to Mrs. Wetherby, '' that 
 he required no further proof of her daughter's 
 good taste to convince him of it, than the many 
 testimonies he had already witnessed." 
 
 <* You won't say so, though, when you taste the 
 char ! will he Mrs. Wetherby ?" 
 
 The landlady of the Traveller's Rest, with an- 
 other curtsey marked with the same stiffness as had 
 struck her new guest in her former one, again ac- 
 knowledged the compliment paid to her daughter's 
 proficiency, while she replied to the merry Doctor, 
 
 *' It is for me only to say that it is my daughter's 
 duty to make everything as comfortable as may be 
 in the house for the gentlemen that are under my 
 roof; and if her cooking gives satisfaction I am 
 happy. And pray. Sir, when should you like 
 to dine ? now, or somewhat later ?"
 
 44 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Oh, now ! by all means !" exclaimed the Doctor, 
 in perfect pain at the thought of any more pro- 
 tracted delay than was necessary in reaching the 
 " Promised Land," the Canaan of his day's fishing 
 peregrination. " I am as hungry as a long day's 
 sport and ramble can make me, as I dare say you 
 are too, Colonel?" looking inquiringly and with 
 somewhat of ludicrous ruefulness in the face of 
 Renmore for sympathy as regarded the state of his 
 appetite. 
 
 " Indeed I shall not be at all sorry when dinner 
 is ready." 
 
 " That's right ! I thought so ! You looked 
 
 fatigued, I thought, when I first saw you 
 
 Dinner as soon as possible, Mrs. Wetherby, if you 
 please." 
 
 The landlady of the Traveller's Rest accord- 
 ingly withdrew to obey the Doctor's recommenda- 
 tion of having dinner on table, and with as little 
 delay as possible ; while during the purgatory which 
 he was doomed to experience until that looked-for 
 period should arrive, himself and Renmore strolled 
 out at the glass-door already mentioned on the 
 lawn, to admire all that we have above described, 
 and which reflected Gertrude's good management 
 in the order and neatness it exhibited. 
 
 They strolled along towards the side of the 
 brook, whose peaceful babblings challenged the 
 rustic echoes of the spot ; pausing now and then to
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 45 
 
 admire some shrub or flower in the parterres that 
 were distributed on either side the lawn. 
 
 " A very decent, respectable looking dame our 
 hostess," observed Renmore, in a sort of half-in- 
 quiry concerning Mrs. Wetherby, " but somewhat 
 demure !" 
 
 " A religious twist, my dear Sir ! a religious 
 twist !" replied the Doctor, shrugging up his shoul- 
 ders with a gesture of ludicrous dismay. '' Oh, 
 and such a prosaic personage when she mounts 
 upon her hobby of pious or rather evangelical 
 reflection, that 1 am always glad to make my 
 escape as fast as I can — " 
 
 '' Upon your own hobby — the angle rod T' re- 
 joined his companion, smiling. 
 
 " Indeed I am ! or on any hobby rather than 
 worthy Dame Wetherby's ; she rides it so pertina- 
 ciously, a witch's broomstick is light and airy, a 
 winged Pegasus, compared to it." 
 
 " Why, where has she caught these solemn 
 shadows of the spirit, this evangelical twist ? which 
 now perfectly account to me for the demureness 
 which I perceived the moment she spoke. A cha- 
 racteristic, too, which appeared the more marked 
 when reference was made to her daughter. Nay, 
 if I mistake not, it assumed the feature almost of 
 displeasure." 
 
 <* Why the good dame has, I think, had her
 
 46 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 head turned a good deal by listening to a dissent- 
 ing preacher that has been holding forth here for 
 some months past ; a sanctimonious person, whose 
 sincerity, however, in his vocation, I am very much 
 inclined to call in question." 
 
 " Indeed, this is a pity ! There is nothing more 
 interesting to be witnessed in the middle and hum- 
 bler classes, than a proper and due sense of reli- 
 gious duty ; but when infected with the poison of 
 cant or fanaticism, or again, puritanic austerity. ." 
 . . *' There it is ! there is the mischief in the in- 
 stance of our worthy landlady ! Her pious pro- 
 pensities are unhappily much tinged with harsh- 
 ness, and warped by certain prejudices which betray 
 the weakness of mind that has exposed her, I fear, 
 to the arts of this preacher — let me see, what is 
 the fellow's name ? Oh ! Quandish." 
 
 " I regret much to hear this ! But what makes 
 you doubt this man's sincerity in his vocation ?" 
 
 " Why, because he has rendered his influence 
 over the mother a stepping-stone, as I suspect, to 
 paying his addresses to the daughter, and " 
 
 But just here the presence of Mrs. Wetherby at 
 the glass door opening on the lawn, was a sum- 
 mons to her guests to repair to the room where 
 dinner was now being placed on table. Nor did 
 they wait long when, the soup being dismissed, 
 the fondly looked-for " cate" made its appear-
 
 JAISIES HATFIELD. 47 
 
 ance ! Each fish was served up in the Maintenon 
 style, in an envelop of paper, in reference to which 
 the facetious Doctor exclaimed — 
 
 " A charming epistle this from Gertrude ! let 
 us hasten to open it, and discuss its contents ! Was 
 ever love-letter more amiable !" And certainly the 
 zest with which our gourmand now busied himself in 
 exploring tlie inviting contents of that envelop 
 may be excused by even the chillest votaries of 
 epicurism ! — of such savoury fragrance was the 
 steam, — such luxurious richness was the flavour! 
 The sense of taste here fairly found its paradise, 
 and culinary cunning might claim its apotheosis; 
 the voluptuous assault on the olfactory at once 
 and gustatory sense took the soul by storm, and 
 made bliss, as far as regards animal enjoyment, 
 complete. No gold fish meandering in liquid cir- 
 cles of the purest lymph presented an object of 
 greater beauty than the grace with which these 
 finny fairies of the meer swam now in a soft 
 amber flood of Lucca oil. They were the '^ Naiades " 
 hailed by that gastronomic faun, — the " wood- 
 and-lake loving" Esdaile; or rather, we should 
 say, the " char-and-sauce" loving Esdaile. Little 
 time was lost by the Doctor in making his compa- 
 nion acquainted with the epicurean curiosity before 
 them, a specimen of which he placed on his plate 
 in triumphant confidence of its eliciting all the en- 
 comium it deserved.
 
 48 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 '^ Did I not tell you that you would find it 
 superlative ?" he exclaimed, the moment he could 
 spare breathing space for speaking, from the 
 luxurious occupation of feasting. " On me, who 
 am no novice as to its excellence, it improves more 
 and more in stimulating my appetite every time I 
 approach it. It is impossible to tire over so rare 
 a *cate.' What, then, must its spell be upon you, 
 as a stranger, to whom it offers the additional zest 
 of novelty !" 
 
 ''It is indeed a great delicacy," replied the 
 Colonel, in a more chastened and polite style of 
 encomium than his enthusiastic companion ; " it 
 certainly surpasses any ideas I had formed of it 
 from what I had heard. It puts me in mind, 
 in a certain degree, of the more delicate speci- 
 mens of the chevalier omhre of Lake Leman, and 
 is pleasanter to the palate than the boasted lotte of 
 that lake." 
 
 *' Mount Skiddaw to a molehill ! Chevalier 
 ombre and la lotte cannot stand in comparison with 
 it. No, nor one of the whole seventy species of 
 fish that Rousseau's catalogue enumerates as tenants 
 of Lake Leman. Behold the hue of these melting 
 pink flakes, alluring as the blush on Gertrude's 
 cheek who cooked them I A bumper to her health, 
 Colonel." 
 
 " By all means. We were senseless, indeed, to 
 forget the artiste which Heaven has provided us on
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 49 
 
 the present occasion, no less than the viands pre- 
 pared by her ; offering an agreeable contradiction 
 to the rule of the proverb, that Heaven sends the 
 last, but a less benign power the first." 
 
 '' True ! The adage has been indeed reversed, 
 and the privilege of the power of evil for once 
 suspended by the ministration of an angel — as 
 you'll say when you see her. And now, Colonel, 
 I think you will remember our lakes for something 
 more inviting than the hackneyed topics (though 
 well enough in their way) of ' mossy banks and 
 precipitous cliffs,' &c. Give me such a specimen 
 of their beauties as the dish before me !" 
 
 '^ Certainly they are beauties sufficiently attrac- 
 tive. But, talking of 'beauties,' I have a curio- 
 sity further to set my eyes upon the damsel, the 
 presiding nymph of these haunts, whom they call — " 
 
 " The Beauty of Buttermere you would say ! 
 Oh ! you shall see her all in good time," inter- 
 posed the Doctor, helping Renmore and himself 
 again to the luxurious " cate " before them. 
 " Everything in good time ! At present, nothing 
 can be more beautiful, after a long and fatiguing 
 ramble, than this char. This is our ' Buttermere- 
 Beauty,' at present \ A little of this sauce. Colo- 
 nel ; you'll find it an aid to the palate — the Chili 
 vinegar is by you, and then," he continued after a 
 short pause, which was occupied in doing honour 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to the contents of his plate, " why then — and after 
 our char.-feast, you shall feast your eyes on * the 
 Beauty/ " 
 
 " Is she really so peerlessly beautiful as report 
 bespeaks her ?" 
 
 «* Oh, yes ! she seems to have turned the heads 
 of all the swains, high, low, rich, and poor, that come 
 within the dangerous presence of her charms. Every 
 ringlet is a snare for the heart. In every dimple 
 lurks an ambush for the heart-ache — bless me! 
 how exquisite this last and smaller fish to which I 
 helped you is — let me give you a little more! 
 And — what was I saying ? Oh ! about the Beauty. 
 Ay, her eyes — what do you think, talking of her 
 eyes, happened once to a certain reverend prelate ?" 
 
 " I can't at all tell," replied Renmore, laughing. 
 '« I suppose, as has been the case with other reve- 
 rend persons before him, he was not proof against 
 the all-subduing power of beauty.'' 
 
 " Why, he actually forgot himself, and was 
 ' out' in repeating the benediction over her as she 
 was being confirmed !* The long silken lashes of her 
 eyes so bewildered the worthy prelate, that he was 
 
 * The anecdote in the text was current in the neighbourhood 
 of Buttermere at the period to which our story refers, and was 
 one of the many anecdotes related of the wondrous effects pro- 
 duced by the charms of this Venus of the lake country. Peter 
 Pindar, by-the-bye, has some stanzas on a similar occurrence.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 51 
 
 struck mute with admiration for a brief space, when 
 she, wondering that he did not proceed, ventured 
 to look up, and yet more, to obligingly prompt 
 him in the words that hung suspended on his 
 tongue. He was speedily recalled to himself, took 
 the ' pious hint,' poured forth the suspended beni- 
 son, and the Beauty of Buttermere was accordingly 
 confirmed !*' 
 
 " A compliment, indeed, to the miracle of her 
 charms ! And pray, out of so many admirers as 
 she must possess, who, of all others, may be the 
 happy swain whose addresses she smiles favourably 
 on?" 
 
 " Why, really, I believe no one can hitherto 
 account himself thus blessed ! And yet she is no 
 ' scornful damsel,* as the old ballads have it, nor 
 difficult to please ; but is, I fancy, somewhat above 
 the common level of her rustic admirers; and 
 what is more, values her freedom too well to be 
 willing to forfeit it " 
 
 *' A very Dian of these wilds !" observed Ren- 
 more. 
 
 " And let me add," continued the Doctor, as- 
 suming a look and tone of greater gravity, as he 
 now, with becoming respect for the '' main chance," 
 lowered his voice, " let me add, that she is right to 
 be cautious how she disposes of herself and her 
 freedom, for she will have a very pretty property 
 D 2 
 
 OI^IVERSITY OF iiimm 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 one of these days, when Dame Wether by (you are 
 aware the Beauty is no other than her daughter) 
 adjourns from this little hostelrie to that universal 
 ' Traveller's Rest/ the grave ! Nay, it will be 
 worth any gentleman's while even to seek the hap- 
 piness of her hand." 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Renmore, on whom this piece 
 of information failed not, evidently, to make a 
 certain impression; which, however, he turned 
 aside as he remarked somewhat abruptly, " pooh ! 
 pooh ! the man who may be fortunate enough to 
 win the renowned Beauty will have a dower 
 sufficiently rich in her charms ! But, by-the-bye, 
 you were saying something in our conversation 
 before dinner about this preacher — this — what's his 
 
 name 
 
 ?" 
 
 " Quandish ! ay ! the fellow who has equal im- 
 pudence and cunning to pay her his addresses, in 
 which he is encouraged by her mother; who would 
 consider her alliance with such a pattern of piety 
 as a beatification of which St. Cecilia might her- 
 self be jealous !" 
 
 " And what does the B eauty say to her saintly 
 admirer ?" 
 
 " Why, she sees through the mask of his pre- 
 tended saintship, which would be enough to make 
 him despicable in her eyes, were he not an object 
 of her dislike in himself, and independently of his 
 mock vocation of sanctity !"
 
 ^oWt-Qi^^^'^^v.f. 
 
 J.oinlaii,TuKlisiiein
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 53 
 
 '* And how does her mother receive this unmask- 
 ing of her favourite preacher ?'* 
 
 " There is the grievance ! and Gertrude is under 
 a cloud somewhat, for the undisguised manner in 
 which she at once expresses to her mother, not 
 only her disgust of this Quandish, but her regret 
 that her parent should be so much under the in- 
 fluence of his persuasion and saintly quackery !'* 
 
 " Ah, then, this accounts for the corners of the 
 good dame*s mouth being drawn so demurely 
 down when her daughter was mentioned ! I thoui^ht 
 she received the compliments paid Gertrude with 
 singular stiffness. But I long to set eyes on this 
 marvel of the place — this ' beauty' /?«r excellence! 
 though I question much if I did not, at the close 
 of my rambles this day, witness a loveliness that 
 would vie with" . . . and here he started, as Ger- 
 trude herself entered the room, while he con- 
 tinued ..." and whom I recognise in the fair 
 person I now see before me ! I do honour to the 
 beauty which struck me at first sight," he added, 
 as he rose and bowed to the lovely girl with so 
 much graceful gallantry, mingled with so much 
 chastened respect and real pleasure at meeting her 
 again, that it could scarcely fail to plead yet more 
 in his favour with the fair object to whom it was 
 addressed. At least we may suppose so, to judge 
 from the glowing blush that overspread her cheeks,
 
 54 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 and the smile that added sweetness to a counte- 
 nance whose downcast graces shewed now " to 
 perfection" (as the little Doctor afterwards de- 
 clared) those long silken lashes that had produced 
 so powerful an effect on the worthy prelate. 
 
 '' I thought," continued Renmore, " that the 
 lovely herd-mistress that stole my heart as she left 
 me on yonder heights of Buttermere could be no 
 other than its far-famed « Beauty !' " 
 
 " Oh ! what you have met before, eh, Ger- 
 trude ?" asked the Doctor ; to which inquiry Ger- 
 trude replied with a smile, as she proceeded to 
 place the dessert on the table, to which stage the 
 repast had now arrived. 
 
 " Yes !" proceeded Renmore, speaking both for 
 her and himself, " we met for a moment, and what 
 is more, I asked her to direct me to the best inn 
 in the village, and also where I might be happy 
 enough to catch a glimpse of ' the Beauty' — both 
 which requests she fled me without granting." 
 
 " Ay, because she knew you could not be long 
 before you discovered both ! Eh, Gertrude ?" 
 
 " I hope, Sir, you had no difficulty in finding 
 your way ?" she replied, with the same modest 
 cheerfulness and native grace that had already 
 worked such a spell on Renmore, and which en- 
 hanced so much the charm of her person and coun- 
 tenance. As she spoke, her eyes were raised for a
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 55 
 
 moment on Ren move's face, and then sank down 
 again softly as the blush that came and went on 
 her lovely cheek. 
 
 *' Oh, no," said the young officer, (for such 
 he appeared to be,) while the arch little Doctor 
 fancied he perceived somewhat of a hesitation in 
 his tone that was not unfrequently the case with 
 those who were rash enough to engage in a 
 dialogue with the Beauty. '« No," he continued ; 
 " but I fear I shall have a less easy task in finding 
 my way out of this spot than into it, now I have 
 discovered one who will render it so difficult for 
 me to leave it." 
 
 '' That were unfortunate indeed, Sir," rejoined 
 Gertrude, w^ith her usual becoming archness. 
 '' And yet, I have heard that gentlemen like your- 
 self do not generally find it so difficult to take 
 their leave, when inclination prompts them, what- 
 ever claims there might once have been to bid 
 them stay." And as she spoke, the blush again 
 involuntarily rose, giving a new charm to her words 
 and countenance. 
 
 " Hey, Colonel ! What? Gertrude !" exclaimed 
 the facetious Doctor. '' Why, I do believe you 
 are smitten with each other already." 
 
 Gertrude, as she now withdrew, did but laugh at 
 the Doctor's bantering ; for it was quite " in his 
 style" to amuse himself with a pleasantry wherever
 
 56 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 there was an excuse for one. She laughed with 
 her wonted cheerful simplicity and modest gaiety, 
 which laugh was the only token of dissent (if such 
 it was) which she gave in return to his raillery. 
 As for Renmore, like a true soldier, he spolfe his 
 mind bluntly enough, as we may believe, at least, 
 when he said, " For my part. Doctor, I make no 
 scruple in owning you have said no more than the 
 truth. Smitten I am, and am not ashamed to 
 avow it !" 
 
 " And strange would it be," rejoined the merry 
 Doctor, as he poured out a glass of claret, " if you 
 were not ! To see Gertrude and be simultaneously 
 smitten is a matter of course. The spell is univer- 
 sal ; it puts me in mind of the Arabian Nights* story, 
 where I don't know how many of the Sultan's liege 
 subjects are, one and all, overtaken with the sway 
 of the enchanter, and held tight in one position, or 
 set a-singing, or mastered at any rate, in some way 
 or other, by some one paramount law of magic ! 
 — So let us drink the Beauty's very good health," 
 he added, pushing the claret to Renmore. 
 
 " With all my heart. Doctor," replied the Colo- 
 nel, filling his glass; " but yourself! have not you 
 too been sensible ?" — 
 
 " Oh ! Z — a man of my tender susceptibility ! — 
 of course I have been amongst the foremost who 
 have bowed beneath the spell of the enchantress.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 57 
 
 Bless me, I should be quite hurt — quite offended — 
 if I thought that you imagined me insensible 
 enough to her charms as^ not to be smitten — ac- 
 cording to the universal fashion !" 
 
 Though the Doctor might banter, and scarcely 
 be able to feel serious on any subject, or perhaps 
 give Renmore credit for being so on the present 
 occasion, yet we can only say, that we are more 
 willing to believe the sincerity of his avowal than 
 the justice of the Doctor's banter. Nay, we have 
 a better opinion of him for the frankness of his 
 confession ; and trust sincerely, if destiny, circum- 
 stance, misfortune, or darker causes, rendered 
 disguise at times a necessary precaution, yet that, 
 in the present instance, he spoke as he felt, and 
 without dissimulation. 
 
 Well, indeed, might he be " smitten," to adopt 
 again the homely phrase of the Doctor's banter ; 
 for if the lovely herd-mistress had appeared all 
 beautiful on Renmore's first rencontre with her, 
 her charms, if possible, appeared to yet more ad- 
 vantage in the guise in which they were now arrayed 
 at the close of the domestic duties of the day. After 
 the "mighty matter" of preparing the char had been 
 concluded, (since to no other artiste than herself 
 would Esdaile trust an experiment, on the success of 
 which his peace of mind so anxiously depended,) 
 she had hastened to perform her evening's simple 
 D 3
 
 58 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 toilet. A beauty like hers well illustrated the pic- 
 ture of the poet, in being " adorned the most when 
 unadorned." If she was lovely as any Dryad smil- 
 ing through the golden security of Arcadian glades 
 when she first beamed on Renmore's sight in the 
 wilder floating gear of her rustic drapery — skim- 
 ming, with light step, the sunset-slope — her form 
 perhaps appeared with added grace in the sym- 
 metry and elegance which the closer dress she now 
 wore was calculated to display. Her ivory neck, 
 and the pure transparent complexion below it, 
 were all given to the worship (we may justly say) 
 of Renmore's eye, since, according to the fashion of 
 the period, the dress was worn lower than a 
 better taste has since adopted. But those virgin 
 snows — that demeanour of modesty and native dig- 
 nity combined — beamed on the heart of the gazer 
 and on Renmore's, not to pamper the eye of sordid 
 passion, but to banish every thought that could 
 desecrate their purity, or attune itself to less ge- 
 nerous, less exalted themes than admiration and 
 devotion ! You, over whose remembrance the 
 artificial semblance of Lely's patrician canvas 
 awakes, as we are depicting the peculiar mode of 
 dress in which '* the Beauty*' was arrayed, banish 
 such unworthy dreams from your minds, and regret 
 that the artist had not drawn his figures from a 
 chaster model. You would then have acknowledged
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 59 
 
 how much higher a grace, how much more bewitch- 
 ing a tone and feature, the finishing bloom of 
 modesty, of native simplicity, and the guileless 
 affections of the heart beaming through the brow, 
 can impart to decorate beauty ! Ye would then 
 have seen the triumph of true loveliness over the 
 spurious lustre, the voluptuous languor of tinselled 
 charms, — the painter's soul would have been puri- 
 fied, and his pencil dipped in the colours of poesy 
 — the colours themselves (as Milton says) ^' of 
 heaven !" All was pure, in truth, as it was bewitch- 
 ing around her, as Renmore's heart could well 
 testify, where she walked, as Byron sings, in " the 
 light of her beauty."
 
 60 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " The broad and yellow moon 
 Shone dimly through the fairy's form. 
 
 The lovely dreamer's eyes are closed. 
 
 Sudden arose 
 lanthe's soul ! all beautiful in naked purity." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 A CALMER spirit now pervades the scene. The 
 rural echoes of lea, and down, and hill-slope no 
 longer found a tongue in the lowings of the kine, 
 which had now sought to house them in shed and 
 stall for the night ; and the airy foot of the lovely 
 herd-mistress had given way, over moonlight slope 
 and lawn, to the fabled footings of essences scarce 
 more sylph-like than herself. The broad shadow 
 of the cliff spread over those star-silvered waters, 
 and beneath its trancing night-canopy the bittern 
 hushed its cry and folded the wing to roost in its 
 sedgy lair along the meer bank below. The shard- 
 borne beetle was abroad with the bat, and brushed
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 61 
 
 against the window where the companions sat, as it 
 winged past on its " droning flight." The angler 
 was about to recommend an '^ adjournment'^ to rest 
 — a proposal to which Ren more, too happy to be 
 left to himself, was most willing to assent, when his 
 answer was arrested by a voice which sounded some- 
 what like an ill omen on his ear. The forlorn and 
 lugubrious cry of the screech-owl, whose hootings 
 occasionally resounded from some hollow tree, 
 where it had emerged from its nest to complain to the 
 moon, was music and *' sweet numbers" compared 
 to it ! It was the voice of some one conversing 
 with the landlady of the hostelry in the entrance 
 passage ; and Renmore thought it proceeded from 
 a person he knew, or had known, in consequence 
 of a certain hollow and monotonous tone that cha- 
 racterized it, and which he considered he could 
 scarcely mistake. The recollections and sensations 
 it awakened could not be associated with any very 
 pleasurable circumstances, if it occasioned the 
 colour transitorily to forsake his clieek, while his 
 breath was drawn in for awhile as he listened to 
 the purport of the conversation. Dr. Esdaile had 
 turned away to look out at the window, and enjoy, 
 in the beauty of the " moonlight sheen" of glade 
 and lustrous air, the prospect of a " charming mor- 
 row for the char," through the next day's angling. 
 Thus, then, did Renmore overhear the parley :
 
 62 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Ay, if we go with a hearty determination to 
 find him, we shall not seek him in vain. At least 
 I sincerely trust so." 
 
 " True, true, indeed !" replied dame Wetherby, 
 in a style where the '* sing-song" sanctimonious 
 tone eminently predominated. '* Would that all 
 that had endeavoured to find him had gone about 
 the good work with a zeal equal to your own 1" 
 
 " Why, whom are they talking of seeking?" asked 
 Renmore hastily of his companion. Meantime, the 
 only difference perceptible in the voice he now heard 
 and that of the person to whom he fancied it be- 
 longed was a certain nasal twang, more than a 
 semitone of which had been caught by the worthy 
 and pious landlady in her reply. 
 
 " I don^t wonder," replied the Doctor, in a sub- 
 dued tone, and trying to look decorously grave, 
 though the smile that lurked in the corner of his lip 
 denoted something like a reprobation of '' cant" — 
 " I don't wonder at your inquiring whom they are 
 talking of seeking !" 
 
 *«Whom? whom?" 
 
 " Why — what is assuredly a very proper duty 
 when entered on with proper feelings — they are, in 
 fact, talking of « seeking the Lord,' in the lan- 
 guage of that vocabulary which puritanism, at one 
 period of our history, and * cant' at all times 
 almost, uses."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 63 
 
 *' And the persons talking ?" 
 
 *' Are no other than the gentleman of pious and 
 oratorical notoriety, Mr. Quandish, and our worthy 
 landlady. The preacher has formed one of a tea- 
 party, and these are the ' parting words,* as he is 
 now taking leave of his hostess." 
 
 " Oh, that is all !" replied Renmore, smiling, 
 and turning away with an air of pretended indif- 
 ference — '« Only, they talked so loudly that I could 
 not help overhearing them, and noticing the cha- 
 racter of their remarks." 
 
 '* Yes," replied Dr. Esdaile, jocularly, '« there is 
 no mistaking the deep voice and sonorous twang of 
 the worthy ' methodist-parson,' as the vulgar more 
 unceremoniously term it. A thief under sentence 
 of death might as easily mistake the purport of the 
 judgment being pronounced on him !'' 
 
 " A-hem ! a-hem ! Yes, indeed," said Renmore, 
 " it is a peculiar voice !" And here, if he had been, 
 at first, under any alarm, it was now all dispelled 
 by the purport of the conversation, as it thus pro- 
 ceeded between the preacher and his worthy prose- 
 lyte, dame Wetherby. 
 
 '« You will make my respects," continued Quan- 
 dish, '^ to the fair damsel — to Miss Wetherby — 
 beautiful (yea, and in verity) as a rose of Sharon ! 
 You will make my respects to the damsel ; and am 
 sorry she denied us the pleasure of her company
 
 64 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 this evening. Our party without her was mournful 
 as is the hearth of desolation in a ruined abode ! 
 Yea, indeed was it !" 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Quandish !" replied the hostess, whose 
 aspect of demureness we may imagine was now 
 heightened by a look of pious regret — " Ah, I 
 should be sorry to think that the girl was one of 
 the ' stiff-necked generation,' but '' 
 
 '' Nay, blame not the damsel ! she is as the 
 musk-bed where the fawn playeth — all sweet- 
 ness." 
 
 " You speak too kindly of the ' perverse one,' 
 for suqh she is, for always absenting herself (I 
 grieve to say it) whenever you happ>en to favour 
 my poor house with your company, worthy Mr. 
 Quandish." 
 
 (" A good hint, I should think now, to the 
 blockhead to keep out of the way !" said Esdaile, 
 commenting on the remark thus overheard. 
 
 " One should imagine so indeed !" replied Ren- 
 more, while the Doctor added, " You mistake, 
 dame ! Gertrude.- is not perverse, though a girl of 
 spirit. On the contrary, she is of the best and 
 tenderest disposition !") 
 
 " Ay, but," continued the demure " mamma," 
 " we know that much importuning doth gain our 
 prayer at last. The stone that is long impressed 
 with the falling of the water-drop doth at length
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 65 
 
 wear the mark of the same on its breast, although 
 it be hard ; and the '' 
 
 And here the flow of sanctimonious eloquence 
 bid fair to out-prose even the oratory of the feli- 
 citous Quandish himself, but that it was cut "short 
 in medio^^ like Hudibras' adventure of the bear 
 and fiddle, by sundry voices addressing the pious 
 man and dame Wetherby at the same time. These 
 proceeded from some matronly village gossips who 
 had adorned with their presence the tea-party, (or 
 "tea- total" party, as it is called now-a-days,) of 
 which the '* Magnus Apollo" had been the me- 
 thodist preacher. 
 
 '• Come along, Mr. Quandish," said one. 
 
 " It is growing quite late, as sure as I live !" 
 exclaimed another. 
 
 " Dear me ! if the lake does not shine like a new 
 shilling under the moonlight, for all the world as 
 bright as silver !" said a third gossip ; " so good 
 night, Mrs. Wetherby." 
 
 " Good night, Harm !" 
 
 <' Good night, Mawm !" 
 
 The last repetition of which valedictory burden 
 having been now twanged forth in recitative by 
 Quandish and his hostess, the matrons who had 
 commenced it succeeded in bearing off in triumph 
 to the village the favourite preacher, while dame 
 Wetherby gave directions to a domestic to close
 
 66 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the doors of the hostelry as she now retired to 
 rest. 
 
 " And now I can make my escape," said Doctor 
 Esdaile, " since my respected landlady has marched 
 up stairs. For unfortunately being < honoured' 
 with the good dame's confidence, she generally 
 fixes on me when she is more than ordinarily 
 communicative, (which, no doubt, is the case this 
 evening,) to inflict on me the penance of hear- 
 ing all her qualms, worldly, domestic, and reli- 
 gious." 
 
 '« Nay, it shews that you are regarded as a 
 friend amongst your rural patients ; and they must 
 have a deep sense of your condescension at once 
 and kindness to them, thus to fly to you for the 
 healing of their mental wounds and uneasiness no 
 less than physical." 
 
 " Fm much obliged to them ! but with many of 
 them I find that the good nature and tone of fami- 
 liarity with which I would wish to treat them all 
 is sometimes a little abused, and subjects me to 
 inconvenience." 
 
 *' The fact is, it is difficult often to shew kind- 
 ness or familiarity towards people without finding 
 it is either abused or presumed upon. I do not, 
 indeed, speak universally, but from what my own 
 experience has often taught me to be the case. 
 But the ' confidence' so eminent a dame "
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 67 
 
 " And so eminently « prosaic,* you may add, as 
 our good hostess, is no less disagreeable an in- 
 fliction than the abuse of one's good nature !** 
 
 '* Assuredly, nothing is more inconvenient than 
 to be teased by the confidence (as it is called) 
 of weak-minded or qualmish persons." 
 
 " You are never seen but seized on as a crutch 
 for them to lean upon, until the weight of their 
 grievances fairly breaks you down — and you then 
 make your excuse and escape together. But good 
 night. Colonel ! for it is time we were ' a-bed,' if 
 we wish to be ' a-field' early to-morrow. Good 
 night !" So saying, the Doctor took up his hand- 
 candlestick and retired. 
 
 "... To be thus frighted by shadows from my 
 propriety, " thought Ren more to himself, when left 
 alone, " by a mere voice ! Alas ! it is thus with 
 conscience, that hears a voice in every wind, — that 
 sees me walk this turbid, dangerous track of life, as 
 if I were stepping at every moment on spring- 
 traps ! . . . how altered am I from what I was ! . .'* 
 and then, after a pause, he continued, "yet I 
 never heard a voice more like his. . . . But 
 why vex myself? since it was a mistake, a ' false 
 alarm.* " With this feeling he dismissed his 
 unpleasant apprehensions, (too justifiable indeed !) 
 and with the spirit of confidence and venture that 
 was natural to him, determined to snatch any op-
 
 68 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 portunity offered him of ameliorating his fortunes, 
 and taking advantage of any happier plan of ac- 
 tion presented to him. It is needless to say that 
 this happier change in the spirit of his dream was 
 effected under the tranquillizing at once and in- 
 spiring thought of Gertrude ; and in the happiness 
 found in that interest for her which his heart had 
 worthily conceived, he sought a refuge from the 
 intrusion of every more painful recollection. . . . 
 " Beautiful — and with the prospect of a handsome 
 competency !" he reflected, " My heart and the 
 condition of my circumstances both conspire to 
 make me aim at winning her. Did I love her less 
 than I feel I do, yet the state of my fortunes 
 prompts me not to throw away the chance of 
 placing myself out of the reach of thy malice, gall- 
 ing and bitter Circumstance ! I feel the atten- 
 tions even I have already paid her — such atten- 
 tions, at least, as could be conveyed by the insinu- 
 ation of address — are not indifferent to her ; and 
 strengthened by time, may they not secure her 
 heart — make her mine ! She cannot be blind to 
 the circumstance of the impression she has made 
 on me ! What female heart — what female sus- 
 ceptibility is ever blind to such an effect ? And I 
 think I may hope she is not on her part disin- 
 clined towards me. . . . The interest I shewed con- 
 cerning her friend Mr. Fenton — the interest too
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 69 
 
 that I evinced, of a different character, as regarded 
 herself, made a certain impression on her which I 
 could not but detect. . . . Could I win her, wear 
 her ! . . . interested in her singularly as I am, and 
 my affection yet increased, (as it would be,) with 
 the gratitude I should feel towards her, as rescuing 
 me from my present anguish, uncertainty, and 
 turmoil — should I not make her happy ? Should 
 I not be happy myself ? Abroad we should find 
 an asylum, and seek other and safer climes than 
 this, where content might yet be met. The scoffs 
 of the world in this country I could set at nought, 
 and fling from me the remembrance of those cala- 
 mities that urged me to crime, at the same time 
 that the murmur of those scoffs would die away 
 behind me like a far-fading echo ! Yes, it must 
 be attempted ! . . . No one, it appears, stands in 
 my way. This preacher, this Quandish, is an ob- 
 ject of her disgust. . . Now is the time ! . . . What 
 better plan offers ? what better hopes arise ? As 
 soon as our growing acquaintance will permit, I 
 will make her a proposal. . . With a wish to make 
 the partner of my choice, of my affection, happy, 
 and be happy myself, — what worthier determina- 
 tion can I settle on pursuing ? And then, is not 
 her regard for Fenton, the good clergyman, a se- 
 cret link between us ? Yes, as much so as it is a 
 cause of her distaste for this dissentinor saint.
 
 70 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 What should I care for the world had I but Ger- 
 trude to bless me ? We would be a world to each 
 other ! — Enough, it shall be so ! Ch'cumstance — 
 the fears of the past — the hopes of the future — the 
 wish to rescue her from the importunity of one she 
 dislikes — the favourable opportunity this very cir- 
 cumstance offers of the better recommending my^ 
 self to her — the defiance of fortune, and the malice 
 of man — no less than the love I bear herself, — all, 
 all prompt me to the dear endeavour." 
 
 So saying to himself, as he paced up and down 
 the room, he now took up the candle and pro- 
 ceeded to his chamber with a heart confirmed 
 and strengthened by resolve, and a step lighter at 
 once and more assured. He stopped for a mo- 
 ment on the landing-place at the top of the stairs, 
 which commanded a view of the meer. The beauty 
 of the scene — the boughs bending over the 
 water, and tinted with the same chaste silvery 
 lustre in which the moonlight heavens had ar- 
 rayed the wave — held him for awhile gazing with 
 admiration on it as though the effect of some magic 
 charm : — such was the radiance at once and tran- 
 quillity of the spell diffused around I It seemed as 
 though the spirit of the night glided over the calm 
 bosom of the lake in a car of silver, and as Ren- 
 more followed in his mind's eye this pleasing fancy, 
 these words escaped him : — " And why should not
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 71 
 
 scenes lovely as this be found, where life might be 
 happiness for her sake, for Gert — " 
 
 Scarcely had her name escaped his lips, and 
 ere yet it was fully pronounced, as he was now 
 turning away from the landing-place towards the 
 gallery, he was surprised by the form of Ger- 
 trude herself. She had, in fact, passed him as he 
 stood looking from the window, but so light was 
 her step that he had not heard it. The light of 
 the candle she held was not so dim but that he 
 could discern the blush that glowed on her cheek 
 at having detected him in the mention of her own 
 name, while, scarcely less confused than herself, 
 he wished her a good night as collectedly as he 
 could. 
 
 " Good night, Gert. . . . Miss Wetherby !'* he 
 said — " I was thinking — of the beauty of the view 
 that window commands. ... I was thinking . . . 
 of all that was lovely !" and so saying, he made 
 her a bow marked with all that respectful deference 
 which had not failed already to impress her as re- 
 garded his manner, and which doubtless imparts 
 to it its chief effect upon the female heart, and 
 proceeded hastily past her. 
 
 She acknowledged his " good night" with a 
 curtsey, her eyes being bent at the same time on 
 the ground, and turned down a passage in an 
 opposite direction on her way to her own chamber.
 
 72 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 As Renmore passed the room of Dr. Esdaile — 
 who, according to the nomenclature of hostelries, 
 was the '* Number 3," while himself was the 
 " Number 1" of the gallery — he was greeted by 
 the nasal music that proclaimed the merry little 
 man was fast locked in the arms of sleep. " Rosy 
 dreams" and slumbers " sound,'* if not " light," 
 according to the more elegant idea of the poet, 
 were his. Rosy were they as the gills of the 
 char, on angling for which he doubtless dreamed, 
 led along through the mazes of his dream by the 
 meanderings of some favourite brook, and smiling 
 in his sleep at his own ingenuity in casting his fly 
 in a " likely spot,*' and just on the tip of the rip- 
 pling flood, to be eagerly " risen for'* by the hungry 
 fish. We think we hear him cry out in his sleep, 
 " I've hooked him ! and a beauty too !" while the 
 expert angler now trundles forth his line from the 
 reel, and after playing with the fish, draws him 
 complacently up and lands him in his hand net. 
 Such were Esdaile's dreams. Mrs. Wetherby's 
 had no doubt led her down to that fane of '« sanc- 
 timonious" rather than "sacred" oratory, where 
 she hung on the rhapsodies of the Buttermere 
 Rowland Hill, Quandish; while the nasal music 
 which witnessed the soundness of her slumber 
 resounded in chorus with the echoes of that sublime 
 predication which so edified her dream.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 73 
 
 Renmore had now courted his pillow in search 
 of the " rest" which every " traveller" under that 
 roof now enjoyed, carrying out to its fullest extent 
 the recommendation of its sign, or name. His 
 dreams, too, promised to be no less a world of 
 delight to him than those of the Doctor and his 
 respected landlady. '* How lovely she looked as she 
 blushed at the mention of her name she overheard 
 escape me !" he exclaimed, as he entered his cham- 
 ber. " She turned not away I no frown marked 
 displeasure at discovering that I thought of her ! 
 Herself invites me to love her, and confirms me in 
 the happy resolve I have taken to make her the 
 object of my suit !" Such were his words, and 
 such the happy thoughts which possessed him, and 
 in whose delight and radiance all darker reflections 
 were now merged and dissolved. 
 
 He felt a " strange delight" which he had never 
 yet experienced. He felt transported at once to 
 some clime of beatitude and brightness such as that 
 which the Arabian bard pictures, where he tells of 
 the golden boughs, the sparkling fountains, the 
 singing bird, and the luxurious rose-garden of his 
 fable ! Such were the thoughts whose hues coloured 
 the dreams of Renmore ; and, to heighten all, he 
 saw her form amid their radiance, from whose aspect 
 all their bliss and light emanated — he dreamed of 
 Gertrude. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Well might the ancients invest the passion of 
 love with divine attributes, since humanity is never 
 so near akin to the exalted harmony, the beatitude 
 and purity of heaven, as when love lights its spark 
 of feeling, and kindles it at once with generous 
 aspiration no less than devotional glow ! It was a 
 sublime and beautiful "cunning*' in the genius of 
 antiquity to array all the loftier duties, no less than 
 the nobler passions, in the colours of heaven itself! — 
 that is, under divine personifications ; for its sages 
 knew that the chord of feeling was most truly 
 touched when the soul was tuned to the harmony 
 of worship. And in this sublime deception prac- 
 tised on the mind, Honour, the Social Graces or 
 Charities, Virtue, Labour, Renown, martial and 
 civic, were all deified, and solemnized by the spirit 
 as sacred and divine. 
 
 If, like one of the genii in a tale of enchantment, 
 we have taken wing and hovered over the pillows 
 of those already mentioned as courting repose, and 
 witnessed them smile through their sleep in happy 
 dreams, shall we forget Gertrude ? Her purer spirit 
 ought to smile yet more brightly, and through a 
 sleep irradiated with yet lovelier dreams ! 
 
 We left her pursuing her way to her chamber, lit 
 by the light of her own blushes not less than that 
 of the taper which she bore. A statuary, to have 
 seen her pass airily by, would have thought of the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 75 
 
 graces of his favourite Psyche. Scarcely had she 
 entered the chamber than she gave utterance to the 
 thoughts which possessed her heart. Smile on them, 
 chaste Night, and approve them ! " Then he 
 thinks of me ! I heard my name escape his lips ! 
 Never, except in the instance of Mr. Fenton, my 
 childhood's friend and monitor, did I see any one 
 in whom I felt I could so worthily place confi- 
 dence. . . . And then his interest in the subject 
 when I mentioned the name of that excellent friend 
 and guide ! . . . Can he be acquainted with him ? 
 . . . And would Mr. Fenton sanction my at- 
 tachm — ?" . . . And here she checked herself as 
 the blush rose at the avowal her tongue gave to the 
 secret of her heart. . . . " It is in vain to disiruise 
 from myself," she continued, " that the manner in 
 which this stranger has addressed me contrasts 
 itself too favourably to the nauseating importunity 
 and uncouth advances of that hypocritical minister 
 (she meant Quandish) not to speak to my heart in 
 his behalf. But what am I saying ! these are 
 foolish thoughts, and for suffering which to occupy 
 my mind a moment I am to blame. How vain, 
 how idle are our secret thoughts often, and * what 
 extravagant superstructures (as Mr. Fenton used 
 to say) do we raise on what light and uncertain 
 foundations !' Here am I, in this humble walk of 
 life which I tread — here am I, just because I have 
 E 2
 
 76 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 felt a little flattered by the trifling attention of one 
 so much my superior in station, harbouring fancies 
 at which my better sense can but smile. No, no ; 
 a person of birth and superior station in society 
 can mean little more than to flatter the vanity of a 
 humble village girl, how^ever decently brought up 
 she may have been, vi^hen he offers her attention. 
 . . . And yet," (spoke Nature, unwilling to forfeit 
 so pleasing a contemplation,) *^ is sincerity incon- 
 sistent with the attentions I have been sensible of? 
 Or am I mistaken in believing the character I speak 
 of as being too generous and too honestly proud 
 to tamper merely with the esteem he is so well able 
 to awaken ?" 
 
 She sfave voice to these meditations as she stood 
 
 o 
 
 looking out, at the casement, on the lawn and its 
 parterres, theshrubs,theflowers, andall the favourite 
 objects of her daily care. Her eye rested on them, 
 indeed, but not now to heed them ; for the objects 
 which her musings followed were seen by her mind's 
 eye, and the images it rested on were from within ! 
 Dim and vision-like those mazes of earth spread 
 before her, "glistering" in the dewy vapour that 
 robed them as with a veil, and gleamed, softly 
 tinted, in the silvery starlight. More lovely from 
 their very imperfectness, they " dreamed before 
 her ;" nor less pleasing nor less imperfect were the 
 objects that she dwelt on in the hopes and fears
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 77 
 
 that now strangely, and for the first time, met her 
 as she looked into her heart. But these visions, 
 however naturally entertained by a young, a sus- 
 ceptible mind, called forth, too, as they were, by the 
 challenge that had been addressed to them, were 
 speedily dismissed ; and Gertrude turned away from 
 
 them and the casement at which she had stood toffe- 
 es 
 
 ther, with a smile at what she had considered her own 
 vanity ; while she now addressed herself to repose. 
 
 She had turned away, indeed, from those thoughts, 
 but they still recurred to her in the dream that 
 illumined her pillow. They still recurred in all 
 their loveliness, pure and bright (to use Dryden's 
 well-known illustration) " as young diamonds in 
 their ' infant dew.' " Fairer to the mental vision, 
 we may well say, is that bosom's interior, the shrine 
 of that pure spirit, than -even her outward graces 
 to the eye ! Her soft cheek was slightly flushed, as 
 she slept, with the joy of her vision, a smile playing 
 on the lips; and she fancied that she saw herself 
 again transported to the sunset-slope where Ren- 
 more first met her, invested, as has been described, 
 in its golden light, and that of her own blushes, as 
 he addressed her. The manly grace of his form, 
 and the distinction of his bearing — its native pride 
 softened by the gentleness of his address — all awoke 
 before her vividly as it had first greeted her. But 
 the charm of the present moment was greater than
 
 78 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that of the real period reflected in her dream. The 
 distance of incipient acquaintance did not warp the 
 pleasure of this ideal meeting with any " strange- 
 ness !" No ; hand in hand with him, Gertrude, 
 with a lighter foot than usual, seemed to skim the 
 sunny slope ; and onward they rambled through 
 mazes of flowers and banks, sweet with thyme as 
 Hymettus of old ; there she fancied they sought their 
 home, amid realms of so much charm and content, 
 and yet more in that happier world of each other's 
 confidence and love ! Such were the harmonies of 
 those thoughts their hearts respired ; such were the 
 thoughts, too, that mutually found a tongue ! On- 
 ward they wandered. A venerable figure met them, 
 and smiled as he breathed his benison on them and 
 said, " It is well, my children !" In that smile of 
 
 benevolence the countenance of Fenton was recog- 
 
 o 
 
 nised, and as he turned from them, they continued 
 to proceed through the bright labyrinth of content, 
 and bloom, and security which they had sought, 
 when, lo ! the purple light of that dream became 
 overcast, and as, engaged in each other's converse, 
 where soul reflected soul, they were beguiling the 
 summer hours securely under a canopy woven with 
 roses, and myrtle, and agnus castus flower, they 
 were suddenly startled from their rest. The fearful 
 yell of a tempest it was that now raged around 
 them ; and as they both rose, pale and scared, and
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 79 
 
 attempted to fly, they found themselves held back 
 by an arm that sternly grappled with them. On 
 looking round to witness the antagonist that, with a 
 strength like the twinings of some huge serpent — 
 some Laocoon's '* asp," — held them back, they re- 
 cognised a countenance dark with malice and fiend- 
 ish purpose — it was that of Quandish. They 
 endeavoured in their struggle to turn back again 
 to the canopy of roses, but the forked lightnings 
 only gleamed over it to shew things loathsome — 
 toads and adders, and the foul decay of a charnel 
 vault, strewed with skulls, that seemed to grin on 
 them in mockery of their terror. They then strove 
 to fly forward again, still wrestling with the " difi&- 
 cult" hand of their antagonist, whose grasp was no 
 sooner fought away from than it seemed to clench 
 itself again on them with increased firmness. . . . 
 " Ha ! ha !" he seemed to cry out, with fiendish 
 glee, " I will mar the happy ramble I am forbidden 
 to share !" And the earth now yawned beneath 
 them, and the side of the precipice on which they 
 combated stood naked towards the gulf that gaped, 
 fathoms deep, below it. Oh the anguish of that 
 struggle ! — its powerlessness to wrest them away 
 from the gripe of the enemy, and the terror lest 
 another movement might hurl them, in its lost 
 footing, down the steep. Yet if this was their doom, 
 it was not quite unavenged, for in the agony now
 
 80 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 of the " close," and in the last effort to snatch 
 themselves away from the dreaded brink of the 
 precipice, their footing failed, and headlong they 
 were hurled down it, dragging along with them 
 their keen antagonist. His demoniac laugh still 
 sounded in their ears, clearly audible despite their 
 own cries and the elemental roar of the tempest 
 that still battled around them. " Ha ! ha !" it 
 shouted, *' I will yet mar the happy" . . . and 
 then a wracking gust of wind drowned the strain, 
 which instantly, however, burst forth again. . . . 
 " Ha ! ha ! I will yet mar the happy ramble I am 
 forbidden to" . . . and here the stunning crash of 
 the rock that fell with them, and to which they had 
 vainly attempted to cling, as they first felt them- 
 selves about to fall, awakened a thousand echoes 
 through the gulf, and drowned that voice of fearful 
 mockery and fiendish triumph ! 
 
 It is needless to say that the smile that had played 
 on Gertrude's lip during the harmony of the earlier 
 part of her dream had fled, together with that 
 '' purple light of love" that had invested it ; and, 
 with flushed cheek, a heart beating with turbid pul- 
 sations, and breath deep drawn, she awoke, when, 
 lo ! she opened her eyes to witness the face bent 
 over her, and read the frown, betokening reproof 
 and displeasure, of her mother. 
 
 *' Gertrude ! what ! not up yet ? How is this ?
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 81 
 
 Do you know the hour? What can have made 
 you sleep so late ? Your rest seems to have been 
 a troubled one. Rise immediately, I desire of you." 
 
 The lovely herd-mistress wanted not any better 
 clock than the sun; and as she obeyed her parent's 
 summons to rise, and hurried hastily to the case- 
 nlent to look forth on the broad and cheerful licht, 
 she answered by an expression of surprise at finding 
 it so late, while she regretted not having been 
 already abroad. 
 
 The visions of the night she did not consider it 
 worth while to interpret to one from whom they 
 would have met but with reprobation. Nay, she 
 chid them herself as soon as she was left alone to 
 reflect on them. At present she satisfied her austere 
 parent by a promise that she would soon be down 
 stairs. ^' And hark !" she added, "poor Fanchette 
 and Rose (her two favourites out of the herd) are 
 callinoj to their mistress in their lowinfrs, and tell 
 me I ought long ago to have led them forth to the 
 hill- pasture. . . . Dear mother, I will soon be 
 with you. . . . Poor creatures, I will soon come to 
 you." . . . And so saying, the fair herd-mistress 
 proceeded with what dispatch she might with her 
 simple toilette, all thoughts of the dream of the 
 night being now banished in her anxiety no longer 
 to delay the accustomed and welcome duties of the 
 day. 
 
 E 3
 
 82 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 '* Painful to thee, and from thy anxious thought 
 Of dissonant mood." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Renmore's first thought in the morning, after that 
 which was devoted to Gertrude, was, how he should 
 emancipate himself politely from the companionship 
 of his '' friend" the Doctor. For, though good- 
 humoured, and good-hearted too, in the extreme, 
 yet he was not without inquisitiveness ; and his 
 society, though, as far as regarded himself alone, it 
 was perfectly innocuous, yet it might still be the 
 innocent instrument of leading our hero " across 
 others," whose neighbourhood might be fraught with 
 danger. Exercise what vigilance Renmore would 
 as to his movements, yet it still appeared to be his 
 destiny to be dragged (whether he would or no) into 
 new adventures and amongst new companions, the 
 result of which naturally kept alive in his breast a 
 perpetual apprehension.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 83 
 
 Of all the sojourners at the hospitium of tlie 
 " Traveller's Rest" the little Doctor had been the 
 most alert (or " sjyrack'^ as they call it in the North) 
 to start up and hail the " new-born day." Hurry- 
 ing on his dressing-gown, he had waddled to the 
 casement, and throwing aside the neat white and 
 pink lined curtains with which Gertrude's hand had 
 decorated it, he gazed on the face of the " orient 
 morn," as he exclaimed, " Charming ! delightful ! 
 here is a glorious day for plying rod and line !" and 
 his little round freckled face shone with joy, not quite 
 exalted enough in expression for us to say it reflected 
 that day-beam's glory, but exhibiting, in the dis- 
 tended corners of the mouth, that honest grin of 
 satisfaction and complacency which has been desig- 
 nated by various humorous authorities '* the grin 
 of a Cheshire cat." 
 
 With all alacrity, the little man's toilette being 
 dispatched, down he came to breakfast. 
 
 " Where's Colonel Renmore ?" he said to Mrs. 
 Wetherby, who was herself assisting to place the 
 breakfast things on the table. ..." Fatigued, I 
 suppose, with his yesterday's ramble, and rather 
 late in consequence ?" 
 
 *« And you are early, Sir," she replied. *' Oh, 
 it is a pleasure, verily, to be up betimes on such a 
 morning as this, and bless Heaven for the exist- 
 ence bestowed under it ! Yea, for the life which is
 
 84 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 capable of enjoying the happiness yonder bright 
 skies and the cheerful sun kindle in us !" 
 
 " Why, now, that is true, Mrs. Wetherby," 
 replied the Doctor, while he added to himself, 
 *' Pity, however, it was spoiled by the sad infection 
 of that canting air !" and then he continued aloud, 
 *^ Yes, yes, a bright sun, and the prospect of a fine 
 day's fishing never permit me to remain slumbering 
 the precious hours away ! . . . Whose portmanteau 
 is this ? How came it here ?'* 
 
 '* That, Sir, is part of the Colonel's baggage. 
 Jock, the Buttermere carrier, brought it — a grace- 
 less clown, I fear much. It arrived in the course 
 of yesterday evening, and ought to have been taken 
 up, with the rest of his things, to his room," con- 
 tinued the landlady, as she forthwith gave directions 
 to a domestic to execute this duty ; " though in 
 truth," she added, '^ the Colonel wanted not his 
 other baggage wherewithal to complete his ap- 
 parelling." 
 
 '' Stop ! stop ! stop !" cried the inquisitive 
 Doctor, as the portmanteau was being lifted away, 
 while himself was occupied in reading the address 
 on a card attached to it. " Heyday ! the Honour- 
 able Colonel Renmore, M.P,! ... So you 
 have a Member of Parliament in your house ! 
 Well, I shall not forget my friend. Colonel 
 Renmore, " M.P.," when I am in distress for a
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 85 
 
 frank ! I took him for a distinguished person at 
 first sight ; and his address, bearing, and remarks, 
 all confirmed me in my opinion." 
 
 Just as these words were uttered, in came Ren- 
 more, and the hostess received her distinguished 
 guest with a right reverent curtsey, observing, 
 " that the portmanteau in question had been just 
 sent up stairs to his room, with apologies for its not 
 having been sent up sooner. So saying, she with- 
 drew, leaving Ren more and Doctor Esdaile at 
 breakfast, a component part of which was of course 
 some broiled char, without which the genuine 
 " laker," at the period now in contemplation, 
 would feel as much under denial as a Highland 
 dweller along the banks of Spye or Inverary water 
 would without a " salmon steak." But to leave 
 the char (to which due honour has been done to 
 satisfy the keenest epicure in a preceding chapter) 
 and continue the conversation — 
 
 " And the address on the portmanteau, which 
 caught my eye," said Dr. Esdaile, " has instructed 
 me that I may make bold, when in distress for a 
 frank, to request one of Colonel Renmore — if it is 
 not taking too great a liberty." 
 
 Renmore smiled as he replied, with a polite in- 
 clination of the head, that " a frank was always at 
 the Doctor's service." 
 
 " You don't know," rejoined Esdaile, ** how
 
 86 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 much the ' good folks' in these remote regions (as 
 indeed they do everywhere) think of the favour of 
 a frank !" 
 
 *' Yes, a Member of Parliament is chiefly looked 
 on, as far as his correspondence-loving friends are 
 concerned, as an instrument of franking utility !" 
 observed Ren more, good-humouredly. 
 
 " A frankaUe animal !" exclaimed the Doctor, 
 laughing. " Oh, you will be much in request with 
 various friends in the neighbourhood to whom I 
 shall have the honour of introducing you, should 
 you permit me. Mr. Lawton, the * Squire,' (as 
 they call him,) of Blacktarn, and his fair daughter 
 Laura, will feel highly flattered by the acquisition 
 of so distinguished an acquaintance ; and " 
 
 The communicative little Doctor was running on, 
 as much pleased himself at the prospect of intro- 
 ducing the " distinguished stranger" to the circle 
 around as any of the circle itself could have been 
 at the honour of the introduction, when Renmore, 
 alarmed at the topic of society, which he w^as so 
 anxious to avoid, was obliged to interpose an excuse. 
 
 '* You are very good ; and I should have been 
 delighted to avail myself of the kind offer you make 
 me of " 
 
 " Charming girl, Laura Lawton — heiress to an 
 estate of 3000Z. a year!" . . . 
 
 '' Indeed !" . . .
 
 JA]MES HATFIELD. 87 
 
 *' And her father as excellent a person as you can 
 find anywhere.'* 
 
 '« No doubt ; no doubt.'* 
 
 " Though he has his peculiarities — his oddities ! 
 You will see them at church next Sunday, and " 
 
 " You are very good, but " 
 
 " Oh, not at all ! I shall be too happy to " 
 
 ..." Really my stay in the neighbourhood is 
 likely to be so uncertain — so short — that I can 
 hardly look forward to making any acquaintance 
 here. I should hardly hke to do so, merely to break 
 it off again so speedily. I am a mere bird of pas- 
 sage, and no sojourner here beyond taking a ramble 
 by the meer-sides and along the hills." 
 
 '* The very object, then, in which my poor ser- 
 vices can be available," replied the Doctor, deter- 
 mined not to let his distinguished friend escape 
 him, as he now rose hastily, breakfast being at 
 length terminated. " By all means, Colonel," he 
 continued, " lose no time in seeing as much of the 
 country as you can. I will myself be your guide; 
 and a little angling excursion will be just the op- 
 portunity for you to see the most charming haunts 
 it possesses. The weather is delightful ; let us lose 
 no time. 
 
 So saying, the Doctor sallied forth in quest of 
 his fishing implements, not waiting to hear the ex- 
 cuse Renmore begged to offer, as he said, '^ Really,
 
 88 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 having so many letters to write to my constituents 
 and others, I fear I must be a prisoner to-day, and 
 must decline your kind " 
 
 But Esdaile had hurried away, exhibiting a per- 
 tinacity as active as that with which he would secure 
 a fish that, though shy at first, he had at length be- 
 guiled into taking the fly. It was too happy a treat 
 for the lively Doctor, in the monotony of an exist- 
 ence in the Cumberland and Westmoreland wilds, 
 to have a new-comer to " lionize" round the region 
 of mountain and meer. His love of novelty would 
 not permit him to throw away a boon so prjovttlen- 
 tially offered, and so welcome to his bustling dispo^ 
 sition. If he heard Renmore's excuse, he would 
 not listen to it; so our hero, tacitly commiserating 
 himself for the penalty the Doctor's ofiiciousness 
 imposed on him, took up his hat, and followed his 
 " friend's" steps reluctantly to the entrance door, 
 determining to make his escape as soon as possible. 
 Meantime he looked warily forth at the porch on 
 all sides, and seeing no soul stirring to interrupt 
 the beautiful solitude of the lake and the surround- 
 ing haunts, he quieted the apprehensions which 
 any want of vigilance on his part must necessarily 
 awaken. 
 
 "My rod, my fly rod, if you please !" exclaimed 
 the angler, asking a domestic for his fishing imple- 
 ments, when they were placed in his hand by dame
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 89 
 
 Wetherby herself, who issued from a little room 
 at the side of the passage, close by the entrance — 
 a retreat which was the ** sanctum sanctorunC of 
 her meditations and parties — of piety and — tea. 
 
 '' Ah, Doctor/' she whined forth, as she came 
 into the porch where her guests were standing, '' I 
 never see you in this spot but it brings the tears 
 into my eyes, to think of the time when you used to 
 look in regularly here from your fishing to see my 
 poor dear late husband !" — and here her utterance 
 was impeded by the handkerchief, which doubtless 
 she intended to appear as though it stopped the 
 sorrow at her eyes. 
 
 " Ah ! indeed it was a period of painful uncer- 
 tainty ; but it is vain to regret over a man when 
 Death, that stern angler, has once hooked him. . . 
 This ' top' bends nicely, does it not. Colonel," he 
 broke off, exhibiting his angle rod to Ren more. . . 
 *' Ah, Mrs. Wetherby, you lost a good husband 
 when poor Mr. ... A prime piece of hazel. Co- 
 lonel," he continued, again recurring to the rod, 
 " and will * play' well if a good-sized fish tugs at 
 the line. . . . Yes, yes, Mrs. Wetherby, he was a 
 worthy man your late husband — a worthy man ! 
 But come. Colonel," he added, in an under tone, 
 "for now I fear our worthy landlady's oratory will be- 
 gin to flow — perhaps more copiously than her tears." 
 
 Nor was the Doctor mistaken, for the spring of
 
 90 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Mrs. Wetherby's sensibilities having now been 
 awakened, she would have inflicted a Jeremiad 
 which would infallibly have spoiled a good day's 
 fishing, had the angler been "remorseful" or 
 " ruthful" enough to stay and listen to it. 
 
 " A worthy man he was, you may say, Doctor," 
 continued the ' bereaved widow.' " Ah ! I re- 
 member it was his pleasure to be wheeled into this 
 porch, and sit in the sunshine, after he lost the use 
 of his limbs, poor dear man ; and Gertrude would 
 sit by his side and wait on him. Oh dear ! a poor 
 lone woman has he left me ! We did all we could 
 to keep up his flagging strength — but who shall 
 say nay to the judgments of Heaven? Man pro- 
 poses " 
 
 " But Heaven disposes !" interposed Esdaile, 
 hastily, tired now of weeping for the dead with one 
 eye and ogling at the brighter associations of life 
 with the other. ..." It is so, it is so, Mrs. We- 
 therby," he continued, shaking his head, and at the 
 same time fidgeting out of the porch-way, accom- 
 panied by Bryan, who now made his appearance 
 again, leaping upon his master. ..." Good morn- 
 ing, my dear ma'am, good morning !" — when now, 
 being fairly out of the porch, and some few steps 
 advanced on his way, he relieved himself of the 
 restraint he had been labouring under, and indulged 
 in a little laughter.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 91 
 
 " Why, what is the theme of your merriment ?" 
 inquired Renmore, smiHng. 
 
 " To hear my worthy landlady pretend to lament 
 and whine over the loss of a man that, when he was 
 alive, she slighted and could not bear." 
 
 '' What was her reason for this ? though in this 
 little piece of hypocrisy she exhibits what is wit- 
 nessed in many besides herself !" 
 
 '* No doubt, no doubt ; but the fact is as I tell 
 you. As to the reason of her dislike to her hus- 
 band, I really cannot speak — that is, for certain, 
 but " 
 
 '* But what ?" asked Renmore, as his informant 
 stopped short in his tale with a significant look. 
 
 '' Why, there was a story whispered about that 
 our Beauty of Buttermere owed her parentage, on 
 the father's side, to a higher stock than the late 
 ' good man' Wetherby !" . . . 
 
 " Indeed !" . . . 
 
 '' I don't know the truth of it, but it is whispered, 
 as I said before, that our worthy hostess was 
 ' married up,' as it is termed, to her late ' dearly 
 beloved and lamented' husband for convenience 
 sake, and at the kind suggestion of a certain noble 
 lord, also lately deceased." 
 
 '* And so (be it for what reasons it may) Mrs. 
 Wetherby's affections never entered into the mar- 
 riage contract she was induced to make?"
 
 92 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Exactly ; and this she testified, by exhibiting a 
 perpetual slight towards the late Wetherby, who, 
 having suffered from a stroke of palsy, was rendered 
 a cripple, and not long after died." 
 
 " Was Gertrude at all aware of these reasons, 
 whether truly founded or not, of her mother's dis- 
 like?" 
 
 " Not a whit. She not only believed — (as per- 
 haps, indeed, she was justified in doing, for all I 
 have mentioned is but surmise) — she not only be- 
 lieved, I say, that Wetherby was her father, but 
 ever attended him, in his decrepitude, with the 
 most constant and unremitting affection." 
 
 " Charming girl ! She is as excellent as she is 
 lovely ! In fact, it is impossible to doubt it, if you 
 only look at the suavity of her countenance ! To 
 think that her mother, who bears witness, as we 
 heard her, to her attention to her late father, should 
 maunder about her being ' perverse !' I am sure 
 she is amiability itself!" 
 
 " Ha, ha ! smitten again, young man, I must ex- 
 claim !" cried Esdaile, laughing. " But you say 
 rightly. Only see how a puritanic « turn' preju- 
 dices the mind. Dame Wetherby, be assured, was 
 originally of a different complexion from thatdemure 
 person she has of late years become ; and more 
 especially since she has been imbibing the sancti- 
 monious unction of this Quandish. . . . ' Perverse,
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 93 
 
 indeed !' you may well exclaim with surprise, at our 
 hostess so designating her daughter. No, she is not 
 perverse ; but I can tell you, as I have remarked 
 before, she is a girl of spirit, and, let me add, the 
 person that shall win her choice as a husband will 
 be no common person, depend on it." 
 
 Renmore looked away at the lake and the beau- 
 tiful scenery round it, not wishing to shew by his 
 countenance that his companion's words had any 
 effect on him. 
 
 *' Ah ! a lovely scene indeed, and I don't wonder 
 at your being lost over it," resumed Esdaile. " And 
 now suppose we try this side of the meer first, be- 
 fore we go to the brook that runs into it ? There, 
 you can perceive it," he added, pointing it out at 
 the further end of the meer ; " if we don't find any 
 char where we are, we are sure to be more success- 
 ful in the brook." 
 
 " By all means," replied Renmore, while he added 
 to himself, " I trust to be able to make my escape, 
 however, before you have tried long your success 
 where you are." In fact, if he had been a lover of 
 the angle, he could have derived but little enjoy- 
 ment from its use, for his thoughts were occupied 
 too much on more interesting matters, and less, in- 
 deed, concerning his own safety, than on Gertrude. 
 Well, the Doctor tried his luck for some little time 
 without success ; not a single " rise" could he get
 
 ^ 94 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 from the char, and Ren more began to get more and 
 more fidgety. 
 
 " There is not ripple enough on the water here, 
 Colonel ; so suppose, without more ado, we adjourn 
 to the brook." 
 
 '* By all means do you repair thither ; but as to 
 myself, I regret that I have no more time than I 
 require, before the post goes out, for writing letters 
 to my various correspondents." 
 
 " Ay, a Member of Parliament must, no doubt, 
 have full demands on his time for answering letters, 
 amongst other items of his public duty ;" and then, 
 seeing Renmore was about to turn away into another 
 path, he added, " I am so sorry you will not permit 
 me to introduce you to a very excellent person, a 
 Mr. Howbiggen, a patient of mine, and whom I 
 am going to visit in the course of the morning." 
 
 " You're very kind ; but I really am unable now 
 to allow myself the pleasure." 
 
 *' Well, another day. I shall most certainly not 
 forget to look in upon you. — Bless me," he added, 
 grinning in Renmore's face, *' you look very young 
 for a Colonel." 
 
 " I am older than I look, perhaps . . . But in- 
 terest, a-hem — family interest," replied Renmore, 
 endeavouring to smile, though he could not help 
 reddening with vexation at the pertinacity of his 
 comrade, who replied,
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 95 
 
 " Ay, true ; the scions of our noble and more 
 influential houses can command the promotion 
 which merit, unaided by the same powerful assist- 
 ance, often fails to obtain. No ill compliment to 
 you. Colonel." 
 
 The Doctor's remark, indeed, was right, however 
 troublesome it might be. Men younger than our 
 hero, who was scarcely nine-and- twenty, and looked 
 younger than he really was, held, at that *' noto- 
 rious time" the rank we find him assuming. 
 
 " Not at all, not at all," replied Ren more, fid- 
 geting off, and smiling good-humouredly. 
 
 '• Well, as you are determined to deprive me of 
 youp company, I will not press you to come any 
 further with me, but " 
 
 [" Oh, good heavens.!" ejaculated Renmore to 
 himself, '^ what more hangs on that ' but!' "] 
 
 " But I could have introduced you, had you been 
 a little less a martyr to your public duties, and the 
 pain of uncertainty as to your movements, — I could 
 have introduced you not only to the Lawtons I 
 mentioned at breakfast, and my worthy patient 
 Mr. Howbicrnren, and also his maiden sister — " 
 
 — [" Delightful !" thought Renmore.] 
 
 . . . a But " 
 
 ...['* Another but ! Oh ! good heavens !"] 
 
 ''But to a galaxy of 'geniuses,' or 'genu,' if 
 you please, — an intellectual and literary circle that 
 I call the ' Genii of the Lamp,' from their studious
 
 96 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 propensities, or the ' Genii of the Lake/ from the 
 romantic region of their dwelling-place !'* 
 
 " You are very — particularly — obliging, and at 
 a more convenient opportunity I shall — " 
 
 '* By all means ! to be sure ! I thought you 
 could not like, while in the neighbourhood, to be 
 left in solitude. The * Genii' I speak of would 
 delight you. I need not name Golefield, and 
 Routhmore, and Woodsland, whose fame has 
 spread far beyond the wilds which they decorate 
 by their presence." 
 
 " Indeed, I honour their august names, and trust 
 sincerely" (and here he spoke truly) *' that circum- 
 stances will not debar me the pleasure of making 
 acquaintances which I contemplate with so much 
 interest, — nor render it necessary for me to quit a 
 neighbourhood I am so delighted with — especially — " 
 he thought to himself, his heart taking up the pause 
 where his words desisted — " since Gertrude's pre- 
 sence so strongly heightens its charm." 
 
 " Well, I am delighted to hear you hold out 
 hopes that we shall yet have the honour of your 
 addition to our circle." 
 
 Ren more bowed and moved away. 
 
 " And I may be permitted to look in for a 
 frank." 
 
 Renmore bowed again in assent, and '* edged" 
 yet further off. 
 
 *' I beg pardon, but Colonel Renmore's family
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 97 
 
 is that of Lord Clanrenmore, is it not, whose estates 
 are in Caithness ?" . . . 
 
 But Ren more had, fortunately for himself, 
 taken advantage of a turning in the path, which 
 led him round the cliff under which their parley 
 had taken place, and when Esdaile had looked 
 round for a reply to his last interrogatory, his com- 
 rade had disappeared. 
 
 " A fine, handsome, gentlemanlike fellow !" said 
 Esdaile to himself. "A splendid match (a hon 
 parti, as the French have it) he would make for 
 Laura Lawton, the heiress of Blacktarn. Come, 
 come; though her family is not quite so lofty a one 
 as that of Renmore of ' Clan-ren-more, county 
 Caithness — Colonel — M.P." &c. &c., yet still she 
 is an amiable damsel, and pretty too ; and with 
 that most delightful of ' female attractions' (as some 
 consider it), ' money,' she may well command the 
 hand of even a loftier suitor than my friend the 
 Colonel. And now for the brook . . . and then 
 to look in at my worthy patient's, Mr. Howbiggen's. 
 His sister, that estimable lady, yet gossip-loving 
 spinster too, will ask me to stay during luncheon 
 with them ; and by the time I have sufficiently tried 
 my luck in the brook it will be the hour when 
 I must feel my worthy friend Mr. Howbiggen's 
 pulse. How delighted Miss Howbiggen will be 
 with the news of this ' new arrival.' Let me see — 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 I shall administer news and food for gossiping to 
 her^ and physic to him. . . . He shall continue the 
 powders — they do no harm, if they do no great 
 good." . . . 
 
 With these salutary reflections, and prospects of 
 dispensing aliment both for mind and body, the 
 piscatorial Doctor proceeded, followed by Bryan, 
 to his favourite brook, from which Mr. Howbig- 
 gen's cottage was not far distant. It was situate 
 on the borders of the meer, its white walls being 
 discernible from the spot where Esdaile stood, as 
 they peeped through the trees that surrounded 
 them. So leaving him to that " medicine of the 
 soul" which the reflections of his happy solitude 
 afforded — leaving him to this, no less than to ad- 
 minister, in due time, those more material medicines 
 which his patients might require at his hands, we 
 will now turn away from him, and follow on the 
 track of Renmore. Was his solitude equally happy ? 
 Were any happy reflections his, — to *' medicine" 
 the soul? and 
 
 " Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff 
 That weighs upon the heart" ? 
 
 as Macbeth says. At any rate the thought of Ger- 
 trude was balm to his spirit. But let us " after 
 him," and see what befals.
 
 JA:MES HATFIELD. 99 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " He was a wayward and a simple child, 
 Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene." 
 
 Beattie's Minstrel. 
 
 *' I fear thee, Ancient Mariner, 
 I fear thee I" 
 
 Coleridge's Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner. 
 
 There is a crag that overlooks the land far and 
 wide, from the height of Skiddaw to the banks of 
 Ullswater. There the spectator quaffs largely the 
 delight that azure lake-floods, bosomed in mighty 
 natural basins at the mountain's foot — that rills, 
 sparkling in spiral silvery columns down the hill- 
 side — that blossomed meads, and copses, and moss- 
 chequered banks, some nearer, some further oif 
 and losing them in the distance, afford, — while all 
 mingle in one vast and varied prospect, and stretch 
 in giant panorama around, beauteous as magnifi- 
 cent ! . . . There is a crag where the riven earth, 
 as though cloven by some mighty convulsion of 
 F 2
 
 100 ADVENTURES OP 
 
 nature, lays bare the secrets of a past world, — there 
 the searcher after sublime truth, the geologist* 
 above others, delights to trace, in legible characters, 
 in its gigantic page, the mystic intelligence of Eld it 
 reveals to him. 
 
 Poring on that dread writing on Nature's wall, 
 writ by the invisible hand of the Creator, stood one 
 on the brow of the precipice, looking down its 
 dizzy height. The crow that poised it, on slow- 
 wheeling pinion, midway down the steep, was as a 
 speck ; and the sense reeled with gazing, till it 
 seemed, to any one looking down it, as if a certain 
 fatality impelled him to fling himself headlong over 
 the crag — when, shuddering at so perilous a sensa- 
 tion, he has hastily drawn back, and placed himself 
 beyond the reach of that verge's fearful fascination. 
 It was with a sensation such as this that the person 
 who had been standing over the chasm, scanning 
 its riven sides and the geological characters they 
 displayed, turned away, and suddenly came face 
 to face with our hero, whose pathway from the meer 
 bank had led him, by its devious windings, along 
 the cliff side to the spot where he now stood. 
 
 There was an intelligence and contemplative cast 
 in the countenance of the person that arrested Ren- 
 
 * Granite, sienite, porphyry, trap, are all geological features 
 of this region. The slate formation consists of three groups of 
 hills.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 101 
 
 more's attention. His full dark eye was stretched 
 with the gaze through which the mind's inquiry 
 seemed poring; and yet there was mingled with 
 the exalted character of genius a simplicity too, 
 and good humour, evinced in the smile that played 
 habitually on the lip. And this characteristic was 
 betokened also in the full, ruddy, cheerful aspect 
 of the cheek, that added a benevolence of appear- 
 ance not always found coupled with the higher and 
 generally sterner features of intellect. If the ap- 
 pearance of this person was such as to excite 
 Renmore's interest, if not curiosity, the remarks 
 that subsequently escaped him were calculated by 
 their singularity, no less than reflection, to in- 
 crease it ; and if Kenmore has been witnessed as 
 entertaining any apprehensions, generally speak- 
 ing, as to meeting people, they, in the present in- 
 stance, gave way to sentiments of a very different 
 and more elevated order. 
 
 " A noble point of view this !" he observed, 
 breaking the silence maintained by both spectators 
 as they looked from the height. 
 
 " Ay," said the other, answering the remark 
 without interrupting the fit of musing in which 
 he appeared to be absorbed — *' I was following a 
 somewhat strange train of reflection as I looked at 
 the records of a past world, that the strata of 
 that rock exhibit."
 
 102 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ** Indeed, they open a vast field to reflection, 
 both awful and curious, — but what, in particular, 
 suggested itself to you ?" inquired Renmore, turn- 
 ing to the geologist, (for such he took him to be,) 
 whose eyes were still gazing on the vacancy of 
 some dream, or image of the mind, that occupied 
 and amused his intellectual vision, as he smiled 
 through his dream at the illusions pictured in it. 
 
 " Why, I was thinking, as I looked back on the 
 image of the past, portrayed in the sublime crayons 
 of that mighty Daedalean hand that made all things, 
 — I was thinking, I say, as I looked back on the past, 
 and traced the new series and creations of exist- 
 ence it exhibits as concomitant with new revolutions 
 of earth and its improved strata — that one day, 
 when this present existing surface of the globe is, 
 with its human progeny, swept away, a yet better 
 and improved essence or birth — ay, a purer porce- 
 lain than human clay, might be the produce and 
 accompaniment of an improved quality, too, of 
 strata." 
 
 "An interesting and original speculation, truly !'* 
 said Renmore, smiling; "but what makes you 
 think that any new stratum would be an improve- 
 ment ? Would it not rather be a worse, according 
 to the belief that this present formation of earth is 
 to be destroyed by fire ? The melancholy adust 
 and black hulk it will exhibit would appear to my
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 103 
 
 notions rather like a giant mole of cinder, or 
 scattered rock, or mass of molten and worked-out 
 ore dross." 
 
 " A just remark," said the geologist, (for so we 
 will call him,) smiling as he felt he had met with a 
 man of imagination, and so far, to a certain extent, 
 a congenial spirit. — " You exhibit to me no un- 
 poetical or unjust idea — but the curiosity of my own 
 speculation is not so much of a chimera as you 
 might imagine. Its probability is, assuredly, cor- 
 roborated by the evidences of the past." 
 
 " And how so ?" asked Renmore, smiling with 
 mingled curiosity and incredulity. 
 
 " Why, these strata all bear record of an im- 
 proved successive character as regards their capa- 
 bility of sustaining life in the beings that dwelt on 
 them. Of each the soil, or " matter," has successively 
 been less reluctant. On each an improved birth, 
 no less than a new essence of vitality, has been en- 
 gendered, — why then, should not, through Time's 
 dark mazes, be traced a day — a dim futurity — 
 when this present surface of earth, on which we 
 crawl, (and where we frame such extended and 
 mighty dreams, and so disproportionate to our 
 petty span,) — why, I say, should not an improved 
 surface of earth, under a new revolution of the 
 globe, take its succession in the mighty routine 
 which those strata before us shew it has already
 
 104 ADVKNTURES OF 
 
 made ? Yes ! after earth has been swept away, I 
 can trace, from the assurance of its past gradations 
 and successive improvements — a purer surface and 
 a more refined soil as the -cradle of a purer pro- 
 geny, too, and more refined essence of vitality." 
 
 '* It is, at any rate, a pleasing and fanciful idea," 
 he continued, in conciliation of the self-love of the 
 person he addressed, " such as might delight the 
 imagination of a certain eminent genius that, I 
 understand, dwells in this neighbourhood — I mean 
 a Golefield, or even a Milton." 
 
 The geologist smiled as he said, *' Milton's 
 dreams were less fanciful and ideal, less vaguely 
 original, you will perhaps say, than this poor 
 Golefield's you speak of. Milton's imagination 
 looked for its visions more in decorations of the 
 past, and in received ideas, than in speculations of 
 futurity and future novel creations. This meta- 
 physical characteristic of imagination belongs to a 
 later day — to German intellectual innovations — 
 from which, perhaps, Golefield may possibly have 
 caught a certain contagion of this kind — a certain 
 tone — though, indeed, no positive hypothesis or sys- 
 tem of opinions. As to the subject," he continued, 
 " which has just now been amusing us, I have 
 witnessed, by-the-bye, a little poem* by Golefield, 
 
 * This is subjoined in the appendix, that it raay be referred 
 to, as illustrating the dialogue that has just taken place.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 105 
 
 of which, should we meet again, I doubt not that I 
 shall be able to obtain you a sight." Thus con- 
 versing, they passed down the hill by the easy 
 slope on which the height was approached on 
 its opposite and southern side, Renmore feeling 
 his curiosity more and more awakened as to who 
 the person could be in whose company he was, 
 and who was characterized by so singular and 
 (which chiefly amused him) so sincere a train 
 of thought or speculation, despite its being 
 so fanciful. " This must doubtless be," he said 
 to himself, " one of Dr. Esdaile's ' Genii of the 
 Lake.' I should have imagined it had been Gole- 
 field, by the peculiar fanciful characteristics that 
 mark him. But it cannot be so, for if it had been 
 himself, he would surely have said so, on my men- 
 tioning the name. Whoever he his, he is no com- 
 mon character ; and if he is a geologist, he is not 
 by any means of the common every-day tribe of 
 brickbat hammerers and mechanical gropers after 
 ' floetz, quartz, and trap.' " 
 
 Whilst engaged in these reflections, the atten- 
 tion of our hero, and of the geologist as well, was 
 engaged by the appearance of an old man dressed 
 in a sailor's habit, slowly approaching them from 
 the valley at the entrance of which they now 
 found themselves, having arrived at the foot of 
 the ascent. 
 
 F 3
 
 106 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Oh, here is old Mike ! poor old man ; if he 
 is going our way I'll help him carry his bundle," 
 said the geologist, with characteristic simplicity 
 and kind-heartedness, '* and beg a story of him in 
 return." 
 
 " What ! is he, pray, one of the ' Genii of the 
 Lake ?' " inquired Renmore, smiling. 
 
 " Oh yes, indeed, I may call him so ! He is 
 certainly an additional object of interest, and no 
 insignificant one either in the spot where he is a 
 dweller. . , . And is not his appearance * pic- 
 turesque ? * Look at the venerable grey locks float- 
 ing from under his low broad hat, with the wild 
 flowers and albatross feather stuck in its ample, but 
 tarnished riband ; — and see the greaves or leg- 
 gings of seal-skin the old man wears, tied with tags 
 of blue cloth, by way of variety to his sailor's 
 dress." 
 
 " He appears a study, at any rate, for genius to 
 depict, either that of poet or painter," said Ren- 
 more. 
 
 '« Ay, and is a genius, a poet, and painter, too, 
 himself ! . . . He will tell you marvellous tales of 
 the voyage he took to ' the icy sea' once that will 
 make your blood run as cold as if you were 
 hemmed in amongst the icebergs themselves." 
 
 '' Indeed ! I should like much to hear a spe- 
 cimen one of these days of his powers."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 107 
 
 " Well, here he is — mark him well. There is a 
 sorrow about his brow that you may imagine 
 Dante's wore, according to the portraits of him, 
 which all exhibit his countenance as though woe- 
 begone from the fearful scenes of which he had 
 sung, and through which you might almost ima- 
 gine he had passed. The poet looks scathed as 
 it were with the flames he has depicted. . . . But 
 here is our « ancient mariner !' — Good morrow, 
 Mike ! are you bound for Keswick, or ' whither- 
 away' do you wend ?" asked the geologist. 
 
 '« I was making for Keswick, as your honour 
 supposes," replied the old '* weird" man ; and 
 then looking at Renmore, he paused for a moment 
 with his eye intent on his countenance, while he 
 started involuntarily as if he had known or recog- 
 nised him, from having previously seen him. Ren- 
 more, on his part, shrunk back from his scrutiny. 
 — He had seen Mike before, and did not like to 
 remember when. 
 
 " Have you any news, Mike ?" asked the geolo- 
 gist; " we want you to tell us one of your stories. 
 Here is a gentleman, a stranger in the country 
 here, whom I have been apprising of your renown 
 for legendary lore, and the perils you have en- 
 countered." 
 
 " Mayhap he has encountered perils too him- 
 self !" said the old man, turning his keen grey eye
 
 108 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 on our hero with a look of significance. " No/* 
 he continued, after a pause, <' I know no news but 
 a report that the famous forger and impostor Hat- 
 field is lurking somewhere about the district." 
 
 " Indeed ! I should like just for once to see that 
 individual," said the geologist; '« I am told he is 
 a very clever fellow and a most gentleman-like and 
 well-informed man. Have you not heard so ?" he 
 added to Renmore. 
 
 " Yes indeed, I have !'* replied the Colonel, 
 " but I understood that he had been known to 
 have escaped from this district at Ravenglass some 
 time ago," he addedj looking at Mike with an air 
 of inquiry, either pretended or real. 
 
 " Yes, that he did !'* answered JMike, '* and I 
 know it too ! for a certain gentleman I conveyed 
 in my little sloop lying there I found out after- 
 wards was the very man. Lord, what rewards 
 they offered for taking him ! I should know him 
 again amongst a thousand." 
 
 " Would you betray him," asked Renmore, 
 " should you chance to fall in with him ?" in a 
 somewhat lowered tone in the old man's ear. 
 
 '« I betray him ? not 1 ! I'm not the man to 
 profit by any such ' sneaking trick ;' I think him 
 too clever a fellow, for my part, not to wish he may 
 escape after all." 
 
 <« Well said, Mike ! that is worthy your honest
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 109 
 
 heart, and worthy the heart of a British sailor," 
 said the geologist. 
 
 " It is indeed a Christian-like feeling," observed 
 Renmore, '* but in this state of society, where man 
 is so much a ' wolf to man,' it is not often che- 
 rished ;" and as he spoke his lip transiently qui- 
 vered under the emotion, of which, for some cause 
 or other, he was sensible, and which he found it 
 difficult altogether to subdue. In saying this, he 
 looked again at old Mike with a look of half mis- 
 trust, which soon however vanished for one of 
 cheerfulness and confidence as the keen hawk's 
 eye of the " weird mariner" altered its regard of 
 dangerous significance for one of more benevolent 
 meaning ; while the Colonel at this moment find- 
 ing his path was in a different direction from that 
 which his late companion, the geologist, was pro- 
 ceeding upon towards Keswick, he took this op- 
 portunity of bidding him good morning as he left 
 him and Mike to pursue their way together. 
 
 The singularity of character, in different ways, of 
 both these persons, however, had made sufficient 
 impression on Renmore's mind to induce him to 
 cast one backward glance at them, after he had pro- 
 ceeded a short distance on his way. The favour- 
 able impression he had received of the benevolence 
 of the geologist's character was now augmented by 
 his witnessing him performing an almost filial act
 
 110 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 of kindness to the old mariner, by supporting him 
 with his arm, besides carrying his bundle for him. 
 At the same time, his attention appeared ab- 
 sorbed in some " tale of wonder" which he had 
 solicited of Mike. He continued gazing at the 
 "group," as a painter would say, when, with the na- 
 tural suggestion whispered by individual apprehen- 
 sion, and that consciousness, it may be, of crime, 
 by which we have already witnessed him haunted, 
 he exclaimed to himself, *' What can be the topic 
 on which the old man seems to expatiate so ear- 
 nestly, to judge by the gestures he uses ? I wonder 
 whether he can be speaking of me ? . . . Yet^ no ; 
 I do not think he would say anything — but I am 
 encompassed with danger, and haunted by that 
 worst of alarm. Uncertainty, and may reasonably 
 dread every one I encounter !" . . . Well, indeed, 
 might he say so, undaunted and enterprising natu- 
 rally as he notwithstanding was. He had proceeded 
 on his way a little further, when, on again looking 
 back, he now witnessed the geologist pursuing his 
 path alone, while Mike had taken another direc- 
 tion. He had not, however, gone very much 
 further before his surprise was awakened by seeing 
 the " ancient mariner'* in his path, into which, it 
 should seem, the old man had turned, from an ave- 
 nue formed by a cleft in the hill, which had hitherto 
 escaped his attention.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. Ill 
 
 " I have returned to tell you, Sir," said Mike, 
 *' (and don't wish to ask you how far you may be 
 interested or not in the matter,) — that there is a 
 ' reward' offered for the apprehension of that same 
 * Hatfield' in this very district, as near, indeed, as 
 at Keswick. So," he added, in a lowered and more 
 wary tone, " if he should be in the way, it were 
 well he were on his guard !" 
 
 " And no doubt," answered Renmore, " he 
 would thank you sincerely, were he present, for 
 your amity and well-meant caution. So the 
 blood-hounds, it appears, are fast in their pursuit 
 after him ! And who is the leader of the pack that 
 is on the scent for him in this district, after all the 
 doublings of the chase ?" 
 
 *' As usual, where the cover is deepest, the game 
 is suspected to lie ; and in these lonely wilds is the 
 quarry searched for. As for the pursuer — a public 
 spy and blood- thirster can borrow no better guise 
 than that of Religion to mask his real purpose — 
 to veil the character at once and object of his 
 presence.'* 
 
 '* Under the guise of religion ! I know no such . . . 
 that is . . ." said Renmore, hesitatingly, " I won- 
 der ... I mean to observe, that justice is much 
 obliged to such an adroit and cunning myrmidon ? 
 But," he continued, trying to assume a carelessness, 
 oreven jocularity of tone, "doyou think the ^quarry'
 
 112 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 will escape after all ? You have, I hear," he added, 
 smiling, '* the reputation of being somewhat of a 
 soothsayer." 
 
 The old man shook his head as the gi-ey locks 
 waved solemnly over his brow, and looked at Ren- 
 more with a countenance that little reciprocated 
 the forced jocularity he detected. On the contrary, 
 his look bespoke sorrow, deeply mingled with the 
 scrutiny of that regard which he bent on his com- 
 panion. Even the constitutional, no less than ha- 
 bitual, firmness of the latter was shaken by that 
 look of fearful significance and sorrowful feeling as 
 he observed — 
 
 " You turn your eye very fixedly on me. Do 
 you see anything in my countenance that augurs 
 misfortune ?" and he again attempted to smile as 
 he spoke. 
 
 " Did I ever see a smile on the lip, with which 
 the upper part of the face agrees not in expres- 
 sion, that I did not know it to be feigned^ and 
 forced ? — to be the disguise of a mind ill at ease, 
 and of a sick spirit ?" replied Mike, with the same 
 solemn significance, and which, indeed, generally 
 characterized his tone. " The mind," he continued, 
 *' looks through the eyes; and the brow should 
 smile in unison with the lip to shew the joy sincere." 
 
 * This was uniformly remarked of Napoleon's smile.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 113 
 
 " You are quite a physiognomist, my good old 
 man !" 
 
 " I would I were not !*' replied the weird-mari- 
 ner, still fixing his regard with the same expression 
 as before on his companion, who now contemplated 
 him with the tacit dread a man might be supposed 
 to feel in communing with an evil spirit, however 
 much he might endeavour to rouse up fortitude for 
 the interview. 
 
 *' Why/* asked Ren more again, *' do you look 
 so intently, and sorrowfully too, on me?" 
 
 " Do not ask me why," said the old man ; '* the 
 day will come which must prove me right," and he 
 made a movement as if to leave his companion and 
 strike into another path which here presented itself, 
 muttering at the same time words, the import of 
 which did not reach Renmore's ear. 
 
 '* Nay, nay ; don't leave me so abruptly," cried 
 the latter; '' I must know what it is that so arrests 
 your attention, — that passes in your mind, as you 
 bend your eyes so significantly on me." 
 
 " Do not, do not stay me," said the old man, 
 with an expression of mingled dread and anxiety, 
 while he shrunk from Renmore, who yet endea- 
 voured to retain him with his hand ; '^ why will you 
 hold me back ?" 
 
 '' I must — I will hear ! . . . I beg of you," said 
 Renmore, anxiously.
 
 114 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Why force me to make you miserable ? I will 
 not utter it aloud. ... If you will hear it, then, 
 advance your ear here.*' He bent his aged head 
 towards Renmore, and whispered words that shot 
 like an ice-bolt to his heart. In vain did he en- 
 deavour to rally at the moment ; he was for some 
 little time bewildered in surprise no less than dismay, 
 and when he came to himself again, and looked 
 round for the old wizard (for so Mike was not 
 unreasonably deemed) he was gone.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 115 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " When I reach the door, 
 If heavy looks should meet me ?" 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 Agitated, confounded, and with increased feel- 
 ings of doubt and anxiety, Renmore pursued his way 
 back to his " hiding-place," it may be called, rather 
 than abode. Happy would he have been if he 
 could have felt that the spot of his present sojourn 
 might indeed prove a hiding-place for him ; but 
 Mike's communication forbade him to be thus confi- 
 dent. The thought of the ''blood-hounds" being on 
 his track haunted him at every turn ; and with hesi- 
 tating footsteps he retraced his way homeward, 
 through rugged and devious paths, now overhang- 
 ing the borders of the meer, now winding in 
 covert mazes along the slope of the crag, sheltered 
 by the impending rock-brow on one side, and on 
 the other by the thick tangled briar and heath. 
 As he stole along by this rugged path, he was
 
 116 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 suddenly startled by a noise, which, however, turned 
 out to be but the hurried rustling of the stray sheep 
 that grazed on the mountain turf-slope, and whose 
 repose under the bushes, whither they had strayed 
 for shelter from the heat, was disturbed by his ap- 
 proach ; meantime the shepherd loiterer that he 
 now saw, as the sheep-walk widened and the hill 
 presented a more open scope for grazing, was even 
 eyed by him, at first, with suspicion. 
 
 The little inn at length appeared in sight. Its neat 
 though homely aspect looked all content, and peace, 
 and retirement — joy to the wayfarer, and promise of 
 rest and recruital . . . but not so to him. " Rest and 
 repose," he thought, "are not permitted me through 
 the wide world ; for where dare I hope or look for 
 security ? The glimpse of happiness I caught in 
 Gertrude's presence, how vainly was it cherished ! 
 Who can it be that is thus haunting my path ? And 
 can he, then, be so near the spot of my retreat ? 
 Perhaps even now the ambush is laid for me !" . . . 
 With these thoughts, naturally suggested as they 
 were by his peculiarly hazardous situation, without 
 any disparagement to that spirit of boldness and 
 enterprise that we shall hereafter witness as charac- 
 terizing him, Renmore arrived at the Traveller's Rest. 
 
 He gained access to the house by a back 
 entrance, that led into the garden across a little 
 rustic bridge thrown over the brook ; and if he
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 117 
 
 had escaped the notice of any one in his passage 
 hither, his alarm was justly destined to be aroused 
 again by witnessing what was an unusual and at 
 once unaccountable circumstance, namely, the pre- 
 sence of both Gertrude and Mrs. Wetherby ad- 
 vancing to meet him, as if apparently they had 
 been looking out for his return home ! As Ger- 
 trude approached him, he thought to himself — 
 '^ Perhaps there is danger near, and she is coming 
 to warn me, in her benevolence, from the spot . .. . 
 but no ; there is her mother also with her, whom I 
 can scarcely consider of a disposition so charitable, 
 despite her religious propensities. No ; they are 
 possibly coming to tell me that I am a prisoner — 
 that I am discovered — that I am known — that the 
 myrmidons of justice are within these walls, and that 
 my way is beset — my path surrounded — that escape 
 is vain ! — Or, yet more, Gertrude, taught now to 
 mistrust my character, and loathing my presence, 
 is come to betray, to decoy me, into their hands ! 
 Well, death will be sweet if I am led to it by the 
 hand of such and so dear an executioner." . . , 
 And having now come close up to the Beauty, he 
 inquired, with as much composure as he was able 
 to assume under his present causes of inquietude, 
 " How it happened that herself and his hostess had 
 done him the honour of coming out to meet him ? 
 Had they been w^aiting for him? — looking out for
 
 118 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 him ? . . . Yes," he thought to himself, "they must 
 have been ; or how should it occur to them to look 
 for my return to the house in this direction, rather 
 than by the regular entrance. If, then, they have 
 been looking out for me, on what account can it be?" 
 
 Such were his tacit communings as he awaited 
 their reply. Mrs. Wetherby, being a person of much 
 less observation than her more lively and intelligent 
 daughter, did not take any notice of the transient 
 change of Renmore's countenance, that involunta- 
 rily exhibited itself. Notwithstanding his talent at 
 disguising his thoughts and subduing his feelings, 
 the forced constraint of his manner, at the present 
 anxious moment, as he endeavoured to veil his real 
 apprehensions, did not altogether escape Gertrude. 
 Far, however, was she from imagining its true cause, 
 and the transient paleness on his brow she imputed 
 merely to fatigue ; nay, so speedily did he regain 
 his wonted composure, that any eye that had re- 
 garded him less heedfully than her own, (because, 
 let it be confessed, with less interest,) would not 
 have perceived any inquietude. Meantime, Mrs. 
 Wetherby explained as follows the cause of herself 
 and her daughter thus '' coming forth" to meet 
 their distinguished guest on his earliest return : — 
 
 *' Oh, Sir ! there have been such a number of 
 folks after you," she exclaimed, in a '' sing-song" 
 key, «' during your absence."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 119 
 
 " What for ? what for ?" interrupted Renmore, 
 involuntarily, '' and what folks, pray ?" 
 
 «' Oh ! only ' gentlefolks' to call on you, Sir, as 
 you will see by the cards they have left ; and I 
 was directed to say, with compliments, that should 
 you think proper to dine at Mr. Lawton's, at 
 Blacktarn, or at Mr. Howbiggen's, on the meer- 
 side, close by, those gentlemen would be much ho- 
 noured by your company. I thought, Sir," she 
 continued, curtseying, "I would lose no time in 
 letting you know what they said, in case you might 
 like to dine out ; and so myself and Gertrude have 
 therefore watched your return home, to know your 
 pleasure, Sir." 
 
 If the stone which Sisyphus was condemned to 
 roll up the steep had been suddenly taken from his 
 hands, he could not have felt more relieved than 
 Renmore now felt, in being eased of the burden 
 that had weighed on his heart. He was instantly 
 " himself again ;*' and the colour that had tran- 
 siently wavered in his cheek now returned to it, 
 and every symptom of the uneasiness he had tacitly 
 struggled to subdue was banished in the smile that 
 now accompanied his words as he spoke. Gertrude 
 forgot at once that anything in his manner had 
 challenged, however momentarily, her notice. 
 
 " I am much flattered by the attention of the 
 people in the neighbourhood, indeed, Mrs. We-
 
 120 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 therby," he replied, "and shall certainly not 
 permit their courtesy to remain long unacknow- 
 ledged ; but I am to-day a little too fatigued to avail 
 myself of their kindness, however much pleasure it 
 might afford me." 
 
 " Then you'll please to dine at home to-day, 
 Sir ?" interrupted the careful landlady ; this being 
 a point, it is needless to say, which it is of para- 
 mount importance to all worthies, male or female, 
 of her calling to settle. 
 
 Her guest replied by an inclination of the head, 
 little heeding the subject of her peculiar interest, 
 as he proceeded, after a pause and with some 
 abruptness — '* And pray is Mr. Fen ton (I mean 
 the clergyman of Lorton, — a few miles off) much 
 a guest in the neighbourhood here ? I should 
 perhaps have met him had I gone out to dine 
 to-day." 
 
 " I really am unable to say whether that is likely 
 or not," replied dame Wetherby, with more than 
 her usual stifFitess. '' He is a very retired gentle- 
 man," she added, "and does not, I believe, enter 
 much into society." 
 
 *' But he is not the less beloved. Sir, on account 
 of his habits of retirement," interposed Gertrude, 
 taking up her mother's words ; " and you will no 
 doubt meet him, should you dine out on Sunday. 
 . . . No ; next Sunday week it is, that he comes
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 121 
 
 over to preach here in behalf of the Charity 
 School.'^ . . . 
 
 But the Beauty's words were here checked by 
 the cloudy look of dissent which met her in her 
 mother's countenance, while Renmore, perceiving 
 it, turned the subject of his remarks in a different 
 direction. It readily occurred to him that the 
 proselyte of the dissenting " holder forth," Quan- 
 dish, did not hear too complacendy her daughter's 
 good word in vindication of the Curate of Lorton. 
 
 " Ah, then, I shall see him, I dare say, next 
 Sunday," said Renmore, hastily. " Thank you ! 
 thank you ! . . . And so," he continued, with a 
 smile of good-humoured irony, '* I am indebted, I 
 suppose, to the kind attention of Dr. Esdaile for the 
 courtesies heaped on me during my absence on my 
 rambles this day !" 
 
 " I dare say such is the case, Sir," replied the 
 "widow Wetherby," her countenance somewhat 
 cheered by the mention of a person more in her 
 good graces than any other in the neighbourhood, 
 always excepting the preacher Quandish. " A nice 
 good-humoured gentleman is Dr. Esdaile. . . . 
 But what time did you say you would be pleased to 
 dine, Sir ?" 
 
 " Oh, any time — an hour hence ;" and here, as 
 dame Wetherby withdrew, with a curtsey and a 
 " Very well, Sir," Renmore continued his remarks, 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 with his accustomed easy cheerfuhiess, to her more 
 engaging daughter, as he walked towards the house 
 across the garden by the Beauty's side. '« So you 
 see, my fair Gertrude, the good people of the 
 neighbourhood seem determined on not permitting 
 me to lead the hermit's life of seclusion which I had 
 proposed to myself on coming to these wilds !" 
 (while he added to himself, '^ thanks to the offi- 
 ciousness of that troublesome little char- fishing 
 Doctor.") 
 
 " Nay, Sir," replied the Beauty, with her usual 
 becoming archness, '' it is in them a compliment 
 paid to you, that they should seek you" 
 
 [*' Oh, no doubt ! no doubt !" he interposed, 
 smiling.] 
 
 " For surely, Sir, if they did not, it should seem 
 as though they considered you one of those listless 
 and shy members of society that should be worthily 
 left to themselves, and that" 
 
 a Were no very great compliment, you would 
 say. Well, but how do you know, that after all, 
 they may not be mistaken in me ? I declare (and 
 here he spoke truly enough) there is no being in 
 the world, however shy or listless, as you say, Ger- 
 trude, that would be more enamoured of solitude 
 than myself just at present ! . . And why should I 
 wish," he added, while she looked up in his face with 
 an air of inquiry, " for the companionship of others, 
 
 i
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 123 
 
 when I am sufficiently happy in that which I hope, 
 now and then, to snatch in your own presence ?" 
 
 The blush played on Gertrude's cheek in recog- 
 nition of the not ungraceful turn Renmore's ex- 
 cuse had adopted ; and she was about to reply, 
 when the presence of dame Wetherby, summoning 
 her assistance in the preparatory arrangements for 
 their guest's repast, checked her words ; and as she 
 now withdrew, Renmore found himself once more 
 alone. 
 
 He entered the same little room in which he had 
 passed the preceding evening with Esdaile, and 
 having closed the door hastily, '* Thank heaven ! 
 thank heaven !" he exclaimed, " they have, at any 
 rate, not yet hunted me out of my hiding-place. 
 Oh ! miserable situation, that I should have actually 
 dreaded, on my return to this my skulking-hamit, 
 meeting the being I really love, this bewitching girl 
 here, for fear lest she too, with the rest of the world, 
 should be seeking to betray me ! Thrice-miserable, 
 degrading, and fearful lot ! — wretched, guilt-haunted 
 man ! . . . And is there no escape ? ... Is it 
 only for a brief illusory interval I am at large, and 
 stretch these limbs, unshackled and at liberty? 
 Distressful, degrading thought ! . . . And yet I 
 must deem such to be my lot, if I am to give cre- 
 dence to the whisper of that fearful old man, or 
 wizard let me call him. . . . My tale is, however, 
 g2
 
 124 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 safe with him ; nay, he knows more of me than I 
 know myself, it should seem. And if what he warns 
 me against must, as in all probability it will, be my 
 destiny, why, whether I stay here or attempt to fly 
 is one and the same thing. Sooner or later, it ap- 
 pears, the evil doom must be met and fulfilled. . . . 
 What then ? Am I lost ?...!, who have braved 
 such dangers and difRculties, and have escaped 
 thus far — am I to be nerveless, tame, helpless, 
 under a superstitious fear ? Pshaw ! . . . And 
 yet," he continued, after a pause, " though I am 
 ready to spurn all such weakness, yet I know not 
 why — there is a bitter presentiment in my mind 
 that what the old man told me will prove itself too 
 true. . . . Besides, the course of all probabilities 
 is in favour of its verification. The wild story of 
 my infant day . . . the strange destinies that 
 marked it. ... Yet why," he continued, hur- 
 riedly, " must I believe they are to end in the fatal 
 issue of which he warns me ? . . . There may yet be 
 escape ! Courage, resolution, defiance of fate, may 
 yet bear me through, as they hitherto have done !" 
 But just here dame Wetherby broke in upon 
 her guest's private communings ; and herself and 
 Gertrude assisted in placing dinner on table. The 
 subject of his reflections, if it regarded any appre- 
 hensions as to future perils, of which the ancient 
 mariner bad warned him, seemed no less also to be
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 125 
 
 occupied on some singular disclosure concerning his 
 earlier and infant history. The circumstances of 
 such disclosure, whatever they might be, baffled the 
 reach of his own remembrance, and for the charac- 
 ter of which we must one day look to Mike himself 
 for explanation. 
 
 Thus, then, swayed between apprehensions and 
 hopes for the future, and anxious considerations as 
 to the far past — in which the thought of " the good 
 Fenton" mingled, nor all unrecognised by the tear 
 that would furtively steal forth, — thus swayed by 
 tenderer feelings at one moment, and at another, 
 roused by the sterner thoughts that bade defiance 
 to fate, and summoned up his natural resolution to 
 his aid — Renmore's turbid day waned.
 
 1*26 ADVEx\TURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER IX, 
 
 " Un medecin politique et flatteur." 
 
 MOLIERE. 
 
 And now to retrace our steps to the banks of 
 the meer, or those of the char-stream that runs 
 sparkHng from the steeps of Melbreak, in order to 
 join once again our friend Dr. Esdaile. We had 
 left him with his dog Bryan proceeding on his 
 favourite pursuit, until the hour should warn him 
 that it was time to visit his patient Mr. Howbiggen, 
 whose residence, we have already heard him inform 
 our hero, was situate on the borders of the meer. 
 It was at the distance of a quarter of an hour's walk 
 from the village of Buttermere, and had been taken 
 for a short period, by its present occupants for pur» 
 poses of health. The Doctor, then, having at length 
 stored his landing-net with a sufficient tribute of 
 the *' precious prey," as a present for his patient^s
 
 JAJMES HATFIELD. 127 
 
 sister, that estimable spinster, Miss Hovvbiggen, 
 had found his way to their residence, and by this 
 time had made the sounds of his merry chattering 
 audible within its walls. We may say of the good- 
 humoured, though somewhat bustling, Doctor, 
 that he was a favourite with all who knew him ; 
 and, indeed, if any proof were wanting of this cir- 
 cumstance, we are afforded it in the fact of his 
 having been witnessed as in the good graces of 
 even the demure widow Wetherby herself! If 
 he was popular for the good-humour that charac- 
 terized his social qualities, he was certainly not less 
 so for his attributes as a professor of the healing 
 art ; and we doubt whether any disciple of Escu- 
 lapius, Galen, Hippocrates, Avicenna, and '* Co.," 
 ever won more golden opinions, and we trust we 
 may add, golden remunerations ! It will be sub- 
 ject of little surprise that such should be the case 
 when we state, in addition to the testimony recorded 
 of '' the golden opinions and golden remunera- 
 tions," which were the Doctor's guerdon, the 
 " golden rules" also by which he sought health for 
 his patients ; and if at times he failed in this para- 
 mount object, he at least seldom failed in securing 
 the not unimportant one of popularity by his prin- 
 'ciple of treatment. 
 
 In a word, our obliging and epicurean M.D. 
 alwavs took care, as far as the case would admit,
 
 128 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to indulge the tastes of his patients, by which he 
 proved himself no less a politician and philosopher 
 in his art, than a physician. To flatter self-love 
 and accommodate himself (as far as it was expedi- 
 ent for him to do so) to the inclinations, appetites, 
 and whims even, of his valetudinarian catalogue, 
 was always the principle of Dr. Esdaile in " diet- 
 ing" his patients, and prescribing a " regimen" for 
 them. Accordingly, the first " great rule" in his 
 ** Code de Sante," or " golden list," was — • 
 
 1st. Always eat or drink what you find you like ; 
 for the circumstance of your liking a thing is 
 itself a proof it agrees with you ! Such is the 
 law of Nature, that directs all animals to find nou- 
 rishment in that which they chiefly like. 
 
 Not the least amusing feature of our sage's logic 
 is the grave deduction made in it from *' premises" 
 so questionable. Now, though many exceptions 
 may be taken to the above proposition as a general 
 one, we may at least say it is a more palatable one, 
 at any rate, than the water-drinking doctrine of 
 Sangrado; and this gentleman's renown (it can- 
 not be questioned) was as great as that of any pro- 
 fessor of the healing art that ever " cured or — 
 killed" mortal man. Leaving it therefore to 
 schoolboys amongst others, whose propensity for 
 plumcake at Christmas has made them suffer, 
 to say how far our philosophic Doctor was right
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 129 
 
 in this his first proposition, we will, with similar 
 brevity, record his second, which is accordingly as 
 follows : — 
 
 2nd. Always breakfast as if you did not intend to 
 have any <^ mid-day refection ;'* recruit yourself at 
 mid-day as if you had never breakfasted, nor in- 
 tended to dine ; and dine, as if you were uncon- 
 scious of having perpetrated the trivial interlude of 
 the said '* mid-day refection." " Because," adds 
 our profound physician, " the circumstance of the 
 appetite being hearty is a sure sign and proof of 
 the health being good." 
 
 There is again no gainsaying this *' conclusion" 
 at least, whatever we may say to the *' premises ;" 
 so we shall at once proceed to the third, which 
 deals at once in " philosophy profound," and de- 
 clares, with an almost oracular solemnity — 
 
 3rd. That there can be no health of mind without 
 health of body ; therefore, parents, look to your 
 progeny's health and strength well before you ply 
 their minds with too much instruction. Lay a 
 foundation of health first, if you are ambitious of 
 hereafter witnessing strong mental powers. And 
 ye, the vapour-be-fogged, nervously-worried, dys- 
 peptic, phantom-haunted, moping, night-mare- 
 ridden, and sleep-forbidden amongst my patients, 
 let me '^ administer to your minds diseased" 
 through the channel and medium of your bodily 
 g3
 
 130 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 frames first of all, ere health, with its joy, its 
 elasticity, and light, can visit you. 
 
 In these " golden rules," as it pleased their pro- 
 pounder himself to term them, rested the secret of 
 all the Doctor's art as a healer of mortal maladies, 
 and, we may add, of all his popularity too ; and 
 having thus necessarily confided to the reader the 
 principles of this great man's treatment, (Nota 
 Bene — we will not call him " quack,") we are at 
 liberty now safely to conduct him into the presence 
 of the Doctor's patient, Mr. Howbiggen. The 
 pulse-feeling ceremonial was now being gone 
 through between the Doctor and the valetudina- 
 rian. The latter, we should premise, was a difficult 
 subject to treat, however " cunning" might be the 
 '* leech" that administered to him ; for, despite the 
 Doctor's popularity, Mr. Howbiggen was one of 
 those morose gentlemen that seem systematically to 
 determine on being pleased with nobody and no- 
 thing, — who, in consequence of some early check 
 in views of ambition or gain, (or be it what it may,) 
 are self- abandoned to gloom and discontent, and 
 universal captiousness ! 
 
 Such was the case with Mr. Howbiggen, as 
 we shall more fully glean by-and-by from him- 
 self, whose fretfulness of spirit had at last preyed 
 so much on his frame that it had induced a 
 corporeal malady congenial with that of his mind.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 131 
 
 In order to recruit his strength he had repaired 
 from the metropolis, where he generally resided, 
 to the spot where we find him, at the insti- 
 gation of his maiden sister, who condescendingly 
 managed for him his domestic economy. This 
 lady, who, though she doubtless had (as we all 
 have) her " amiable failings," yet exercised much 
 forbearance and kindness in putting up with the 
 systematic grumbling and asceticism of her cynical 
 brother, to whose dissociability she contrasted qua- 
 lities perhaps even in the opposite extreme, her 
 taste being very much that of living in a whirl of 
 society, and " going out" as much as possible. 
 With this she combined, however, much kindness 
 of disposition and hospitality. Dr. Esdaile, in his 
 somewhat blunt way, and being always partial to 
 calling things " by their right names," would de- 
 signate those little importunities she sometimes 
 exhibited by the plain terms of even "gadding and 
 gossiping." Such terms, if they certainly were not 
 altogether inappropriate to the homely style in 
 which the '' rude folk" of the village would 
 sometimes comment on Miss Hester Howbiggen, 
 yet no doubt were a nomenclature that would be 
 little pleasing to so august a lady as herself, could 
 it have reached her polite ears. Looking forward, 
 then, shortly to the felicity of introducing ourselves 
 to this amiable person, our attention is at present 
 directed towards witnessing with what philosophic
 
 132 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 amiability the good-humoured Doctor parried the 
 contradictory and ascetic style it was the " sour 
 satisfaction" of his patient to exhibit. This worthy 
 was found by his medical adviser seated in a huge 
 arm-chair by the fire-side, even at that fine season 
 of the year, for it was June. His head was covered 
 with a snuff-coloured wig ; a double-breasted buff 
 waistcoat protected his chest, surmounted by a 
 neckcloth of copious folds, twisted tightly round 
 the neck, according to the ungainly fashion of the 
 day. His knees were drawn up, and his feet rested 
 on the fender. A newspaper divided his attention 
 with a tumbler of spiced wine with a toast in it. 
 
 " And how are we to-day ?" exclaimed Dr. 
 Esdaile, as he duly proceeded to feel the pulse of 
 his patient. 
 
 '^ How should we be ?" answered Mr. Howbig- 
 gen, in a growling tone, not exhibiting by his 
 manner or aspect that he at all entered into the 
 good-humoured vein of the lively physician ; " how 
 should we be, when there is no reason on earth for 
 being any better ?" 
 
 '' Reason !" replied Esdaile, nothing repulsed ; 
 ** why now, I think there is reason. The pulse is 
 far more regular ; . . . the regimen has had the 
 most desirable effects. How should it not, when it 
 consisted of just precisely what was most agreeable 
 to you ? You will not quarrel, I hope, with a dish 
 of char to-day, by way of variety? and (let me
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 133 
 
 see) a leveret and a little asparagus will not be 
 amiss ; and the East India Madeira — three, 
 four, five — ay, half-a-dozen glasses — may be con- 
 tinued." 
 
 " Ugh, all this may be very well in itself," growled 
 the patient, reluctantly acknowledging within him- 
 self that he was soothed somewhat by having his 
 tastes so indulgently studied; "but," he added, 
 determining not to evince any such weakness, " I 
 don't at all see how it is to make me well." 
 
 " Then I am happy to say that I do," exclaimed 
 the Doctor, in a tone of merry triumph. ** What ! 
 is it your health of spirits, your cheerfulness of 
 mind, you would see restored, for this is what you 
 ask me to do chiefly for you ? And do I not do 
 so ?" 
 
 " No, no, no," interposed the patient, shaking 
 his head sceptically. 
 
 " Do I not do so, I say, in telling you, my 
 dear Sir, though with all deference, that ambition, 
 in whose objects you may have been foiled, is 
 all a dream, a mere dream, and not worth your 
 fretting over ? — that even in its success, the attain- 
 ment of happiness is very uncertain and fallacious ! 
 While I, on the other hand, put content — ay, en- 
 joyment — positively in your possession, by my mode 
 of treatment !" (The ascetic curled up his lip with 
 a sardonic grin.) " For, mark my words, as we
 
 134 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 grow older, the study of our appetites," he conti- 
 nued, with emphasis, "is after all an object of 
 chief importance, and one which we are able most 
 duly to appreciate. As our physical powers flag 
 and fail, the support — the agreeable support — 
 afforded their decay and debility is a gratification 
 positive and undeniable ! — a main source of con- 
 tentment in this wane of life, when all the pursuits 
 of vanity are viewed in their true colours, and re- 
 cognised as fleeting and shadowy ! Here I give 
 you, then, by my ^ system,' which I must say," he 
 modestly added, " I never knew fail," — (" Ugh ! 
 ugh !" chuckled the cynic, turning himself restlessly 
 in his chair,) — "a certain source of satisfaction, and 
 that, too, which your time of life is best capable of 
 appreciating ! And I am happy to say," continued 
 the epicurean Doctor, in a renewed tone of jocular 
 triumph, " I can witness the best effects from my 
 treatment ! Depend upon it, we must set up, ac- 
 cording to the plan 1 am pursuing, the physical 
 powers first of all, and then the health of mind too 
 will follow as a happy consequence on their resti- 
 tution !" 
 
 " Have you done ?" growled Mr. Howbiggen 
 with characteristic complacence; "have you done 
 ' putting the cart before the horse,' as usual?" 
 
 But this sally, sour as was its tone, was not per- 
 mitted to escape the lips of his patient without
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 135 
 
 being turned to account by the facetious Doctor, 
 as he interposed, " Capital ! delightful ! — this is 
 precisely the cheerful vein of remark I wish to in- 
 duce ! Be assured, my dear Mr. Hovvbiggen, that 
 the ' regimen' succeeds wondrously ! Take my 
 word for it that the nerves of the brain . . .'' 
 
 " Pooh ! pshaw ! I know all you have to say 
 about the affection of the nerves of the brain, re- 
 sulting in an affection also of the mind ; and that 
 on the health, again, of the one depends that of the 
 otlier. I know all this ! I know what you have to 
 say — I have heard this 'jargon' " (the Doctor 
 smiled) " over and over again ! — this crambe repetita 
 of your 'system,' but . . ." 
 
 ..." Delightful, again;" interposed the 
 Doctor, rising in his tone of good-humoured 
 banter in proportion as his patient was impatient 
 and surly. " This mirthful vein of remark proves 
 you all the while better ; and that the regimen 
 has done wond . . ." 
 
 " Nothing, 1 tell you ! In fact, you do but 
 waste breath in trying to convince me that I am 
 better and better, when I am myself too conscious 
 that the cause of my malady still exists ! What 
 matters it that you tell me, it is an unworthy cause, 
 and originating in a vain and fallacious dream? 
 What, I say, matters that, if the cause, neverthe- 
 less, exists, and the ill effects of it remain ?
 
 136 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Pshaw ! You may talk of ' correcting the physical 
 habit' and so forth, but I tell you again, you do 
 but put the 'cart before the horse;' for I suppose 
 you're aware" (he continued, curling up his lip 
 with a sneer, while the Doctor smiled self- com- 
 placently) " that the mind you treat as such a 
 secondary thing, — that the mind, in its disease, 
 pulls awry the body ; and in doing so, mocks at 
 all your efforts to set right the ' physical tone' (as 
 you express it) or anything connected with this 
 miserable thing of clay, the body !" And the 
 cynic turned away impatiently, while his medical 
 adviser did but continue smiling as he exclaimed, 
 with undiminished glee — " Why this is better and 
 better ! Rail at my system as long as you please 
 in words, if you do but prove that in effect it is 
 right and beneficial ! Why, you could no more 
 have descanted in this good-humoured, pleasant, 
 light, easy style, on this or any other subject, a 
 short time past, than you could have flown !" 
 
 " Pshaw ! nonsense, Dr. Esdaile ! What mat- 
 ters it, I tell you, that I am a little better at times 
 — just now and then ? — make me permanently so if 
 you can ! You might as well pretend to do so as 
 to give me back the ten thousand pounds I lost at 
 the election some years back, and the seat in par- 
 liament with it for my pains — ugh, ugh — and the 
 sacrifice of all my projects in public life — pshaw!
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 137 
 
 You might as well pretend to do one as the other. 
 ... So pray talk no more of your ' system,' for 
 Heaven's sake !" . . . And he again turned away 
 from the wilfully-incredulous Doctor, with a look 
 of contempt and half-anger at the complacency 
 with which the other maintained the merits of his 
 " material system." In fact, in their principles of 
 difference both may be said to be right to a certain 
 extent ; and that both were wrong in the partial 
 view each took of the subject is no less certain. 
 The only answer which Mr. Howbiggen again re- 
 ceived was in the same confident strain of unalloyed 
 good-humour as before — " Better and better ! 
 You are, I am convinced, much better;" and just 
 here the door was opened, and that estimable 
 elderly maiden-lady. Miss Howbiggen, made her 
 appearance as Esdaile turned round, and bowed to 
 her, while he continued, addressing her with refer- 
 ence to his patient, " I am happy. Miss How- 
 biggen, to be able to pronounce that there is vast 
 improvement in our patient, in spite of his own 
 unwillingness to acknowledge it ! . . . Pulse better 
 . . . tongue clearer . . . complexion brighter . . . 
 eye more sprightly . . . conversation cheerful . . . 
 cheerful in the extreme ! . . . And yet he would 
 quarrel with my system ! . . . Never found him so 
 cheerful !" 
 
 " Well, I'm heartily glad," replied the fair
 
 138 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 spinster, with a toss of the head, indicative in some 
 measure of incredulity, if not reproach, towards her 
 cynical brother, " that you have brought him 
 round at last. For my part, I always tell him that 
 he will never be better till he lives less by himself 
 — sees more people — indulges more in the pleasures 
 of social life — and rubs off the rust acquired by this 
 perpetual brooding over the train of his own fretful 
 associations ! Yes — rubs it off, I say,'' (she pro- 
 ceeded, looking at the ascetic, whose lip was curled 
 up in contempt at these indirect admonitions,) "by 
 some interchange of opinions — some intercourse 
 with mankind — and, let me add, some little defer- 
 ence to the tastes and inclinations of others. Ah, 
 brother !" she added_, in a somewhat softened tone, 
 " if you could but take the advice I have so often 
 given you, and permitted yourself to be guided by 
 the example of my more social disposition, you 
 would have been a better and a happier man ! 
 You would not only have secured cheerfulness for 
 yourself, but contributed to that of the circle 
 around you !" 
 
 So far Miss Howbiggen spoke truly; for her 
 brother, ascetic as he had become by habit, had 
 naturally no want of either social feelings or even 
 conviviality of disposition. In fact, in times past 
 his humour and liveliness in conversation had made 
 him much sought after, and the flattery of which
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 139 
 
 he was sensible on the score of his talent in this 
 particular had perhaps been the first inducement 
 to his enlarging the scope of his ambition by 
 entering on the career of public life, in which he 
 had been disappointed, and had hence lost his 
 original gaiety, having been taught a lesson he had 
 too little philosophy to endure with patience. 
 
 Dr. Esdaile exclaimed, as Miss Howbiggen con- 
 cluded her remarks, that his " regimen" would yet 
 effect everything towards their patient's restoration 
 that was desirable, while that gentleman himself 
 replied to her — 
 
 " Ugh, well, then ; as I cannot be cheerful, it is 
 better to stay out of the way of people, and keep 
 my unpleasant qualities to myself, rather than mar 
 the happiness of others by souring the more cheerful 
 vein of their thoughts and feelings by my presence 
 — inauspicious as it is." Then turning to Dr. 
 Esdaile, he proceeded, " She is always trying to 
 drag me into what she calls society ! This is all 
 she cares about ! As for whether I'm well or ill, 
 it is a matter of little consequence!" 
 
 Dr. Esdaile laughed, while his sister exclaimed 
 in good-humoured reproach — 
 
 '* Here's ingratitude. Dr. Esdaile ! — this is the 
 way in which he distorts everything that I say, and 
 takes everything by the wrong handle !"
 
 140 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Oh I this is merely joking!" exclaimed the 
 bantering Doctor ; " this is merely facetiousness on 
 Mr. Howbiggen's part. I assure you, I never 
 found him so improved, so cheerful. 1 told you 
 we should bring him round — correct the nervous 
 system — restore the physical powers to their right 
 tone — and the result is, ' mens sana in corpore 
 sano' !" 
 
 " Pshaw ! « corpore sano !* let us hear no more, 
 Doctor, of your « system' to-day, if you please" 
 
 " Well, then !" interposed Miss Howbiggen, " if 
 you are sceptical as to Dr. Esdaile's power of curing 
 you, embrace, my dear brother, ^ my system,' 
 socially delightful as it is : for this peculiarly 
 agrees with all your arguments that first of all the 
 mind . . ." 
 
 " ' A plague o' both your houses,' as says Mer- 
 cutio!" growled out Mr. Howbiggen, hastily cut- 
 ting short this attempt on the part of his sister at 
 trepanning him into dining out and card-parties, 
 " So I may say, a plague o' both your systems ! 
 You neither of you can give me back either my 
 ten thousand pounds or restore my lost opportu- 
 nities ! so prate no more about your systems. 
 The twaddle of evening parties or dull dinners 
 would relieve the mind amazingly!" (he added, 
 with a sardonic grin,) " About as much as my
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 141 
 
 friend Dr. Esdaile's' regimen' — pooh! pshaw ! — my 
 good sister, do not talk about what you don't 
 understand any longer, but leave me to myself." 
 
 Dr. Esdaile made little reply to this sweeping 
 censure, but laughed, declaring again " that his 
 system would triumph over all others !" while Miss 
 Howbiggen pronounced her brother "incorrigible," 
 and said that " he only opposed her from the mere 
 love of contradiction," and was forthwith proceeding 
 to take her leave and resume the walk in the 
 grounds round the house which she had been 
 taking when Dr. Esdaile's arrival had called her in 
 doors ; but it so happened that she was delayed by 
 the Doctor's starting a subject too engrossing not 
 to engage her attention and arrest her steps. 
 
 " You will be happy to hear, since we were 
 speaking of society," (said the little man, grinning 
 with the consciousness of imparting a piece of 
 news that would be particularly acceptable to her 
 of all persons) — " that there is an accession to the 
 social circle in the neighbourhood ; a most desirable 
 one too !" and here he opened his eyes, as having 
 delivered an important, no less than agreeable 
 piece of intelligence ; while the fair person to whom 
 he imparted it reciprocally distended her lids with 
 surprise no less than pleasure. 
 
 " I'm delighted ! our circle was so small ! — do let 
 us hear the name!" exclaimed the sociable and
 
 142 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 society-loving lady, at the same moment that her 
 ascetic brother growled out — " Oh, good gracious ! 
 we've ' bores' enough already, without any more !" 
 
 Meantime, " the herald of good news," as Miss 
 Howbiggen considered him, proceeded — 
 
 " Why, he is no less a person than a certain 
 colonel, of noble family, and a member of parlia- 
 ment to boot !" 
 
 " Ugh, a colonel in the army," growled Howbig- 
 gen ; " that is no great recommendation, when we 
 hear so much of the partial sale of commissions, 
 and promotions by favour of young aristocratic 
 coxcombs, to the exclusion often of the most de- 
 serving. Ugh — a member of parliament, too! ugh — 
 that is a title guaranteeing anything but honesty 
 now-a-days!" 
 
 Miss Howbiggen, on the other hand, exclaimed, 
 with very different feelings and in a very different 
 strain — 
 
 "Delightful! A member of parliament ! — and 
 his name ? — his name ?" 
 
 " Colonel Renmore." 
 
 " Charming name !" 
 
 " Nothing very charming that I can see," mut- 
 tered her ascetic brother ; — " what a fuss you make 
 about any strange person that happens to come into 
 the neighbourhood, and perhaps may merely be 
 passing through it. Why you can possibly require
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 143 
 
 to increase your circle (as you call it) I can't 
 imagine ! I'm sure I don't wish to see this colonel 
 — (what do you call him?) any more than he 
 wishes (I dare say) to see me !" 
 
 " And Vm dying to see him !" exclaimed Miss 
 Howbiggen. " Our * circle' at present is ' no 
 circle at all.' As for Mr. Lawton, the ' squire,' as 
 the country people here call him, he is a very 
 worthy" . . . 
 
 ..." Oh, the ' bore' of a fellow ! do not name 
 him," growled out her brother, hastily. 
 
 '' Nay, indeed he is a very worthy person, but 
 certainly not so all-engrossing as to leave no acces- 
 sion to his society to be wished for. He is almost 
 the only person we have in the neighbourhood, ex- 
 cept your 'Genii of the Lake,' Dr. Esdaile; and 
 these are such sublime philosophical persons that 
 they are sometimes a little too lofty to answer the 
 notions of companionship that humbler spirits find 
 more agreeable ! . . . Oh I I'm delighted to think 
 we shall have so desirable and distinguished an ac- 
 cession. . . . Pray when did you first see him?" 
 
 " Oh, only yesterday evening. I took leave of 
 him this morning and promised to call on him 
 again shortly," replied the Doctor. 
 
 " Charming ! do make it in your way to look in 
 upon him if you should be able, and express how 
 much pleasure it would give Mr. Howbiggen and
 
 144 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 myself if he would favour us with his company to 
 dinner this evening." 
 
 Esdaile hesitated for a moment in his reply, 
 calling now to mind, as he did, a little too late, the 
 circumstance of Renmore's appearing to desire to 
 be private. 
 
 " Why, what is the matter?" continued the fair 
 spinster, with a tone of eager inquisitiveness; "he 
 surely will scarcely refuse us the pleasure of his 
 company, being a stranger and all alone?" 
 
 " That is very true," replied the Doctor, still 
 hesitating ; " but I fancy he is a little occupied at 
 present by an arrear of correspondence to consti- 
 tuents and others." 
 
 " Oh ! dear, dear ! that can hardly be. A man 
 must find time to dine, and ' see society.' There 
 is a time surely for all things. I, for my part, 
 could write letters to as many people as any M.P. 
 in the three kingdoms has constituents, and yet 
 find time for seeing my friends and entering into 
 the engagements of ' society !' " 
 
 "; But this person is no friend of yours or mine, 
 nor knows anything about us !'* growled out How- 
 biggen ; " and perhaps does not wish to know any- 
 thing about us !" 
 
 " The greater is the compliment we pay him, 
 then, in shewing him the courtesy of making ad- 
 vances towards his acquaintance, and offering him
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 145 
 
 hospitality as being a stranger amongst us !" re- 
 torted Miss Howbiggen, with a truly becoming toss 
 of the head at her brother's barbarous * antisocial' 
 tone of thinking. 
 
 " Well, all I can say is," resumed Dr. Esdaile, 
 " that if I thought that by returning to the place 
 where he is taking up his abode during his stay 
 here, I could induce him to join me and accept 
 your invitation I should be too happy ; but really, 
 I think he would only consider it an interference, 
 after the assurance he gave me that to-day, at least, 
 he was too much engaged to be at liberty to come 
 out. Perhaps to-morrow, or on some future day, 
 he may be less occupied." 
 
 " There ! now will not that satisfy you ?" growled 
 out Howbiggen again. " I'm sure I am in no such 
 hurry to see this ' distinguished stranger' — he, 
 he, he !" he added, chuckling most provokingly. 
 
 Miss Howbiggen, taking no notice of this dis- 
 agreeable speech, continued, with characteristic 
 anxiety, to Dr. Esdaile — 
 
 " Some future day ! Oh, dear ! that is too dis- 
 tant a prospect to satisfy my desire to see our new 
 denizen of these solitary retreats " 
 
 [" I dare say !" muttered Howbiggen.] 
 
 . . . . " Besides, by that time he may be gone. 
 No, no ! we must not put off anything of moment 
 in this life; and it is of moment, in our scanty 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 circle, to secure so desirable an addition. There- 
 fore, nothing can satisfy me but dispatching a note 
 and our cards, with a view to trying to ' draw out' 
 this distinguished person amongst us this very day. 
 .... But, dear me ! look. Dr. Esdaile, who is 
 that riding by ?" she exclaimed, hastening to the 
 window. 
 
 " It is the worthy squire of Blacktarn, my es- 
 teemed friend, Mr. Lawton ; by-the-bye, I ought 
 to call at Blacktarn to see Miss Lawton— she has 
 
 had a bad cold, and I must inquire " 
 
 But here he was stopped short by Miss How- 
 biggen, who cried out, " Oh, dear me ! I so wish to 
 speak to him — I wish we could stop him !" And 
 here, throwing up the window-sash, she waved a 
 handkerchief, like a distressed damsel of old, under 
 durance vile of giant or ogre, with the hope of 
 catching the eye of the equestrian, when, to her 
 great joy, he reined up his steed, and was soon seen 
 advancing along the gravel-road up to the entrance 
 door. 
 
 He had scarcely entered, than Miss Howbiggen, 
 with laudable impatience, hastened to meet him. 
 « Oh, I am so happy to see you, Mr. Lawton ! I 
 suppose you have, of course, left a card on Colonel 
 Renmore, the new acquisition, as I trust he will 
 prove, (that is, if we make the proper advances,) 
 to our social circle ?"
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 147 
 
 " He, he, he !" giggled out Mr. Howbiggen, at 
 hearing this, as he just raised up his head in recog- 
 nition of the entrance of Lawton, while he grum- 
 bled out, " Ugh, how d'ye do ? How's Miss Law- 
 ton ? ugh, ugh ?" 
 
 " Why, ahem, her cold is on the whole some- 
 what better — ahem !" replied tlie lord of Black- 
 tarn, in a pompous and solemn tone, which, as ap- 
 plied to trifles, was somewhat ludicrous in its efi^ect ; 
 this, however, was one of his amusing character- 
 istics, and perhaps was not lost sight of by the 
 cynical Howbiggen, when a little while ago he 
 designated Mr. Lawton " a bore." " Ahem," (con- 
 tinued Lawton,) " Laura (that was his daughter's 
 name) caught cold in standing out too long, ahem, 
 witnessing one of my grand improvements, ahem, in 
 the pleasure-grounds . . . ." 
 
 ....*' Yes, yes !" ejaculated Miss Howbiggen, 
 hastily, and anxious to cut short the somewhat 
 prosaic Lord of Blacktarn, especially when he was 
 " mounted on his hobby," (for such it was,) — viz., 
 the topic of " improvements,'^ as we shall more 
 fully witness hereafter. At present, we shall only 
 remark that, if Mr. Lawton was a " genius" in his 
 way, he was assuredly not one of Dr. Esdaile's 
 " Genii of the Lake" exactly; but we hear Miss 
 Howbiggen reiterate — " Of course you have left a 
 
 card " 
 
 H 2
 
 148 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Left a card, — ahem, — a card?" rejoined Law- 
 ton, with an air of somewhat ludicrous surprise. 
 " No, no ! I really have not heard till this moment 
 of any colonel — any new acquisition — ahem, or 
 arrival." 
 
 " No, no !'* interposed Esdaile, " the colonel only 
 came into the neighbourhood yesterday evening." 
 
 "True, true!" replied Miss Ho wbiggen, eagerly. 
 " So much the better, however, for our exhibition 
 of readiness to shew him attention. There should 
 certainly be as little time lost as possible in offering 
 
 it You will have," she continued, turning 
 
 to Lawton, " some interesting news to bear to Miss 
 Lawton " 
 
 [" Interesting news I" giggled out the ascetic] 
 
 *' Which is no other than that ' the Honourable 
 Colonel Renmore, M. P., of the Clan-renmore 
 family, county Caithness," is come amongst us. 
 Such a partner for her at a ball, or to hand her in 
 at dinner ! Consider, you will of course exhibit 
 your desire to shew so distinguished a person im- 
 mediate attention." 
 
 " Certainly, — ahem, — certainly," replied Law- 
 ton, with due solemnity; " pray where is the Colonel 
 residing ? I shall be most happy to leave our 
 cards — Laura's and mine — with a note, expressing 
 how flattered we shall be — ahem — by the honour 
 of his company to-morrow evening to dinner."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 149 
 
 So saying, Mr. Lawton repaired to the writing- 
 table and penned a note, while Miss Hovvbiggen 
 took her seat opposite, and penned another, on 
 the part of her brother and herself, as she said to 
 Lawton, '' You are doing precisely what 1 was 
 about to do myself, only your invitation is for to- 
 morrow, mine for to-day ! And let me see," (she 
 continued running on, and amusing herself with 
 the dreams of that festivity to which she made sure 
 " the Colonel's'' presence would give such new im- 
 pulse) — " let me see, we shall be able to have a 
 charming party ! Yourself and Dr. Esdaile" — 
 (a bow from the Doctor and Mr. Lawton, of 
 course) — " and Miss Lawton " 
 
 [" Permit me to ask if Miss Lawton has pursued 
 the regimen I prescribed for her cold ?" interposed 
 the Doctor ] 
 
 " Wait a moment. Dr. Esdaile," resumed Miss 
 Howbiggen ; — " yes ; there will be Mr. and Miss 
 Lawton, Dr. Esdaile, that is three ; then, your 
 « Genii of the Lake,' the illustrious « trio,' that 
 will make 'six;' then Colonel Renmore, seven; 
 and Mr. Fen ton, perhaps, (though I can scarcely 
 reckon so certainly on him, for he is at some little 
 distance,) eight; and Mr. Howbiggen and myself, 
 ten. A very nice party !" 
 
 " Very nice indeed!" muttered Howbiggen to
 
 150 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 himself; " and this is the way I am to have the 
 house turned out at windows, without even being 
 asked how far /find it < nice/ as she calls it, or not. 
 Vastly pleasant — agreeable indeed !" 
 
 Tliis interesting calculation on the part of Miss 
 Howbiffgen — this most sociable of ladies — was con- 
 eluded at the same moment that the notes both of 
 herself and Mr. Lawton were achieved. The lady 
 proceeded to ring the bell immediately, in order to 
 dispatch her " billet" on the way of its destiny, 
 when Mr. Lawton assured her, with due solemnity, 
 that he should have much pleasure in leaving it, 
 together — ahem — with his own note, which he 
 should do in calling at the Traveller's Rest. The 
 worthy squire was, in fact, scarcely less eager now 
 than the fair spinster herself, to " draw out" this 
 '* distinguished stranger." Of course, in doing so, 
 he had in his eye a desirable acquisition of acquaint- 
 ance for his daughter ; for no doubt, in this solitary 
 district of meers, tarns, and cliffs, acquaintances 
 were scarce, and consequently the more in request, 
 when any such " novelties" offered themselves ; and 
 we are giving but a true picture of the " stir" a 
 new arrival occasions in such a district. 
 
 Accordingly Mr. Lawton proceeded to take his 
 leave, trusting he might be fortunate enough to 
 find the Colonel at home.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 151 
 
 " I doubt that," observed Esdaile; ^* indoors he 
 may be, I grant you ; I think it is very probable ; 
 but I doubt whether he will be at home to you or 
 any one. But let me ask once again as to Miss 
 Lawton's cold — I think you said it was better — 
 she has pursued the regimen, of course?" 
 
 " Oh, good heavens !" ejaculated Howbiggen, 
 ** that everlasting « regimen !'".... and con- 
 tinued, after his manner, to grumble out something 
 complimentary, when his murmuring was drowned 
 in the merry fit of cachinnation which the Doctor 
 raised as he made his escape, and which was not 
 unreadily joined in by the Squire of Blacktarn ; 
 more, however, in his instance, at the entertaining 
 moroseness of Howbiggen, than out of any dis- 
 respect for the Doctor's '* regimen," which indeed 
 Miss Lawton had found fully satisfactory. As for 
 Howbiggen, he was both a '^ character" and an 
 ** invalid;" and as such, was accounted a "privi- 
 leged person," and all his moroseness was not only 
 taken in " good part," but served as food for en- 
 tertainment to some, and moralizing to others. 
 
 And now Lawton and Esdaile had taken their 
 departure — the first to Blacktarn, of course, stop- 
 ping at the Traveller's Rest in his way ; the last to 
 his residence near Keswick. And thus we have 
 explained the circumstances that led to those invi- 
 tations which we have witnessed our hero receiving
 
 152 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 on his return to the hostelrie, as above related. As 
 for Miss Howbiggen, she now continued her walk 
 in no small anxiety and restlessness until the fate 
 of her note should be decided ; all which laudable 
 anxiety was rudely designated by her uncompli- 
 mentary and disagreeably candid brother, " fidget."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 153 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Go ! get thee gone ! thou false deluding slave !" 
 
 Taming of the Shrew. 
 
 Anxiously indeed did Miss Howbiggen await 
 the arrival of an answer to her invitation. With 
 eager and trembling hand did she break the seal, 
 when at length, and late in the evening, it was 
 placed before her. Her cynical brother had long 
 retired to rest, worn out, in great measure, by his 
 own fretfulness, and in a certain degree by the 
 "fidget'* (to use his own term) of his *' amiable" 
 sister. As for this excellent spinster, little rest 
 could she hope for, until she was made acquainted 
 with the fate of her attempts at " drawing the 
 Colonel out." If, then, repose of mind had been 
 banished hitherto by the pain of uncertainty as to 
 the result of her adventure, it was not likely to be 
 much more conceded her by the '* bitter certainty" 
 of ill success which the following words now con- 
 veyed : —
 
 154 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Colonel Renmore's compliments to Mr. and 
 Miss Howbiggen, and regrets he is unable to do 
 himself the honour of accepting their kind invita- 
 tion, in consequence of engagements that have de- 
 mands on his time during his very short sojourn in 
 the neighbourhood. 
 
 " Mr. and Miss Howbiggen." 
 
 A similar note vi^as received by the denizens of 
 Blacktarn, and excited similar regret with that of 
 Miss Howbiggen, though in a more moderate and 
 softened degree. 
 
 The tumult of spirit, the '' tantarum" of disap- 
 pointment experienced by this hospitable spinster, 
 it would be difficult either to imagine or adequately 
 portray. 
 
 " Tantalizing and vexatious !'' she exclaimed ; 
 " What a polite, delightful note ! Vexatious that 
 it should be one of refusal ! Most disappointing !" 
 
 In fact, the pohte terms in which '* the Colonel" 
 had declined her advances towards " drawing him 
 out" had only the effect of stimulating her anxiety 
 to persevere in that desired object. If she had 
 framed an agreeable image of the distinguished 
 stranger hitherto in her mind, she now arrayed the 
 pleasing picture in yet heightened colours and 
 additional lustre. After walking up and down the 
 room, reiterating the burden " very, very disap-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 155 
 
 pointing, and extremely vexatious !" she at last en- 
 deavoured to console herself by hopes that on some 
 future day a more satisfactory result of her social 
 advances, as regarded " the Colonel," might be 
 attained. However, another and another day 
 dragged their weary flight along, and still Miss 
 Howbiggen saw no prospect of attaining her de- 
 sired object. It was to no want of assiduity, cer- 
 tainly, on her part, that this failure was to be 
 attributed ; for scarcely had ten days elapsed than 
 she had dispatched nearly half the number of 
 notes, all tending to the same desirable end. But 
 alas ! all met with the uniform result of disappoint- 
 ment in their laudable advances. To one, a reply 
 was made of valetudinarianism ; to another, that 
 Colonel Renmore "regretted much" he was just 
 setting off on his departure from the place ; and 
 bitter was the dismay, and intense the fidget, occa- 
 sioned Miss Howbiggen by this cruel announce- 
 ment. Away she sent a servant to the Traveller's 
 Rest, to ascertain if Colonel Renmore had " really 
 taken leave" of the spot; and when she was in- 
 formed he was still there, she opened her eyes as 
 widely as astonishment could distend them, as she 
 ejaculated, ^' Well, I must say this is very sin- 
 gular. I cannot imagine what can be the reason 
 Colonel Renmore acts so very much on the de- 
 fensive, as regards our advances towards him. One
 
 156 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 would really think they had been hostile, to find 
 
 him thus keep us at arm's length What 
 
 can be the reason he maintains this strict privacy, 
 and manifests so unaltered a determination to keep 
 to himself?" 
 
 " Why, what can it matter to you or me?" her 
 brother would observe, pettishly ; ** Tm quite sick 
 of this man*s name, endlessly as it has been on 
 your tongue since the first moment that blockhead 
 Esdaile mentioned it to you. Can you not take 
 the ' hint' that Colonel Renmore's endless refusal 
 of your invitations offers — namely, that he does not 
 desire to be annoyed with society ?" 
 
 " Annoyed ! Monstrous to hear you speak 
 thus. No, no ! there is some secret or another 
 connected with this privacy which it would in- 
 terest me amazingly to discover. Why ! he haunts 
 the place like a spy ; he is in it, but not of it. I 
 shall feel quite ' uncomfortable' (really I shall) 
 until I fathom to its depth the whole ' mystery,' 
 for by no other name can I designate it !" 
 
 So saying, she left the room to prepare herself 
 for going out, while the pony-phaeton, in which 
 herself and Mr. Howbiggen took their drives, was 
 ordered to the door, but was sent back again, on 
 her sagely determining that a " pedestrian tour" 
 through the village would afford her better oppor- 
 tunities of delaying " where she listed," to make
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 157 
 
 inquiries concerning the history, character, move- 
 ments (or it might be, peculiarities), of this mys- 
 terious yet courtly stranger. Unsocial in disposi- 
 tion she could not believe him to be, so polite was 
 the style of his address, both as Esdaile had repre- 
 sented it to her and as the style of his notes testi- 
 fied. " What could, then, be the reason of his thus 
 standing aloof — of his perpetual excuses that he 
 was about to leave the spot — that his movements 
 were ' unsettled and uncertain' ? . . . . And yet 
 still was he there ! and still unwilling to meet the 
 advances of sociability and hospitality a stranger is 
 generally so willing to meet, and by which he feels 
 flattered, while he is pleased in evincing his sense 
 of the attentions offered him." To solve the pro- 
 blem, then, of this " mystery," if possible. Miss 
 Howbiggen sallied forth on her portentous way to 
 the village of Buttermere; while her courteous 
 brother's reflections on her errand were somewhat 
 to the following eff*ect : — " Ugh ! tiresome it is a 
 man can't be left to himself when he wishes it ! ugh, 
 you can't seek a retreat of quiet or privacy a 
 moment, but you must be rummaged out by the 
 worrying civility or impertinent curiosity of some 
 one or another ! — bore ! plague ! pest !" 
 
 So thouirht Mr. Howbiggen, and so sallied forth 
 on her way his " amiably" inquisitive sister ; and we 
 may venture to say that no pilgrim, even proceed-
 
 158 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ing to Mecca, ever journeyed with greater zeal 
 than herself. Nor was she animated by a less in- 
 citing principle than any pilgrim that ever walked 
 barefoot even, and with pease in his shoes ; for 
 assuredly, as far as zeal is concerned, the spirit of 
 religion may be matched by the spirit of curiosity, 
 or call it, if you please, of gossiping. All anxiety 
 to " glean information," she demanded it of the 
 first person that came in her way, on having 
 entered the village. Whether exercised to the 
 purpose or not, — whether with the probable chance 
 of obtaining the desired intelligence or not, seems 
 to have been scarcely of more consequence in 
 this first ebullition of her question-asking errand, 
 than the circumstance of giving some vent to the 
 swelling current of her anxiety, or (call it if you 
 will) her " fidget," which longed to force itself out 
 in words ! As chance would so have it, the first 
 person that presented himself was one " Jock," the 
 carrier's man already mentioned as having brought 
 the Colonel's baggage from Keswick. She had 
 now rounded the corner of the lake, and was pur- 
 suing the little road, or rather lane, leading to 
 the Traveller's Rest and the village, and at this 
 point she encountered honest Jock. He was plod- 
 ding his dusty way along, groaning under a heavy 
 " fardel" of baggage which he was conveying {se- 
 cundum artem) from Buttermere to some spot in
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 159 
 
 the neighbourhood. He wore a smock-frock, and 
 was adorned with a blue cotton neckerchief be- 
 sides, together with a low-crowned straw hat, with 
 a piece of whip-cord for a band. From beneath 
 his hat-brim hung down some knotted red locks, 
 by way of variety to the straight-smoothed hair at 
 the top of his head. 
 
 " Oh ! you are the Buttermere and Keswick 
 carrier, are you not ?" asked his fair interrogator. 
 
 " No !" answered Jock, somewhat waggishly, for 
 he was a blunt and dogged kind of clown, and 
 somewhat of the vein of the ancient Touchstones, 
 piquing himself as he did on the sharpness and 
 pertinency of his answers. " No, ma'am, I be-ant 
 the carrier, and yet I be the carrier too, and don't 
 speak falsely neither !" So saying, he rested his 
 load against a stump by the wayside, pulled off his 
 straw hat, rubbed his forehead with the back of his 
 hand, and grinned complacently in his fair ques- 
 tioner's face. 
 
 "Pooh, pooh!" she replied; " I don't understand 
 speaking in riddles !" 
 
 *' Why," continued our " Touchstone," " in 
 respect I carry the load, I am the carrier ; but in 
 respect I am not the person you would mean, I am 
 not the carrier ; therefore " 
 
 " Dear, dear ! do speak plainly ! I . . . ."
 
 160 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Well then, ma'am, so I will ! and I say I be 
 not the carrier, but — I'm his man !" 
 
 " Well, well, it is all one !" she replied, some- 
 what fussily ; " I wished to inquire " 
 
 " Yees, it is all one ! I wish it were two of us 
 instead of one, to help me with my load !" And 
 here he grinned again in clownish malice, at her 
 apparent impatience at his answers. 
 
 " Well, never mind, my good man, more than 
 one is sometimes one too many ; and " 
 
 " Yees ! and sometimes one too few, as I find it 
 just now;" and here he grinned applause over his 
 own clownish conceit, and testified also his amuse- 
 ment at tantalizing Miss Howbiggen, whose cha- 
 racter for question-asking, and stopping people 
 with that view, was not altogether unknown in the 
 hamlet. 
 
 " Dear, dear, how provoking the oafish being is ; 
 he will not let me come to what I want to say !" ex- 
 claimed the tantalized spinster to herself, when she 
 continued to the "grin-adorned" Jock — " There 
 is a gentleman at the Traveller's Rest " 
 
 " Yees, I dare say there be ! two or three " 
 
 ** Pooh, pooh! I mean a certain Colonel Ren- 
 more, who I understand is about to quit the spot, 
 if he has not already quitted it ; now, as you are 
 the carrier of the place, I dare say you can inform
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 161 
 
 me if he is gone , since you might have had to 
 convey some of his luggage possibly? and " 
 
 " Oh Lord ! oh Lord, ma'am ! you runs on too 
 fast for my poor wit possibly to understand half 
 that you would wish to ask me !" replied Jock, 
 putting on a look of ludicrous dismay and pre- 
 tended ignorance " Bless you, ma'am ! you 
 
 put me all in a fluster !" 
 
 " Well, Jock " 
 
 " Yes, ma'am," replied the clown, with pre- 
 tended officiousness. 
 
 " Oafish booby !" exclaimed Miss Howbiggen to 
 herself, much worried at having to deal with a 
 being so " impracticable" as the dogged and ma- 
 licious clown before her ; and the more annoyed 
 was she, since she fancied, from the fellow's look 
 and manner, that he possessed the desired intel- 
 ligence, but withheld it purposely from her. At 
 least, she suspected as much, by the malicious self- 
 complacence of his countenance, which, in other 
 and plainer language, may be construed " sauci- 
 ness." 
 
 " Tell me !" at length she exclaimed, raising her 
 voice, and now rendered quite angry ; *' Tell me 
 whether the gentleman I mentioned has (as far as 
 you know) left the village or not ?" 
 
 " Left the village or not, ma'am ?" answered
 
 162 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Jock, with an oafish stare of pretended surprise, 
 and his mouth gaping wide at the same time. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I ask you ! don't turn my own ques- 
 tions back upon me ! I ask yoUy I repeat ! So speak, 
 my good man, if you have a tongue, and " 
 
 " Why yees, I have a tongue, ma'am ! but it's 
 so dry at present, that I raly shouldn't mind wet- 
 ting it, the better to answer you, if so be you might 
 be kind enough to let me drink your health !" 
 
 "Is it even so ? Oh ! you can speak fast 
 enough, I find, when you have anything to ask 
 for !" replied Miss Howbiggen, turning away in- 
 dignantly from the waggish clown. " No, no, my 
 friend, I do not give anything to idle persons such 
 as yourself, who cannot return a plain answer to a 
 plain question !" So saying, " Miss Howbiggen 
 turned precipitately av;ay from Jock, finding she 
 had taken (to use the humble adage) " the wrong 
 sow by the ear," her impatience not being allayed 
 by any means by the words which the Buttermere 
 Touchstone spoke, as he resumed his " fardel" and 
 " trudged" on. 
 
 " A plain answer, said you, ma'am ? Well now, 
 I thought I spoke plain enough ! — he, he — ho, 
 ho — ha !" continued the clown, chuckling to him- 
 self, while he proceeded to soliloquize, with an arch 
 leer in his face, " Why, if I had known (as 'tis
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 163 
 
 like I may) the gentleman's movements, do you 
 suppose I was going to tell you about 'em ? No, 
 no ! go, ax himself, if you want to know I I only 
 can say, he is a gentleman, every inch on him ; and 
 paid me handsomely for bringing his baggage to 
 the Traveller's Rest, when he first came there, ten 
 days sin', or more ! He would not have heard a 
 poor man say he was dry without treating him to 
 drink his health ! And I'm sure if there ever was 
 dry work it is answering plaguing questions and 
 carrying heavy bundles." 
 
 So saying, and with this indirect reflection on 
 the want of liberality in his late questioner, Jock 
 proceeded on his way. 
 
 Miss Howbiggen, after having walked onward a 
 little w^ay, stopped for a moment, as she stood 
 tapping the ground impatiently with her foot, and 
 playing with the ivory top of her parasol, while 
 she considered with herself as to which was the 
 best quarter to which she should next address her- 
 self. The Traveller's Rest was at hand. " Sup- 
 pose I go at once to the Colonel's ' head-quarters,'" 
 she said, "and make inquiries there !" 
 
 Accordingly, she had soon cleared the threshold 
 of the porch, and was met by the landlady of the 
 hostelrie, who received her with a most formal 
 curtsey, and begged to ask " What was her 
 pleasure?"
 
 164 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Oh ! only, Mrs. Wetherby, to inquire whether 
 Colonel Renmore has yet left you? since we 
 have a party on Sunday next, and we should have 
 been delighted to have sent a note to try and pre- 
 vail on him to come and see us, in case he might 
 be still in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " He is still in Buttermere, ma'am ; but not at 
 home." 
 
 " There is the cause of our regret! He is ' not 
 at home' to any one it seems. Well, well, I'm de- 
 lighted to hear that he has not left the place abso- 
 lutely ; since we have yet a chance, I trust, of the 
 pleasure of his company ! What can be the reason 
 he will not favour us with his society, considering 
 he has now been here some days?" 
 
 " Really," replied dame Wetherby, with a stiff- 
 ness that was truly formidable, bristling up her 
 chin, and " perpendicularizing" the plaited border 
 of her widow's cap, just as a fighting-cock bristles 
 up its crest-feathers ; " really, I cannot inform you 
 of the Colonel's reasons for declining invitations — 
 he may be an invalid, or busy. I do not interfere 
 in any such matters, I can assure you, ma'am, — " 
 and here dame Wetherby coolly looked awry, as 
 she added, — " and do not see why others should !" 
 
 " Exactly, exactly !" replied Miss Howbiggen, a 
 little thrown ''a-back" by this indirect reflection on 
 her own spirit of inquisitiveness, of which Mrs.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 165 
 
 Wetherby was too well aware not to be on her 
 guard against it. " Exactly," continued Miss 
 Howbiggen, in a somewhat quickened tone ; . . . 
 " I merely wished to make the inquiry which I just 
 suggested, in order not to intrude any more invi- 
 tations on the Colonel, in case his stay were really 
 so unsettled as he seems hitherto to have considered 
 it. He may, however, possibly prolong his stay, 
 and then the case would be altered. If so, I might 
 venture to send an invitation for Sunday next, 
 should you think he will be still at Buttermere." 
 
 " It is impossible for me to say ! — Ahem !" . . . 
 
 ..." Perhaps we may have the pleasure of 
 meeting him at church ?" . . . 
 
 " I really cannot tell !" replied the unbending 
 landlady; "but this I can tell, that it would be 
 well if folks looked forward to going to church for 
 other and worthier objects than falling in with the 
 children of this world I" and as she ejaculated 
 these words, her eyes were upturned in appropriate 
 accompaniment, for the chord of the good dame's 
 sanctimonious propensities had been touched on, 
 by the mention of " church." And now, in her 
 turn, she began to be felt as inconvenient by Miss 
 Howbiororen, as the latter had been felt a moment 
 past by the landlady, who proceeded, in a tone of 
 whining edification — " Ah ! it is to hear what les- 
 sons the pulpit administers that we ought to go to
 
 166 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 church! not to gaze about us! Ah, could you 
 but hear such a preacher as Mr. Quandish ! . . ." 
 
 ..." Oh, no doubt — no doubt !" replied Miss 
 Howbiggen, hastily ; " and by-the-bye, how is the 
 worthy chapel minister ?" she added, in a tone of 
 conciliation, by way of removing the former un- 
 favourable impression made by her spirit of inqui- 
 sitiveness, for she was aware how much an ally 
 Quandish was of dame Wetherby. ..." I really 
 must hear him preach some day." 
 
 " Ah, it would do you good to hear mm ! It is 
 now more than a week since I heard him !'' 
 
 " Indeed — has he been out of Buttermere ?" 
 
 " Yes, has he, for some days past ; but be he 
 where he may, he is ever ' seeking the Lord,' and 
 walking in the path of righteousness ! Oh, what a 
 ' sweet discourse' his last was ; the text was from 
 Corinthians. He preached for three hours all but 
 seven minutes. . . ." 
 
 ..." Oh, yes ! I remember hearing about it 
 in the village." [" Thank Heaven, I was not 
 amongst the congregation," she added to herself.] 
 " I must certainly hear him some day — so good 
 morning, Mrs, Wetherby ! Good morning !" 
 she continued, making a curtsey, and bustling 
 out at the porch, as well pleased to escape the 
 infliction of the " dameV sanctimony and powers 
 of " prosiness" as Mrs. Wetherby had lately been
 
 JAMES HATHELD. 167 
 
 to shake from her shoulders the load of interroo-a- 
 
 o 
 
 tion which Miss Howbiggen was ever so ready to 
 impose. 
 
 " Not at all nearer the mark !" exclaimed the 
 provoked lady, once more abroad on the field of 
 discovery. ..." Cannot learn the cause of the 
 mysterious conduct I want so much to have ex- 
 plained ! . . . But, dear me, who is this advancing 
 towards the inn — this old man ?" . . . And then 
 looking attentively at the person in question, she 
 added, "It is old Mike ! . . . Just the person I 
 should think likely to solve the problem ! He 
 knows everything, and may well be accounted a 
 wizard by the innocent vulgar of Buttermere and 
 its neighbourhood !" 
 
 So saying, she advanced hastily up to the 
 "ancient mariner," who eyed her somewhat askance, 
 wondering why he was honoured with a greeting, 
 the air of which betokened so much eagerness. 
 
 o 
 
 " She has something to ask me about," muttered 
 the old man to himself. " I can see it by her 
 countenance ! There is not a spoon stolen, or a 
 rogue to be found out, or a village love-match 
 
 afoot that old Mike is not consulted ! thouoh this 
 
 o 
 
 last errand is not that on which Miss Howbiggen is 
 
 come, I should think ! . . ." 
 
 " Good morning, Mike ! glad to see you so well !" 
 " Thank you, ma'am ! thank you !" said Mike,
 
 168 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 doffing his seal-skin cap (heretofore described), and 
 passing on in order to escape the suspected inter- 
 rogatory. 
 
 " Oh, pray stop a moment, Mike ! — pray stop ! 
 I wanted to ask you " 
 
 [. . . " I thought so !'* muttered Mike to him- 
 self. Now I wonder what it can be she wants to 
 ask me of all people in the world ?" . . .] 
 
 . . . "If you don't think it uncommonly strange 
 that Mrs. Wetherby's new guest, here, at the 
 Traveller's Rest, should have been in the place so 
 long and should refuse to see any one in it !" 
 
 " No, not at all strange," muttered Mike again 
 to himself, . . . when he added aloud, in his usual 
 wild and mysterious way, ..." Oh, it is strange, 
 no doubt ! what of that ? All life is a « riddle,' 
 and full of strange chances, accidents, and adven- 
 tures ! I have seen some strange things in my day, 
 and known some strange spirits too !'' 
 
 " Dear me, Mike, you frighten me ! And your 
 look of significance when you say so would almost 
 make me believe what the people say — namely, 
 that you hold commune with spirits of another 
 world than this ! But to turn from this subject to 
 that of the shyness of this distinguished gentleman 
 in question." 
 
 " Shyness !" muttered Mike again to himself, 
 repeating her words, without, however, answering
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 169 
 
 her question. " Shyness I ay, it must be pretty 
 strict if the eye of fate does not search it out sooner 
 or later !" 
 
 ..." What are you talking about, Mike ?" in- 
 terposed Miss Howbiggen, with an air in which 
 her tacit dread or awe of the speaker prevailed 
 over the ordinary impatience of her inquisitiveness. 
 Mike still continued to " dream aloud" to himself, 
 either voluntarily desiring to put her inquisitive- 
 ness aside, which is more than probable, or ab- 
 sorbed in the reflections which arose in his mind. 
 Perhaps both conditions of mind were experienced 
 by the " wizard mariner" on the present occasion. 
 
 " Tve wandered many a mile and through many 
 an outlandish clime, and when I least expected it, 
 the person I thought of and wanted to see has run 
 up against me ! And so is it the other way. Do 
 what we will to avoid a suspected evil, there is a 
 fatality that forces us right upon it, when we least 
 dreamed that the blow was falling! . . . Well, 
 well! we're poor helpless things! Heaven, ha' 
 mercy on us all !" and he shook his hoary locks, 
 apparently too much absorbed to think of the pre- 
 sence of Miss Howbiggen, who, at length losing 
 her patience, regarded the old man with a look 
 of mingled surprise and awe, as she exclaimed, " It 
 is of no avail ! I can make nothing of him any 
 more than of the provoking oaf Jock, or the demure 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 widow Wetherby! . . . Good morning to you, 
 Mike, since you cannot resolve the doubt I " she 
 added, as she now took her leave of the ancient 
 mariner. 
 
 The old man raised up his head hastily — " Good 
 morning, good morning, — God be wi' you V* and 
 then, after she was gone some little distance, his 
 countenance lost its meditative cast and assumed a 
 look of concern and significance, as he bent his 
 glance on her track, while he remarked, " And it 
 is thus the wind sets ! I have known a worse evil 
 than tiring a man's patience arise from a spirit of 
 inquisitiveness on the part of a chattering curious 
 woman ! I have known many a little beginning 
 the cause of ' mighty sorrow !' This woman will 
 not be satisfied till she has set inquiry on foot to 
 pry into the boy's movements ! . . . « Boy,' I call 
 him, for did I not know him as a boy — ay, from 
 
 infancy Well, well! It is but the old 
 
 chronicle of human mischief repeated ! . . . A 
 woman lost all humankind Paradise, and won him 
 a heritage of pain ! A woman set the world at 
 loggerheads, years on years ago, at a place they 
 
 call Troy, as Tve been told ! A woman 
 
 Well," he added, still bending his glance on the 
 pertinacious spinster's track. ..." A weak instru- 
 ment for fate to work by ! — but why not that as 
 well as a fiercer one, if the end must be so ? Well,
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 171 
 
 be it as it may, it is not Mike shall betray him. 
 Nay, have I not cause to befriend him ? but that is 
 a long tale." . . . 
 
 And so saying, after a pause, Mike trudged on- 
 wards, wrapt in these his meditations, and mutter- 
 ing to himself. With respect to the words that 
 we have just heard escape him, purporting that he 
 was under some obligation to our hero, and conse- 
 quently unwilling to whisper any secrets he knew of 
 him, we shall have an opportunity of learning 
 what was meant in good time from his own lips, no 
 less than from the disclosures of our story : at pre- 
 sent, we will return to Miss Howbiggen ; and 
 pursue her on the way of gossip — or, it may be, as 
 Mike would whisper — of fate. 
 
 " It is plain," said this lady to herself, " that this 
 old man knew more about the subject of my in- 
 quiry, or else he would have evinced some curiosity! 
 Certainly so! I am confident of it! , . . Every- 
 thing confirms me in the suspicion there is some 
 mystery in the matter; and though I may not 
 solve it, yet there is no harm in 'just stepping 
 down' the village and trying my chance of finding 
 some one who may possibly happen to set me a 
 little at rest on the subject!" 
 
 Accordingly, with this admirable spirit of perse- 
 verance, or rather pertinacity. Miss Howbiggen 
 proceeded on her " eventful way." 
 i2
 
 172 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Not I for love or duty. 
 But seeming so for my peculiar end." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The pale shadows of a row of yew-trees cast a 
 yet more forbidding hue on the countenance of 
 a person descried pacing slowly beneath them, 
 darkened as his aspect already was with the bad 
 passions portrayed in it. His brow was bent 
 downwards, and his eye fixed on the ground, while 
 his whole air and feature testified that he was en- 
 gaged in some deep and anxious " self- commune." 
 The natural '' pent-house" of the lid was yet more 
 protruded over the eye by the frown with which the 
 brow was contracted ; but had you passed suddenly 
 by him, and he had raised up his head to see who 
 it was that intruded on his cogitations, you would 
 have shrunk back in disgust, and distrust too, at 
 the wily search of the eye that peered craftily forth
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 173 
 
 from under the lid, speaking some bad design. 
 You would have witnessed with a sense of both 
 loathing and apprehension the feature and its ex- 
 pression too. The eye was of a sulky, washy- 
 looking hue, as it appeared when more dilated, 
 though generally from the scowl of the brow, it 
 was too deeply imbedded for you to perceive its 
 colour ; nor did it awaken in you much inclination 
 to look on it more, after having been first of all 
 met by the repulsiveness of the general expression. 
 Did you ever, reader, witness a rattlesnake ? if you 
 ever did, you will have remembered the leaden 
 appearance of the eye, looking more like a drop of 
 venom distilled into the socket, than a vital lens 
 reflecting the light of day. It renders the reptile 
 a very personification of venom. Its appearance 
 alone is a dose of hebenon — and of such deadly 
 hue and character was the eye of the sinister- 
 looking being that now meets us, where he paces 
 under those yew boughs. This solitary avenue 
 of funereal stems, intermixed with other trees, 
 frino^ed a walk at the back of the villaoje, and ran 
 
 alonor an ascent which had in view the hills on 
 
 o 
 
 one side, and the meer in the hollow below ; 
 while between these, the Traveller's Rest and the 
 village spread stragglingly before the eye. No 
 spot could be more lovely than the village of 
 Buttermere seen from the eminence w^here the
 
 174 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 person before us was now pursuing his medita- 
 tions. The blue smoke floating upwards through 
 the trees, amidst which the cottages were at once 
 interspersed and nested — the village echoes too — 
 the murmur of voices — the din of the blacksmith's 
 hammer, or woodman's axe — the clamour of the 
 merry children — as these sounds came borne along 
 on the breeze that blew freshly up from the meer, 
 all those rustic scenes and voices offered a tri- 
 bute of charm to the eye and ear ! But few were 
 the pleasurable associations that either those vil- 
 lage scenes or sounds awakened in the breast of 
 the person before us! As the few broken and 
 hasty sentences of his cogitations fretfully escaped 
 him, they ran thus — '* Very strange I should 
 have not yet come up with him ! — I've been 
 lurking about Keswick this week past and more, 
 and yet — no signs of him ! though I am confident 
 that it was somewhere in that direction his flight 
 was taken ! — I have made all inquiries as to who 
 has entered, and who has quitted the place ; and 
 no one could I hear of but this Colonel Renmore, 
 whose name is a sufficient guarantee for his re- 
 spectability ! This gentleman is, moreover, at 
 dame Wetherby's — and her I should be cautious 
 not to offend by suggesting suspicious inquiries 
 relative to any one under a roof so respectable ; 
 besides," . . . and here the person thus cogitating
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 175 
 
 Started at the sound of a rustling noise, as of female 
 drapery ; while he suddenly composed his counte- 
 nance, and smoothed away the frown which had 
 contracted his brow, as he said in a subdued and 
 somewhat fawning tone, while his look at the same 
 time bore all the humility and assumed sincerity 
 imaginable. ..." Hah ! is it the good Miss How- 
 biggen that I have the pleasure of recognising? 
 I was lost in those meditations which no man who 
 takes on himself to give counsel of godliness to 
 others should forget ! — namely, to commune with 
 his own heart ! sift his own actions ! and consider 
 how far he himself is * worthy' in the sight of 
 Heaven !" 
 
 And here he uttered a sigh, while his eyes 
 glanced downwards and looked askance, render- 
 ing his countenance yet more revolting, if possible, 
 under this new phase of expression, than it had 
 been when disfigured with the malign frown it 
 wore a moment ago. In spite of the meekness 
 that the drawn- down corners of the mouth were 
 intended to exhibit, there was malice lurking in 
 them ; just as in the pretended slumber of the tiger, 
 whose savageness is only watching for the moment 
 when it may best spring upon its victim. With 
 respect to the other features of his face, though 
 we can add nothing that can render it more for- 
 bidding, as regards the sinister and malign expres-
 
 176 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 sion of the countenance, (in spite of its Pharisaical 
 veil of "outward righteousness,") we will just fill 
 up the picture by saying that the hair was a light, 
 " unwholesome" red, and both on the head and 
 in the whiskers was scant and jejune. The com- 
 plexion of the face was livid, and marked with the 
 small-pox ; while, to add to the sinister expression 
 of his countenance, the nose was somewhat on one 
 side, and the lip was habitually drawn up either 
 on one side, or both lips were distended straight 
 in the forced smile which, thus varying in charac- 
 ter, spoke the same hidden purpose of the heart, 
 that too little responded to the assumed guise of 
 the outward feature. 
 
 " Good Mr. Quandish," for such indeed was 
 the person in question, " I fear I have interrupted 
 you in your meditations," replied Miss How^- 
 biggen to the salutation just witnessed of the soi- 
 disant dissenting preacher. '^ You have been a 
 stranger in Buttermere, I am informed by Mrs. 
 Wetherby, for this week past and more ?'* 
 
 ** There are sheep to be looked after in other 
 places besides Buttermere," replied this pattern of 
 probity, with due sanctimoniousness. " The fear 
 of Tophet made my sinful brethren of Keswick 
 cry aloud for my ghostly aid. I felt myself 
 bound in all duty to hasten to their aid. Yea ! 
 if I had been thrice the distance, I should have
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 177 
 
 gone forth unto them, to fight the good fight 
 against the evil One. . . . But of the worthy 
 widow, Mistress Wetherby, how say you, does she 
 well ?" 
 
 " Ay, does she ! except that I could glean no 
 intelligence from her concerning the movements of 
 a gentleman I have a singular desire to learn some- 
 thing more about." 
 
 " What gentleman ? what gentleman ?" asked 
 Quandish, forgetting for the moment his solemn 
 and slow manner, in the eagerness he felt to catch 
 at any information he might possibly gain concern- 
 ing the topic which we not long ago witnessed as 
 engrossing his thoughts. 
 
 " Oh ! it was merely that as a stranger of dis- 
 tinction has come into the neighbourhood, we 
 wished to shew him all hospitality, which, how- 
 ever, he as diligently repels, excusing himself as 
 busy at one time, ill at another, and uncertain in 
 his movements at all times, — umph ! — very strange, 
 is it not ?" 
 
 " And who is he? who is this? Verily, it doth 
 at first sight appear strange." 
 
 " A distinguished person, — you have of course 
 heard his name. Colonel Renmore." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard his name. He is a scion of 
 a noble house, and one of our legislators, so sayeth 
 Mrs. Wetherby, — if he of a truth," added 
 I 3
 
 178 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Quandish to himself, ''be indeed the person he 
 describes himself as being." And here a gleam of 
 satisfaction played over his countenance, as a 
 thought arose that the person we have above heard 
 him express he was looking for might possibly be 
 nearer than he at first imagined. 
 
 '^ He is in Buttermere still ?'' asked Miss How- 
 biggen, with an inquiring air ; for though she had 
 learned this piece of intelligence, she pretended 
 ignorance of it by way of eliciting further informa- 
 tion if possible. 
 
 " I know not his movements, nor those of any 
 man !" (replied Quandish,) " not I ! I meddle not 
 in other men's concerns. Nay, ask not me, good 
 lady ; I know not truly. . . . but," he added to 
 himself, '« I will not be long before I do know. Is 
 it possible that I should actually have gone away 
 to Keswick from the spot where the fox had taken 
 cover ? Umph ! it can hardly be so." 
 
 " You seem wrapped in some anxious considera- 
 tion, Mr. Quandish," observed Miss Howbiggen; 
 " no doubt you are struck with the singularity of 
 the circumstance I have mentioned, that there 
 should have been any gentleman in the neighbour- 
 hood who should think proper to live so much to 
 himself.'' 
 
 " Oh no ! not at all, madam — this was not the 
 subject on which my thoughts were occupied. I
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 179 
 
 was ruminating on worthier and more important 
 considerations than this stranger. Alas, alas ! it 
 was, how many were strangers to the works of 
 grace and goodness, which I would feign in my 
 humble function urge them to turn unto. . . ." 
 
 But here Miss Howbiggen began to be a little 
 impatient again, finding that the preacher, the 
 " good man," ran away from the topic that inter- 
 ested her, to those which (as she supposed) in- 
 terested himself. She could not blame him ; he 
 only acted with the same spirit of self-love with 
 which all humankind act, — with the total inability 
 for ever exemplified of placing ourselves in the 
 situation of others, and viewing things in the same 
 light or through the same medium with them. 
 Perhaps it was the "worthy Quandish's" object 
 to get rid of the equally " worthy " spinster, know- 
 ing how little able her characteristic impatience 
 would be to bear up against a battery of sickly 
 sanctimony. If such were indeed the case, this pre- 
 tended pattern of godliness fully achieved his design, 
 and proceeded running on in the same pious strain, 
 his eyes the while fixed pertinaciously on the ground, 
 till he found at length the coast clear, and himself 
 rid of the incumbrance (as he felt it at present) of 
 the inquisitive spinster's company. He even pre- 
 tended to be too much absorbed to take notice 
 of the thrice repeated, " Good morning, Mr.
 
 180 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Quandish/' which she ejaculated as she took 
 leave. He did rightly, since with talkative persons 
 the least word uttered is a hinge for them to hang an 
 hour's conversation upon, and often at the time when 
 it is most irksome to submit to it. He was scarcely 
 by himself than he exclaimed, " Is it possible that 
 this name, * Colonel Renmore, ^ after all, is but 
 another courtly style to disguise our fugitive ? for 
 none but distinguished names suit this accom- 
 plished felon. Ha ! ha ! my friend, have I been 
 beating for you close round the burrow, but have 
 not unearthed you yet? . . . What ! you have left 
 off your late name of Manners, Hope, &,c. ? . . . . 
 To think I should have turned back to Keswick at 
 the very time, the very next day, to look for the 
 fugitive Manners, as I thought he yet called him- 
 self, whom I imagined to be there, while he was in 
 this very spot under a new nom de guerre, as the 
 French have it. So, gallant Colonel, it is thus you 
 have 'stolen a march' on me; but we shall soon 
 come up with you," he continued, as he pushed 
 his hat resolutely down on his brow, and buttoned 
 his outer vestment tighter across his chest, with the 
 air of one who braces himself up to some feat of 
 strength or labour. . . . "Yet,'' he added, '* after 
 all I may be mistaken, this person may really be 
 the Colonel Renmore that he describes himself as 
 being, — a well-known and distinguished member
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 181 
 
 of society. No matter, no time shall be lost in 
 explaining Miss Howbiggen's 'mystery,' and my 
 own." So saying, he strode away in the direction 
 of the Traveller's Rest, his mind outstripping his 
 step in its eagerness to be at the spot. And as the 
 varied thoughts of triumph at one moment, and 
 doubt at another, rose in ^his mind, his lip was, 
 now, curled in a scornful and self-complacent smile, 
 and, now, succeeded by the same frown of impa- 
 tience and malice which distorted his features on 
 our first meeting him.
 
 182 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Though the seas threaten, they are merciful." 
 
 Tempest. 
 The game is done ! I've won, I've won !" 
 Quoth She." 
 
 Coleridge's Ancient Mariner. 
 
 QuANDiSH was not the only one of our " dramatis 
 personae" who was now making his way for the 
 village hostelrie. Honest Jock, the carrier, who 
 has been witnessed not long ago as leaving Miss 
 Howbiggen so dissatisfied with his answers, was 
 also plodding in that direction, having left his 
 fardel at the spot where he had to take it. He was 
 making his way by the meer bank, when a loud 
 clamour of voices arose from a crowd of villagers, 
 reiterating the words, " Here he is ! let us follow 
 him ! here he is !" 
 
 While Jock was yet looking round towards the 
 crowd to discern the cause of the clamour, he was
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 183 
 
 hastily accosted by a person with an angle-rod in 
 his hand, who asked him in a hurried and anxious 
 accent-^ 
 
 " Who is it those people are calling after ? whom 
 are they following ?*' 
 
 " Why, your honour, answered Jock, doggedly, 
 «* it is one whom you wont easily forget when 
 youVe once seen him." 
 
 " Very possibly," was the reply, " but that con- 
 veys little information to me as to who he is." 
 
 " Why, it is one," replied our Touchstone, in 
 his usual style of evasive waggery, "that I had 
 rather meet with a crowd about him than alone." 
 
 " Well, well, I have no doubt you are very well 
 acquainted with him and his character, my good 
 fellow, but not so myself; therefore, without more 
 riddles on the matter, let me hear." 
 
 " Why, who should it be, then," exclaimed 
 Jock, yielding at length to the tone of quiet com- 
 mand in which " the gentleman with the angle" 
 addressed these last words to him, — " who should it 
 be but old Mike." 
 
 " Old Mike is it, indeed, ay ? I don't wonder 
 at his having such a crowd collected round him, 
 since I understand his adventures are so eagerly 
 listened to." 
 
 " Ay, that they be, Sir ; and if I had a sixpence 
 to spend at dame Wetherby's tap," proceeded the
 
 184 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 waggish clown, " why, I would e'en follow the rest 
 on 'em after the old man up to the inn, — for it is 
 there they are all going, I see." And here Jock 
 appeared to be very busily searching in his pockets 
 for the desired " tester," but with poor success. 
 He was, however, relieved by the benign manner 
 in which his hint was taken, as Renmore, for it 
 was himself, replied — 
 
 " The want of a sixpence shall not deter you 
 from going, my good friend ; here !" so saying he 
 extended to Jock the desired largess which was to 
 enable the clown to drink his health ; and Jock 
 having now «' made his leg," and plodded off to join 
 the rest of the crew, Renmore was left to himself. 
 
 " Bless me !" he exclaimed, ^' I could not help 
 thinking it was myself they might possibly be 
 denouncing, when they clamoured out ' here he 
 is !' . . . And so/' he continued, '^ it is old Mike. 
 Unlike this poor clown who would dread to meet 
 the village wizard alone, I wish to do so, and 
 learn all that his second sight, or rather his calcu- 
 lations on the future, founded on his knowledge of 
 the past, have to impart to me. . . I will by-and-by, 
 when the shadows have a little deepened, proceed to 
 the inn. Perhaps the crowd will have dispersed by 
 that time. It is safer to keep aloof a little while 
 longer." So saying, he retraced his steps along the 
 meer bank with his angle-rod in his hand, the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 185 
 
 pursuit of fishing being one of those pretences he 
 was obliged to assume before dame Wetherby, and 
 her few rude retainers at the inn, as appearances 
 of the manner in which his time was past. Leaving 
 him, then, pursuing his way under the cliflP brows 
 that overshadowed the meer, we will return to the 
 Traveller's Rest, in order to join Quandish again, 
 whom we now find seated at Mrs. Wetherby's tea- 
 table, but accompanying her more sober cups with 
 the stronger libation of brandy infused in the water 
 instead of tea. In fact, " tea-totalism" would have 
 been at a discount with our preacher had he lived at 
 the present day ; but, however, since " to the pure 
 all things are pure," the strength of the godly 
 Mr. Quandish's potation had an innocent charac- 
 teristic about it, which there was no questioning. 
 In fact, his piety wore a more heightened feature in 
 the estimation of Mrs. Wetherby when he spoke of 
 *' fortifying the frail tenement," with other such 
 sanctimonious jargon ; and she would remark with 
 pious concern, " that, doubtless, too much labour in 
 the good fight" had much worn him down. Thus 
 religiously, then, did this respectable pair betake 
 them, the one to a ponderous old-fashioned tum- 
 bler of the above-mentioned spiritual beverage, the 
 other to a small china cup, also of the taste of the 
 old day, filled with the less ardent infusion of 
 bohea.
 
 186 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 The preacher was, as may be imagined, all 
 anxiety to proceed with his inquiries relative to the 
 object of his recently awakened suspicion ; but, as 
 was his custom, he first of all inquired, with due 
 devotion, after the '* rose of Sharon,'* as he used 
 to term his hostess's lovely daughter. 
 
 '' She should now be almost bringing her kine in 
 to their milking," replied dame Wetherby ; " but 
 you speak too kindly of her, Mr. Quandish, too 
 kindly of her, considering how she has repulsed 
 you. Call her rather a * tare of the field' than a 
 rose of Sharon, or of any other place, as long as she 
 is one of the stiff-necked and rebellious gene- 
 ration." 
 
 " ' Good for evil, good for evil/ would I ever 
 return, Mrs. Wetherby," (ejaculated the preacher, 
 sighing forth the most sanctimonious nasal dole,) — 
 " good for evil is ever my return ; but let us ad- 
 dress ourselves to talk on more indifferent subjects, 
 for this one doth too much move me; . . . and let 
 me inquire, then," he continued, after a moment's 
 pause, " how fares the gallant gentleman whom I 
 understand to be under your roof: much occupied, 
 I presume ? — or, peradventure, but a valetudinarian ; 
 since I am informed he is much sought after by 
 the gentry around, and yet will not go forth from 
 his solitude to meet them ; perchance he is even 
 now within your doors, and . . . ."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 187 
 
 But his words were here suddenly cut short by 
 that same clamour of voices already mentioned as 
 exclaiming, " Here he is I let us follow ! let us 
 follow him !'* This occasioned both Quandish 
 and the landlady to lookout at the entrance porch, 
 when they saw a number of village children and 
 peasants, both men and women, thronging round an 
 old man who seemed to be approaching the little 
 hostelrie. The same scene presented itself to them 
 as that which Renmore and honest Jock saw from 
 the meer bank. 
 
 *« It is old Mike," said Mrs. Wetherby, recog- 
 nising him by his silvery locks and weird aspect. 
 " The children can never see him or let him pass 
 without begging a * story' of him." 
 
 " It is old Mike, is it ?" replied Quandish, 
 shrinking back at the information, as his lip qui- 
 vered, and his countenance momentarily assumed 
 a more deadly paleness, as though he had some 
 latent reason for dreading the recognition of the 
 weird mariner, though what this might be we are 
 as yet unable to divine. " It is old Mike, is it ? 
 Strange that the children should not be afraid of 
 such a wizard-looking old being as he is, since 
 older persons than themselves are !" ... he mut- 
 tered, eyeing the weird mariner askance, and with 
 an aspect as little assured as it was either friendly 
 or pleased, while now the old man approached the
 
 188 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 porch. In fact, he had, after his interview with 
 Miss Howbiggen in a preceding chapter, proceeded 
 on his way to the Traveller's Rest. 
 
 " Oh ! he is a mighty favourite amongst the chil- 
 dren," replied dame Wetherby. " I know not 
 how others may like him, though I fancy all con- 
 sider it best to keep well with him. Some say he is 
 half a wizard, or mad ; be this as it may, he has seen 
 a deal of the world, and a marvellous number of 
 strange sights, Mr. Quandish ; and woe betide the 
 man who is his enemy, or who provokes his dis- 
 pleasure !" 
 
 " Indeed !" replied Quandish, in a tone of half 
 surprise, more pretended than real, and half appre- 
 hension. " Ay ! no doubt it is so. I have heard 
 he is not a common sort of character to deal with. 
 But here he is in the porch, followed by the whole 
 village troop at his heels. Verily, all the heathen 
 are bursting in upon us. No Midianitish dancing- 
 girl ever collected a more profane or numerous 
 crowd around her than this village wizard." 
 
 Though these words were muttered in a low 
 growl by the surly and secretly alarmed hypocrite, 
 they were not altogether so inaudible as not to 
 reach the quick ears of old Mike, who had by this 
 time seated himself on one of the side benches or 
 " settles" within the porch. 
 
 " Profane call you the poor things," he re-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 189 
 
 tor ted, " who have followed the old man to hear 
 a small bit of his perilous story. There may be 
 those who wear a garb of sanctity that yet may 
 conceal a heart more (much more) profane than 
 any here." And as he said these words, he looked 
 with a regard of scorn and reprobation on the 
 hypocrite, as the latter skulked back to the side 
 room from which he had emerged, withdrawing his 
 eyes at the same time from the keen and confound- 
 ing glance of the " weird man." " Curses on this 
 interruption," said the hypocrite to himself as he 
 ground his teeth ; " just as I had introduced the 
 subject of this Renmore to the foolish woman here, 
 in order to arrive at such confirmation of my sus- 
 picions as I fancied she could afford me, when in 
 comes this inauspicious mariner, or wizard, or what- 
 ever he is. His presence is dangerous to me, so 
 I will away at once, and seek another opportunity 
 of coming across this suspected ' Colonel.' " 
 
 So saying, Quandish stole away from the Tra- 
 veller's Rest as furtively, and scarcely less expe- 
 ditiously than he came, cursing the interruption of 
 old Mike again and again in his heart. 
 
 Meantime, the crowd of villagers and children 
 had besieged the porch, nothing abating of their 
 good-humoured clamours for <' a story" from old 
 Mike. 
 
 " Wait a bit ! wait a bit ! ye litde noisy ones," 
 said the old man as he took a little flaxen-haired
 
 190 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 urchin on his knee, and smoothed down his glossy 
 hairs which the wind had blown about in all 
 directions. '' Wont ye let an old man take breath 
 awhile, after hunting him for a quarter of an hour's 
 good walk ? Wait a bit, ye little rogues !" 
 
 The landlady here came into the porchway, 
 greeting the old man as she administered to him 
 a can of her best ale, being glad on all occasions 
 to conciliate him, and regarding him with the same 
 superstitious awe with which he was contemplated 
 by the whole rude populace round. 
 
 *' You have walked far, friend Mike, and I am 
 glad you have chosen a seat at the Traveller's Rest 
 as your " resting" place too. Stand away, chil- 
 dren ! stand away ! and don't crowd so into the 
 porch." 
 
 " Thank ye, dame; thank ye," replied Mike as 
 he raised the can to his lips. " Here's success to 
 the Traveller's Rest ; and after a weary voyage, 
 a wanderer over the world could not wish for a 
 more snug haven than the inside of its threshold ; 
 but don't drive the poor things away ; I like to 
 see them— I owe my life to a child," he added, 
 with one of those looks fraught with mystery and 
 meaning that was usually the forerunner of one of 
 those '' wondrous recitals" that had made him an 
 object of curiosity throughout the neighbourhood, 
 and won him the reputation of a wizard. 
 
 '« Owe your life to a child ?" cried four or five
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 191 
 
 voices at one and the same moment, as the peasants 
 from whom they proceeded took their pipes from 
 their mouths, left their cans on the table, and 
 rushed from the tap- room close by the entrance to 
 the porch way, joining their acclamation to that 
 of the children who were now more loudly than 
 ever crying out for the expected story. 
 
 The old man sat for a few moments as if wrapped 
 in deep contemplation, his cup still held in his 
 hand and withdrawn from his lips, as if taken 
 away in the act to speak. To look at the coun- 
 tenances of the rude group, betokening mingled 
 fear, marvel, and expectation at what should fall 
 from the charmed lips of the weird mariner, was a 
 study for a painter ; and if amongst the rest of the 
 group, Quandish had remained skulking in the 
 background with his coarse and pallid features, lit 
 up by the slant gleam of light that shot from the 
 porchway into the passage, the picture would have 
 been complete ; but he was gone. 
 
 The gaze, meantime, of innocent and infantine 
 wonder that characterized the children was in- 
 terestingly contrasted with the look of mingled 
 sorrow and the deep meaning of painful experience 
 that marked the furrowed brow of the village 
 wizard. This contrast of expression was yet more 
 strong and marked than even was afforded by 
 that of features — by the bright glancing eyes first
 
 192 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 directed on the old man, and then on one another, of 
 the youthful group ; — by their flowing curls too and 
 glossy golden locks, — in opposition to the sunken 
 eye, the weird and haggard look, and silvery hairs 
 of the aged seaman. The older peasants, too, of 
 both sexes thronged around him not less anxiously 
 than the children. At length he broke silence — 
 
 . ..." It was a fearful and a weary way, and 
 the ship drifted, day after day, before a keen wind, 
 and amidst floating masses of ice, while famine and 
 the numbing polar chill rendered every brow livid, 
 and cast its fetter on every limb. Yet still that 
 woman . . . methinks I see her now . . . that 
 Egyptian woman laughed as she clasped the child 
 she held to her bosom. ... 
 
 " The sun waned blood-red through the gloom, 
 and fainting forms were gasping around her on the 
 deck — but still she laughed — the maniac thing! 
 She laughed, and strained that child to her heart, 
 as if she held a seraph-birth in her arms, and 
 with it a talisman of safety, and a guardian from 
 peril. . . . 
 
 " Life was just sustained in the crew ; the limited 
 and scant pittance allotted to us was every day 
 being reduced ; the drifting ice-masses no longer 
 afforded the vessel a passage, — I sat gloomily 
 awaiting death, as the terrible peaks of ice rose 
 overtopping her, and straining against her tim-
 
 JA]VIES HATFIELD. 193 
 
 bers, till they cracked and groaned through every 
 plank. . . . Yet it was madness to turn to that 
 woman, and mark her joy, her assurance of safety 
 in the midst of peril so fearful, and in sight of 
 death so imminent. . . . 
 
 ** Her wild dark eye lightened in a sort of fren- 
 zied exultation, as one would reproach her with 
 madness — another express that death was at hand 
 — another feebly ask, in her hearing, for the food 
 he was perishing for the want of, — it was mad- 
 ness, I say, to hear her wild laugh, and view her 
 terrible glee, as she watched with wan, yet triumph- 
 ing aspect the dangers that surrounded us, and to 
 tell us yet to be of good heart, and droop not ! 
 
 " I know not how it was, I looked at her as a 
 superior being, and drew comfort from her words 
 involuntarily, though my hopes dared not trust in 
 their fulfilment. I gazed on her and on those 
 relentless masses that hemmed us in, and me- 
 naced us with a grave, where the ice of death was 
 not more obdurate (at least, I could scarcely deem 
 so in my pain) than that ice- chill which already 
 inflicted on us the pain of a living death, whose 
 terrors were only heightened by the prospect of 
 an impending death-doom. 
 
 " T sate watching the masses and the frore and 
 dazzling white mist that played over them, and 
 amused me with the rainbow colours that lit up a 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 vast web of splendour over those icy walls of the over- 
 hanffinff crags, as the sun streamed over them, and 
 I forgot, while gazing on the miracle of their beauty 
 and magnificence, the terror that they menaced. . . . 
 While I gazed, a crash, as though the sound of 
 some mighty engine, shook the ship to her inmost 
 hold, and roused me from my dream to the sensation 
 of fear, which I, in unison with all my comrades, 
 now felt, being under the impression that at length 
 our doom was arrived — that at length our bark 
 had foundered. But blessed be Heaven ... it was 
 not so ! And while the echo of that crash died 
 sullenly away, we heard the maniac laugh of that 
 Egyptian shrilly tell forth its joy, and its triumph 
 too, over our fears, as the mighty ice-mass seemed 
 to stalk, as it were, past us, and float majestically 
 on, while our ship, like a courser disengaged from 
 the tighter rein that has curbed him, bore gallantly 
 forward, and held her way through the loosened 
 masses of ice, as if steered by some unseen and 
 divine hand — as if wafted by some mystic and 
 spiritual agency — till once more she bounded un- 
 imprisoned and uncircumscribed over the free and 
 mighty expanse of the ocean deep ! 
 
 " We looked on that woman as something of 
 fatal, blessedly fatal, and charmed birth ! There 
 were some of the gazers that could have worshipped 
 her, while all crowded round her (as you do now
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 195 
 
 round me) to know, whence she had drawn the 
 high hope which had been so strangely verified ? — 
 whence it was that she drew the auspices that 
 cheered her to laugh in triumph, while every heart 
 beside sank in its fear — a fear which was a 
 mockery to her unearthly and strange merriment ! 
 '* She held up the child to us, which had drawn 
 nourishment from her breast. ' There is a mark 
 on his brow — ye may see not — but I see! . . . There 
 is a sign on his forehead, inscribed by a hand 
 miseen, that ye may interpret not, but which I 
 divine ! . . . Were your bark to shiver to frag- 
 ments on the blind rock ! — were the rage of the 
 elements to battle for its destruction, (sea with sky, 
 wind with wave, contending !) yet they should not 
 prevail ! Where this infant head reposes over 
 this wild, far billow, safety for you rests ! It may 
 lay its head amid the distraction of this watery 
 roar gently as on the pillow of this breast, for 
 harm nor wreck can reach it here ! . . . Dan- 
 ger may one day hem its path. I see through 
 the dim vista of years bitter trials for which 
 its destiny shall cruelly preserve it ! Fear not ! 
 the walk of ocean is a safe path to it, and to 
 you I that destiny, even now, carries on its un- 
 utterable and fearful work ! Looking still to the 
 future, piercing the gloom impervious to mortal eye, 
 it regards this infant head — it shields it with fearful 
 K 2
 
 196 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 care, the care of a parent — and all that move near 
 it ! It extends over it that '* cruel" preservation 
 even now ! Ask not vrhy I say ^' cruel" — it is 
 enough for me to know — it will be enough for 
 this future sufferer to know ! Ye cannot call it 
 so, for ye are safe ; and no mortal steersman led 
 ye out of the horror and the bonds of those icy 
 mounds, and snatched death from your helm.' 
 
 " We gazed on her in silent astonishment, and 
 eyed the infant with a mixture of fear and curiosity 
 that determined me never to lose sight of it, in 
 order to witness whether the Egyptian's words 
 should be brought to pass through time. I scarce 
 had the power to withdraw my gaze from the child, 
 for a secret presentiment told me" . . . and here 
 the old man involuntarily started as Renmore's 
 form presented itself in the passage leading from 
 the back of the house, by which way he had 
 entered. Fortunate for him had been his delay, as 
 far as avoiding Quandish's scrutiny. Emboldened, 
 at length, by the growing shadows, he had retraced 
 his way to the hostelrie, and on his entrance, hear- 
 ing what was going on, he had stolen forward to 
 listen. From his superior height he was able to 
 look over the heads of the whole peasant herd that 
 thronged both the interior of the passage near the 
 entrance and the porch without, — the centre of the 
 group of Mike's auditors was occupied by the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 197 
 
 children. He had scarcely fixed his eye on Mike 
 than that of the latter at once was attracted to his 
 own, and each gazed on the other for a moment 
 spell-bound, when Renmore removed his ken and 
 retired a few paces back, and more into the 
 shadowy part of the passage, while the old man, 
 having now recovered from his momentary sur- 
 prise, continued his tale, ever and anon directing 
 a significent glance towards our hero. . . . '* I was 
 saying," he continued, '«a presentiment told me I 
 should bear a part in the events of his future for- 
 tunes ; I sought to question the ' flitalist,' — the 
 Egyptian, — on his birth, his parentage. . . . « And 
 why art thou here, and whence is it thou hast ven- 
 tured over the deep with that helpless burden?' 
 I asked ; nor had time to catch more from her 
 than the words, ' Who can read destiny, nor wish 
 to see it fulfilled ? who can draw the veil from the 
 secrets hid from mortal vision, nor would wish to 
 prove the truth of that which his prophetic reading 
 promises ? Such was my flital yearning ! Such 
 the truth / have learned ! . . . ask no more.' But 
 these words were scarcely uttered than their last 
 accents were drowned in the hoarse murmurs of 
 the wind that sprang up. Yet a dim line on the 
 horizon bespoke that land was now just descried, 
 and to some it afforded hope that though the storm 
 had arisen, they should yet be able to reach shore,
 
 198 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ere famine and tempest had quite done its work 
 on them. Some, less sanguine, gave way again to 
 their fears, and exclaimed, ' The bitterness of death 
 is doubled ! with the haven in sight we must yet 
 meet with destruction ! Is it for this we have been 
 saved from the by-gone peril ! Our preservation 
 was surely but mockery.' . . . And well had 
 those who spoke thus cause for their dread . . . 
 for it seemed as if the elements fought for the 
 bitter prize of our destruction, — it seemed as if 
 some spirit of ill exercised its rancour in contend- 
 ing for the doom of our ship and every terror- 
 stricken being she contained. Woe worth the 
 hour ! I shall never forget it, — how the lightnings 
 seemed to dart through the gloom, as if to shew 
 the phantom of death on his way to snatch us. 
 Woe worth the hour I I am yet bewildered with 
 the deafening roar of the waves as they rose moun- 
 tain high and dashed over our decks. . . . With- 
 out mast or sail our hulk drifted on, reeling like a 
 drunken being with its helpless freight — ourselves 
 and our lamentations. . . . But a liffhtnintj streak 
 has lit up one countenance, which pale in its deep 
 resolve* looked forth on the black and turbid 
 water — looked round on our shuddering and be- 
 wildered forms, and smiled ! While in the sinking 
 
 * Palluit audax, the most beautiful picture in Horace 
 represents Europa. 
 
 i
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. • 199 
 
 murmur of the blast, ever and anon that wild 
 shout of unearthly glee — that fearful laugh as 
 though braving the elements — as though mocking 
 their threat and angry roar — ^^arose. That brow of 
 resolve, that laugh of confidence, were those of the 
 Egyptian . . . and away the vessel scudded fear- 
 fully before the wind. I could have stood and 
 gazed on her for ever, forgetful even of the din 
 and distraction around me, when all consciousness 
 of my condition was drowned by the violence of 
 the storm with which I was now dashed on the 
 rocks, where the vessel at length drifted. On 
 coming to myself and opening my eyes whose face 
 should I meet but that of the Egyptian ! « Did I 
 not tell you the gulf should be mocked of the prey 
 it yawned for ? Not one of your comrades is lost ! 
 Your vessel has been dashed on these rocks, but no 
 soul has been sacrificed. Awake ! arise ! thank 
 the destinies that hover round this child,*' (and the 
 old man's eye glanced on Renmore's brow,) " which 
 have been potent enough to shield yourself and 
 your sea-mates. Arise ! follow me, and recruit 
 your wasted strength at the spot where 1 shall 
 lead you.' At the same time she placed a leathern 
 bottle to my lips from which I drank, and with 
 what little strength I possessed I crawled from the 
 projecting rock where I had been thrown, as I 
 cast one last look on the shattered hulk of the
 
 200 . ADVENTURES OF 
 
 vessel, whose forecastle was, as it were, impaled on 
 the projecting peak of a huge rock, or rather wedge 
 of rock, that thrust itself out into the sea. As I 
 followed my guide, I inquired after the fate of my 
 comrades, and learned * that they had been rescued 
 together with herself from their peril by the timely 
 assistance of some fishermen on the coast ; and 
 that I myself, having been flung on the rock from a 
 different point of the wreck, had escaped their 
 notice, but that she had remembered the interest 
 with which I, above my comrades, had sought to 
 know her tale, and had accordingly come to look 
 for me, and offer me relief and recruital.' By the 
 time she had finished making this communication 
 to me, we arrived at the rude gipsy tent raised 
 within the verge of a wood not very far distant 
 from the coast. A loose curtain of faded cloth 
 served for a door, and after having entered she 
 motioned me to a seat on an old chest, while she 
 took her station near a low fire which she fanned 
 with a fir bough, until it began to blaze up with 
 greater strength. She then gave me some food 
 which she prepared, and which I subsequently 
 found was supplied her by some members of a 
 gipsy sisterhood, to whose body she appeared to 
 belong. After my strength was somewhat re- 
 cruited, I recurred to the subject of our eventful 
 and perilous voyage, its disasters, and our miracu-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 201 
 
 lous escape. * And this child !' I exclaimed, * this 
 infant,' for she now appeared again with the child 
 in her arms, (and the eyes of Renmore and old 
 Mike here involuntarily met,) 'is the guardian spi- 
 rit to whom thanks are due for our delivery ! think 
 you ,' I asked, half alarmed, half incredulous, * the 
 same event would not have awaited our perils, and 
 rescued us from them, had that child of fate not 
 been among; us?' 
 
 " The look of reprobation and surprise, as it were, 
 at my guiltiness, yet more than presumption, with 
 which she regarded me, I shall never forget. . . . 
 
 * Incredulous !' she replied, after a moment's pause; 
 
 * if you have not witnessed enough to assure you 
 that certain heads are the care or the scorn of 
 certain destinies, keep watch on the path through 
 life of this fatally-preserved, but not, therefore, 
 happy being !' and she held up the child as she 
 spoke ; while I gazed on it with increased awe and 
 marvel, as I asked ' what were the fates for which 
 it was marked out, and which she had hitherto so 
 truly foreseen." 
 
 . . . Here the old man paused, while Renmore 
 drew in his breath, as he listened with an interest 
 that absorbed him, and a painful anxiety he could 
 not explain. The rustic group, too, pressed nearer 
 to Mike, and asked with earnestness, '* What were 
 they? —what were they? — what did the Egyptian say?" 
 K 3
 
 202 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " No, no !" said the old man shaking his head, 
 with a look of repugnance no less than reluctance 
 and sorrow, as his eye glanced hastily from Ren- 
 more to the group. " No, no ! why should I utter 
 what may yet, — what I would wish may yet never 
 come to pass ?" And before they could proceed 
 to reiterate their request on this point, he hurried 
 on to the conclusion of his tale thus: — 
 
 " I followed the path, I kept in view the fortunes 
 of that child from that hour. Its parents, from 
 whom it had been kidnapped, I restored it to, (and 
 here Renmore involuntarily started ;) and though 
 its wandering and adventurous spirit, as it grew 
 towards boyhood, led it to abandon those parents 
 and that home," (and as the old man spoke he now 
 fixed his eye again significantly on Renmore:) 
 " though through the mazes of his fortune he has 
 eluded the search of his nearest and dearest friends 
 and kindred, yet never has he eluded the vigilance 
 of my one keen, constant watch ! which has traced 
 him when he thought no eye was upon him, — which 
 has followed him where none would have looked 
 for him, — which has detected him when he has 
 been concealed from all others ! I follow him, I 
 Watch him, for his good — for his succour ! . . . with 
 a hope that the destinies that have yet preserved 
 him have not done so for his ultimate harm. It is 
 the mighty working of fate that I am watching.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 203 
 
 and I see ! . . . but away with ye, my friends, 
 I have told you my tale, — ask no more. It were 
 well for my doubts and fears if they recked as little 
 of harm concerning the goings of this child of fate 
 as ye do, — ye who are ignorant of him, and his 
 path of life !" And here for a moment the old 
 man sat silent, with his eyes fixed on some phan- 
 tom of the brain, that seemed to rise before him 
 and address itself at once to his regret and fear. 
 
 " Well !" he exclaimed, at length awakening 
 from the spell which had bound him, " the day 
 cannot be far distant when my search will have 
 tracked its object to the end of its fliltings ! . . . 
 it evades and bewilders me less and less ! ... it 
 meets me through the gloom of fate more and more 
 palpably — well !'* 
 
 And his eye, accompanying his words, wandered 
 from the vision on which it had seemed but now to 
 gaze, till it met Renmore's, where it fixed itself 
 and remained for a moment or two, looking with 
 a significance where fear and sorrow still mingled, 
 till it was hastily withdrawn, as the old man now 
 made his way hurriedly from the porch. The 
 crowd involuntarily shrunk back with Jock at their 
 head, and made an avenue for his exit ; and as they 
 gazed on him with staring eyes and lips apart, 
 their awe was too great to admit of their any 
 further questioning him.
 
 204 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Twas partly love, and partly fear, 
 And partly 'twas a bashful art, 
 That I might rather feel than see 
 The swelling of her heart/' Coleridge. 
 
 Renmore had scarcely aroused himself from the 
 spell in which Mike's glance, and the dangerous 
 meaning it conveyed, had held him, than he, too, 
 withdrew from the passage where he had but now 
 stood to listen, and retired to his room. The 
 crowd was too busily engaged in its own rude com- 
 ments on the narration it had just heard to take 
 any notice of him or his movements, and he with- 
 drew as unperceived as he had come. If there 
 were some few amongst the group that, piquing 
 themselves on their superior sagacity to the rest, 
 ■were inclined to exhibit their scepticism on any 
 stories where destiny is concerned, they formed 
 but a small proportion. The greater number, of 
 "which was Jock, were pleased, with more submis-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 205 
 
 slve minds, to bring forward various illustrations 
 of the veracity and cogency of such circumstances 
 as they had just heard in many a "strange coin- 
 cidence," " singular dream," and " unaccountable 
 presentiment," which they related one to the other 
 after their fashion. The children, with the ruder 
 swains, male and female, amongst the group, dwelt 
 with delight on the glittering colours in which 
 Mike had portrayed his adventures, and were un- 
 able to satisfy themselves, in sufficiently lauding 
 the marvels it exhibited. 
 
 The din of their voices had scarcely died away, 
 than Renmore had sought his pillow for repose, 
 for it was now growing late ; but in vain. The 
 figure of the weiid mariner haunted him, and his 
 significant look and keen eye still seemed bent 
 on him ; while the various circumstances of the 
 story he had heard suggested to his mind the ques- 
 tion whether the old man meant to apply them 
 to him ? For what other inference than this could 
 he draw from the marked manner in which the 
 narrator had addressed them every now and then 
 to himself? And then he coupled with them the 
 warning that had so startled him on his first meet- 
 ing with the weird mariner, and which increased 
 the perplexity of his thoughts on the subject. He 
 was determined, at the earliest opportunity, to 
 seek out Mike, (who appeared, at any rate, friendly
 
 206 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 towards him,) and obtain from him some clearer 
 insight into his reasons for applying to himself the 
 circumstances of the narration he had delivered. 
 As usual, he endeavoured to quiet the apprehen- 
 sions that a constant presentiment of ill suggested 
 to his mind by mocking at Mike's story as the 
 chimera of superstition, vy^hile a pleasanter solace 
 yet was afforded him in a recurrence to the thought 
 of Gertrude. Since the period when we last were 
 in his company and that of the Beauty, a period 
 now of more than ten days, their interest in each 
 other, together with their acquaintance, had 
 strengthened ; and the determination also had now 
 become stronger in his mind of making her those 
 proposals of an alliance which his love for her had 
 suggested, even on a much earlier acquaintance. 
 He might then fly with her to a foreign shore, and 
 mock at circumstance. An additional incitement 
 was offered him to come to this conclusion, by the 
 feeling how precious were the moments which he 
 was passing in her presence ; for he never knew 
 how soon he should be forced away from the spot 
 and from her. Constant, it may well be imagined, 
 was the vexation occasioned him by the gratuitous 
 attentions of that well-meaning but mischievous 
 lady, Miss Howbiggen. " By heavens V he would 
 exclaim impatiently, as he was compelled politely 
 to decline her repeated attempts " at drawing him
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 207 
 
 out." . . . . " By heavens ! this good person will 
 not be quiet until she has either forced me into 
 those perils of publicity I am so anxious to avoid, 
 or driven me from the spot altogether !" 
 
 This last, however, was a difficult conclusion to 
 arrive at, held to the place as he was by the spells 
 exercised over him by charms such as those that, 
 while he thought of them, recompensed him for 
 every moment of mental suffering — whether edged 
 by remorse, or conscious guilt, or the pang of 
 that dark apprehension of danger that fury-like 
 ceaselessly goaded him. The more he shrank 
 away from the advances made to bring him forth 
 from his " fearful privacy," the more eagerly had 
 he sought the Arcadia, both spiritual and real, to 
 which his passion for the lovely herd- mistress 
 sweetly called him away, as he followed the wild 
 and sunny mazes of her mountain-track. The 
 blossom- crowned brow of banks that fringed the 
 stream, — the mosaic work of chequered mosses, 
 green, yellow, and hoar, with which Nature's hand 
 had pranked the hill-brow, — the shadowy silent 
 glades, where streamed the sun-ray through the 
 wood vista, as if to cheer the dream of the dark laby- 
 rinth — the russet dells, — the wild steeps, all golden 
 glittering with the yellow broom-flower, or purpled 
 with the heath-blossom, — what were they to him ? 
 What were all the beauties of this fair district.
 
 208 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 soft or sublime however, unless endeared by the 
 presence of her that would have invested a wilder- 
 ness even with charm for him ? No; it was not in 
 the light of those lovely scenes that his heart 
 sunned it, but in the smile of Gertrude, that re- 
 flected his own — that gazed on them with him, in 
 the free and innocent gladness of her guileless 
 spirit — and yet more, in the confidence of that 
 pure as bright affection that repaid his own. 
 
 Not more chequered, however, was that wild 
 pathway he tracked with the lovely herd-mistress, 
 with its light and gloom — now winding over the 
 slope — now sinking immersed in the murky shadows 
 of overhanging crags— than the dubious pathway 
 of his existence. Even when gladdened by her 
 companionship, the thoughts of that peril and pain 
 in which he stood would occasionally sweep, like 
 storm-clouds, across his mind, and momentarily 
 hold him contemplating them in gloomy abstrac- 
 tion, while the sweet as simple girl by his side 
 would look on him with a gaze of mute wonder 
 and awe, as the colour waned on her cheek, till it 
 was again lit up by seeing its usual cheerfulness 
 once more animate his countenance, while their 
 eyes met, too, in the smile of mutual confidence. 
 
 But, on stole the sleepless hours of the night, 
 when, at the first break of dawn, he rose, and 
 advancing to the casement where the sun-rays
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 209 
 
 Streamed in, he threw open the window, and 
 stood looking out on the ruddy eastern heavens 
 and the fresh matin scene before him. The dews 
 wide ghttered, all rosy tinted in the light, like ruby 
 gems some fairy hand had shed, and the odours of 
 herb and flower poured up the grateful steam of 
 their incense ; but neither the lustre of the one 
 nor the fragrance of the odier yielded joy or balm 
 to him. Nature wide poured her song of love and 
 glee not more in the carol of her feathered wood- 
 choristers than in the strain of joy that seemed to 
 rise from all the gladsome blossoms that crowned 
 her brow, from the murmur of those sparkling 
 brooks, and the rapture of all created things, 
 smiling through that morn of lustre ! Forlorn, in- 
 deed, must be the heart that has no spark of joy 
 which may shine in glad contagion with all that 
 lustre around, — that has no note of happiness within 
 it to respond to that challenge of harmony and 
 rapture. So felt Renmore, as he now proceeded 
 with his toilette ; and by the time he had finished 
 it, the voices of rustics in the adjoining farm-yard, 
 and the shrill, clear cry of chanticleer " oft times 
 renewed," proclaimed to him that the litde world 
 of Buttermere was once more afoot and astir on 
 its happy, no less than homely vocations. 
 
 A light step was now seen brushing away the 
 dews of the lawn on which his casement looked.
 
 210 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Her brow was fresh as Aurora's herself; her bus- 
 kined step as light as that of the huntress god- 
 dess's, and the roses that breathed their fragrance 
 beside her way, and those ruby-tinted dews which 
 she skimmed, seemed to Renmore's eye to win 
 fragrance and lustre from her lovely presence. 
 *'It is Gertrude,*' he said, "she is on her way to 
 the homestead. I'll go down and try to quiet this 
 turmoil of spirit in her presence." So, he de- 
 scended the staircase, while Gertrude had entered 
 the farm-yard from the lawn, through a door in 
 the paling that divided it from the garden at the 
 back of the hostelrie. Scarcely had she entered 
 the homestead than the clear, shrill call of her 
 horn brought the kine to the shed, where one of 
 the hinds, whose duty it was to assist her in the 
 charge of the dairy, proceeded to milk them, ere 
 she drove them forth to pasture. As she was 
 engaged in superintending this, her rural duty, 
 she was a little surprised at the presence, at so 
 early an hour of her mother's " distinguished 
 guest ;" while as he approached her he observed, 
 smiling, 
 
 " Ah ! you see, Gertrude, the thought of the 
 * Beauty of Buttermere' would not let me sleep a 
 wink more for the life of me ! So up I rose ; 
 and somehow or other, I find myself as usual where 
 you are. As if some magnet had involuntarily
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 211 
 
 attracted me to wander where I now am — the 
 magnet of your charms, Gertrude ! And I con- 
 fess I could not see you cross the lawn to your 
 dairy here without coming down to wish you 
 good morning, and look at your homestead, which 
 as yet I have not seen." 
 
 "Indeed, Sir, you honour much our humble 
 homestead," she replied, archly ; *' and since it was 
 this which you came to see, — for you require too 
 much from my credulity, when you express that 
 a thought of my poor self disturbed your rest, — 
 why, I shall be much honoured in shewing you 
 over it." 
 
 " No, no, I declare—" said Renmore, smiling, 
 as he was about to defend his sincerity, when she 
 arrested his words by directing his attention to the 
 various objects she now pointed out in succession 
 to him, while in the smile that played over her 
 countenance, a modest consciousness of her power 
 over his heart was mingled with the pleasure of 
 obliging. The order and neatness of the stalls and 
 the beauty of the cattle put him in mind of some 
 of the "interiors" he had witnessed in Switzerland 
 and part of Holland ; and the neatness, also, 
 economy, and cleanliness of the dairy on which 
 the fair herd-mistress justly piqued herself, was 
 not seen by him without recalling to his mind 
 Homer's descriptions, (for he was a man of educa- 
 tion both in classic and modern lore,) and eliciting
 
 212 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 from him the approbation so justly due to Ger* 
 trade's management, and which it was no mere 
 compHment to pay her. 
 
 Having passed through the inspection of all that 
 part of the homestead that came under the 
 Beauty's immediate superintendence, Renmore 
 now beheld her proceeding to lead her herd forth 
 on the down pastures, and the magnet that had 
 attracted him thus far to her side relinquished 
 none of its power as he followed her trace. " You 
 are blessed, Gertrude," he said, as he paused and 
 looked back on the homestead they had left, and the 
 maze of beauty around ; *' you are blessed in hav- 
 ing a home amidst scenes of such splendour and 
 loveliness. I feel as I look on them that they are 
 the abode of joy and peace, and that I could live 
 in them till my dying day with pleasure, and wish 
 not to pass beyond their happy bound." 
 
 " The scenes are well enough," she replied, 
 with a graceful seriousness tempering her usual 
 archness ; " but it is the hearts and affections that 
 dwell in them that can alone render them the seat 
 of true or worthy happiness. And where does not, 
 Sir, (to use the words I have heard yourself express 
 to me,) the " taint of circumstance" spread to 
 infect the content you speak of !" And there 
 was a certain significance in her words that he 
 interpreted as applying to her own feelings and 
 situation.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 213 
 
 " True, it is true enough that such is too 
 frequently the case," replied Ren more, looking at 
 her with a regard of inquiry as to the reference of 
 her words, while he continued — " but such a taint 
 as you mention has surely never made its influence 
 felt in Gertrude's peaceful home ? Unless," he 
 added; "you would say that the repugnance I un- 
 derstand you to feel as regards the addresses of this 
 preacher — this Quandish — occasions you to express 
 yourself as you do?" 
 
 *' No, no," she said, hesitatingly, *'it was not 
 exactly that which suggested the remark at the 
 moment . . . though, indeed, it were of itself suf- 
 ficient reason to have done so. . . . It was not 
 that :" and the blush stole over her cheek as she 
 turned her face away to conceal the confusion of 
 which it was the involuntary witness. 
 
 " Not that ? what could it have been, then, that 
 suggested such a remark ? How can circumstance 
 ever have tried the spirit or damped the heart of 
 one that has lived so far from the sphere of its 
 wasting influence?" 
 
 " No, no !" she replied, suddenly, '' indeed I 
 have no cause to complain of my home, of my lot 
 in life . . . but " 
 
 " But what, Gertrude ? what obstacle to its flow 
 (but such as I suggested) can the stream of your 
 happiness have encountered? What struggle can 
 that guileless, that pure spirit have ever known ?
 
 214 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Is it possible that a perturbed tliought can find 
 place in a bosom whose beating can alone be tuned 
 to peace, whose strain these calm as lovely haunts 
 alone respire ? What care-cloud can have passed 
 across the sunny joys of that pure maiden heart?" 
 
 Gertrude was silent a moment, when again she 
 replied hastily, as if desirous to turn aside the sub- 
 ject of remark upon which she had involuntarily 
 entered- — " None, none ! . . . why should you. Sir, 
 imagine so ? I merely was speaking generally, 
 merely generally. ... I ... " 
 
 " I thought so ! I thought so !'' continued Ren- 
 more, willing to relieve her of her evident embar- 
 rassment, as he continued, " Your remark just now 
 was just. Every spot, after all, derives its real 
 charm from the power that dwells within us, of 
 reflecting its challenge to happiness. You cannot 
 want this power, unconscious of the trials of life, 
 living in the affections of all, possessed of charms 
 where all hearts must bow — ay," and he added, 
 smiling, as he looked back on the homestead they 
 had left, and the premises attached to it, " and the 
 Beauty of Buttermere has other possessions than 
 her charms to boast of, though not so dazzling." 
 
 " Nay !" replied the Beauty, gladly seizing the 
 challenge to resume her usual archness, as she 
 laughed, " Nay ! the most dazzling ! I have 
 heard Dr. Esdaile say that the charms you now 
 speak of are the greatest of * female attractions.'"
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 215 
 
 '* Indeed !" replied Renmore, smiling, " I fear 
 Dr. Esdaile is a little too just in bis estimate of 
 social sordidness. A complexion of roses and 
 lilies is bewitching doubtless; but doubly so, when 
 ' gokr gleams for the ' roses,' and ' silver' for the 
 'lilies.' But you, Gertrude, combine all these 
 attractions, and are consequently 'formidable' 
 indeed ! Fortunate will be the suitor that shall 
 win such treasures of person and purse. . . . Out 
 of so many as she must have, my Gertrude's heart 
 must be not a little puzzled where to make its 
 choice ?" 
 
 *« And consequently relieves itself of the embar- 
 rassment by dismissing the thought of all of them !" 
 she replied, laughing ; " Ay ! one and all !" 
 
 " What ? is it so difficult, then, to fix the choice 
 — is it so difficult ?" he continued, as he took her 
 hand, which she passively gave up to him as he 
 arrested her attention by the increased earnestness 
 and impassioned tenderness that now marked his 
 manner. " Is it so difficult not to understand 
 where the heart whispers its choice would rest ! 
 Out of thousands I should know where mine 
 would ! And, should I rightly interpret the lan- 
 guage of those eyes that seem to ask me, Where ? 
 what answer can I make them, but in telling Ger- 
 trude I can love none but her — that I can live for 
 none but her — that the hand in which her own is 
 held is given her together with the heart that — "
 
 216 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 She was here suddenly recalled to the conscious- 
 ness of his having taken her hand, which, led away 
 by the tacit interest she felt in what he said, she 
 had involuntarily yielded up to him ; and which 
 she now withdrew, as a sense of the discrepancy of 
 her situation and his own now again recurred to 
 her, in that conflict with the whisperings of her 
 heart to which we have heretofore borne witness. 
 
 '* And — hold, Sir !" she replied ; *' think you 
 that a poor humble village girl is not conscious of 
 the great distance that must separate her lot in life 
 from that of one of your station in society, — a cir- 
 cumstance which deprives you of the right of 
 speaking to me thus?" she continued, while the 
 blush now of virtuous pride mantled on her cheek 
 and exhibited her to Renmore yet more lovely in 
 the light which it shed there to enhance that of 
 beauty. 
 
 *' Then it is on the account alone of our dis- 
 crepancy of station that you forbid me to speak — 
 on this account alone ?" he repeated, anxiously ; 
 and when she hung her head in silence as hesi- 
 tating what reply she should make, he continued, 
 " Then I am to bless myself in the dear thought 
 that it is not because you reject my love for you 
 that you forbid me to speak ! it is not that ..." 
 but here his words were stopped short by a circum- 
 stance that, in checking them, damped too the 
 glow of that rapture of heart, and hurried him
 
 JAiMES HATFIELD. 217 
 
 from his momentary elysium back to the dark 
 consciousness of his real condition and its perils. 
 
 Across the rugged and narrow path, then, which 
 our hero and Gertrude were pursuing, the gnarled 
 trunk of an hoar and aged oak protruded itself, 
 upon the lower part of which something kept 
 flapping backwards and forwards as the wind 
 waved it in passing. It was on that side of the 
 Vv^ay on which Renmore was, and was not seen by 
 Gertrude, more especially as we have described 
 her head as being drooped as he was uttering the 
 words to her that had just escaped him. As he 
 was speaking, it flapped in his very face, and startled 
 him as he looked up and saw that it was a leaf — 
 not of the tree — but of paper ; in fact, a leaf it 
 may be said out of the book of Fate itself, the first 
 ominous letters of which, as they met him, were 
 those of " Reward." A thrill of horror shot 
 through his frame, and though he had presence of 
 mind enough instantly to snatch down the placard 
 (for such it was) and convey it unseen to the breast 
 pocket of his dress, yet so startled and confounded 
 had he been at the suddenness of the warning that 
 untowardly met him in the moment of happiness 
 which he fancied he had snatched from fate, that 
 his voice faltered, and his step tottered ; while 
 Gertrude, looking up in his face with alarm, be- 
 trayed the secret of that return her heart made to 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 his love, as in her concern for him she exclaimed 
 hastily — 
 
 " What is it affects you ? are you ill, — dear Sir ? 
 . . . what can I do for . . ." 
 
 " Nothing — nothing, my sweet Gertrude !" he 
 replied, rallying as well as he might, and endea- 
 vouring to regain his composure. " Merely the 
 effect of the extreme heat. I suppose . . ." 
 
 . . . <« Yes ! yes ! you are not well, — the colour 
 wavers on your cheek. Sit down on the bank 
 here one moment." . . . And ere he could reply, she 
 ran and filled a small horn-cup which she carried 
 with her, from the pure lymph of a little torrent 
 that ran brawling down the steep a few paces fur- 
 ther on, chasing its way from the natural basin 
 whence it welled at the hill summit, and winding 
 in a thin spiral and silvery column down the crag 
 side, at last flowed smoothly onward through the 
 hollow below, till at last it formed the boundary, as 
 we remember, of the garden of the Traveller's Rest. 
 
 The period of her absence, brief as it was, af- 
 forded Renmore time, however hastily, to glance 
 over the placard, which ran as follows : — 
 
 " £100 REWARD. 
 
 " Whereas, the notorious impostor and forger, Hatfield, is 
 supposed to be lurking about in disguise in the neighbourhood 
 of Keswick ; the above sum will be given to any person or per- 
 sons who shall deliver him into the hands of justice." 
 
 J
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 219 
 
 He hastily crumpled up the paper in his hand, 
 and thrust it again into his breast-pocket as he 
 exclaimed, ''Is it so, then ? -Mike's intelligence 
 when I first met him was too true ! and the danger 
 is stealing closer and closer to my haunt. . . . What 
 shall I do? . . . How can I fly from the spot where 
 Gertrude is — where all that makes life worth 
 struggling for, I may well say, exists in her ? — 
 especially, too, when I had just wound up success- 
 fully this negotiation of the heart with her. And 
 Fenton too ! Perhaps these blood-hounds are not 
 quite on my heels yet. . . . Yes, yes ; they must 
 be. I must see Mike again, and ask him what 
 he . . . ." 
 
 But here the lovely girl returned with her tribute 
 of the fresh cool flood, stainless and pure in its 
 translucent crystals as herself. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, my sweetest Ger- 
 trude !" he said with an intenseness and sincerity 
 of feeling he had even yet scarcely felt. So sen- 
 sible was he at this moment in particular, that 
 though a whole world was in array against him for 
 the sacrifice of his life, there was still one beino- 
 that felt for him, with him, — there was yet one 
 that loved and cherished him ! " Thank you, my 
 kind, beloved Gertrude ! I am better." 
 
 " Oh ! I am happy, very happy to see you are 
 well again ; but drink this fresh, cool water, it will 
 L 2
 
 220 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 recruit you much ; in truth, the heat is great." 
 And as she spoke, he took the cup and drank, if 
 merely to support the impression on her mind that 
 he had suffered from momentary indisposition ; 
 though, in truth it may be said, he was well pleased 
 to take it at her hands as a token of her return of 
 his affection, and success in the suit which he had 
 such cogent reasons for prevailing in. And now 
 they walked on again, and he was about to state 
 to her, in continuation of the words which we have 
 witnessed so disastrously broken off, that — '' in all 
 probability, circumstances would oblige him to 
 leave the village, but that he would write to her to 
 join him, in order that they might be united by 
 the bonds of the church ; with many more assu- 
 rances of his love for her." But all that he would 
 have said was prevented by the appearance of a 
 party of people coming along the Buttermere and 
 Keswick road near which they were, and which 
 rendered it prudent for Renmore to step aside 
 more into the fastnesses of the crag behind. Ger- 
 trude, on her part, was not unwilling to be alone, 
 rather than be seen in company with " the gentle^ 
 man," which circumstance would have awakened 
 the stupid and coarse surmise of the group that now 
 shortly passed her. This turned out to be com- 
 posed merely of a party of farmers on horseback 
 on their way to the cattle fair at Cockermouth ;
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 221 
 
 and some of them recognising the lovely herd- 
 mistress, greeted her aftei' their rude fashion as 
 they passed her. 
 
 *' Why, bless us, if yonder be not the Beauty of 
 Buttermerel" cried one worthy, with mouth and 
 eyes alike distended. 
 
 "Hah! Missis Gertrude, and how do ye?" 
 uttered another; " and how does the good dame, 
 Missis Wetherby ?" 
 
 " Pleasant day. Good day to ye, young Missis," 
 said a third. To all of which greetings she gave her 
 usual kindly reply, as she smiled to witness the 
 oafish stare they each and all bestowed on her 
 charms. 
 
 This rustic cavalcade having passed, she con- 
 tinued her way along the hillocks, while Renmore 
 having now descended on the other side the height, 
 pursued a narrow and devious lane that suddenly 
 brought him, by a way he had never been, to the 
 village. He stood at the threshold of it, irresolute 
 whether to advance or retreat again into the wil- 
 derness of the rocks. ..." Perhaps I shall see 
 Mike," he said to himself, " if I proceed, — I will 
 go cautiously. If any circumstances of danger 
 meet me, why then it is time to retreat. I will 
 venture onwards, for I am not prepared to quit 
 Gertrude ere yet I have imparted to her all I 
 would say." . . . Thus reasoning with himself, he
 
 222 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 proceeded, cautiously looking round him, until 
 now he had advanced by a side approach to the 
 projecting window of the public room of the Tra- 
 veller's Rest. He looked warily in — when back 
 his step shrunk as if a serpent had been suddenly 
 detected in his path, and but just in time to avoid 
 his stepping on it and arousing its hostility. In 
 a word, it was fortunate for him he had exercised 
 caution in his advance ; for but a glance at the 
 person he had perceived (unseen himself happily) 
 assured him that the hand that had fixed the placard 
 on the oak trunk, and which he had torn from it, was 
 not far off. The face that met him was but seen 
 in profile, as the person to whom it belonged sate 
 with his back nearly turned from the window ; 
 but a glance of that profile was sufficient for the 
 quick eye of Renmore to enable him to recognise 
 his deadliest foe and persecutor. Away he shrank 
 from the window, and retraced his steps with what 
 speed he might to the same lone and rugged path- 
 way by which he had entered the village. He 
 pursued its windings through a chasm in the crag, 
 and which led him in a different direction to that 
 by which he had come.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 223 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Where, save the rugged road, we find 
 No appanage of human kind ; 
 No hint of man, if stone or rock 
 Seem not his handyvvork to mock 
 By something cognizably shap'd ; 
 Mockery, or model roughly hewn. 
 And left as if by earthquake strewn." 
 
 Wordsworth, 
 
 Renmore wandered on, until he arrived at a 
 dreary, desolate spot beneath the naked height of 
 a cliff whose sides were full of dark cavities, occa- 
 sioned by the falling away of masses of earth. 
 Large, uncouth slabs of rock lay strewn about, 
 their barren brows tufted with wild weeds and 
 briers that waved in the wind. This wilderness of 
 rock seemed like the waste of an ancient amphi- 
 theatre in ruins. It was a savage and forbidding 
 spot, and, like his fortune too, awakening only 
 sensations of dearth and peril ; and while yet he 
 was occupied with the gloomy associations it
 
 224 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 awakened, — and how he was driven to shun the 
 wolf " man" in wilds barren and forbidding as 
 that before him, — he was startled at suddenly wit- 
 nessing emerge from the rock-side, or rather grow 
 out of the rock, a gaunt and pallid form, as if 
 itself, too, of stone. It was a very denizen of the 
 wilderness, and a birth of stone ! It stood weird 
 and lonely amidst the savage arena of broken 
 masses of rock, and motioned Renmore to follow 
 it, as it advanced to a rude door opening into one 
 of those cavities or recesses in the cliff-side already 
 mentioned. Our hero, though not much given to 
 superstition, could scarcely at the moment, and in 
 the turbid state in which his mind was, beheve 
 that what he saw was not an apparition. He stood 
 motionless and examined it. It waved its hand, 
 and beckoned to him to follow it into the aperture, 
 or cavern-mouth. The dimness of the light did 
 not permit him to scan the features of the figure, 
 which looked yet more gaunt and vast, just as 
 objects appear enlarged through twilight. Unwil- 
 ling to give way to any suggestions of alarm, war- 
 ranted by the consideration that this figure might be 
 that of some enemy who was about to entrap him, — 
 he followed the movements of the phantom rather 
 than man, till he saw it enter through those murky 
 jaws of the aperture. He passed that dim threshold 
 of rock ; and there, by the light of a small, iron-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 225 
 
 mounted lamp, he beheld standing on the opposite 
 side of a table, constituted of one solid slab of 
 stone, the somewhat " questionable shape" of the 
 ancient mariner; for such the " phantom-denizen" 
 of this wilderness turned out to be. 
 
 " And you have lingered thus long about the 
 precincts of this spot after the warning I whis- 
 pered in your ear on my first meeting you on the 
 summit of that very cliff that towers above us," (for 
 it was there Renmore had met the geologist and 
 old Mike.) " I do not often speak my warnings 
 thus in vain I" And the countenance of the aged 
 seer, for such he seemed to be, wore a mixed look 
 of reproof and sorrow as he spoke. 
 
 " No, indeed V replied Renmore; " your warn- 
 ing, so far from being lost on me, has excited my 
 constant and painful vigilance. I indeed have this 
 day learned how true it was !" 
 
 " And do you hesitate to fly from this dangerous 
 spot ? Do you yet sport on the brink of fate ?" 
 
 " I should long ago have doubtless listened to 
 your warning, but that circumstances, feelings, 
 affections perhaps, which I could not altogether 
 control, have held me back. But 1 have been 
 taught this day that any longer delay is dangerous 
 — may be fatal — and yet I am scarcely prepared 
 to quit this spot so abruptly ; there is one I would 
 l3
 
 226 ADVENTUHES OF 
 
 have wished yet to have seen, and spoken but a 
 word to, ere I hastened away." 
 
 " And think you I knew not the spell that has 
 had, and still has, power to combat my warnings 
 for your safety ? Think you the searching eye of 
 old Mike has not seen you when you least thought 
 he was watching your movements, loitering away 
 the moments in the sunshine of that fatal beauty 
 that charms you to your doom ?...." 
 
 " What! Gertrude betray me?" hastily inter- 
 posed Renmore. 
 
 " No, no ! I meant not that. She is of too 
 noble, too pure, too generous a spirit to harbour a 
 thought of perfidy or meanness. It is you who 
 would betray yourself. As for Gertrude, she loves 
 you too well I" 
 
 " Then any danger, any doom, were lightened 
 of its suffering if I thought that Gertrude would 
 feel for me. But how know you that she loves 
 me r 
 
 " Have I not seen her on the hill with her herd, 
 when you were not as usual by her side, cast many 
 a wistful glance to the spot where you were wont 
 to approach? .... And this is the girl whose 
 destinies you are about to involve in the terror of 
 your own I" And his accents trembled as he spoke, 
 in a mingled tone of ruthfulness and regret.'
 
 JAMtS HATFIELD. 22 i^ 
 
 *' Old man, speak less in these dark and fearful 
 riddles ! I understand you not ! I would lay down 
 my life for Gertrude ! — and the good-will you shew 
 towards me were unworthily entertained in my be- 
 half, if I were capable of doing aught to endanger 
 so much loveliness and innocence!" 
 
 " It were in vain to explain myself further to 
 you, since I well perceive you cannot relinquish 
 
 her I cannot alter either the tendency of 
 
 your destinies or your love for her " 
 
 " My destinies ! I understand you ! Can I do 
 otherwise than suppose, after that dreary warning 
 you gave me on my first meeting you, that you 
 signified any other than my own fates in those 
 of that child which your late narrative portrayed 
 so fearfully ?" 
 
 " If that narrative bears a true reference to 
 yourself," replied the old mariner, solemnly, "would 
 you not be involving her in your own peril ?" 
 
 «« If it be true !" exclaimed Renmore. " Forgive 
 me, Mike, if I speak somewhat impatiently. I am 
 sensible of the concern, the goodwill you express, 
 and have manifested towards me; but am I to 
 place implicit credence in a tale which the world 
 would but account as the birth of so much vain 
 and fond superstition ?" 
 
 " You say" — replied the old man, calmly, and 
 more in sorrow than in anger at what he considered
 
 228 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the " infatuation" of his companion — " You say 
 that you have this day had reason to find my 
 warning true ; and, yet, the blindness of your at- 
 tachment, while it would willingly lead you to 
 hope for safety, if only for the sake of Gertrude, still 
 suggests to you that my fears for your doom may 
 be all unfounded and visionary. . . . And so, it 
 seems," he continued, after a pause, " you have at 
 length encountered your enemy? You have seen 
 Quandish ? You have seen the preacher ?" 
 
 " Seen Quandish ! — seen the preacher !" ex- 
 claimed Renmore, in surprise. No, I have not 
 seen him, — I have never, indeed, seen him ! Would 
 that it had been the preacher and no other that I 
 saw ! In a word, it was my deadliest foe I came 
 in sight of; but I shrank back speedily and unseen 
 by him ; and in my retreat from the village I thus 
 found my way at length hither." 
 
 Old Mike looked at him with a smile of incre- 
 dulity, as he shook his head and replied — " Did 
 I not tell you, in my first timely warning to you, 
 to beware of the seeming harmless guise under 
 which religion might cloak the worst of guile and 
 malice? Your bitterest foe, the being you saw 
 and shrank from this day, was the preacher — was 
 Quandish, and no other !" 
 
 " Impossible ! or dwelling here at the spot, as 
 he does, I surely must have seen him ere this."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 229 
 
 " He has been absent from the first day you 
 were here until now, searching for you as near as 
 Keswick, where he deemed you to be : but if you 
 doubt it, follow me, and I will afford you an 
 opportunity of ascertaining the truth without 
 endangering yourself." 
 
 So saying, the old mariner suddenly rose from 
 his seat, and extinguishing the flickering wan ray 
 of the lamp, as he had now reached the threshold 
 of the cavern, he strode forth, phantom-like, once 
 more upon the rock-strewn wilderness, followed by 
 our hero, in the direction ultimately of the village, 
 with mingled feelings of curiosity and apprehension.
 
 230 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 '* I mine eyes will rivet to his face, 
 And after, we will both our judgments join 
 In censure of his seeming." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 The way was long and devious which the old 
 mariner took, and the scene was now clad in the 
 twilight-grey mantle of evening. As they pro- 
 ceeded) the conversation, on the part of Renmore, 
 naturally recurred to the particulars of Mike's 
 narrative, and which led to certain disclosures as 
 to the parentage of our hero, which the cu'cum- 
 stances of our story do not as yet permit us to un-* 
 fold. Suffice it to say, he had fully elicited from 
 Mike that his surmise was not unfounded ; that the 
 tale of his own destinies was recorded in those of 
 the child of the narrative and its " charmed life." 
 
 The approach to the village, to which they 
 now came, was (in the present direction) through 
 a small wood, or copse, of Scotch firs, which
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 231 
 
 belted the slope of the descent by which Mike and 
 our hero pursued their ominous way. Having 
 passed through this belt of firs, they found them- 
 selves on a fair and verdant glade, skirted on either 
 side by avenues of lime, Scotch fir, horse-chesnut, 
 and yew trees. At the end of the glade their ears 
 were saluted by the sound of a deep sonorous voice, 
 as of one holding forth to a multitude ; and on their 
 now turning round the corner of the glade, by 
 which access was afforded at this end of it to the 
 village, they came to a square brick building with 
 folding doors, whence they perceived the sound 
 proceeded. They both stopped for a moment to 
 listen more attentively to the purport of the words 
 uttered, and were at little loss to discover that they 
 were those of a dissenting preacher ; while the ill- 
 looking square pile of brick was the temple of 
 which he was pontifex maximus. 
 
 Renmore had scarcely listened a moment to the 
 voice before he started and expressed to Mike, in 
 an earnest yet under-tone, '' I could wager money 
 to any amount that I know that voice I . . . True! 
 it was the voice I heard shortly after my first arrival 
 with Dr. Esdaile at the Traveller's Rest. They told 
 me it was the preacher's.*' 
 
 " Whether it were the preacher's or any one's 
 else, it was plain, no doubt, you knew it then ; and 
 so you seem to know it now. If you knew the
 
 23'i ADVENTURES OF 
 
 voice, what say you to looking in at the door, and 
 seeing if you know the face? You may do it 
 unperceived by crouching behind me.'' 
 
 So saying, Mike entered the folding doors, which 
 unfortunately flapped back with a loud slam as he 
 passed them, intending to hold them open with his 
 hands, so as to admit his companion without any noise. 
 The congregation being all intent on the oracle 
 before them, would have budged not an inch nor 
 turned round a brow or bonnet to see who entered, 
 had it not been for this untoward accident of the 
 slamming of the folds, occasioned by their slipping 
 from Mike's hand. In doing this, the attention of 
 the throng was called to the door, and not only to 
 this circumstance, but to the unusual appearance in 
 such a place of the weird mariner. All heads 
 were now involuntarily turned round to the man 
 of " marvel and of mystery," while the more godly 
 of the audience felt certain qualms of disquietude, 
 very similar to such as might be expected to arise 
 at the appearance of an evil spirit on the holy 
 ground which it profaned; for scarcely other 
 than this was Mike accounted by the more super- 
 stitious in the place, of which body the congrega- 
 tion now met together was more particularly made 
 up. Mike did not at all admire the accident which 
 had provoked attention where he had so much de- 
 sired to avoid it, and turned hastily round, as he
 
 JAMES HATPIELD. 233 
 
 whispered to his companion not to delay, but follow 
 him out of the chapel immediately. 
 
 His words were heard, indeed, by Renmore, but 
 with an utter inability for the moment to move 
 from the spot. A singular spectacle presented it- 
 self to the audience ; — the eyes of the preacher 
 and Renmore were fixed mutually on one another 
 in earnest gaze, while the words of the former had 
 been stopped short, as it were by some sudden and 
 unaccountable cause, and hung suspended on his 
 tongue as he stood spell-bound and fixed in his 
 scrutiny of this new and unexpected visitant of the 
 dissenting temple. Renmore was the first to re- 
 cover from the surprise by which he had been 
 overpowered, and ere the preacher could also 
 recover himself and find the use of speech again, 
 Renmore had vanished, and was now followinsf in 
 the wake of old Mike. 
 
 The first words he uttered to his companion 
 were in a quick and anxious voice, " You have 
 indeed spoken truly. But who should have ima- 
 gined that the man I dreaded should have taken 
 this guise, or disguise rather, of a dissenting 
 preacher ? I need not say he is one and the same 
 with the person I saw to-day. I have seen my 
 bitterest enemy in this preacher; and what is worse, 
 was seen too plainly by him !" 
 
 " Ay ! it was a small accident, but likely to do a
 
 234 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 great mischief, that slamming of the doors just at 
 the moment when the hand of fate should have 
 held them still as the gates of death when once 
 closed on the comer that enters them ! ... It was 
 to be ! — it was to be, T suppose !'* said the old man 
 as he strode forward, now trying to keep pace in 
 turn with Renmore, who before had followed 
 the track of Mike from his stone cell " hand passi- 
 bus (Bquis,^^ 
 
 " What ? you have seen now enough to convince 
 you," said the old man, " that Mike was not mis- 
 taken ! I suspected, nay, I was certain, that this 
 was the man from whom the hand-bills, promising 
 the ' Reward' I mentioned to you on our first 
 meeting, w^ere distributed at Keswick. He thought, 
 doubtless, the object of his search was there." 
 
 '' So I was before I came to this spot," replied 
 Renmore, anxiously ; *' and here I have seen no 
 one till this day who could excite my alarm." 
 
 ** And he till this moment has seen no one who 
 has given him so much foul joy to behold as your- 
 self! Did I not tell you, I say again, when we 
 first met, — did I not tell you to beware an enemy 
 under this guise of religion ? A fugitive from justice 
 no less than yourself, he has in this feigned charac- 
 ter taken up his quarters at this spot, and silently 
 viewed all things, while himself has escaped the 
 molestation of the world under the privilege of the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 235 
 
 sanctimonious calling he has adopted. I suspected 
 all this of him, knowing his character as I did, 
 since I remarked the ' Reward' that appeared at 
 Keswick always followed this man's track ! For so it 
 was, too, at the spot he passed through previously 
 to reaching Keswick ! — A ' reward placard' was 
 put up there also by him." 
 
 " Ay, ay ; no doubt he has followed my track, 
 and has now come up with me in the very quarter 
 where he least expected to find me, for I had left 
 a false direction as to my movements at the place 
 where I stopped at Keswick. This precaution, 
 doubtless, on my part, led him, so fortunately for 
 me, to return to Keswick to hunt for me all this 
 while; — meantime I had proceeded hither under 
 a new alias or title." 
 
 " And, in truth, so well disguised, I should 
 scarcely have known you again, though it was not 
 long since I conveyed you in my boat from 
 Ravenglass." 
 
 " But this Quandish," interposed Renmore, " as 
 he calls himself, has need of disguise no less than 
 myself, only he adds the infamy of betrayal — of 
 treachery — to that of crime. The cloak of religion 
 is indeed a strong and safe one under which to 
 impose on the world! . . . Singular that while 
 he was in pursuit of me, and my forerunner too, 
 in originally settling himself at this spot, chance
 
 236 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 should have directed us both in looking for a re- 
 treat to one and the same goal I" 
 
 " It was to be ! it was to be !" muttered Mike; 
 while Renmore continued — " Nor has this ' fiend 
 who has taken the friar's cowl/ as the old ballad 
 has it, remained on this spot solely with a view to 
 eluding justice, — or saving himself by betraying 
 me, — but he has cast his * evil eye' on that crea- 
 ture of light and beauty, Gertrude, — to think of 
 that ! ..." 
 
 ..." Ay ; encouraged, too, by her mother, 
 whose weakness he has thus taken advantage of to 
 induce her to aid his suit. Alas ! alas ! if the thirst 
 for lucre at present urges him thus hotly to yield 
 you up and claim the reward held forth to the 
 paltry accomplice and betrayer, as the 'price of 
 blood,' what think you he will not attempt in 
 order to make a sacrifice of your life, when he 
 learns how dangerous a rival he possesses in you as 
 regards his suit with Gertrude ?" 
 
 " True, true ! I expect little quarter ; — though, 
 were I out of the way, — had I never seen Ger- 
 trude, or possessed (as I trust I do) her affections, — 
 of all men she would be disinclined to listen to 
 him ! At any rate, this reflection will be some 
 consolation to me," cried Renmore, with the true 
 feelings of a lover, in which all thoughts, for the 
 moment, of the danger that beset him were lost.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 237 
 
 To the sense of this, however, he was speedily re- 
 called by Mike, who exclaimed — 
 
 " And now you have been rendei'ed certain as 
 to the dangerous presence of your enemy, whither 
 are you about to fly? — for to loiter any longer here 
 were madness !" 
 
 '^ One moment," replied Renmore, — " one mo- 
 ment only, to take leave of Gertrude I" 
 
 " Nay, one moment may be too long — may 
 render the leave you would take of Gertrude 
 longer than it were pleasant to look forward to ! 
 Anything that you would say to her, commit to 
 me. She passes with her herd by my cell often 
 and often. Her cause shall be dear to me as your 
 own." 
 
 " It is my own !" exclaimed the lover, passion- 
 ately. " Forgive me, Mike," he continued, " for 
 this rash delay ; but were I even in the very jaws 
 of death, I could not pass that threshold," — and he 
 looked as he spoke towards the Traveller's Rest, 
 opposite which they had now arrived, — " without 
 
 telling her once more how I love her I 
 
 mean to say it would be imprudent to hurry from 
 the spot thus hastily, without making any excuse 
 as to the suddenness of my movements. Go on, 
 my good Mike ; I will follow you by-and-by to 
 your cell." 
 
 But all he might say could effect little in con-
 
 238 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 vincing Mike, who muttered to himself, " Blindly 
 thus argues, in the face of his own safety, the man 
 whom destiny marks for its victim ! The very 
 means of escape offered him are rejected ! — the 
 very step he thinks harmless or secure is the fatal 
 one by which he passes to destruction ! . . . . 
 Well, well." 
 
 So saying, old Mike loitered for a short time 
 outside the porch of the hostelrie, as if looking 
 about him, to see if any persons were approaching 
 the spot, when he wandered on, communing with 
 himself, till his form was at length lost in the even- 
 ing shadows. 
 
 Renmore, meantime, had entered the hostelrie ; 
 when, who should present himself to his view but 
 honest Jock again, the carrier's man, who, per- 
 petually passing and repassing as he was, " looked 
 in" at the Traveller's Rest as often as he found he 
 had anything to spend at its bar. To observe him, 
 a person would have imagined at present that at 
 least he was undergoing a labour equal to that of 
 carrying a couple of heavy portmanteaus ; but no 
 such thing. The subject of his perplexity was of a 
 very different nature, though apparently one quite 
 as embarrassing to poor Jock ! In a word, he 
 was employed in reading aloud to himself, with 
 staring eyes and mouth wide open, a paper which, 
 being headed with the ominous words, "One hun-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 239 
 
 dred guineas reward," will readily be recognised as 
 another placard, placed where it was by the hand 
 of Quandish, on the occasion of his being wit- 
 nessed by our hero, at an earlier part of the day, 
 sitting in the window-seat of the public room. 
 How speedily Ren more had withdrawn his step 
 will be remembered; while the pseudo-preacher 
 being then again at the hostelrie, in order to make 
 inquiries of its landlady relative to her distinguished 
 guest, was doomed once more to disappointment, 
 since that worthy dame had gone to spend the day 
 with some friendly gossips in a neighbouring vil- 
 lage, and was not even yet returned. Accordingly, 
 Quandish had contented himself with putting up 
 the placard in the entrance passage, not far from 
 the door; after which he retreated to his abode 
 near the dissenting chapel at the other end of the 
 village. 
 
 But to return to Jock. Now, our Touchstone 
 not being too much of a " scholar," read the paper 
 with surprising deliberateness of enunciation, as if 
 he had been spelling the words ; thus — " One — 
 hun — dred — One hundred — ahem — Gui — ne — neais 
 re-ward . . . ." And here he made a pause, while 
 his eye glancing over the rest, he exclaimed, 
 " Whoy, now ! if this ben't the very paper I've 
 seen these dozen times in Keswick !" 
 
 " So it is !" said a person, in a tone of indiffer-
 
 240 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ence, as he came up and pretended to inspect it. 
 " Pish ! suppose we light our pipes with it, eh, 
 Jock? what say you, my friend?" And here the 
 clown, on turning round, recognised his former 
 benefactor and employer, " the Colonel," who bade 
 him forthwith go and order himself a pot and pipe, 
 while, with his usual liberality, he crossed his hard 
 hand with a sixpence to drink his health. 
 
 " And that I will," replied Jock, " and thank 
 your honour f and accordingly, with sundry ac- 
 complished country scrapes of the leg, and " awk- 
 wardly grateful" salams with the hand, Jock lost 
 no time in adjourning to that Castalia of rustic 
 inspiration — the tap-room. Renmore, in spite of 
 that coolness in action which characterized him so 
 eminently, as we shall by-and-by more fully wit- 
 ness, naturally enough felt, nevertheless, certain 
 apprehensions lest the " hue and cry" should have 
 been raised after himself within the precincts of 
 the hostelrie at the period when he had witnessed 
 Quandish there that day. Ardent as was his desire 
 to see Gertrude, his step yet hesitated, as he pro- 
 ceeded to seek her, as the thought arose that, in 
 case any such alarm as he apprehended had been 
 given, he at present might be a stigmatized and 
 denounced person, and an object of her reproach, 
 and avoidance too, as well as of others. He stood 
 irresolute for a brief period : at one moment he
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 241 
 
 wished he had followed Mike's advice and fled ; at 
 another he was determined to know the worst; 
 which worst was, to him, whether any suspicion, as 
 regarded himself, had reached the ears of Ger- 
 trude. Who \vas to inform him ? Should he seek 
 out one of the domestics ? (for Mrs. Wetherby her- 
 self had fortunately been away all day, as already 
 stated) or Gertrude. 
 
 " No !" he said to himself; " if I made inquiries 
 of either the domestics or the landlady, had she 
 been at home, I should be courting suspicion, sup- 
 posing nothing yet has been said against me. And 
 though Gertrude would be unwilling to suspect 
 me, of all persons, of being the notorious Hatfield, 
 yet I should rather defer a rencontre with her, 
 until I am more satisfied that I can lipp roach her 
 with a confidence of her being free from all sus- 
 picion of the man who is devoted to her, and to 
 whose attachment she responds." .... So say- 
 ing, he turned back from the door of her sittinsf- 
 room, which was a little lower down on the oppo- 
 site side of the passage to that on which her 
 mother's " sanctum" was, and was proceeding out 
 at the porch, when Gertrude herself issued from 
 her room, attired, as we have at an earlier stage of 
 our story represented her, in her eventide gear. 
 She had heard the hand of some one on the lock 
 of the door ; there was no escaping an interview. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 24-2 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Is it you, Sir?" she said, as her countenance 
 beamed with modest pleasure at seeing him thus 
 unexpectedly. " Did you require anything? were 
 you looking for " 
 
 *^ For you ! for you ! my lovely Gertrude !" ex- 
 claimed Renmore, with all a lover's impatience 
 and joy. Her manner and the tone of her in- 
 quiry had completely restored him to confidence, as 
 he felt that she at any rate had yet received no 
 intelligence that might occasion her to regard him 
 with an altered eye. Meantime he thought he 
 would venture a little further in quieting his appre- 
 hensions, lest she should have seen the placard 
 lately in the passage. 
 
 " You have seen no paper, have you, Gertrude, 
 lying about ?" and here he pretended to be looking 
 about, as if in search, as he held the candle over 
 the floor. 
 
 " Did you drop it here?*' she replied, uncon- 
 sciously, as she also joined in the search. 
 
 "Yes; somewhere in the passage here;" and 
 he continued, as though searching. 
 
 " No ; I have seen no paper at all ; but I will 
 inquire of the servants " 
 
 " Oh no, oh no, love !'' replied Renmore, in- 
 terposing; "it is here, I declare; it was a bank- 
 note ! I was almost sure I had dropped it in 
 coming into the passage." And here he pretended
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 243 
 
 to pick up the desired note, while he thanked Ger- 
 trude for her assistance. And he now withdrew 
 down the passage towards the entrance at its back 
 into the garden, followed by Gertrude. The mo- 
 ments were precious ; ere many more winged past, 
 the house, he considered, might possibly be sur- 
 rounded with persons to apprehend him. " I must, 
 for her sake no less than my own, delay no longer ; 
 if 1 preserve mySelf, it is as much for her as on 
 account of my own wretched existence. I must 
 make some excuse or another to her." . . . These 
 thoughts passed rapidly through his brain, while 
 he now continued aloud, and in a hurried tone, as 
 he clasped her hand in his own, " Gertrude, love ! 
 Gertrude ! I am glad to snatch a word with you, 
 for it is possible I may be hurried away from you 
 this very evening." 
 
 " What ! are you going to leave us ? — and so 
 hastily!" interposed the lovely girl, while the 
 waning colour on her cheek bespake how little 
 acceptable the intelligence of Renmore's departure 
 was to her. 
 
 " The illness of a friend, my sweet, (such was 
 the excuse that suggested itself,) may possibly render 
 my immediate departure necessary. I am all 
 anxiety to proceed to the village post-office — to 
 lose no time in opening any letter that may arrive, 
 and I can suffer no one to go but myself. . . . 
 M 2
 
 244 ADVENTURES OP 
 
 The post surely ought to have come in ere this — 
 though it is often late. Possibly, however, there 
 may be no letter ; or if one should arrive, it may 
 bring better tidings than I expect. Do not doubt, 
 sweet," he continued, as he wiped away the tear 
 that gathered in her eye ; " do not doubt, if I am 
 called away, but that I will return as speedily as 
 possible, but I hope there maybe no occasion " 
 
 But ere he could clasp her a second time wildly 
 to his heart, and press his lips to her own, the 
 sound of voices, proceeding from persons entering 
 the porchway, warned him to delay no longer, as 
 he now turned forth upon the lawn. He had 
 quickly crossed it, together with the bridge of the 
 litde brook already described as forming its 
 boundary, when now he found himself at the 
 western extremity of that very avenue of Scotch 
 firs, limes, and yews, which he had entered from 
 another quarter with Mike not very long ago. 
 He speedily arrived at the turning that led into 
 the belt of Scotch firs that fringed the cliff in 
 whose lone and dreary recesses the cell of the 
 ancient mariner was situate. For a moment he 
 paused, irresolute as to which turning to take, — 
 the one which, we may remember, led towards the 
 dissenting chapel — or the upward one that con- 
 ducted to the haunt of Mike. 
 
 "To-morrow !" he exclaimed to himself, "it may
 
 JAiMES HATFIELD. 245 
 
 be too late to see Gertrude. Not see her again ! 
 Is it an infatuation that whispers to me that the 
 sentence of death itself could not be worse? — that 
 I could not suffer more pain at the thought of sur- 
 rendering myself to death itself than forego the 
 tiope of seeing her again ?" . . . And here he 
 paused a moment, and then stamping with his 
 foot upon the ground as though his resolve had 
 been taken, he said, hastily, ** There is but one 
 way by which to extricate myself. It is to grapple 
 with the danger rather than shun it. Mis- 
 fortune and peril grow stronger as we succumb 
 before them. Endurance and defiance can make 
 the severest evils comparatively light!" ... So 
 saying, he proceeded, with hasty and impatient 
 steps, making his way through the shadows of the 
 trees, growing, as they were, yet darker and 
 darker in the deepening hues of evening.
 
 246 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " 'Tis a sure key with which thou may'st unlock 
 The inmost secrets of the hearts of men." 
 
 Shakspeare. 
 
 To return now to the dissenting chapel. Ve- 
 hement had been the " movements" of the spirit in 
 the bosom of the preacher, after having set eyes on 
 Renmore — on the very person of whom he was in 
 quest, — to finish his exhortation, and instantly set 
 forth on the "good work" of his arrest. Had it 
 not been from the fear of recrimination, he would 
 at once have " raised his voice" from the pulpit 
 height, denounced the felon, and had him arrested 
 on the spot. But policy set a padlock on his 
 tongue, and whispered to him that an accomplice 
 who was looking about him to profit by the betrayal 
 of another, would only attain his own exposure by 
 too eager a zeal in this endeavour. No. It was 
 inconvenient just at present that those who contri-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 247 
 
 buted towards the stipend he elicited for his preach- 
 ing accompHshments should know how far maculate 
 he himself was ; not only as originally a participator 
 in crime, but branded, further, with a yet baser 
 imputation — namely, that of being a betrayer of 
 others. The same sage reasons, also, as regarded 
 the " good-will" of dame Wetherby, and the subde 
 game he was playing with respect to her daughter, 
 rendered it the height of impolicy to pursue any 
 measures that might be accompanied with exposure 
 to himself. His object was to lead his victim, if 
 possible, to the pit that was dug for him, where 
 others might then secure him, and the ungracious 
 task of betrayal be, apparently at least, removed 
 from himself. His agency, in fact, was to be the 
 " cat's-paw," to draw the victim into the meshes, 
 where he could only escape with the forfeit of life. 
 The extreme seclusion that Renmore had ob- 
 served since his sojourn at the Traveller's Rest 
 had preserved him totally unknown by sight to 
 any of the people of the village, except Jock. He 
 was therefore recognised by none of the preacher's 
 auditory, on the occasion of his entry with old 
 Mike ; and as for Mrs. Wetherby, the only one 
 who could have known him, had she been there, 
 it has been already explained that she was absent 
 from the village that day. If this circumstance 
 was fortunate for Renmore, it was a subject of no
 
 •248 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 small disappointment to Quandish ; the more so, 
 as he had on the preceding day been interrupted 
 by the untoward arrival of old Mike, in the scrutiny 
 he was cautiously proceeding to institute relative 
 to the object of his suspicions. He had intended 
 on the last occasion of his calhng (supposing on in- 
 quiry his suspicions had been confirmed) to have 
 at once caused her " distinguished guest to be 
 attached" by the satellites of justice, who were but 
 a few miles off, at Keswick. 
 
 Baffled, however, once more in his expectation, 
 and seeing no person of whom he considered it 
 worth while to make inquiries on the spot, he 
 slunk away, having left the " hand-bill" already 
 mentioned on the wall of the entrance-passage, 
 where, however, no person, fortunately for our 
 hero, (as already witnessed,) had seen it until 
 honest Jock, the Buttermere carrier. How it was 
 disposed of we have seen ; and now to return again 
 to the chapel and its preacher. Great, we said, 
 were the " movements" of the spirit in his bosom 
 to make an end of his exhortation, and proceed on 
 the work he had most at heart. If the eyes of his 
 auditory had been a short time past drawn, in 
 surprise, to the interruption that took place at the 
 door, on the unusual appearance of Mike and his 
 companion, the circumstance was now forgotten, 
 in the unusual rapidity of utterance, restlessness of
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 249 
 
 manner, and haste of delivery in the preacher. 
 At length, having dismissed his flock, he sallied 
 forth, doubting with himself whether he should 
 proceed back to Keswick at once, and fetch with 
 him the satellites of justice, (whom he himself had 
 originally led to that spot;) or whether he should 
 betake him first to the Traveller's Rest, and try 
 and gain a view of the person calling himself Ren- 
 more, whom he conceived to be one and the same 
 with the individual he saw within the chapel doors. 
 The latter was the more cautious plan, for he was 
 not yet certain of the identity of Renmore with 
 that of the person he required. Meantime, the 
 delay was dangerous. Yet he did not wish to run 
 the chance of summoning the officers of justice 
 upon a futile errand, or to find another person 
 than the real object of their search. Whilst thus 
 debating with himself, as he paced with steps un- 
 certain as his mind, now slow and irresolute, now 
 hurrying forward, what was his surprise at being 
 accosted by the very being on whose account all 
 this " delicate perplexity" had been occasioned ! 
 
 If our hero has been witnessed tortured with 
 mental anxiety as to the event of those fearful cir- 
 cumstances by which he was hampered, — if his 
 alarm has been witnessed as justly excited in his 
 efforts to avoid apprehension and its accompanying 
 doom, — yet the anxiety, the dread, attaching to 
 m3
 
 250 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 conscious guilt which haunted his solitary hour, all 
 seemed forgotten, all vanished when he was brought 
 in actual contact with others, though even his worst 
 foes. No trace of alarm or anxiety in his countenance 
 betrayed now to Quandish, any more than it has 
 been heretofore witnessed doing so to Esdaile, the 
 secret of his bosom; the hurry, the torture of 
 thought that lurked within, was all calmed to the 
 outward eye. To look on that smooth brow — 
 that placid courtesy — that gentle cheerfulness — 
 that graceful ease of address — that frank demeanour 
 — that happy dignity of bearing, little would the 
 beholder, who was bewitched with his manner, 
 imagine that these attributes were but the too suc- 
 cessful mask under which the criminal denounced 
 by the interdict of justice was concealed. Little 
 would he dream that an address of such frankness 
 and marked gentility was but the decoy to lead 
 him away from suspicion of that guile that was 
 possibly secretly watching its opportunity to entrap 
 him. " Such courtesy and cheerfulness — it cannot 
 be compatible with any base design I" he would 
 exclaim. Alas ! the answer must be, that man is 
 a " riddle," which not even himself can, in all in- 
 stances, fathom or explain. Yet that such seeming 
 incongruity of moral qualities and attributes cha- 
 racterized this prince of impostors, — this " Chorce- 
 gus" of the band of all such actors as understand
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 251 
 
 that art is " celare artem" — was no less certain than 
 surprising. The riddle at first sight seems com- 
 plicated. A moment's thought, however, will solve 
 it. And why ? because there really exists no incon- 
 gruity, no riddle at all. The being was in him- 
 self, after all, but an exerciser ot native cunning! 
 Fraud was the principle of his motives. From a 
 certain superiority of genius, or mental endowment, 
 or nicer sensibilities, fraud in Hatfield wore a 
 fairer front and a more engaging aspect; but still 
 the real man was made up merely of cunning. All 
 the fairer portion of his attributes were but the 
 tinsel to hide the dross which it too often made to 
 pass current for the genuine ore of honour, frank- 
 ness, distinction, and all that seemed estimable, 
 engaging, and praiseworthy, in either social or 
 individual attributes. There is no incongruity, 
 then, of moral materials in the singular character 
 before us. His life was a piece of acting. All the 
 fair, the specious, and engaging, it was the business 
 of his art, his cunning, to "act" and exhibit to the 
 dazzled and pleased eye of the beholder. Habit 
 had made the exercise of a good bearing and frank 
 demeanour almost a second nature. As honesty 
 is the best policy, and as Chartres desired to have 
 a " good name," the better to rob under its safe- 
 guard, so Hatfield assumed all that was best in his 
 character, as one essential aid to promoting the
 
 252 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 better his designs, which were, generally speaking, 
 to live on the credulity of people, and secretly laugh 
 in their faces, while he extorted praise from them. 
 They were unconsciously deluded, deceived, and 
 delighted at once in his society. No, reader ; 
 there is no incongruity. Fraud was his one, his 
 only real attribute ; for this alone was his nature. 
 And yet shall we utterly condemn him, and say at 
 best he was but a pleasing, a seductive villain ? Not 
 so ; if there was a redeeming trait in his character, 
 let it, in justice, be vindicated. Yes, let it be 
 exalted, as its due, in his well-known devotion for 
 one who was all that is charming in spirit as in her 
 person. He was generous, too, and brave as far as 
 incurring hazards and responsibilities in the dan- 
 gerous career in which he had proceeded, while 
 others shrank back with dismay at the daring 
 character of his projects. They would shrink back 
 and avoid his perilous company. Ay, even har- 
 dened villains and accomplished swindlers would 
 shrink back afraid to venture as he did. They 
 Would " admire" the address with which he carried 
 his attempts into the highest circles, and would 
 look abroad from their fearful lurking places to see 
 their late comrade rewarded for his enterprise by 
 the most flattering social triumphs. They saw him, 
 with surprise and envy, courted by the great, who, 
 for the time, little suspected the '' splendid cheat"
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 253 
 
 that was being played off upon them ! Such as 
 this was his triumph of artful villany in pass- 
 ing himself off as a Manners at the court of the 
 Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, — such as this was 
 his happy manoeuvre when in London, for the 
 brightest season of his existence ! He drove his 
 curricle about town, — mixed with the gayest of the 
 gay, in the radiant circles of wealth, of rank, and 
 fashion's votaries ! The credit he commanded by 
 the plausibility of his address is matter of astonish- 
 ment; nor is the credulity of those who took his 
 happily made representations for truth so much 
 to be blamed as the mastery of his art in de- 
 ception is to be admired ! If dissimulation* means 
 to veil the thing that is, and simulation the thing 
 that is not, in both these phases of worldly acting 
 he shone pre-eminent. He seemed, as regards the 
 first, everything that was commanding, gentleman- 
 like, and apparently worthy of confidence. Who 
 could doubt or mistrust him, whether he gave his 
 address as the Honourable Mr. Manners, or the 
 Honourable Colonel Renmore, or any other alias 
 out of the Protean progeny that his assurance and 
 dexterity had called into being to answer the pur- 
 pose of the time ? No one ! As to the second 
 feature, of simulating, — in other words, pretending 
 
 * Quod non est simulo : dissimuloque quod est.
 
 254 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to be that which he was not, — we have said enough 
 of his supremacy as an actor in all worldliness to 
 render not a word more necessary. Such, then, is 
 a fair and faithful portrait of this singular, this en- 
 gaging (for so he was) individual. We have given 
 it candidly ; and have shewn that it was redeemed 
 by the nobler and more exalted features of fearless 
 enterprise in his calling, of high spirit, that weighed 
 not any chances of danger where the genius of the 
 adventurer saw there was any field for his efforts. 
 He went forward to his feats of splendid cunning 
 with cheerful confidence, already sufficiently re- 
 warded in the feeling that none had the same 
 genius, nor, consequently, the same confidence in 
 themselves, to attempt that which appeared a de- 
 light to him from the arduous character itself of its 
 accomplishment. When once finally detected, and 
 held up to public condemnation, his " whereabout" 
 beset, and his footsteps tracked by the blood-hounds 
 of justice, — that fearful predicament in which he 
 first presented himself to us, — well may his confi- 
 dence, so alive at more favourable opportunities, — 
 well, we repeat, may it have been shaken ! And 
 what was it that the circumstances through which w^e 
 have followed him have exhibited as in any degree 
 restoring that confidence to him ? His deep es- 
 teem and love for that object of beauty whose me- 
 mory yet throws a lustre round his name for loving
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 255 
 
 her, and whose return of his affection now alone 
 rendered life desirable to him. Some have gone 
 so far as to say that the engaging character of his 
 dissimulation did in itself redeem somewhat his 
 real iniquity and tortuousness of purpose. As 
 in the instance of Alcibiades, they would forgive 
 the last in their admiration of the genius with 
 which it was supported. We, however, are un- 
 willing either to be led away ourselves or lead 
 others away so much as to seek to render him 
 interesting or redeem his crime " by any such 
 plea." We will waive that claim in his behalf, as 
 a mere stage trick, — false as it is, though " seeming 
 fair," — and plead for him a nobler claim to interest, 
 — namely, his devotion to the best, as we shall here- 
 after be more fully called on to attest, no less than 
 loveliest of her sex. We will plead for him the 
 noblest passion that can exalt man or extenuate 
 crime. Yes ; every passage in his existence as we 
 now trace it is a tribute to her whose name sheds 
 light over his memory ! To love her was in itself 
 a virtue, whose ray is the only light we would 
 willingly hold up to lure the reader's eye away 
 from the shadows that darkle around his name ! 
 
 The preacher, at the unexpected appearance of 
 the man he sought thus voluntarily' presenting 
 himself, started back dumb-foundered, scarcely 
 knowing what to say, and conscience-stricken and
 
 256 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 confounded at his own baseness of purpose as re- 
 garded him. Ay ! the meanness of the betrayer 
 shrank back — the sordid informer dwindled into 
 nothingness before the frank, the open, the cheer- 
 fully courteous demeanour with which he was now 
 accosted. The man by whom he was greeted in- 
 wardly loathed and despised him as both trea- 
 cherous and brutal, while he addressed him with all 
 apparent gladness as of a friend, happily met 
 and joyfully welcomed. There was an easy air of 
 superiority in Ranmore, which involuntarily as- 
 serted itself in the colloquy that took place. With 
 whomsoever he conversed, he made himself looked 
 up to. The higher tone in which he spoke, and 
 the ah' of command which his manner bore, seemed 
 natural attributes that shewed themselves as spon- 
 taneously as they did gracefully, and challenged 
 respect as their due. How the native harshness 
 and vulgar insensibility of the person he now ad- 
 dressed shrank back then in conscious insignifi- 
 cance before one whom, by instinct, they owned 
 was a superior ! If anything supported the low 
 mind and sordid feelings of the pseudo-preacher 
 in this parley with the prince of Scapins, it was a 
 brutal doggedness that hugged itself up in its own 
 callousness and insensate obduracy. 
 
 As they came suddenly on each other, just be- 
 neath the lamp that cast its ray over the door-way
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 257 
 
 of the dissenting chapel, Renmore,\vith well-affected 
 surprise, exclaimed — 
 
 " Ah ! Simmonds ! Simmonds ! my old and 
 well-tried friend, I . . ." 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! or we shall be overheard,'' in- 
 terposed the preacher in a half whisper, half growl, 
 as he turned away from the lamp and proceeded 
 round the corner of the chapel along the avenue 
 of yews where we have already met him. 
 
 " Overheard ! and what worthier topic could 
 any one overhear than the pleasurable welcome of 
 two old friends ?" And so saying, Renmore held 
 out his hand affably, which was shaken with an 
 awkwardness by his companion, indicative at once 
 of unwillingness to admit a friendly greeting from 
 one whose betrayal he was meditating, and dissa- 
 tisfaction with himself for permitting himself to be 
 so mastered. 
 
 " No, no," he replied, doggedly, and jerking 
 back his hand with an ungainliness worthy a bear 
 who has touched a hot iron. '* No, no; there is 
 no harm in two men welcoming each other ; but 
 then, Vm not known here by the name you re- 
 member me by." It is needless to say that his 
 lately assumed tone of cant was for the present 
 laid aside. 
 
 *' Well, then, by any name you please to sug- 
 gest I shall be happy to welcome you," rejoined
 
 258 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Renmore with a well-feigned ignorance, and tone 
 of good-humoured inquiry. 
 
 *« Oh ! they know me here by the name of 
 Quandish," said the man churlishly, and half 
 dropping his voice. 
 
 " And an excellent vocation you appear to have 
 adopted. Fear not that I should by any impru- 
 dence betray you ;" and he laid a stress on the 
 word as he looked searchingly into his comrade's 
 face, which was involuntarily drooped as he felt 
 the dishonourable contrast his own baseness and 
 treachery offered to Renmore's. 
 
 <^ Oh ! you would not betray me, I am aware ; 
 but we can never be too cautious," replied Quan- 
 dish, doggedly. 
 
 '« Between friends such an event would be, I 
 should trust, impossible !" replied Renmore, in a 
 tone and with an air of frankness. " But," he con- 
 tinued, lowering his voice as if in the confidence of 
 that friendship he knew so well to simulate, — '« but 
 
 all are not equally friendly, my dear Simm 1 
 
 beg your pardon — Quandish — as yourself. I have 
 too much reason to apprehend there are enemies 
 abroad, — at least, of myself, (I hope not also of you 
 as well,) — who, I fear, would scarcely hold the 
 balance of honour so nicely as not willingly to see 
 it outpoised by the low sin of treachery." 
 
 Every word he spoke probed to the core of his
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 259 
 
 comrade's sense of his own secret villany ; though 
 there was Httle feehng of compunction wounded, 
 so far as to be taught to swerve from its dogged 
 baseness of purpose. 
 
 " What enemies are abroad ?" he answered, 
 hastily, and with an awkwardly feigned surprise. 
 " I know of none !" 
 
 " I have reason to apprehend they are nearer 
 to us than is altogether safe or agreeable," con- 
 tinued Renmore in the same vein of delicate sar- 
 casm. " For to judge by a placard, offering a 
 reward for the apprehension of your old friend 
 Hatfield, I cannot but conclude that some base 
 spirit has been dodging my movements hither, 
 with a view to obtain this price of my blood ; nay, 
 perhaps this baseness may be increased by the cir- 
 cumstance of his having been a co-partner in my 
 — indiscretions." 
 
 His surly comrade was silent a moment, when 
 both his native churlishness and his desire to repel 
 either the insinuation of manners at one time, or 
 the sarcasm at another, of our hero, now taught 
 him to find a tongue. 
 
 '^ It is all very well, Hatfield," he exclaimed, 
 angrily, as he turned hastily round, and fiercely 
 eyeing his companion, who met his ruffian scowl 
 with a placid smile, — '' I see plainly enough you 
 are directing your remarks against myself."
 
 260 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Nay; I should be sorry to think you were 
 conscious of their applicability !" 
 
 " What if I am conscious of it ! I shall gain 
 little credit with the world for keeping terms with 
 such a notorious character as James Hatfield." 
 
 " Permit me to correct you there. You fa- 
 voured me with setting me right as to the name 
 you had found it convenient to adopt. I ought to 
 make a similar disclosure to you. It is but a re- 
 ciprocation of confidence between friends. In a 
 word, James Hatfield is merged and sunk at pre- 
 sent in a title which I hope you will find equally 
 distinguished, — I am now Colonel Renmore — the 
 Honourable Colonel Renmore, M.P., at your 
 service.'' 
 
 " Curse on his unconquerable coolness and easy 
 assurance," growled out Quandish to himself, when 
 he continued to Renmore, " Have I spoken plainly 
 enough, when I tell you I shall have no credit for 
 keeping terms with you ? Why, let me ask, should 
 not I be benefited by claiming the reward as well 
 as any one else ?" 
 
 '' Oh, certainly ! I should be delighted to think 
 that 2iny friend of mine was benefited by my means 
 — through my influence," he added, as he laughed. 
 " I am sure you cannot doubt this, when you call 
 to mind the not unpleasing experience, 1 hope, 
 which you have had of my good will towards you."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 261 
 
 And here the unfeeling churl found it difficult 
 to crush the whisperings that upbraided him as an 
 ingrate of the blackest dye. In the words of Ren- 
 more he was recalled to the circumstance of the latter 
 having not very long ago taken compassion on him, 
 and relieved him in the deepest exigency. Yes, in 
 order to afford him the relief solicited, Renmore 
 had actually incurred the fatal responsibility of 
 forging a bill of exchange, the result of which was 
 the succour of this fiend more than man — this 
 Quandish — and his own proscription ! It is true, 
 that subsequently to this transaction, which took 
 place in Dublin, Quandish had rendered himself 
 jointly liable by falsely testifying a bond to which 
 Renmore affixed the fictitious signature of the 
 alleged principal ; but this subsequent act, in which 
 both were involved in a similar peril, did not cancel 
 the debt of gratitude due from Quandish, or rather 
 Simmonds, to his benefactor. He was an accom- 
 plice in guilt, indeed, with Renmore ; but was he 
 the man to betray the other, in consequence of any 
 *• compunctious visitings" on the score of delin- 
 quency ? Not he ! He was of sterner material, — 
 much too stern to be accessible to a thought even 
 of gratitude — nay, scarcely of acknowledgment. 
 It was enough for him to think he had now the 
 vantage ground of Renmore, on whose head a price 
 was set, and for whose sacrifice the less accom- 
 
 S
 
 262 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 plished delinquency of odiers would be forgiven by 
 the government. The immolation of our hero at 
 the shrine of justice was looked forward to as in 
 itself a hecatomb ! He was the "scape-goat" on 
 whose head the crimes of others were to be visited 
 .... but sofdy — it must be when his pursuers could 
 catch him ! . . . This was not altogether so easy 
 to eflect as we may hereafter further discover. 
 
 Quandish soon rallied, and, with the hardened 
 effrontery that marks ingratitude, strove, in the 
 blustering style of his reply, to outface the con- 
 sciousness of his own baseness, as he replied 
 abruptly, and without directly answering the other, 
 " Oh ! I never rake up old stories of past matters ; 
 I only look to the present. If you had not helped 
 me out of the scrape, I should have found other 
 means, and " 
 
 " I trust sincerely you would," interposed Ren- 
 more, while the other continued — 
 
 *' And as to the present matter, what is it to 
 me whether you call me a traitor or not ? I can 
 afford to bear this and worse names, if you please 
 to heap them on me ; but I cannot afford to lose 
 the chance of turning a penny, be it in an honest 
 way, and " 
 
 " An honest way !" observed Renmore, smiling ; 
 " true, true ! . . . I admire your honesty . . ." 
 
 " I tell you plainly, without more words, the
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 263 
 
 money would be acceptable." And here he added, 
 with a ferocious chuckle, " Traitor ! . . . why the 
 world would say I did a public service, and applaud 
 me for the betrayal." 
 
 '^ Permit me to suggest that the executioner, 
 under whose hand possibly both you and myself 
 may one day be doomed to fall, performs, indeed, 
 a public service ; but his office is yet loathed by 
 the world." 
 
 " Well, well, we will not bandy arguments on 
 that matter," replied Quandish, glad to escape 
 from the disagreeable suggestion of the gallows, at 
 the thought of which he trembled with a conscious- 
 ness how much he deserved it. Ren more, more 
 confident in his genius and resources of escape, 
 smiled at the involuntary fear of his former accom- 
 plice, and despised him for it yet more, as he re- 
 plied, in a tone of irony — 
 
 " Nay, where there is so much candour of avowal 
 we have little need to bandy argument. I admire 
 you for your frankness. Necessity is not the fault 
 of a man, but his misfortune. No doubt the money 
 would be acceptable — what is it ?" and as Renmore 
 inquired this, he was by this time tolerably well 
 convinced that no appeal to the ruffian's sense of 
 gratitude or forbearance would be of any avail. 
 
 *' A hundred guineas !" ejaculated the savage, 
 eagerly, his whole soul so much absorbed in the
 
 264 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 thought of grasping the treasure, that he was utterly 
 forgetful what must be the feelings of the man he 
 was addressing, and whose blood was to be bartered 
 for with that gold. 
 
 " A very acceptable sum ! — though, after all, but 
 a trifle — soon run through ! Yet, no doubt, under 
 pressing exigency, not unacceptable. I don't really 
 know," he added, smiling, «' whether I would not 
 surrender myself for such a consideration, were I 
 out of pocket at the moment !" 
 
 Quandish stared at his contemplated victim with 
 a mixture of surprise at his apparent indifference, 
 and a ferocity rendered more disgusting by the 
 loathsome calculation of the sum he hoped to attain 
 by selling his blood. Ilenmore continued, in the 
 same careless and cheerful vein — 
 
 " Well, well, to leave jesting on so serious a sub- 
 ject — (not of course as my life — a fellow-creature's 
 life)— but the receipt of a hundred guineas ! To 
 speak seriously on the matter, you shall have the 
 hundred guineas without the trouble of betraying 
 — I meant to say, of leading on the hue and cry 
 after me ; for I might give my pursuers a tolerably 
 puzzling chase," he added, looking with good- 
 humoured significance into the half-withdrawn face 
 of his comrade. '' What say you ?" 
 
 " Gently, my gallant Colonel — what is your new 
 name ?" replied Quandish, with a brutal jocularity.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 265 
 
 You offer me no more than it is in my power to 
 make already ! You want to buy me off with " 
 
 " Oh, to be sure !" interposed Renmore, with 
 equal ease and good-humour. " I perceive what 
 you would say. Suppose, then, we double the 
 consideration, — and in return for a promissory note, 
 payable a month hence " 
 
 " A month hence?" was the surly objection. 
 
 " Yes; for the better certainty of payment, let us 
 fix a month hence. It would be equally agreeable 
 to me to say a fortnight, three weeks, or even 
 now " 
 
 " Well, well ; a month hence," replied Quan- 
 dish. " The time will soon slip away," he added 
 to himself " But what security have I that you 
 will not make your escape ? Mark me, Hatfield ! 
 it is in vain for you to attempt an exit at any sea- 
 port! Mark me! I shall watch your movements, 
 so that you do not escape me !" 
 
 " By all means ! I admire your vigilance. It 
 bespeaks you a clever 'man of business!'" You 
 need not apprehend that I shall fail in my pay- 
 ment. I have various inducements to keep me on 
 the spot !" So saying, he coolly took out his 
 pocket-book and wrote a promissory note to the 
 above effect, adding, as he placed it in Quandish's 
 hand, " And in return for this, you will cancel all 
 
 VOL. I. . N
 
 "266 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 those liberal bits of printed paper offering the 
 government largess for my apprehension ** 
 
 " Ay, ay ; the bills at Keswick and elsewhere 
 shall be pulled down," said Quandish, doggedly. 
 
 " And it might be as well to suggest to the 
 officers of justice, who may possibly be in quest of 
 me, that there is reason to conclude the game has 
 winoed off in a different direction — in case, that is, 
 (he added, significantly,) you should be aware of 
 their being so occupied." 
 
 Quandish turned away from the polite sneer 
 which characterized this suggestion, as he muttered 
 out— " Yes, yes ; it shall all be done, — ^}'ou need 
 not fear." 
 
 " And naw, this little negotiation at an end, let 
 us talk over our adventures since we parted. Let 
 me see; you had taken a school, had you not? and 
 flourished like any peripatetic of the ancient aca- 
 demus?" 
 
 " The concern didn't answer — didn't answer !" 
 replied Quandish, somewhat abashed at the in- 
 quiry. The fact is, the man, or rather brute, 
 had been dismissed from the possession of a 
 lucrative pedagogueship in consequence of the 
 ill-treatment, beating, starving, &c., of the scho- 
 lars. Behold, here, another specimen of his gra- 
 titude I Will it be believed ? — this appointment
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 267 
 
 had been gained him through the adroit solicitation 
 of Renmore again! The first instance of assist- 
 ance, ah'eady mentioned, had been afforded Quan- 
 dish at a period when he had become a bankrupt 
 in the business he had previously followed ; the 
 last was afforded him subsequently to the trans- 
 action at Dublin, already touched on, — and how 
 was it repaid ? Why, the moment this Quandish 
 had forfeited his situation of pedagogue by his 
 cruelty, he addressed himself in the exigency that 
 ensued by trying to hunt out his benefactor, now 
 a fugitive from the myrmidons of justice, in order 
 to grasp the reward offered for his apprehension ! 
 Of all men, Quandish, or Simmonds, was the best 
 calculated to lead the pack in pursuit; as he was, 
 from former acquaintance, better able to suggest 
 what Renmore's plan cf action would be. It was 
 his invariable rule when pursuit was a-foot to throw 
 out reports of his having moved in a certain direc- 
 tion, while, meantime, he "doubled," as a hare 
 does, back to the spot of his starting. Such was 
 the case at present. He had fled from Dublin, 
 first of all, to London ; and then, had attempted 
 to return to the former place, but apprehending 
 detection at Liverpool, had struck off northward, 
 and was hotly pursued till he embarked at Raven- 
 glass, under the pilotage of no other than the 
 ancient mariner. He took this direction not by 
 N 2
 
 268 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 any means with a view to return to Liverpool — 
 whither his pursuers hied in order to meet him if 
 possible, — but to land higher up on the same coast, 
 and adjourn across the hill-country to the neigh- 
 bourhood of Penrith and Keswick. Here Quan- 
 dish had traced him, calculating his probable move- 
 ments ; when he was thrown somewhat off the scent 
 bv learning at Keswick that no one at all answering 
 the description in the handbills had been there. 
 Various strangers had been there indeed, but all 
 had gone in a different direction ; or even if they 
 had not, how was it to be asserted that amongst the 
 various names of " Lord this" — " Sir John that" 
 — and " Colonel the other" — that of the fugitive 
 was concealed ? All the names were of distinction, 
 or respectability ; and as for Colonel Renmore — 
 why it was positively asserted he had gone into the 
 north, of course to the seat of his family — " Clan- 
 renmore, county Caithness !" Meantime, the re- 
 tired little haunt of Buttermere, nested in the 
 mountains, seemed precisely the spot for our hero 
 to bend his steps towards; and after wandering 
 about the country for some time in various dis- 
 guises, he at length sought a final refuge here. 
 Singular was it that in the meantime Quandish 
 had also sought out Buttermere as his retreat, 
 making repeated visits to Keswick and its neigh- 
 bourhood to search for the fugitive. Old Mike would
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 269 
 
 have called this collision the decree of " destiny !" 
 At length, having despaired of " the reward," he 
 set his wits to work, and endeavoured, by the trade 
 of sanctimony and a vehement style of holding- 
 forth to the ignorant peasantry, to put pence into 
 his pocket. In this he succeeded, and in fact was 
 speedily extolled as a favourite preacher, especially 
 by the pious matrons of the place; amongst the 
 foremost of whom was dame Wetherby. The 
 preacher was of course invited to their evening tea- 
 tables; and in one of these pious entertainments 
 having seen Gertrude, and feeling the control he 
 possessed over her mother's mind, he bethought 
 him of proposing an alliance with her, at fit time and 
 opportunity. How far he was acceptable to Gertrude 
 we have already witnessed ! By a secret instinct 
 she shunned him as though destined to be the 
 enemy of her peace, and never had her guileless 
 and tranquil spirit known one turbid dream until it 
 had been haunted by the hypocritic leer, the ill- 
 disguised ruffian scowl, the uncouth address, and 
 the ungainly figure of Quandish. She shuddered 
 and fled as he approached her parent's threshold, 
 regarding him as something worse than man. 
 Little need we wonder that our hero, offerinoj so ex- 
 alted at once and so enojacrinfy a contrast to a beinoj 
 SO little acceptable, should have found no unready
 
 270 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 access to her heart! A contrast indeed does he 
 offer ! — a contrast that renders his very delinquency 
 interesting, as compared with the foul aspect guilt 
 wore in the ingrate Simmonds ! If we repelled 
 any claim of interest for our hero on the ground of 
 adroit villany, we cannot yet help feeling, in spite of 
 ourselves, the force of the claim, when thus, again, 
 it is exhibited in contrast with a foil so sordid ! His 
 villany is positively virtue compared to the base- 
 ness of the late schoolmaster, bankrupt, criminal, 
 and present dissenting preacher ! If hypocrisy 
 characterizes both Quandish and his wished-for 
 victim — yet who can look on the ruffian aspect, the 
 churlish, moody mystery, and low, base cunning, it 
 wears in the one, and not experience relief and 
 breathe freely again in contemplating the engaging 
 and graceful aspect of the gay, courteous dissimu- 
 lation of the happier artist? The contrast forces 
 itself on us, and we could not avoid a remark on 
 it ; more especially as it was so strongly, no less 
 than reasonably, felt by Gertrude herself. But 
 these necessary remarks over, let us pursue the 
 conversation, to its conclusion, between Renmore 
 and " his friend." 
 
 " Ah ! I'm sorry to learn that any unpleasant 
 circumstances arose to induce you to quit the situa- 
 tion, — (that of the pedagogueship,) — but it is too
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 271 
 
 often the case that these contradictions arise at a 
 season when we feel it most inconvenient. You 
 were nicely settled." 
 
 Little did Quandish imagine, from the careless, 
 good-humoured tone of inquiry, that Ren more 
 knew as well as himself the reason of his relin- 
 quishing his metier of pedagogue; but our hero 
 amused himself with applying the lash " delicately" 
 to the other's conscience, or sense of shame, if such 
 an ingredient in his composition existed. 
 
 <« Ahem — ahem — yes; very decently settled," 
 blundered out Quandish, jerking his head up, and 
 clearino^ his throat : " but don't let us talk of that 
 any more." 
 
 " Not a word — not a word ! Any subject that 
 distresses a friend is no less painful to us than our 
 own causes of regret," replied Renmore, as he pro- 
 ceeded in the same delicate process of infliction ; 
 of course, in perfect seeming innocence and kindly 
 intention. " But your wife and family " 
 
 " Curses on him!" ejaculated Quandish to him- 
 self, in a suppressed growl, as his brutal ferocity of 
 temper here almost gained the ascendancy over his 
 
 discretion " Why, I thought you knew my 
 
 wife was dead " 
 
 " God bless me !" observed Renmore, with an 
 air of concern, of which it is difficult to say whether 
 it was most feigned or serious ; " I am exceedingly
 
 272 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 hurt at the intelligence — her death must have been 
 sudden ;" and he cast a significant glance at the 
 ruffian he more than suspected of being her 
 assassin. 
 
 Quandish drew back his head involuntarily, and 
 turned his face aside, as he muttered out the reply, 
 " Ay, ay ; it was somewhat sudden." 
 
 "Yes; her health was delicate, if I remember 
 right; yet no treatment could have been kinder 
 than yours " 
 
 [" Torments on his head I" exclaimed the in- 
 censed and goaded ruffian to himself; **I must 
 break away from him. He would master the foul 
 fiend himself!"] Renmore continued — 
 
 " And the unhappy children she left behind 
 her. . . . Your family ? . . . Are the poor little 
 creatures well ?" . . . And here Renmore's voice 
 and manner wore too much the earnestness of 
 kindness, and tacit reproach of the unnatural father 
 who had deserted them, to be mistaken for acting 
 or dissimulation. 
 
 " I wish you would ask me no more of these 
 family matters," replied Quandish, with a savage 
 impatience he found it impossible any longer to 
 suppress ; " they were all well enough when I last 
 saw them. But I jcan stay no longer here talking; — 
 all that it was necessary to settle between us has 
 been done ; so good-night to you."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 273 
 
 " Good-night !" replied Renmore. ** What ! are 
 you in such a hurry to quit an old friend ? I 
 should have wished to ask you to come and pass 
 the remainder of the evening with me at my re- 
 treat at dame Wetherby's." 
 
 Of course, when he said this, our hero knew 
 his offer would be declined ; and for this reason he 
 had lacerated the spirit of the ruffian before him, 
 in order to be saved from his loathsome intrusion, 
 which might have been inflicted on him had he 
 rendered himself less an object of dread to the 
 man. 
 
 " No, no ; I can't very well come this evening — 
 I— I—" 
 
 " Well, well ! let me look forward to that plea- 
 sure on some future occasion. At the same time, 
 as we shall possibly be crossing each other's path 
 during our mutual residence in this spot, it would 
 perhaps be as well for us to maintain the outward 
 appearance of being strangers to each other, iii 
 order to avoid any questions as regarding one 
 another, which might be inconvenient." 
 
 " By all means ! — by all means !" exclaimed 
 Quandish, glad to seize at the proposal, since he 
 dreaded as much as Renmore did any disclosure 
 to Gertrude or her mother of himself. He dreaded 
 any disclosure of his acquaintance in crime with 
 "the Colonel;" and last of all, though not least,— of 
 N 3
 
 274 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the " awkward affair" of his late wife*s sudden 
 death, and the bitter tale of his deserted offspring ! 
 A mystery, doubtless, hung about the decease of 
 his wife that he was perhaps better able to explain 
 than any one else, and had reasons for keeping 
 hushed. And now he was about to stride away 
 from the tantalizing complaisance and friendliness 
 of our accomplished hero in the art of teasing, 
 when he was called back for a moment. 
 
 *' Remember, then, the money is forthcoming at 
 the time specified, on condition of all pursuit being 
 immediately suspended." 
 
 ^' Yes, yes," replied Quandish, impatiently, and 
 with an outward submission, too, which bespoke 
 him thoroughly vanquished, not less by our hero's 
 address than his own conscious guilt. " I am 
 going to Keswick this very night." • 
 
 *^ It is well ! the moon is up, and you will have 
 a charming ramble along the meer-side. Shall I 
 accompany you a short distance ?" 
 
 " No, no ! — much obliged ! I have to call at 
 the place where I reside first — and . . . good- 
 night, good-night !" 
 
 So saying, the ruffian made what haste he could 
 to avoid the perplexing path of the arch master, 
 under whom he had been undergoing such a 
 " spirit movement," such a castigation of his 
 shrinking baseness.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 275 
 
 His square, ungainly form had scarcely been 
 lost in the shadows of the glade, than Ren more, 
 looking after him, said, after a moment's pause, in 
 which some reflection that flattered him was be- 
 spoken in the smile that played on his lip, '' What 
 a thing it is to possess a knowledge of human 
 character ! What man is there whose disposition 
 has not been interpreted by me at almost a glance ? 
 Be it intuition, or what it may, it is a sort of 
 master-key which kindly opens for me the wards of 
 all locks that guard either conscience or character ! 
 Possessed of this, the work of making one's way in 
 the world is easy. Have I not played with men as 
 with puppets ?" And here he shrugged up his 
 
 shoulders and smiled '* So now, I have 
 
 once again a little breathing space ; the heat of pur- 
 suit is cooled ; the cry of the hounds fades from 
 the dizzy ear of the panting quarry ! It is well ; I 
 will now be myself again. These good people of 
 the neighbourhood — Esdaile, the Lawtons, the 
 Howbiggens, and the rest — shall have no further 
 cause to wonder and debate about my ' distance' 
 and habits of seclusion. And Gertrude, the thought 
 of you, my sweet! of your tenderness and beauty, 
 shall no more be disturbed — at least for a season — 
 by the endless alarm or apprehension of being 
 dragged from your very feet to the foot of the 
 scaffold !"
 
 276 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 So saying, our hero proceeded along the avenue, 
 with lighter step than had borne him many a day, 
 in the same direction as he had come after the 
 hasty leave he had taken of Gertrude, as described 
 previously to his meeting the preacher. The sound 
 of voices that had warned him so abruptly away on 
 that occasion merely proceeded from dame \Ve- 
 therby and those female gossips who had accom- 
 panied her back on her return home, and were 
 shortly about to repair to their respective homes in 
 the village. The brawling of the little brook that 
 ran at the back of the premises now echoed on his 
 ear softened through the silence. He paused for a 
 moment, as he had now reached the rustic bridge 
 by which it was crossed, and admired the tranquil 
 charm of the night, as he gave himself up to hap- 
 pier dreams, and less alloyed with bitterness than 
 he had experienced for some time past. " Security" 
 had long indeed been a dream to him. Well might 
 he answer back its peaceful challenge with grati- 
 tude, as he smiled through reflections so pleasing. 
 And here, as he raised his head round to contem- 
 plate the sombre shadows of the Scotch firs on the 
 hill-brow above, tinted as they were with the silver 
 moonlight, that seemed as though it shone on them 
 to soften their austerity, his eye was caught by a 
 light of another description. It seemed to flit 
 backwards and forwards, like a Will-o'-the-wisp,
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 277 
 
 along the ascent of the hill. He watched it for 
 some little time, when it suddenly disappeared. 
 " Can that be/' he said to himself, " Quandish 
 proceeding on his Keswick errand, with torch or 
 lantern to guide him? Not so! nor is that the 
 direction for him to take. Can it be old Mike's 
 track that yonder light shines over ? . . . . Old 
 Mike ! If I was inclined hitherto to be sceptical 
 as to his superstition, may I not smile at it now? 
 May I not tell him how triumphantly I have just 
 combated what he terms my • destiny ?' Nay ; he 
 will be happy to hear it ; for the good old mariner 
 evinces a real interest in my safety I pro- 
 mised to come to his cell ; I wonder if he is there ? 
 I long to tell him how I have managed this in- 
 grate — this Judas; how I have checked pursuit, 
 gratified avarice, won myself security — all ! . . . . 
 
 The night is fine, and " ^ 
 
 Here, as if it shone by way of reply to his surmise 
 of Mike's being at his cell, the light glimmered forth 
 again, and seemed to beckon him to seek it out. 
 " It is a mystic reply, and worthy old Mike; if, 
 indeed, it proceeds from his weird abode," thought 
 our hero, as he smiled, while he turned now from 
 the brook and proceeded to the brow of the hill, 
 beneath the shadows of which his form was speedily 
 lost.
 
 •278 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " In me communion with this purest being 
 Kindled intenser zeal." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 The week had now stolen on, and the morning 
 of Sunday had dawned. It was the day on which 
 Miss Howbiggen (as we may remember) looked 
 forward to a "grand dinner-party" at her resi- 
 dence, <* in which," the Buttermere Morning Post 
 {if there had been such a chronicle) would have 
 announced that, " all the elite of the neighbour- 
 hood was to be comprised." However, the only 
 herald or chronicle that reminded the little world 
 of Buttermere of its daily duties, painful or plea- 
 sant, was that which was blazoned in characters of 
 light by the all-glorious hand of the dread Creator, 
 and which announced to all in the waking sun- 
 beam, that the present day was sacred to himself. 
 
 The old dial-plate in the village church-yard on 
 which that sun-beam shone, wore the solemn motto.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 279 
 
 graven in quaint characters, fin em respice, 
 thus pointing perpetually to the dread hour of 
 doom ; and, at present in particular, to the hour of 
 worship that was to prepare for it. 
 
 The chime of those hallowed bells, softened by the 
 echoes of the meer banks, stole not more sweetly on 
 the ear than the hallowed language they spoke 
 stole upon the heart ! And with no bosom did 
 they sound more in concord than with that of a 
 person who now meets us in the precincts of the 
 village cemetery. They vibrated indeed on a heart 
 tuned to celestial harmony — on a heart that felt the 
 " fulness" of lofty joy at the recurrence of the 
 present day's solemnities. Not merely, however, 
 was it on account of his approval of religious ob- 
 servance and the social decorum of the Sabbath 
 that Golefieid (for such was his name) gazed on 
 the villagers in their decent Sunday attire with 
 lively interest; his meditations took (as was their 
 wont) a higher flight, and indulged in a loftier 
 view of the subject. As he looked at them with a 
 countenance at once thoughtful and benign, he ex- 
 claimed, " The humblest in the walks of life may 
 now be called to feelings that will raise them 
 above « thrones and dominions !' It is in the 
 * tuning* of their minds to lofty strains, the making 
 different beings of them, that the progress * to 
 church' of those villagers strikes me. Yes; be
 
 280 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 religion true or false," (he continued to himself, as 
 he wandered along through the grassy files of brier- 
 trellissed biers,) *« yet in calling the mind to themes 
 lofty and divine, it purifies and exalts mankind, 
 and weans him from worldly matters and the baser 
 cares of humanity — fretful, sordid, and grovelling! 
 Even were religion but an ordinance enjoining all 
 ' good subjects ' to listen once a week to a solemn 
 oration, descanting on any high and glorious matter, 
 it would be a salutary exercise for the mind, and 
 would ' tune it ' to nobler themes than those of its 
 daily strife. It would be refined, awe-struck, filled 
 with a rapture that is holy ! It would be elevated 
 to loftier musings than those of earth and earthly 
 feud. — This too is religion !'' 
 
 " Yes, indeed, it is religion," said an elderly and 
 benevolent-looking person, who now came up to 
 the philosopher and poet, (for such he was;) "but 
 though a safe religion for minds akin to heaven, 
 such as your own ; yet, for less naturally good and 
 sage spirits, it is requisite that the authority of 
 heaven itself should place its seal on this high 
 mental discipline. Man ! rash and blind ! — Would 
 he (think you) listen to the admonitions, however 
 exalted, however aifectionate, held out to him by 
 his fellow-man, unless the person that addressed 
 him were as it were the mouthpiece of God's own 
 oracle ?"
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 281 
 
 " True, true, my dear Mr. Fenton," replied 
 Golefield ; '' you know me too well to think that I 
 could feel otherwise than you have so justly ex- 
 pressed. I may add, too, to your remark, that I 
 wish the ' mouthpiece ' you mention were, gene- 
 rally speaking, the oracle, like yourself, of love and 
 clemency, rather than one of terror and denuncia- 
 tion. Obedience is better secured by awaking a 
 sense of the first — by calling the heart to listen to 
 their harmonies, — ay ! as of seraph harps !" 
 
 " Indeed, it were better, ever,'* said the mild 
 and benevolent pastor, " to take pleasure in sooth- 
 ing pain rather than exciting it ; in holding out hope 
 and blessing, rather than pain and the blackness 
 of despair!" . . . But, just at this moment their 
 attention was called to the circumstance of a vene- 
 rable figure passing them wrapped up in the ample 
 folds of a large grey cloak : his hat, with its shallow 
 crown and wide brim, was forced very much over his 
 brow, and his piercing eyes as they glanced keenly 
 from under his hat rivetted attention to his counte- 
 nance. He seemed to regard Fenton with a look 
 of wild curiosity, and Golefield's countenance less so, 
 and as though he had seen it before; for a smile of 
 recognition just made itself apparent on his lip. He 
 passed as hastily by as his years would permit his 
 bowed figure to proceed ; and as he now pursued 
 his way to the church-porch, Golefield inquired of
 
 282 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 his reverend companion, " who the venerable 
 stranger was?" "I think," he added, "I have 
 seen his face before, but cannot recall the period, 
 or circumstance, of our meeting.*' 
 
 " I fancied, too, I had seen a countenance some- 
 thing like his. At first, I thought, by the silvery 
 locks that escaped from under his hat, that it was 
 old Mike. I fancied, too, I had seen the good old 
 mariner (for so he is, despite the rude village 
 superstitions concerning him) in a cloak somewhat 
 like his." 
 
 " In truth, he did bear a certain resemblance in 
 his outward guise to my good friend the ancient 
 mariner," replied Golefield. " But how often do 
 we come across faces that we fancy we know, or 
 have known, and after all they are merely features 
 that have impressed us in some cursory glance; 
 as we have, perchance, met them casually, amidst 
 the wide, living « phantasmagoria ' that floated 
 by." 
 
 And here the " philosophic dreamer" (for such, too, 
 indeed he was) amused himself with following some 
 train of musings or association of ideas that arose 
 in his mind, of forms, of faces, of scenes, of conver- 
 sations, he had erewhile known ; when suddenly 
 looking round for his reverend companion, he found 
 he had left him, being called away, not only to be 
 in readiness to proceed upon his sacred duties, but
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 283 
 
 to answer the affectionate greetings of high, low, 
 rich, and poor, that thronged round the " good Mr. 
 Fenton," (as we have heretofore mentioned he 
 was called,) whose presence in the pulpit of But- 
 termere was on the special occasion of delivering a 
 charity-sermon in behalf of the village-school. 
 We remember Gertrude's advertising our hero of 
 this circumstance some little time ago, and from 
 her also we have been made acquainted that Fen- 
 ton's " cure " (for though a long and worthy 
 worker in the field of religion, he was still only a 
 "curate") was at the village of Lorton, a place 
 no less deviously than beautifully situated amidst 
 romantic hills and crags, about nine or ten miles 
 distant; and whither we shall, perchance, at some 
 future period, be called on to invite our reader 
 through the mazes of our story. The great popula- 
 rity of Fenton marked him out above all others as a 
 person likely to promote the hallowed purposes of 
 charity by his presence and advocacy. In fact, 
 there was scarcely a parish supporting a charitable 
 institution in the county that did not endeavour to 
 avail itself of the sacred services of "the good Mr. 
 Fenton, the curate of Lorton," to promote its 
 cause. 
 
 Golefield, on finding himself alone again, re- 
 marked of Fenton, " Ay, he is a man that induces 
 us to love, not only piety as inculcated by our
 
 284 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 church, but the body, too, that represents his sacred 
 calling. He is an ornament to society, and a 
 blessing at once . . ." but here a quick trampling 
 of feet roused him again from another fit of that 
 characteristic musing that constantly absorbed him. 
 He raised up his head, and beheld the objects 
 of Fenton*s advocacy at the church of Buttermere 
 on this day, — the village school-children, dressed 
 in their little, old-fashioned, yet decent grey coats, 
 and the girls in cloaks of the same colour, proceeding 
 in a file of two and two up to the church-porch. 
 Golefield stood apart, meeting their smiling faces 
 with a smile too of benevolence, and nodding to 
 many a little friend whose acquaintance it had 
 been a pleasure to him to earn with a piece of 
 gingerbread or a handful of marbles. In fact, the 
 philosopher was scarcely less amiable, scarcely less 
 a promoter (" as far as in him lay") of human happi- 
 ness, than his reverend friend the curate of Lorton. 
 He was, like this excellent person, beloved alike by 
 the peasant and the man of " prouder estate." 
 
 " It is a pleasure to see the children look so 
 healthy, neat, and happy," said a person, address- 
 ing Golefield, as he passed on to the church. It 
 was Routhmore ; a person of a more practical mind 
 and more ardent temperament than Golefield, — a 
 man of as vivid intellect, but less vaguely specu- 
 lative than the other was inclined to be, — less fond of
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 285 
 
 pursuing the dreams of his fancy, or the ingenuity 
 of his reason, for the mere metaphysical pleasure it 
 afforded. This delight, as that of a bird soaring 
 through the blue ether, was a sufficient reward to 
 Golefield, as indeed it is the greatest and sweetest 
 reward to the poetical mind. Society, perhaps, 
 may consider itself more indebted for the utility of 
 his mental pursuits to Routhmore, who applied the 
 stores of his lore, the researches of his mind, and 
 the zeal of his pen, to more practical purposes. 
 The one was carried away uncontrollably by his 
 imagination, and by the extreme fecundity of his 
 fancies, which dazzled him no less by their beauty 
 than they tempted him from all neighbourhood of 
 the practical track, by the boldness, height, and 
 extent of their expatiation. The philosopher, or 
 dreamer himself, was held under a charm by the 
 spell exercised over him by his own mind. To 
 look at him smiling through his dream, you could 
 perceive he was beguiled to a world which he could 
 not (if he would) consent to exchange for the 
 practical realities of the social world around him. 
 Few, then, could follow Golefield, or, consequently, 
 sympathize with him. Every one must admire 
 him ; but if there was much to dazzle mankind in 
 his speculations, there was little tangible. Routh- 
 more, on the other hand, shaped his philoso- 
 phy more to human improvement than to mere
 
 286 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 mental expatiation. In the moral causes he advo- 
 cated, no one could outstrip him in vivacity of 
 intellect and style or ardour of feeling ; but he ever 
 adhered to the bounds of the social scope, and felt 
 satisfied if he could win sympathy within the pale 
 of his fellow-men, rather than sun himself in the 
 beams of happy dreams, that, however delightful 
 in themselves, were yet unsubstantial. The one 
 wished as well to the cause of society as the other ; 
 but Golefield's mind was so constituted, that it in- 
 dulged in a sort of intellectual Arcadia, which, as 
 regarded the interests of society, painted life and 
 human character as he wished to see it, and not as 
 it well could be. Routhmore's zeal led him to 
 combat the prejudices of man ; nor less the daring 
 presumption of man. It led him to a more rea- 
 sonable code, whose beauty, in his view, was its 
 utility, its greater practical perfection. Did em- 
 pirics wish to overthrow sound institutions by rash 
 innovations? Routhmore was the champion whose 
 zeal pursued them to the last gasp that gave them 
 breath to run. His vivid style, and searching, 
 keen, and lofty argument, was ever the foremost, 
 as it was the most effective, to expose their errors, 
 — to shame them into a better habit of thinking. 
 In placing the reasons for their doing so in the 
 most attractive light, by shewing the amelioration 
 that society, and the condition of human happiness.
 
 JAMES HATi'lELD. 287 
 
 would derive from abjuring their untenable scruples 
 — he led to improvement in the most certain way. 
 No two men, therefore, could be more essentially 
 different in their mental characteristics than Gole- 
 field and Routhmore. No two men saw each other's 
 mental excellences and beauties with a greater wil- 
 lingness to pay deference to them reciprocally. 
 The simplicity of character of Golefield in society 
 am'eed well with his intellectual character as the 
 
 o 
 
 " child of Fancy," — the plaything of self-wrought 
 dreams, — for his dreams swayed him more than he 
 swayed or controlled his dreams ; for, as we have 
 already said, they carried him away on their wing 
 beyond all bounds of pursuit, or sympathy from those 
 around him. He was a feather on the wind with 
 which they bore him. To observe him, to hear 
 him speak, his spirit eagerly looking through his 
 eye and countenance at the bright illusions that 
 played before it, you felt the *' thing of clay" was 
 lost — the man Golefield was lost, — and a personi- 
 fication of mind, or spirit, glowed before you ! 
 
 This difference of their characteristics and tem- 
 perament was witnessed, too, in their countenances. 
 The simple, benevolent look and expression, beto- 
 kening happiness in itself, which characterized 
 Golefield, was strongly contrasted with the ani- 
 mated, keen countenance of Routhmore. Their 
 features were not more different than the ruddy, hale
 
 •288 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 complexion of the dreamer-bard and metaphysician 
 differed from that of the darker and more swarthy 
 traits of the zealous scholar, critic, and moral phi- 
 losopher, Routhmore. 
 
 But not to dwell any longer on this *' analysis" 
 of character of two individuals so distinguished, — 
 (though to have said less would have been an in- 
 justice both to the reader and to them,) — we will 
 take up the conversation between them for the few 
 moments that the church-bells yet permitted it to 
 continue, ere their chime should end, and warn 
 them no longer to delay from the sacred threshold. 
 
 Golefield replied to Routhmore's remark on the 
 cleanliness and happiness of the school-children — 
 
 " Ay, it is a delight to see them ! I view them 
 with mingled feelings of pleasure at their happi- 
 ness, and shame at myself." 
 
 " How so ? The conclusion is scarcely deduc- 
 ible from so benevolent and good a premise," re- 
 plied Routhmore, smiling, as his companion put 
 his arm into his, while they strolled on by the side 
 of the children to the church-door. 
 
 '^ Why, * shame' to think that we, with all our 
 boasted wisdom, are scarcely so truly wise as those 
 little beings in their innocent ignorance !" 
 
 ''Nay, all humanity is imperfection; hence it is 
 that we fail in wisdom. But, surely the exercise of 
 matured reason renders us superior (though imper-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 289 
 
 feet, no doubt, in our views from the very weakness 
 of our nature) to the unmatured and tender mind?" 
 
 '' Why, that little yellow-haired fellow, who has 
 stepped out of the rank to pick a honeysuckle 
 flower from the stem over yonder grass-green bier, 
 is worthier of admiration than you or I ! . . . 
 With all our wisdom, our efforts to discover that 
 « moot point' to the end of time, — the ' greatest 
 good to the greatest number,' — we are not yet so 
 truly in possession of the desideratum — 'happi- 
 ness' — as that child !" 
 
 *' Truly so," replied Routhmore; '* the reflec- 
 tion certainly is humiliating to us, to think how 
 much in vain we strive towards the light. But, to 
 quit this vein of regret at our essential weakness as 
 men, rather than argue that ' innocent childish- 
 ness' is worthier of admiration in its happiness 
 than * praiseworthy effort' in its failure through 
 human imperfection, — to quit this, let us rather 
 contemplate the blessing imparted to these children 
 and society by the happy system of education these 
 * Sunday-school' establishments promote. The 
 prospect my mind more willingly pursues is, the 
 refinement of the spirit — the amelioration of the 
 moral principle — the diminution of crime — the 
 practical benefit to the country — the blessing to 
 mankind." 
 
 " And yet— to think, my dear Routhmore, that 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 all this ' refining* of the spirit does but foster the 
 growth of sensibilities which shall sharpen (it miay 
 be) the future pangs of remorse, and render the 
 heart less happy than even it would have been in 
 the numbness of feeling ere it was thus refined.*' 
 
 " This is the tax incumbent on all good, in the 
 social or moral world. You speak too much as a 
 * poet !' — you suffer feeling to gain the ascendancy 
 over reason I — you look too far ! and in doing 
 so, consider too slightly the real merits of an essen- 
 tial good, and a great social benefit." 
 
 " Well, you are right," said his meditative com- 
 panion, with the benign smile of an assent that felt 
 his friend spoke truly, and that yet there was also a 
 " pleasing pain" in his own views and feelings 
 w^hich he would be unwilling altogether to forego. 
 But the last chime of the bell had now sounded 
 as their feet were on the sacred threshold. They 
 entered, and were soon wrapt in the hallowed 
 themes which spoke to the heart, the feelings, no 
 less than imagination and reason. Those themes, 
 too, won impressiveness from the bland yet chastely 
 solemn manner of Fen ton. There was a shade yet 
 of sorrow over that benign aspect. There w^s a 
 tone of sorrow also, mingling with those accents of 
 hope and benevolence, that insensibly stole upon 
 the hearer ; while the heart, no less than the eye, 
 followed the preacher. But there was no one of
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. '291 
 
 all present whose heart or eye seemed to follow 
 him with more deeply felt interest than those of 
 the venerable stranger that not long ago had 
 attracted the notice of Golefield and Fen ton, as 
 they were conversing in the church-yard. Whe- 
 ther there was any peculiar source of interest to 
 this person, in aught connected with the '' good 
 curate/' beyond that of the present exercise of his 
 hallowed function, we are unable to say. Being a 
 stranger in the place, his appearance, as may be 
 expected, excited attention, coupled with a certain 
 degree of curiosity to know " who he could be ?" 
 The eyes of the " good folk" present were there- 
 fore " sundry times" turned towards him, nor did 
 the interest he evinced in regarding the preacher 
 escape them. Nay ; those who sate in a position 
 to mark the workings of his countenance, and the 
 expression of the old man's feature, declared they 
 could detect a tear glisten in his eye after he had 
 regarded the face of Fenton with intent earnest- 
 ness for some time. After all, it might be but the 
 dimness of sight, the weakness of age's vision, to 
 which this appearance was to be attributed. Be 
 this, however, as it may, those who can read the 
 heart through the countenance would not have 
 pronounced much amiss had they deemed that 
 sorrow and regret were scarcely less marked on 
 those venerable traits than attention to the preacher, 
 o2
 
 292 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 or devotion for the theme he uttered. But if the 
 aged stranger had attracted any notice, it was des- 
 tined speedily to be called away from him, and 
 directed to a " phenomenon" of the other sex 
 which now made its appearance, arrayed in a style 
 that fully justified the transient gape of the con- 
 gregation as it advanced up the aisle. During this 
 portentous interval, even the heads of the auditory 
 were turned away from the estimable preacher. In 
 fact, the " phenomenon" (or " mega thaumay^ as 
 old Homer would have termed it) was irresistible. 
 Its " irruption," too, into the sacred edifice, at the 
 advanced stage to which the service had now ar- 
 rived, rendered the circumstance more conspicuous 
 and " gape-provoking !" Of course, we must not 
 pronounce on the merits of the fashion of a past 
 day by a reference to that which is at present the 
 prevailing taste ; but no doubt the lady in question 
 knew well what was becoming when she appeared 
 in a blue satin hat fined with pink, exhibiting fur- 
 ther two portentous rosettes of the dimensions of 
 peonies over each ear, just as coach-horses are 
 decorated, or rather " garnished." But this is not 
 all. We are but a short way upon our progress 
 to the interesting tout ensemble, A beautiful buff 
 dress, buttoned all down the front, (the complete 
 rage, by-the-bye — the mania of the day !) with 
 large lilac-coloured buttons, commands next our
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 293 
 
 homage; the same, be it observed, being enhanced 
 in effect by a rich border of lilac also, which stood 
 out " in splendid relief" from the more sober 
 ground of buff. Well; over her shoulders our 
 lovely " phenomenon" wore a " charming" bright 
 amber-coloured shawl, with a border and fringe of 
 black; while a capacious collar, bordered with 
 Valenciennes lace, exhibited its snow-white con- 
 trast to the amber hues of the shawl. No lady, we 
 are confident, could survey herself in the glass in 
 such a costume, and not pronounce herself '* at- 
 tractive" beyond all doubt; and to this just and 
 laudable conclusion Miss Howbiggen (for it is 
 herself who proceeds up the aisle before us) ar- 
 rived, no doubt, when she decorated herself in it. 
 That a little time was taken over a toilette of such 
 " curious taste" cannot be questioned ; and hence 
 must she be excused for making her appearance at 
 the present somewhat advanced state of the ser- 
 vice, the psalms being nearly concluded. She was 
 followed by her estimable brother, coughing the 
 whole way up the aisle; as much, perhaps, from 
 impatience at her delay, which doubtless nearly 
 choked him with grumbling, as from any cold or 
 weakness of trachea. His irritation was less of the 
 lungs or throat than of the temper. But the grand 
 question, after all, has not been solved — namely, in 
 reference to what person in particular it was that
 
 294 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Miss Howbiggen had rendered herself so particu- 
 larly attractive ? For it is scarcely to be supposed 
 that, however universally " obliging" her dispo- 
 sition was, she should have so far taken pains to 
 render herself an object of admiration to the 
 mere worthy but ordinary group of the Butter- 
 mere congregation. No ; we cannot, then, be at 
 a loss to pronounce that she certainly must have 
 had " the Hon. Colonel Renmore, M.P., of Clan- 
 renmore, county Caithness," in contemplation, as 
 she surveyed herself in the full-length toilette glass, 
 and emerged, like another Iris, in the resplendence 
 of " many colours" — buff, lilac, black, and amber ! . . 
 By-the-bye, yet more, (the Graces forgive us!) 
 we had forgotten one great essential in this cos- 
 tume, and as particularly exemplifying the fashion 
 of the day, — this was, the red heel to the boot ; 
 the upper portion of which was, in the delicate 
 and chaste contrast, yet still no less striking one, 
 of white satin. But the " red heels" were the 
 great point of interest in the costume of the day, 
 just as the " high heels" or " choppines" of the 
 olden time were in their day ; and a curious account 
 of which may be seen in " Tom Coryate's Crudi- 
 ties ;" not to mention that this gear is memorialized 
 in Shakspeare's Hamlet. Now, if a figure so well 
 worthy to attract admiration as that which Miss 
 Howbiggen exhibited was not enough to charm a
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 295 
 
 whole regiment, to say nothing of one stray colonel, 
 we are at a loss to say what would. But alas ! the 
 contradiction of destiny ! — the wayward sway of 
 that envious law that thwarts everlastingly our 
 fondest expectations ! The very person against 
 whom this battery of attraction was to be directed 
 was actually out of the way — " non est inventus ! " 
 Now, Miss Howbiggen very reasonably regretted 
 being deprived of the pleasure of seeing Colonel 
 Renmore, since he was to be her guest that day. In 
 fact, he had at length (according to the intimation 
 expressed by him at the close of our preceding 
 chapter) accepted her " advances towards drav/ing 
 him out," — that is, an invitation to dine ; while Mr. 
 Howbiggen, with characteristic bearishness, called 
 it " worrying the man from his privacy." No 
 wonder, then, that Miss Howbiggen was a little 
 chagrined at not seeing our hero. Alack ! to think 
 that the curious and grateful study of that toilette 
 should be " labour lost !" And who knows ? it 
 might be " Love's Labour Lost!" For that Miss 
 Howbiggen had conceived a strong interest in the 
 Colonel must already have been witnessed, beyond 
 the possibility of a doubt. With difficulty did she 
 restrain her impatience, and the expression of her 
 disappointment, till the conclusion of the service ; 
 when she did so, it was to her " sympathizing" bro- 
 ther, — andwhatthink you he had the grace to reply ?
 
 296 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " He, he, he ! — ugh, ugh, ugh !" (the cough and 
 giggle were interwoven together like the dingy shades 
 of a pair of " thunder and lightning" coloured stock- 
 ings,) " the Colonel does quite right to keep away, 
 if he doesn't wish to go to church, stranger here as 
 he is, to be stared at. It is not every one that 
 does make it a rule to * go poking' to church ! . . . 
 ugh, ugh, ugh !" . . . (Another fit of coughing.) 
 " I don't know (ugh, ugh !) whether (ngh !) I did 
 not catch this vile cold in ' draggle- tailing' last 
 Sunday through the wet to church after you. . . . 
 Ugh, ugh, ugh, ugh ! . . . ." But here all further 
 colloquy was drowned in the fit of coughing that 
 ensued in an exasperated degree ; while the some- 
 what indignant fair one replied, with a laudable 
 impatience — 
 
 " I shall really never hear the last of that cold !" 
 .... but perceiving that her words were lost on 
 Mr. Howbiggen, she reverted to her own cause of 
 dissatisfaction. " Most contradictory and tan- 
 talizing — Colonel Renmore not being present. . . . 
 Well, at any rate, we shall have the pleasure of 
 seeing him to-day." So saying, she consoled her- 
 self for her disappointment, and now made her 
 way to meet her various friends who thronged 
 together — the service being now over — in their 
 transit from the church, to hold, according to cus- 
 tom, (as, reader, you may see in any village church-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 297 
 
 yard on a Sunday,) a few minutes' conversation, 
 ere dispersing to their different abodes. 
 
 Mr. Howbiggen hobbled after her, ejaculating 
 with what breath he could muster, after the disci- 
 pline of his coughing, " It is the root of all bodily 
 evils, a cold, I do believe. So much fever always 
 connected with it. . . . That blockhead Esdaile 
 
 was for once in his life right when he said so." 
 
 Just at this moment, and as this kind reminiscence 
 of the worthy Doctor had hardly escaped his lips, 
 up came the little man himself, greeting his patient 
 in his usual lively style, to the invariable disar- 
 rangement of that cynical gentleman's bilious tem- 
 perament. 
 
 " Ha ! cold better to-day, I hope, Mr. How- 
 biggen ? — and how do you do. Miss Howbiggen ? 
 Beautiful sermon we have had to-day. Delightful 
 preacher Mr. Fen ton." 
 
 To all these remarks and inquiries the fair one 
 and her brother both replied at once. The words 
 of the dyspeptic patient being, ** Ugh, not a bit 
 better ! How should a man's cold be better, 
 hazarding his health in coming to a damp church ?" 
 So grumbled Mr. Howbiggen ; while the smiling 
 Doctor's attention was more occupied in listening 
 to the gentler greeting of his amiable sister. 
 
 " Oh yes ! Mr. Howbiggen's cold is much better ! 
 .... the sermon was delightful ! . . . but . . . 
 0.3
 
 298 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 but . . ." (glad to arrive at the topic uppermost 
 in her mind), " I thought I should have seen 
 Colonel Renmore at church to-day." 
 
 "Colonel Renmore !" exclaimed Esdaile. " Dear 
 me ! your mentioning his name reminds me of my 
 sad neglect in not having, ere now, paid my re- 
 spects to him as I promised. . . ." 
 
 [" Lucky fellow, the Colonel," growled out How- 
 biggen to himself, " to be spared the annoyance !"] 
 
 " Indeed !" interposed Miss Howbiggen ; while 
 the Doctor continued — 
 
 " I have not actually been to see him since our 
 little fishing ramble together — nearly a fortnight 
 ago now — when 1 walked up to call on you. In 
 fact, I have been so much engaged in going the 
 round of my various patients in the neighbourhood 
 of Keswick, that I have been unable to do so. I 
 have an excellent opportunity, however, of calling 
 now, so I will march forward to the Traveller's 
 Rest, and beat up the Colonel's quarters; and, 
 by-the-bye, he was good enough to offer me a ' frank' 
 whenever I required one, — I will ask that favour 
 of him to-day. But you have assuredly met him 
 ere this ?" 
 
 " No, indeed ! not until this morning have his 
 engagements permitted him to promise us the 
 pleasure of his company." 
 
 " Oh ! then, I shall see him to-day at your house.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 299 
 
 I am delighted at that ! You will find him a most 
 agreeable person indeed ! But I am surprised you 
 have not met him sooner." 
 
 " No; on consideration/' replied Miss How- 
 biggen, " I can now very easily understand that 
 whilst his movements were uncertain, he thought 
 it more convenient to decline coming out, than to 
 have to write an excuse subsequently on finding 
 he could not come, or accept the invitation con- 
 ditionally." 
 
 '' Well, that is very reasonable of you," ob- 
 served Mr. Howbiggen ; " vastly reasonable ! — and 
 you are willing to make this excuse now you fancy 
 he is coming ! — had he still, however, declined your 
 advances, he would have been still a subject of idle 
 speculation, and, you as unreasonably fidgety as 
 ever. . . . Well, I only hope, Hetty, now you 
 have teased him into coming to dine " 
 
 . . . " ' Drawn him out,' " if you please, into the 
 circle, so happy to shew him due attention — 
 ' teased' him, indeed !" 
 
 So said Miss Howbiggen ; meantime her brother, 
 taking no notice of her reproof, continued, . . . 
 " I only hope (I beg to say) that when you have 
 made his acquaintance, you will not have reason 
 to repent it." 
 
 " Repent it !" exclaimed Dr. Esdaile and Miss 
 Howbiggen both at once ; the one in serious pet-
 
 300 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 tishness ; the other, in his usual tone of good-hu- 
 moured raillery ; for Esdaile was never more 
 pleased with his eccentric patient than when he 
 was in his peculiarly morose and ursine moods. 
 " Why, you speak," continued " Hetty," (for so 
 was Miss Hester Howbiggen familiarly called) 
 " as if we were about to meet a swindler or felon ! 
 Ridiculous !" 
 
 " Pish ! I don't mean to say the man is either 
 the one or the other, though there is never being 
 certain. All I would suggest is, that I never knew 
 any good come of being so ' mighty' anxious to see 
 and know people ! (ugh, ugh !) We always get 
 disappointed in our expectations, and deceived in 
 our hopes." 
 
 '' Ay ; but you will not be so in the Colonel, I 
 can assure you," said Esdaile; — *^ the most agree- 
 able, delightful companion I ever fell in with." 
 
 " To be sure ! to be sure !" exclaimed Hetty ; 
 " for shame, brother ! — this morose way of viewing 
 men and things " 
 
 ..." Is what men and things too often deserve. 
 It is everlastingly the case," continued the ascetic, 
 in a hasty tone, " that our liking or respect for 
 people very little improves on our further acquaint- 
 ance with them ! (ugh, ugh !") 
 
 '^ Oh, there is no fear of this in the instance of 
 my friend. Colonel Renmore, — so good morning.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 301 
 
 until I have the pleasure of meeting you again 
 at dinner." And so saying, Dr, Esdaile, after 
 having made a brief delay to pay his respects to 
 the curate of Lorton, proceeded on his visit to our 
 hero. The good pastor was now advancing from 
 the church porch, surrounded by all the gentry of 
 the congregation (amongst whom were Mr. Lawton 
 with his fair daughter Laura) in conversation with 
 him. They were all happy to take this opportu- 
 nity of paying their respects to him, and expressing 
 the gratification they had derived from his advocacy, 
 feeling and eloquent as it had been, of the bene- 
 volent cause of the local charity. 
 
 The group was joined now by our friends Miss 
 Hester Howbiggen and her brother ; nor was the 
 latter remiss (however ursine and repelling he 
 generally was) in shewing that he, too, was sensible 
 of the merits and claim to respect of one so univer- 
 sally beloved. 
 
 " You will favour us with your company, I 
 trust, Mr. Fenton, at dinner to-day — ugh ? eh ?" 
 growled out the cynic, as amiably as he could; 
 while he continued, *' to make amends for my caus- 
 ticity, you will have the more amiable society of 
 all the gentlemen round you," looking at Golefield, 
 Routhmore, and Lawton ; and making also as polite 
 an inclination of the head as he could to Miss 
 Lawton, who leaned on her father's arm.
 
 302 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 '' Yes ; and of Colonel Renmore too," added 
 Miss Hetty. " I trust you will come ;" and here 
 Miss Howbiggen proceeded to hold some minor 
 conversation with Laura Lawton. Meantime, 
 Fen ton replied — 
 
 *' Indeed, I should be too happy to have the 
 honour ; but being obliged to return to Lorton 
 to do duty this evening, I fear I must decline the 
 pleasure of meeting so many (I may say) of my 
 best friends." So said he, as he answered back 
 the smile of good will and esteem with which 
 Golefield in particular greeted him. 
 
 '* Well, then, you must positively come up to 
 the house and sit with us a few minutes," said Miss 
 Howbiggen, with her usual " fidget" (to use her 
 brother's ill-behaved language) of hospitality. 
 And so, too, would he have expressed himself now, 
 but that he seemed to make an exception to his 
 usual unceremonious mode of carping in the in- 
 stance of the good curate. Nay, what is more, he 
 fell back in the ranks, while his sister and Fenton 
 walked onward foremost of the party, as he muttered 
 to himself, " Why, there is a man that it really 
 does one good to see. He never smiles in your 
 face to answer some selfish purpose — to cloak some 
 design to fawn and stab! to flatter, cajole, and 
 cheat ! He is a good man, — a sincere man ; — and 
 what is his reward ? Neglect, and the postpone-
 
 JAJMES HATFIELD. 303 
 
 ment of his merits, according to the universal and 
 hateful law that prevails throughout society ! What 
 encouragement is there to be good, and diligent, 
 and conscientious, when the return these qualities 
 meet with is mere forgetfulness on the part of the 
 world, and neglect ?" So saying, or rather rumi- 
 nating, Mr. Howbiggen hobbled up to the party in 
 advance, whom he now found, unci voce, remarking 
 on the appearance of the venerable stranger who 
 had attended the church that morning. They 
 looked round for him amongst the group of persons 
 leaving the church ; but it should seem that he had 
 already withdrawn himself, unperceived by the 
 congregation, while yet the benediction was being 
 pronounced at the close of the service, and before 
 any movement had as yet been made to rise and 
 quit the sacred edifice. In effecting this with- 
 drawal of himself unperceived, he was aided by the 
 proximity of the pew he occupied to the church 
 door. The curiosity therefore that his presence 
 had excited was doomed to be ungratified ; and of 
 course, in proportion as information concerning 
 himself and his movements was scant, the conjec- 
 tures that puzzled over them were manifold.
 
 304 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " No soul on earth must know it : not my father. 
 O, comrade, tell me ? Is all changed around me, 
 Or is it only I ? I find myself 
 As among strangers. Not a trace is left 
 
 Of all my former wishes 
 
 And in the church was I ; and now at once 
 Was my devotion cloudless as my love.'* 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 A LITTLE shallop "glode" (as the old ballads 
 have it) silently along under the boughs that 
 shaded the bank of the meer, and as they stretched 
 over its clear liquid crystals, tinted them in the green 
 hues of their reflected verdure, in beautiful variation, 
 of the azure lustre in which the rest of the waters 
 shone beneath those smiling heavens. After pro- 
 ceeding along the whole extent of the bank, the 
 shallop was moored in a rude cove, formed by a 
 hollow of the rock, and the persons it had conveyed 
 now pursued their way by a flight of natural steps,
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 305 
 
 formed by the jagged sides of the crag, till they 
 found themselves on the summit of the steep. 
 
 " I have seen him, then ! — I have at last seen 
 him!" said one of the persons to the other. "The 
 dim visions of years far retraced float faintly 
 before me, and represent the form — the aspect — 
 the benign smile — the countenance of love, of com- 
 passion, and gentle persuasion ! . . . Sorrow had 
 not then shaded that brow ! nor regrets embittered 
 the pure stream of those cheerful as virtuous 
 thoughts! . . ." 
 
 And the speaker was silent, as overcome with 
 the emotion occasioned by reflections, perhaps the 
 bitterest of which our nature can be sensible — 
 namely, those that reproach us with having 
 wronged the persons most worthy our love ! — those 
 that whisper in the ear of our anguish that where 
 kindness has met us, we have slighted it, and 
 turned away ; or, yet more, repulsed it, heedless of 
 the wound our ill-return has inflicted ! Such is 
 the wound a parent, for example, is wrung withal, 
 in the callous indifference, or thoughtless wayward- 
 ness, or yet worse, the stubborn opposition, of a 
 cherished and darling child ! Such is the wound, 
 too, a friend is doomed to feel, when misunderstood 
 by false pride, when misconstrued by suspicious 
 meanness, or chilled by the yet less scrupulous 
 outraoje of barefaced inojratitude !
 
 306 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Well, well/' replied the other, filling up the 
 pause occasioned by the emotion of his companion, 
 " it is a long day to look back upon. The judg- 
 ment of the offender was scarcely ripe then ; 
 and . . ." 
 
 ..." Were it twice as long ago, the sense of 
 committed wrong would yet be as keenly edged 
 in my heart as now 1 I was loath to look upon his 
 face again — I feared to view the very benignity 
 that would be my bitterest accusation ! Though I 
 have faced dangers and braved the frowns no less 
 of man than of fortune, I never shrank so sen- 
 sibly as I did before that benevolent and revered 
 aspect. Its kindness was a condemnation and a 
 reproach severer to me than the combined frowns 
 of a whole hostile world. I think it would break 
 my heart to face it again." 
 
 And the person speaking thus relapsed into his 
 former silence, though the mental struggle battled 
 keenly within his breast; he seemed to proceed 
 mechanically, as it were, by the side of his com- 
 panion, scarcely knowing whither he was led, 
 while the other again attempted to offer the rude 
 but bootless consolation which a kind heart and 
 plain, untutored mind characteristically proffer. 
 
 " Well now ; where is . the good of a man's 
 'taking on so,* when not all the fretting in the 
 world over past faults or follies can mend matters?
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 307 
 
 If in a former day of youthful or childish heedless- 
 ness, rashness, or blind waywardness, we could 
 possibly have foreseen the day when they should 
 occasion so much regret to us, think you we 
 should have been either heedless, rash, or way- 
 ward ? . . . No, no ; but we can't look forward ! 
 We are pulled this way and that by certain invi- 
 sible agencies that play with us, look you, and 
 twist and turn us just as they please — -just as I 
 may turn aside the track of this poor beetle you 
 are about to step upon," — and so saying, the person, 
 in an affectionate, though rude manner, laid his 
 hand on the arm of his comrade and pressed it, 
 while he added, as he pushed away the beetle from 
 the path, " There ; and may the better destinies 
 overhead so turn aside all the evils that cross our 
 mortal path !" 
 
 " Amen, my good friend !" replied the other, 
 with a solemnity little softened by hope, as he 
 added, " But really fortune (or rather fate, as you 
 would say) has shewn me so little favour that I fear 
 your good wishes are but uttered in vain." 
 
 And here, being interrupted by the footsteps 
 of some one pushing his way briskly through 
 the tangled brushwood and thick dank sedge that 
 fringed the bank of the water along which they 
 were proceeding, they struck suddenly into a nar- 
 row path that wound round the crag, and so
 
 308 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 avoided all contact with the person who now came 
 up to the spot they had vacated. 
 
 «* Well ! I could have declared, as I stood on 
 the crag-top yonder, in my way towards the meer, 
 that I saw a boat land two persons somewhere near 
 this spot; one of which I could declare was old 
 Mike, and the other bore a marvellous resemblance 
 to that singular person we saw at church to-day — 
 that venerable stranger about whom every one was 
 asking. Well ; it is odd ! I was almost sure 
 they passed up the clifF-side, as if to proceed in 
 this direction.'* And here he looked about him 
 again. " No ; I can perceive no traces of them 
 whatever ; — very odd, indeed !" 
 
 The person speaking thus was of short stature 
 and stoutly built, though active; and being rendered 
 somewhat out of breath by the ramble he had taken, 
 was glad to sit down on the bank and rest himself 
 for a short period. It is scarcely necessary to say 
 that it is the worthy litde Doctor that is now 
 before us, and whom we have here joined on his 
 progress to call on ''the Colonel," which we re- 
 member his sallying forward upon subsequently to 
 the church-service, at the close of our preceding 
 chapter. He sat, with his four-legged Achates 
 Bryan by his side, looking on the glowing lake- 
 tide, tacitly wishing, perhaps, despite its being 
 the Sabbath, that he had his fly-rod in his hand.
 
 JAMES PIATFIELD. 309 
 
 Nor trifling, indeed, was the temptation that sug- 
 gested that wish ; for beneath the spot where he 
 sate the water was deep, and what was called by 
 anglers a " hole ;" and here the finest and largest 
 char ever delighted to disport them through its 
 translucent mazes. He could have sate for ever, 
 enjoying the shade of the boughs above his head, 
 the cool "salute" of the gale that freshened from the 
 water over his brow, the charm of the seclusion 
 those haunts afforded, — and, yet more than all, the 
 sight of his favourite finny game darting through 
 the pure lucid tide below; — but this paradise of re- 
 pose was not to last for ever ; and after sufficiently 
 indulging in it, he called to mind that he had no 
 business to delay where he was any longer. " 1 
 set out," he said to himself, as he rose from the 
 bank, " to call on Colonel Renmore, but was led 
 aside from my intended path by the sudden descrial 
 of those two people in the shallop, that have so un- 
 accountably escaped my overtaking them ! . . . 
 Well, no matter; in rambling after them I have 
 lighted on a famous spot for the char, to find which 
 I would have willingly consented to ramble twice 
 as far out of my way." And thus consoling him- 
 self, the philosophic as merry doctor or angler, or 
 both, proceeded on his original commission of 
 paying his respects to " the Colonel." Away, 
 then, he hied him, followed by Bryan, to dame
 
 310 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Wetherby's. " Is Colonel Renmore at home?" 
 he inquired of that worthy and demure person her- 
 self, the moment he entered the porch. 
 
 " I believe he is, Sir/' was the reply; " I rather 
 think he has just come in. I think he went to 
 church this morning/' continued the landlady, as 
 she preceded the Doctor on her way to knock at 
 our hero's door. 
 
 " No, no ; the Colonel was not at church — but 
 your lovely daughter was ! And never did I see 
 her looking more charming than in that pretty 
 gipsy hat she had on. She eclipsed all her bloom- 
 ing maiden fellows, whose Sunday gear seemed to 
 sit awkwardly upon them in comparison with 
 hers. Ay, and you, too, Mrs. Wetherby, would 
 be at church every Sunday of your life were you 
 to hear such a discourse as Mr. Fenton gave us 
 this morning !" 
 
 The good-humoured, plain-spoken Doctor was 
 not too remarkable on all occasions for the " tact" 
 with which he spoke ; and so the widow Wetherby 
 seemed to consider on the present occasion, as her 
 countenance deepened in its shade of demureness 
 at the kind of indirect reflection which his words 
 seemed to convey on her attendance at the dis- 
 senting preacher's harangues, rather than the more 
 chaste and sober discourses of the village church. 
 On one account, too, more particularly than any
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 311 
 
 Other, was the Doctor's remark injudicious, since 
 it had the effect of arraying the feelings of the 
 parent against those of her daughter on the deh- 
 cate topic of their respective devotional notions; 
 and Mrs. Wetherby had screwed up her lips as a 
 prelude to a rather lengthened reply, when, fortu- 
 nately for the Doctor, she was now close at the 
 Colonel's door. 
 
 " I scarcely know," she said, "what some people 
 may think, — but it appears to my consideration, 
 that young persons should be guided rather by the 
 recommendation of those who are better able to 
 judge for them than themselves. . . ." 
 
 (" Oh, yes ! decidedly — decidedly! . . . Is this 
 the Colonel's door?") 
 
 ..." Especially — ahem — in the instance of 
 children as with reference to their parents " 
 
 . . . "Certainly — certainly! no doubt!" con- 
 tinued the Doctor, recklessly. " Oh ! I wish you 
 had been one of the congregation to-day, Mrs. 
 Wetherby, knowing how you delight in a fine, im- 
 pressive discourse. You would have been charmed 
 as much as myself, or as your daughter, I dare say, 
 was. . . . But Gertrude, (I beg pardon,) Miss 
 Wetherby, will give you a full account of it, no 
 doubt, at tea this evening." . . . 
 
 But the sage landlady and proselyte of the ora- 
 cular Quandish was too much overset by this
 
 312 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 second battery on her nerves, or prejudices, or both, 
 to have been able to reply with perfect calmness to 
 it, and was no less glad to break off a parley in 
 which the Doctor spoke with so little regard to con- 
 sideration or nicety, as respected her ''peculiar 
 sentiments" and feelings. Accordingly, having 
 ushered him into Colonel Renmore's room, she 
 departed, expressing to herself with less moderation 
 than so rigid a " chapel votary'* should have ob- 
 served, as regarded Esdaile's imprudent mention 
 of her daughter — 
 
 " This is the way that girl is everlastingly ren- 
 dering me subject to the reflections of people, in 
 consequence of her wilfully taking an opposite path 
 to that which it should be her duty to pursue to- 
 gether with myself! 'A wayward son,' (as the 
 Proverbs say,)" she added, in a truly sanctimonious 
 twang, and a la Quandish, '' is the reproach of his 
 mother !'* and I may say a 'wayward daughter' ! . . . 
 But we will see how long this is to last!" 
 
 With these words, she betook her with new zeal 
 to prepare for her evening's visit to the fane of her 
 favourite holder-forth ; consoling herself, as it were, 
 for the " twitting" she had been sensible of, on the 
 part of the thoughtless Doctor, by precisely acting in 
 the teeth and in defiance of his gratuituous recom- 
 mendations, and evincing herself, yet more and 
 more, a " stanch meetinffer."
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 313 
 
 Meantime, the greetings due on either side had 
 taken place between the Doctor and his distin- 
 guished friend; with many apologies on the part of 
 the former for his apparent neglect in not having 
 fulfilled his promise of " looking in" upon the Colo- 
 nel at an earlier period than the present day. Nor 
 was the request for a frank forgotten, which while 
 Renmore was, with his usual acquiescence, engaged 
 in affording, Esdaile " talked on." 
 
 *' A charming party, I trust, we shall have to- 
 day at the Howbiggens'. Our host is a strange 
 character, less really unamiable than he chooses to 
 exhibit himself. His grumbling is, I fancy, all so 
 much vanity ! — mere indulgence of vanity, and 
 nothing more." 
 
 " Ay, indeed ! how so ?" inquired Renmore, as 
 he raised his head up from looking at the *' frank" 
 he was inditing. 
 
 ** Why, having been disappointed in the career 
 of early ambition, and feeling his talents were 
 thrown away, and himself laid on the shelf as it 
 were, he is determined to be a * character,' and 
 claim the social immunities of a ' privileged per- 
 son.' " 
 
 *' A proof of sad weakness of character, in my 
 opinion," observed Renmore, as he rose and pre- 
 sented the frank to Esdaile ; " and entirely, as you 
 observe, the result of vanity, and a morbid desire 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 314 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 to claim attention. No doubt, disappointment is 
 vexatious and trying, but it is the test of a manly 
 mind to be able to evince endurance. This will 
 render a man much more worthy of admiration for 
 character, than any ill-judged disregard for the 
 usances, feelings, or even prejudices of society, 
 which it would render the slave of its own spleen." 
 
 " A noble piece of moral philosophy ; and Routh- 
 more himself could not have uttered a finer ! . . . 
 Oh ! you will be much gratified with some of the 
 persons you will meet this evening." 
 
 " Indeed, it is a matter of regret" (and here he 
 spoke sincerely) " that I was unable to avail myself 
 of your kind offers of introduction previously; but 
 I trust that this evening will make me amends for 
 my disappointment hitherto." 
 
 And here an interval of interruption in the con- 
 versation took place, which was occupied by our 
 hero and Esdaile respectively withdrawing to dress 
 for dinner; when on their meeting again, they 
 strolled along the margin of the lake towards 
 Mr, Howbiggen's residence, as their conversation 
 was thus resumed — 
 
 " An only daughter, I think you said the other 
 day," (observed Renmore,) *' Miss Lawton was ?" 
 
 '' An only daughter, and a charming, amiable 
 girl, too ! and I really don't know, were I 
 what is termed a 'marrying man,' whether I 
 
 i
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 315 
 
 should not feel somewhat inclined to make a 
 proposal !" 
 
 " Nay, you had better resolve at once on being 
 a 'marrying man,' and propose the question; — 
 especially when there are so many inducements, — 
 loveliness, amiability, and that most splendid of 
 female attractions," (he added, repeating the ob- 
 servation he had heretofore made to Gertrude,) 
 "as the world considers it — fortune !" 
 
 The little Doctor smiled, and shook his head, 
 with an indecision that possibly spoke, not only 
 that he had scarcely made up his mind on such a 
 measure, but — which would be a more serious 
 obstacle — that he was not perhaps to the lady's 
 taste. Whether, however, the secret of his inde- 
 cision was, that *' he would not if he could," or, 
 '' he could not if he would," we are unable to pro- 
 nounce ; though we should say that both considera- 
 tions mingled in the thoughts that passed across his 
 mind. 
 
 ''Well; but Mr. Lawton, her father, what sort 
 of a person is he ?" inquired Renmore. 
 
 '' A very good sort of person ; but unfortunately 
 possessed with a most mistaken notion of his own 
 superior sagacity and talent." 
 
 " Indeed !" observed Renmore, smiling; "and in 
 what in particular is it his ambition to shine ?" 
 
 " Oh ! his pride is that of being a projector of 
 p2
 
 316 ADVENTURES Of 
 
 happy improvements, — his hobby is endless ex- 
 periment; which he dignifies by the name of 
 science, or scientific improvements." 
 
 " Only his zeal or fancy a little outruns his 
 judgment ; — is it so ?" 
 
 '« Precisely !" 
 
 " I presume his experiment (or * experimenta- 
 lizing,' if you please) is at his own expense!'* ob- 
 served Renmore, laughing. 
 
 " Indeed it is ; and no failure in any way lowers 
 the worthy as indefatigable lord of Blacktarn in 
 his own esteem ! There is always some happy ex- 
 cuse at hand to hush any whisperings of mortified 
 self-love. His equanimity under his self-inflicted 
 trials is ever unshaken ; and to hear him inform 
 you of his absurdities and blunders with a perfect 
 self-satisfaction that all failure is to be attributable 
 to extraneous and unforeseen accidents, rather than 
 to any radical defect in his plans, is really delight- 
 ful — a rich treat !" And here the litde Doctor 
 gave scope to his merriment in an unrestrained fit 
 of laughter at his worthy friend Lawton's expense. 
 The contagion of risibility was irresistible, and 
 Renmore joined in it as he portrayed to himself 
 the interesting individual whose characteristics 
 Esdaile had placed before him ; not perhaps with- 
 out considerations of the probable chance of being 
 able to turn this " ingenious" gentleman's credu-
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 317 
 
 lity, conceit, and good nature, to his own private 
 account. These deeper considerations were, how- 
 ever, well veiled beneath the mask of that merri- 
 ment in which he joined with the Doctor, who 
 proceeded to amuse his companion with sundry 
 anecdotes of the sagacity of the good " Squire of 
 Blacktarn's" improving projects, with which pos- 
 sibly the reader may be yet more amused when, 
 in proper time and place, he shall hear them de- 
 scribed, and with all good faith in their expediency, 
 by the worthy projector himself. 
 
 '* And to heighten this provokingly amusing 
 'self-satisfiedness' as to his various conceits," con- 
 tinued Esdaile, " the oracular style of his delivery 
 and mock pomp, or rather ' pomposity' of manner, 
 is as transcendent as it is original !" And here 
 another peal of laughter broke irrepressibly from 
 the facetious Doctor, the echoes of which might 
 very easily have made themselves audible within 
 the walls of Mr. Howbiggen's house, at which 
 Renmore and his companion had now nearly 
 arrived, being by this time more than half-way up 
 the drive or gravel-road that led to it. In order, 
 therefore, that we may be with the inmates to re- 
 ceive their various distinguished guests, and our 
 hero in particular, we will transport ourselves and 
 the reader to Miss Howbiggen's drawing-room, in 
 advance of the party.
 
 318 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " You are not here ! the quaint witch Fancy sees 
 In vacant chairs your absent images, 
 And points where you should be, but are not." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 The drawing-room window of Howbiggen 
 House commanded a most convenient view of the 
 drive up to it ; convenient, that is, for those who, 
 like Miss Hetty Howbiggen, were fond of seeing 
 " what was going on." No Flemish lady, with her 
 '* side mirrors" at each sash, was ever more readily 
 informed of the " who " and the " what " were 
 moving in front of the house than Miss Howbig- 
 gen ; — of course she did not fail to discern Esdaile 
 and his companion as they advanced to the door. 
 
 " Oh ! here he must be at last I — most distin- 
 guished looking, graceful person !'* 
 
 " Who is here at last ? — distinguished ? — grace- 
 ful ? — umph ! — What nonsense is this? One would 
 fancy the « Apollo ' Belvidere had descended from 
 his pedestal, and walked up to pay a visit !"
 
 JAiMES HATFIET.D. 319 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Howbiggen, it is a figure somewhat 
 more acceptable, I trust, than a statue ! It is, or I 
 very much mistake. Colonel Ren " 
 
 " Oh, good heavens ! that endless Colonel I He 
 will be here quite time enough ; we shall have quite 
 enough of him when he comes, without all this 
 anticipatory prating. — And after all, who know^s? 
 he may be merely some adventurer," . . . 
 
 ..." For shame ! Mr. Howbiggen ... do have 
 a little respect for propriety . . ." said his estimable 
 sister, quite shocked at the freedom no less than 
 moroseness of his remarks, which she did her best 
 to cut short, or they would in all probability have 
 been overheard by her " distinguished guest," (a 
 term, by-the-bye, of which her brother declared 
 himself positively sick,) who now entered the room 
 ushered in by Esdaile, after the trumpet of their 
 important announcement had been sounded by the 
 servant. 
 
 " I have the honour, at length, of presenting 
 Colonel Renmore to you, Miss Howbiggen," said 
 Doctor Esdaile, as that lady acknowledged the 
 Colonel's bow with a most distinguished curtsey, 
 as she expressed how happy she was at his pre- 
 sence, — mean time she "devoured" him with her eyes. 
 Tall, graceful figure ; elevated forehead ; com- 
 plexion, rather pale ; hair, deep brown ; eye-brows, 
 arched ; countenance at once pleasing and thought- 
 ful ; contour of the face, oval, — such was the portrait
 
 320 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Miss Hetty scanned with a glance swift as thought, 
 nor, it may be added, with dissatisfaction. Her 
 brother, on his part, " bobbed down" his head, not 
 too gracefully, but still with certain symptoms 
 of more deference to the "social charities" than 
 was usual with him. In fact, if a " prepossessing 
 appearance,'* according to the Macassar oil adver- 
 tisements, is a " universal recommendation," we 
 may certainly say it had its effect in the present 
 instance ; and old Howbiggen tacitly acknowledged 
 that the " variety " introduced in the ordinary 
 social circle of country squire-archy was something 
 like a relief, to say nothing of the contrast afforded 
 by the easy cheerfulness and urbanity of our hero 
 to the more boisterous spirits and noisy good-hu- 
 mour of the little Doctor. 
 
 " Much flattered at seeing you. Colonel, — umph ! 
 ugh ! — You find the neighbourhood dull, I take it !" 
 growled out Howbiggen; " I know I do ! — ugh." 
 
 " Indeed, if it could possibly have proved so," 
 replied Ren more, '^ it is to myself alone that it is 
 attributable, in not having availed myself of your 
 kindness and hospitality sooner. But, the fact is, 
 I have been obliged to exercise a good-deal of self- 
 denial." . . . 
 
 (" Self-denial !" exclaimed Miss Howbiggen to 
 herself. . . "what a charming as well as modest turn 
 is given in that term to his declininsj our advances 
 towards his acquaintance ! Others would have
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 321 
 
 blundered out apologies, and said many awkwardly 
 civil things to little purpose ! — charming !)"... 
 
 So thought Miss Howbiggen; while our hero 
 continued, " But really the arrear of correspond- 
 ence on public business, especially concerning a bill 
 I shall have the honour of introducing to the house 
 next session " 
 
 " Entirely engrossed your attention. Colonel, no 
 doubt !" interposed the Doctor, most conveniently 
 winding up Renmore's apology, and sounding a 
 chorus of conviction as it were, as to its justice, 
 which he further wound up by saying, *' Most meri- 
 torious ! — self-denial ! — most meritorious !" 
 
 . . . "Yes, yes! I know, too, from past recollections, 
 what public business is ; and what a plague any- 
 thing like an extended correspondence is," said 
 Mr. Howbiggen, who now being led upon the train 
 of his pristine disappointments, (as recorded on our 
 first introduction to him,) gave the alarm, by sundry 
 preludial growls, of entering on one of his usual 
 "jeremiads." This result, however, was antici- 
 pated and prevented by the timely interference of 
 Esdaile, who proceeded, with his usual good- 
 humoured raillery, to call away his sour patient 
 from a sense of his annoyances, (at the expense 
 even of a little exasperating him sometimes in 
 another way,) while an opportunity was now 
 afforded to our hero of *' rendering himself agree- 
 p 3
 
 322 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 able" to his fair hostess in the conversation that 
 more freely ensued between them. Miss How- 
 biggen, in her way, was scarcely less a tactician than 
 " her distinguished guest ;" and being imbued with 
 all laudable curiosity, (of which we have already 
 witnessed specimens,) she shaped her remarks, no 
 doubt, to the "grand end" of learning as much of 
 the Colonel, as regarded himself, his circumstances, 
 tastes, &c., as she could. 
 
 " You find our scenery very inferior to that of 
 Scotland ?" was her observation. 
 
 " Why, indeed," replied Renmore, deferentially, 
 " there are parts of the scenery here as fine and as 
 sternly grand, I think, as even in Scotland." 
 " You reside chiefly in that country, I think ?" 
 "Yes; what little property I have is chiefly 
 situate there." 
 
 " In the county of Caithness?" Renmore bowed 
 assent; while Miss Howbiggen continued — "But 
 then we must make allowance for a little partiality. 
 For even were the Scotch scenery less sublime and 
 sternly grand (which it is not) than that of our 
 English mountain-country, yet it would appear 
 in the eyes of a Scotchman to possess greater in- 
 terest." 
 
 " Yes, I partake," replied Renmore, smiling, '* of 
 the maladie du pays^ and believe I feel as warmly 
 the love of country as any Highland Clansman
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 323 
 
 even could feel. But things are never in my 
 opinion fairly viewed by comparison ; each object 
 should be adjudged according to its own respective 
 merits." 
 
 " Very true — very accurate discrimination." 
 
 " For instance," continued Renmore, *' were I 
 to look at Borrodaile or Skiddaw, and . . ." 
 
 But here Miss Howbio^gen bein^j called on to 
 rise to receive that estimable person Mr. Lawton, 
 the conversation was for the present broken off. 
 The lord of Blacktarn advanced, accompanied by 
 his daughter, an interesting and pleasing-looking 
 girl. Slie was simply attired, and her traits were 
 rather piquant in expression, and her cheek deli- 
 cately pale. She curtseyed to Colonel Renmore 
 in the ceremony of introduction, and took her seat 
 by Miss Howbiggen, while the " improvement- 
 loving" squire addressed himself with a not un- 
 amusingly pompous air of urbanity to our hero. 
 
 "Delighted to see you, Colonel Renmore — ahem! 
 — delighted !" he said, making a splendidly formal 
 *« salam," as we may call it, rather than bow. 
 " You have long been looked for by us all ; and I 
 much regret that our poor abode at Blacktarn has 
 not yet been honoured by your company — ahem !" 
 
 Renmore here excused himself as we have 
 already described, and turned the conversation into 
 another channel, expressive of the great gratifica- 
 tion the scenery of the spot had afforded him.
 
 3:24 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 " Ay, Colonel, no doubt ! latehrce dukes ! < moun- 
 tain and meer, — ahem — are very well I very fine 
 indeed ! but I think when I have had the plea- 
 sure of shewing you another feature of the country 
 in this neighbourhood, you will derive scarcely less 
 gratification." 
 
 " I shall be most delighted ! I presume you 
 speak with reference to the agricultural feature." 
 
 " Precisely ! ... ay, I flatter myself," he conti- 
 nued, with a smile of complacency, *' you will be a 
 little surprised to witness how far perseverance 
 and ingenuity, backed, of course, by capital " 
 
 ..." Of course, of course ;" — and here our hero 
 looked as deferentially solemn as Mr. Lawton's 
 style of importance at the mention of " capital " 
 seemed to demand. 
 
 " Ya-as ; you will see what our efforts towards 
 improving the soil have been able to effect. Barren 
 and un tractable as it had been pronounced, you 
 will be surprised to learn that " 
 
 " Oh, good heavens ! there is Lawton boring the 
 Colonel with his catalogue of improvements and 
 wiseacre projects !" ejaculated Mr. Howbiggen to 
 Esdaile; while he continued, turning round to Miss 
 Howbiggen — " Well, how much longer are we to 
 wait until dinner is announced ?" 
 
 *' We are only waiting until Mr. Golefield and 
 Mr. Routhmore arrive. I wonder they are not 
 here by this time!"
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 325 
 
 '« No wonder at all !" growled the " crusty gen- 
 tleman ;" '' that moving mystery Golefield has only 
 to take some crotchet of a dream into his head, and 
 he will go on 'aeronauting' on the wings of fancy 
 far beyond all recollection of anything so ' mate- 
 rial' or sublunary as a dinner-party !" 
 
 " But he has Mr. Routhmore with him to bring 
 him back, and keep a rein on him !" observed Miss 
 Howbiggen, with a smile. 
 
 '« Bring him back to dinner, too, I trust, — mean- 
 time, he must detain us no longer," replied Mr. 
 Howbiggen. " Why, bless me, Dr. Esdaile, he 
 would not forego one of his rainbow-coloured 
 fancy dreams for an epicurean repast of your char 
 even !" 
 
 " I fear not," said the Doctor, with ludicrous 
 ruefulness. '' But then you must remember he is 
 one of our ' Genii of the Lake,' and not like the 
 rest of us." 
 
 Accordingly, there was a move towards the din- 
 ner room, our hero handing in Miss Howbiggen, 
 of course, as matter of etiquette; though it must 
 not be disguised that from what little he had seen 
 of Laura Lawton, he would have preferred offer- 
 ing his arm to her, and securing a seat by her side, 
 as a companion more suited perhaps to his taste. 
 
 As for '* those Genii of the Lake," Messrs. 
 Golefield and Routhmore, they had accompanied
 
 326 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 Fenton part of the way back on his return to his 
 cure at Lorton, to which spot we remember he ex- 
 pressed that he was obliged to proceed, when he 
 declined Miss Howbiggen's invitation to remain 
 and dine. He had therefore taken his leave of 
 that lady after having sate down and conversed for 
 some litde time. Routhmore, himself, and Gole- 
 field had entered into an interesting discussion 
 relative to the comparative merits of schools sup- 
 ported by national and compulsory, or voluntary 
 contributions — Golefield arguing for the latter, and 
 Routhmore for the former. Golefield, as usual, ap- 
 pealing to the feelings and the spirit of charity ; 
 Routhmore, to incitements a little less optional. 
 This topic had its rise, of course, in the subject of 
 the charitable institution which Fenton had that 
 day advocated at church ; and so much interested 
 were his two lay friends in the discussion, that they 
 could not let him take his departure alone, but 
 rambled on with him a part of the way to Lorton. 
 Hence they have been found a little behind hand 
 with Miss Howbiggen's half hour bell, and dinner 
 bell too, though the portentous echoes of either 
 might have been heard far sounding over the 
 meer. Trusting, therefore, that they may yet find 
 their way back to decorate the Howbiggen festivi- 
 ties ere they reach their close, we shall return to 
 the dinner-table, and place ourselves with our hero
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 327 
 
 between his fair hostess and the yet fairer and more 
 youthful Laura Lawton. 
 
 Insensibly our hero appeared to be giving up a 
 little larger portion of his attention or remarks to 
 the latter, at which Miss Howbiggen could not feel 
 otherwise than rather fidgety, according to her 
 usual characteristic, and consequently was not sorry 
 to reclaim him to herself; with which view she 
 recurred to the topic of conversation between her- 
 self and Renmore which had been broken off on 
 the announcement of the Lawtons. 
 
 " You were speaking of the relative beauties of 
 the Scotch and English mountain scenery, Colonel 
 Renmore ? I forget precisely what it was you 
 were going to say." 
 
 " I was merely remarking, that when asked 
 * which I liked best of the two,' the most reasonable 
 answer would be, that I admired the characteristics 
 of each, where both have so much to demand 
 attention. If I were, for instance, to despise the 
 Borrodaile ridge or Skiddaw, as being less sternly 
 grand than Ben-Nevis or Cairngorm, I blind my- 
 self to a just view, not only of the mountains, but 
 the question — " 
 
 (" How pointed, terse, and clever !" thought 
 Miss Howbiggen — " the mountains and the ques- 
 tion!") 
 
 " And, consequently, lose much pleasure
 
 328 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 through short-sightedness and prejudice, which 
 would be otherwise amply afforded me in a due 
 appreciation of the beauties which, in the more 
 varied tints of mosses and foliage, are possessed in 
 a superior degree by the English mountains. ' Do 
 you not consider so, Miss Lawton ?' " 
 
 " Indeed, I am glad to see that there is something 
 to be said for our lakes and hills, notwithstanding 
 so many persons profess to disregard them as 
 viewed in comparison with those of Scotland," re- 
 plied Miss Lawton ; — " the comparison is no doubt 
 the error; and is, generally speaking, but a delu- 
 sive standard to judge by." 
 
 " Precisely," interposed Esdaile ; with whom all 
 that Miss Lawton remarked appeared to have its 
 due weight and interest. " For instance, they told 
 me when I went to fish in Ullswater, that the 
 char were large, — so they were in comparison with 
 those in many inferior streams, but taken by them- 
 selves were poor, small things." 
 
 '* Ugh !" observed old Howbiggen ; " so it is in 
 everything ! A man will endeavour to undersell 
 another, for instance, by telling you you shall have 
 his trumpery cheaper than anywhere else ! — ugh, 
 — after all, this does not prove his trumpery 
 cheap, but the trumpery elsewhere extravagantly 
 dear!" 
 
 " Good ! good ! exclaimed Mr. Lawton, pro-
 
 JAIMES HATFIELD. 329 
 
 nouncing the "fiat" of his approval in his usual 
 oracular way at this characteristic illustration, 
 which excited a smile in the circle ; while Renmore 
 proceeded, in reply to a remark from Miss How- 
 biggen relative to Swiss scenery, to extend his 
 observations to this region also for her peculiar 
 satisfaction — 
 
 *' I still speak on the same principle I observed 
 before," he continued; "for, of course, both the 
 mountains here and in Scotland would dwindle 
 into nothing if we immediately recur to the Alps 
 in comparison with them. But this again is unjust. 
 In their way, these minor mountains have beauties 
 with which alone, and as taken by themselves, we 
 should be satisfied, without depreciating them, and 
 spoiling our own pleasure, by comparisons which 
 are out of place, and therefore idle." 
 
 " What admirable discrimination !" thought 
 Miss Howbiggen ; " and what a superior, unpreju- 
 diced person the Colonel is ! He has seen all the 
 world, no doubt, and yet. ... no airs of disre- 
 garding his own country V* 
 
 In this sentiment she was fully met by Laura 
 Lawton, as they interchanged glances, or " tele- 
 graphed " each other, as it may be termed, with 
 looks that bespoke their perfect concurrence in 
 admiring our hero's good taste, no less than dis- 
 crimination.
 
 330 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 "Hah ! well said ! — -justly said !" observed the oracu- 
 lar Lawton. '* Colonel Renmore, let me have the 
 honour of drinking a glass of champagne with you/* 
 
 This amicable ceremony being over, the oracular 
 lord of Blacktarn (who would put the reader, could 
 he see him, uncommonly in mind of a certain late 
 pompous M.P., celebrated for his cuisine) honoured 
 our hero with addressing his remarks peculiarly to 
 him, in token, no doubt, of his high sense of " the 
 ColoneFs" justness of views and nicety of discri- 
 mination. 
 
 . . . " Ya-as," he continued; ^' and I trust, 
 Colonel, that when you quit our mountain region 
 you will say, as I was about to observe to you 
 before dinner, that the spirit of improvement and 
 scientific experiment in agricultural enterprise 
 have done much to render it fruitful in richer ob- 
 jects than « lichens ' and hare bells !" 
 
 " Indeed ! I am happy to understand this. There 
 is nothing that interests me more than the progress 
 of those efforts by which barren tracts are reclaimed, 
 and the stubborn wild rendered a field of fruitful- 
 ness and plenty." 
 
 '* I am delighted to hear you say so," replied the 
 "experimental philosopher;" ''for, do you know, 
 that such is the bad taste of most persons to whom I 
 have expressed myself on this important topic, that 
 they have coldly replied (ahem !) that they cared
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 331 
 
 little about the improvement, in an agricultural 
 point of view, of a region whose chief interest rested 
 in its wildness, and a freedom from all reclaim to 
 what they called — tameness !" 
 
 " It evinces a vitiated taste," replied Renmore, 
 smiling, " to shut out any object so laudable as 
 that which you appear to contemplate. Both fea- 
 tures of country may be surely enjoyed without 
 any interference with the one by the other. For 
 my part, I should be happy to see any barren nig- 
 gard tract smiling with cultivation and wealth; 
 but whilst I admire this, I may also admire, for 
 different recommendations, the wilderness and 
 savage beauty of lake and mountain, tarn and 
 woodland hei^yht." 
 
 " Admirably said !" exclaimed Mr. Lawton, in 
 triumph; while, however, the malicious little Doctor 
 proceeded to place a drag-chain as it were on the 
 earnestness of his exultation, by saying in a gentle 
 voice, in which the satirical propensity was quietly 
 apparent — 
 
 " Stay, stay, my good Mr. Lawton. You should 
 mention to Colonel Renmore, too, why the persons 
 you mention spoke with regret as they did ; and 
 surely they had reason, if the wild beauties of the 
 scenery under consideration were thus reduced to 
 tameness ?" 
 
 *' How? why ? let us hear, pray !" asked Lawton.
 
 332 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 '* Because you * improved away' all its beauties ! 
 Why, you actually, in your zeal for improvement, 
 exercised it in ploughing up the whole side of a 
 charming slope that had been remarkable for its 
 lichens and drooping woods." And here a uni- 
 versal laugh arose at the expense of the worthy 
 improver, who good-humouredly joined in it, 
 while Esdaile proceeded in his raillery — " Hang 
 it! you would rather see turnips sprouting than 
 wild fern and moss, where the last are a necessary 
 constituent in our scenery. Away, say I, with 
 such agricultural tartars that would lay waste all 
 the real beauties of the region ! Two or three such 
 'experimental philosophers' as yourself would 'im- 
 prove ' the place into a mere dull scope of drains 
 and ditches, fallow and grass-land; and instead of the 
 'picturesque,' would exhibit farm stock, — instead of 
 Dryads and Fauns peopling the slope and wood- 
 land dell, we should have nothing but clod-hoppers, 
 ploughboys, and agricultural gentlemen like your- 
 self, stumping about the glebe in York-tan gaiters 
 and galoshes ! What do you say. Miss Lawton ? 
 Has not your prospect been spoiled for anything 
 like a sketch ?" 
 
 Laura smiled, while her sire replied — 
 *' Rally away as you please. Doctor ;" at the 
 same time joining good-humouredly in the chorus 
 of merriment which Esdaile's banter had again
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 333 
 
 raised ;...." but I flatter myself," he added, 
 in a more serious tone, the self-complacency of 
 which provoked a smile on the lip of Renmore, to 
 whom he addressed himself — " I flatter myself I 
 have done some little good in this part of the 
 country. — ' Capital !' ahem ! as I said before — 
 Capital and Enterprise, Colonel Renmore ! — what 
 will they not eflect in combination ? — ahem !" 
 
 " Certainly; when properly directed," observed 
 Renmore, politely. *' It is always gratifying (and 
 he spoke sincerely, though with a different refer- 
 ence than Mr. Lawton imagined) to witness enter- 
 prise backed by capital." 
 
 '* Ay," interposed Esdaile, in his humorous 
 style ; " and it is capital to witness a beautiful 
 piece of water backed by a wooded slope. But 
 Mr. Lawton, in his zeal of enterprise, must needs 
 be longing to fell the wood ; which was anything 
 but capital. Oh, sin and sacrilege ! I wish I could 
 laugh you out, my dear friend, of this mania you 
 have for so strangely ' improving ' every charming 
 spot I used to delight my eyes with on my fishing 
 rambles !" — and Esdaile threw up his eyes in des- 
 pair at the mischievous zeal of the experimentalist, 
 which indeed bid fair to alter the whole feature of 
 country where he possessed any right of property 
 into mere tameness and nudity, as far as its former 
 romantic charm was concerned. Happily, how-
 
 334 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 ever, his meddlesome rashness could not extend its 
 ravages beyond the manor of Black tarn, w^hich was 
 situate on the further side of Buttermere to the 
 northward, and therefore did not affect the features 
 of beauty and romance that decorated either the 
 Buttermere or Keswick district. 
 
 In fact, Mr. Lawton was one of those self-com- 
 placent, no less than indefatigable operators, that 
 through thick and thin would proceed with what 
 he termed " his own plans ;" unable to under- 
 stand (since all was '* so well meant") how any one 
 could be found to object to his efforts. Of such a 
 character are all those quacks and empirics — those 
 Katerfeltos — that in all ages have kept the wise in 
 alarm as to the mischief of their pretended views 
 of improvement, sometimes too seriously fraught 
 with evil to permit their absurdity to be merely a 
 subject of derision. 
 
 The redeeming virtue of the Katerfelto before 
 us was his good-humour and hospitable feeling ; 
 and wrapped up as he was in self-complacency, 
 the raillery of the merry Doctor passed by him " as 
 the idle wind ;*' still, however, his self-love was 
 glad to find itself flattered in the polite attention 
 and air of interest evinced towards all that he pro- 
 pounded by Colonel Renmore. In fact, our hero's 
 knowledge of character and the human heart — or, 
 in other words, human weakness and vanity — ever
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 335 
 
 suggested that the way to ingratiate himself in a 
 man's favour is to evince a supreme interest in 
 whatever concerns him, or is regarded by him with 
 feelings of pleasure or individual pride. It will 
 not be matter of surprise, then, that Renmore was 
 already a favourite with Mr. Lawton, who con- 
 trasted his quiet, easy, deferential, and polished 
 style with the more boisterous manner — the *' non- 
 acquiescence" and banter of the Doctor, — very 
 much in favour of the former. At the same time 
 that Renmore was thus insensibly winning his way 
 to the heart of the blind as good-humoured *' ex- 
 perimentalist," (for which he had doubtless his rea- 
 sons,) he was in reality gaining also a complete as- 
 cendancy over his mind. He knew that there is no 
 flattery so successful as that tacit commendation af- 
 forded by deference and a well dissembled desire to 
 be informed in what pleases another, and that 
 "other" a vain man! In fact, Renmore saw that in 
 a little time, if it suited his convenience, he might, 
 to use a common expression, "do anything he 
 pleased" with the lord of Blacktarn. 
 
 '' Pleasantest person I ever met ; and the most 
 sensible," whispered Lawton to Howbiggen. 
 
 '* Ugh! " replied the other in a suppressed growl ; 
 " I hope he has had nothing to make him wwplea- 
 sant." 
 
 Meantime our hero was '« making his way" with
 
 336 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 the fair heiress of Blacktarn as successfully as he had 
 won it with her sage sire. The quickness of percep- 
 tion he possessed as to the tastes and turn of thought 
 of others was only equalled by the ease with which 
 he adapted himself to them. Hence, there were 
 few who had been half an hour in his company 
 that did not feel they knew him as well as if the 
 acquaintance had been one of years. All distance 
 of feeling was swept away, and confidence and 
 friendship were at once inspired, not more by the 
 frankness and cheerfulness of his manner than by 
 the polite familiarity with which he entered on 
 the topics of individual interest with those he ad- 
 dressed. 
 
 A style and bearing such as this, not only 
 disarmed every suspicion, but flattered the vanity 
 of all. And it received no small aid (as may 
 be readily supposed) in winning its way in the 
 instance of the softer sex, when strengthened 
 by the graces of person and a handsome, expres- 
 sive countenance. The polished insinuation of 
 his address was dangerously aided by a most 
 harmonious and well modulated voice; and fur- 
 ther it may be added, that although with so 
 many natural qualifications to render him accept- 
 able to the fairer sex, these were set off to the 
 highest advantage by a distinguished taste as re- 
 gards dress, that was but a due accompaniment to
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 337 
 
 that air of breeding which he so eminently pos- 
 sessed. 
 
 No eye was so ready to detect the " impression" 
 he had ah-eady made on the fair heiress of Black- 
 tarn as that of Miss Howbiggen. More than 
 once had she directed her glance at her fair friend, 
 in order, now, to signify to her that it was time to 
 leave the gentlemen by themselves, and withdraw 
 to the drawing-room ; but Laura was too much 
 occupied, as it appeared, in the conversation in 
 which she was engaged with our hero; when Miss 
 Howbiggen proceeded at once to rise from her 
 seat, which of course called the attention of Miss 
 Lawton to the summons ; and these fair persons 
 forthwith took their leave of the room. 
 
 <* Mr. Golefield and Routhmore not returned 
 yet !" exclaimed the fair hostess as she rose. '' I 
 trust no accident has happened ! It is very late — 
 dinner over, and yet — no signs of them." 
 
 "Oh, I dare say," growled out Howbiggen, 
 '* they will find their way back by-and-by ; or if 
 our worthy dreamer" (meaning Golefield) " has 
 tumbled into the meer while following his aerial 
 fancy flights, why he has his friend Routhmore to 
 pull him out again, and the accident will be of use 
 as a lesson to him to take care and look before 
 him, and not so much above him — ugh ! umph ! 
 Earth, not air, is the element for men, unless you 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 338 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 except the Germans — ugh ! — and they soar but 
 awkwardly after all." 
 
 " You are indeed most kind in your wishes that 
 our friend Mr. Golefield may profit even by an 
 accident ; — but / will be a little more charitable, 
 and trust he has had no such salutary warning." 
 So spoke the good hostess, more benevolent than 
 her brother, whose observation, however, excited a 
 smile on the faces of his guests, during which, Miss 
 Howbiggen and her fair companion had left the 
 room. 
 
 As we, together with the reader, entirely sym- 
 pathize with Miss Howbiggen in trusting that no 
 untoward accident has occurred to keep our dis- 
 tinguished friends, " the Genii of the Lake," so 
 long away from their engagement to dinner at her 
 house, we can only hope to relieve our anxiety by 
 seeking them out. In proceeding, then, upon this 
 laudable duty, we shall set out with them on their 
 way in the morning, as already mentioned, in com- 
 panionship with the curate of Lor ton, whom his 
 esteemed friends, Golefield and Routhmore, were 
 escorting for a short distance on his way back to- 
 wards Lor ton.
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 339 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " Well hast thou said, and holily disprais'd 
 These shapings of the unregenerate mind — 
 Bubbles that glitter as they rise and break 
 On vain philosophy's aye-babbling spring." 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 " To catch the contagion of joy, kindled by that 
 sun of glory and those exulting heavens, — to bend 
 the spirit's ear in mingled charm and awe over what 
 mystic harmonies respire through the diapason of 
 earth, and wave, and azure air, — to stand rapt 
 beneath that spell, dazzling as harmonious, and feel 
 delightedly snatched away on its glad current of 
 splendour and blessing from all sense of self and 
 individual care, — to feel merged in the vast tide of 
 bliss that revels around in the bloom of the material, 
 no less than the exultation of the animal world, — 
 to own existence itself a blessing, and fostered in 
 all joy and brightness, in the simple feeling of 
 q2
 
 340 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 animal revel that inspires every living thing down 
 to the mote that dances on green and golden wing 
 in the slanting sun-ray, — to feel all this joy, and 
 own myself but as a bright link in a chain of univer- 
 sal revel and harmony, — to hail in gratitude the 
 supreme Source of all this bliss in the mighty 
 maze of creation's beauty and splendour in which 
 it is reflected, — to hail it in this mighty temple 
 of Creation, where all nature swells the strain of 
 its praise and adoration — this mighty fane whose 
 pillars base them on the carpet of daedal earth, 
 twined about with her flowers, and whose roof is 
 the azure and golden-fretted vault of heaven, 
 whose endurance is eternal as its artificer's, and 
 whose limits are one with all space, — thus to feel — 
 thus to contemplate — thus to harmonize and 
 soothe the mind — thus to exalt the spirit, and view 
 in his loveliest and sublimest form the mighty 
 Author of all being — this is religion ! — this is the 
 true spirit of devotion wdth me ! , , ." 
 
 And Golefield (for it was himself that spoke) 
 paused as he looked round him on the scene of 
 nature's rapture and glowing sunlight which had 
 kindled this ecstacy within him, while his com- 
 panions, Routhmore and Fenton, had stood smiling 
 to hear him give expression to it in the words 
 which we have just recited. On his returning 
 to himself again from the spell which had bound
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 341 
 
 him, Routhmore was the first to greet him, as lie 
 observed — 
 
 " Come, come, my dear friend and enthusiast, is 
 not a little of all this joyousness of devotion, this 
 poetry of soul, to be sweetened with one thought 
 too of the blessings of man in his social state ? Had 
 you been a mere dweller in the wood and wild, 
 unreclaimed by social charities and ' human bland 
 converse,' (as the bard says,) you might have spoken 
 thus far onli/j in thankfulness to the Author of life, 
 and the blessing of which it is sensible ; but as a 
 member of a social state, and intended by that same 
 Author to occupy a social sphere, you should have 
 added something too to your reflections that 
 would have embraced this consideration. Not 
 alone should you have expressed yourself glad to 
 participate in the joy respired through all animal 
 life, but further, that while bird, and beast, and 
 creeping thing on earth, in air, or wave, are in- 
 deed sensible of bliss, yet Man, above them all, is 
 sensible of it with a nobler feeling, and leading to 
 loftier results than the mere sense of beatitude in 
 such existence, however pleasurable ! You should 
 have expressed that in that ray which lights merely 
 animal pleasure in the irrational world 7 am ani- 
 mated to deeds worthy a loftier spirit, — to deeds 
 that may decorate human existence, promote the 
 cause of intellectual and moral sway, — deeds that
 
 342 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 may improve and exalt the social world around me, 
 and testify the love and wisdom of the Creator in 
 works worthy of the most exalted of those beings — 
 namely, man, social and high aspiring man — which 
 he has created." 
 
 " True, Routhmore, true,*' replied the enthu- 
 siast, with a benignant smile ; '« yet I am not 
 sorry to have poured forth my heart in the un- 
 qualified terms of joy that I felt at the moment, 
 since it has afforded me the benefit that your chaster 
 monition and more appropriate considerations, as 
 a member of a social state, ever supply. But in 
 good sooth, however well I wish to my fellow- 
 men, — my fellow-workers in the social hive, — yet 
 have I felt so much bitterness in the realities of life, 
 that I confess I am at times glad to fly from the 
 recollection of them altogether, and forget myself 
 in such a dream as I have now been enjoying. 
 The enjoyment is a harmless one, at any rate, — is 
 it not, Mr. Fenton ?" he added, turning to the good 
 curate of Lorton. 
 
 " Yes ; it is a harmless, nay, a praiseworthy one," 
 replied Fenton, "since the spirit that kindled it 
 was a love for the source of that happiness it re- 
 joiced over. But as our friend Routhmore says, 
 and I fancy," he added, smiling and shaking his 
 head, "he is a more just philosopher than even 
 Golefield, because always speaking with a view to
 
 JAJVIES HATFIELD. 343 
 
 the condition of his fellow-men, as weaned from 
 mere natural impulse to the sway of artificial life 
 and circumstance — ^yes, as Routhmore says, you 
 should have added a new source of gratulation to 
 your * beatific musings.' You should have felt, as 
 he observes, that the spark of ovation, caught from 
 the brow of heaven's light, through the world 
 without, should but have kindled the flame of 
 virtuous ambition within, for the sake of that 
 Social System, and the lot of that Human Denizen, 
 for which all these external blessings are poured 
 forth. And yet more," added the good and sin- 
 cere divine, while now the attention of his two 
 comrades were called in pleasing, no less than re- 
 spectful attention to him, " it is for me to add a 
 stage yet further in those high outpourings of heart 
 which you began," (he said, addressing Golefield,) 
 " and which you extended," (he continued, to 
 Routhmore,) — «* it is for me to add that the full sum 
 of pleasure and worship which these glorious handi- 
 works of heaven around inspire is yet to be made 
 up in a still subhmer and more dread consideration, 
 — it is for me and my sacred character to invite you 
 to hear in those dread harmonies which so much 
 entranced your dream, my friend," he continued, 
 addressing Golefield, "not only the ovation hymned 
 to heaven for life and its blessing ; not only the high 
 challenge, again, to man to render himself by his
 
 344 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 deeds worthier the Divine power that called him to 
 life ; but to hear also the dread and mystic note 
 sounding ' Hereafter/ and calling the mind to shape 
 all its hopes, its energies, and aspirations to the 
 Eternal World of which it warns !" 
 
 So spoke, as it was meet he should, the good 
 pastor, as he walked along, shrined in the ray of his 
 own virtue and benignity, with two companions 
 worthy of him. The "halo" of spiritual radiance 
 that encompassed them all, made their path one 
 of " glory" and mental beatitude ! If the light 
 over Golefield's wore colours more varied and 
 ardent from the ray in which fancy illumined it, — 
 if, again, the spark of zeal and virtuous energy 
 shone bright, and clear, and vivid in Routhmore's, 
 — yet they neither of them transcended the chaste 
 and equable glow in which the good pastor's soul 
 found cheerfuhiess and illumination, since in him, 
 in particular, it was warmed with the constant 
 thought of happiness and reward as promised by 
 the sacred code of which he was the pure inter- 
 preter. And now they had walked on till they 
 had reached the turning into the Lorton road, 
 into which Routhmore and the good curate pro- 
 ceeded ; but Golefield stopped to enjoy one more 
 view of the lovely meer and its waters exulting in 
 the sunlight. It seemed to him, as the breeze 
 swelled them, that every sparkling wave as it rose
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 345 
 
 murmured forth its joy in that wide song of happi- 
 ness echoed through all nature ; and so intently 
 did he stand quaffing his soul's fill of the sublime 
 joy afforded him, that he did not perceive the 
 presence of a fair form that had approached with 
 light step to the spot of his musings. She re- 
 mained motionless as some lovely triumph of the 
 sculptor's art, while she regarded him with a smile 
 as he thus, for a moment further, pursued his 
 fancies — 
 
 ..." And if all," he proceeded,*' is so lovely 
 here, extending as far as my mortal vision can scan, 
 — if this visible world which reflects the Maker is 
 so beautiful, how much more lovely must be the 
 world in which we image his Spirit's dwelling to 
 be ! Would I could penetrate that realm ! Would ! 
 the curiosity could be gratified which I feel to see 
 worlds on worlds of enhanced loveliness and lustre ! 
 — And a bliss like this is what men call by the cold, 
 chill term, ' death !' Heavens ! how does the 
 language of Convention disguise and dim the most 
 delightful thoughts, and anticipations the most 
 glorious! Where are to me the chill associa- 
 tions, the fearful, repelling, and gloomy thoughts, 
 awakened in the sound of death? If it means 
 « Not to be,' — why, then, in the very oblivion it is 
 blessing, since it is peace ! but, if it is to awaken to 
 new scenes, new glories, anew scope of existence 
 q3
 
 346 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 . . . oh ! well may I wish to realize in conscious- 
 ness all my mind's eye now too dimly wanders 
 over, led on to those bright heavens of its survey, 
 from the beautiful sphere that here — even here, in 
 this earthly realm — glows around me !" 
 
 And the enthusiast now stood gazing on vacancy 
 as his spirit looked forth from his eyes, wildly and 
 delightedly, on all the kaleidoscope that his fancy 
 had, magic-like, summoned up to charm him. 
 When at last, the spell being past, he returned 
 with a sigh af its loss to earth and things earthly, 
 and to a remembrance also that he had been in the 
 companionship of Routhmore and the good curate. 
 On looking round, however, for them, what was 
 his surprise to behold, not them, but the fair form 
 we have mentioned — a form which might almost 
 persuade him he was still indulging the same fairy 
 dream he had just roused himself from ; for none 
 of the divine worlds which he had been calling up 
 to bless his vision could have exhibited a much 
 brighter or fairer shape than that of her who now 
 stood before him. It was, in a word, the lovely Ger- 
 trude that now smiled in the face of the dreamer, 
 scarcely yet, as it appeared to her, awakened from 
 the spell of those bright illusions with which he 
 had just been dazzled. The character of the 
 benign and gende-hearted bard and metaphysician 
 was well known throughout the neighbourhood;
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 347 
 
 and the humble peasant and rustic maiden met him 
 and greeted him as a friend wherever he chanced 
 to be. And so the salutation of Gertrude shaped 
 it, as she extended her hand to the poet, who had 
 offered his own in friendly greeting to her. 
 
 " I fear. Sir, I have disturbed you in your medita- 
 tions," she said, as she looked at him as scarcely a 
 being of this world, with a regard of mingled vene- 
 ration and esteem. 
 
 " No, indeed ! or if vou had awakened me from 
 them, it would only be to call me from hearing the 
 melodies of a ' sweet-speaking' vision to those I am 
 now sensible of in a voice scarcely less sweet, and 
 proceeding from a source scarcely less radiant. But 
 whom is it the Beauty of Buttermere seeks in this 
 devious track? for I find I have wandered away 
 somewhat from the spot where my friends left me, 
 one of which was the ' good curate of Lorton,' — 
 him whom I know you respect and e§teem even 
 as a daughter." 
 
 " Indeed I should be but graceless if I did not. 
 . . . But could you direct me to the path Mr. 
 Fen ton took ? for he is the person I am looking 
 for, and have come over the hill, as the shortest way 
 to the Lorton road, to join him. You are aware, Sir, 
 that he is kind enough often to let me go to see him 
 at his curacy at Lorton ; and to-day he had promised 
 to take me over with him — indeed, he feels towards
 
 348 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 me as though I were his own child ! And I confess 
 I never was able to form a more kindly estimate as 
 to parental feelings than that which I have learned 
 to make as regards him,^* 
 
 " He is the father and friend indeed of us all !" 
 replied Golefield, as he regarded the Beauty, whose 
 cheek had for a moment lost its bloom of rosy light, 
 and was shaded with a paler cast ; " but Gertrude 
 has a kind parent, surely, of her own, and whose 
 indulgence is no less due to her daughter's excel- 
 lence of disposition than her feelings of pride must 
 be flattered in boasting of a child so lovely !" 
 
 Gertrude's thoughts were least of all occupied 
 with the compliment the kind-hearted poet paid 
 her. She drooped her head and was silent; or if 
 her lip quivered as Golefield looked at her in ex- 
 pectation of a reply, it was because she felt both 
 pain and embarrassment, — it was because she was 
 willing to check the answer she was sorry perhaps 
 to feel was in reality due; and if it rose to her lip, 
 it trembled there, and died away unuttered. But 
 her silence spoke to the penetrating and sensitive 
 person that regarded her, — that if Gertrude had 
 not reason to feel as much indebted to her natural 
 parent for kindness as to her adopted one, 
 Fenton, it was in consequence of no dereliction 
 on her own part of filial duty or affection. 
 And now they had arrived at a spot where there
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 349 
 
 was a turning into the high-road from the point 
 of view where Golefield had lately been indulging 
 in his meditations. " It is difficult," he said, as he 
 looked back for a moment, " to tear oneself from 
 the sight of so much grandeur and beauty ! Ob- 
 serve how the meer shews itself here with such 
 increased charm, as glimpses of its liquid azure are 
 afforded through the rich green foliage of the sur- 
 round . . ." 
 
 But a yet more welcome prospect had presented 
 itself to the sight of the fair person he addressed, 
 to permit her to delay by the poet's side longer 
 than to yield a hasty acquiescence in what he said. 
 And she sprang forward now to meet her early 
 friend and guide, the " good curate," whom at this 
 moment she recognised, together with Routhmore, 
 in the Lorton road, to the opening into which herself 
 and Golefield had come, and whither Routhmore 
 and Fenton had proceeded a little time past, while 
 their companion had lingered behind to indulge in 
 the prospect and the meditations it awakened. 
 The salutation was indeed that of father and child, 
 as Fenton answered her greeting in the words — 
 " God bless you, my dear child ! I seldom see 
 you now. A week scarcely ever used to pass but 
 you would ramble over the hills to see me." 
 
 " And willingly," she replied, " would I have 
 come to pay my duty as I was accustomed, but
 
 350 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 that a control, to which I am bound to submit, has 
 discouraged me from gratifying my inclination. 
 For never," she continued, " am I so happy as 
 when I can snatch a holiday (as I may well call 
 it) at my old home at Lorton." 
 
 Fenton understood, without rendering any ques- 
 tion necessary, what was the control of which his 
 former pupil spoke ; nor was it difficult for him to 
 comprehend why a person who, like her mother, 
 was a proselyteof the dissenting */ holder-forth" of the 
 village, should discourage her daughter's visits to 
 her old home under his roof. Accordingly, without 
 appearing to notice the allusion conveyed in her 
 answer to him, he bid her proceed to take her seat 
 in the little equipage which a servant-lad had now 
 drawn up to the road-side, and which had been in 
 waiting for him at the turning of the road to 
 Lorton. So, wishing his friends Routhmore and 
 Golefield " good den," and thanking them for the 
 pleasure of their companionship thus far, he drove 
 on with his " fair child and pupil," as he used to 
 term her, in reference to her earlier nurture under 
 his own auspices, and was soon advanced on his 
 way to his cure at Lorton. 
 
 To return to his late companions. " A superior 
 girl that for her station in life," said Routhmore, 
 with reference to the Beauty ; — " superior both in 
 mind and manner. I wonder what truth there is
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 351 
 
 in the surmise that the late Wetherby, the husband 
 of the landlady of the Traveller's Rest, was not her 
 father, but that she is the child of a person even as 
 distinguished as the highest grade in society could 
 render him ? I asked Fenton how this was, one 
 day, in consequence of hearing a remark of the 
 Beauty's, which evinced at once a tone of mind and 
 feeling rarely met with in the walks of lowly life, 
 and the offspring of lowly parents, even where the 
 benefit of education has been bestowed, as in her 
 case.** 
 
 " And he had no reply, had he, that could war- 
 rant any such surmise as you mention ?" 
 
 " None in the world ! though he acquiesced in 
 my remark as to the superiority of her attributes ; 
 and said she was of as elevated a spirit as she was 
 of propriety of feeling and goodness of disposition." 
 
 " She is naturally gifted in her qualifications of 
 mind no less than person; hence these rumours 
 about her parentage. It is a pity, however^ that 
 with a heart as buoyant in its native cheerfulness 
 as her cheek is lovely, — with so much tender con- 
 fidingness of disposition, and a spirit fresh as the 
 mountain-dews her light feet brush away, — she 
 should feel these happy qualities chilled somewhat 
 by the ungenial demureness, and even austerity, of 
 the dame, her mother.** 
 
 " The good woman's demureness is easily ac-
 
 352 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 counted for by the sanctimonious straight-lacing she 
 has lately taken it into her head to adopt ; and I 
 dare say * means* uncommonly * well* towards a 
 daughter whose beauty must render her an object 
 of much notice, and, in her station of life, possibly 
 subject her to some danger ; except that she has 
 too much good sense to have her head turned by 
 compliment. The radiance of her pure, virtuous 
 brow would confound the iniquity that should ap- 
 proach her, like Una*s, in Spenser." 
 
 *' Ay, and you may add, that the same good 
 sense you speak of is not likely to permit her tastes 
 to be readily won or pleased. She has had a good 
 pattern of lofty virtue and mental superiority in the 
 guardian of her earlier years, Fen ton. His man- 
 ners are plain and simple indeed, but his mind 
 exalted and refined. . . . But where are we wan- 
 dering ? Surely we have taken the wrong path, 
 and, bewildered in thinking of the charms, spiritual 
 and personal, of the ' Beauty' of these wilds, have 
 mistaken our way !" 
 
 " Indeed, so it should seem," replied Routhmore; 
 '* and if I recognise the spot aright whither we have 
 strayed, it is to that desert haunt where you told 
 me that old Mike . . . but, bless me, who are 
 those two figures coming down the steep on the 
 opposite side to this wilderness where we stand? 
 Seej they are descending by the rude, natural flight
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 353 
 
 of Steps in the cliff-side. One of them, if I mistake 
 
 not, should be old Mike himself, and the other " 
 
 «' The stranger whose appearance at church to- 
 day excited our surmise as to who he could be, or 
 whence he could come. . . . But let us stand 
 aside ; they see us . . . and observe, the stranger 
 seems to hesitate whether he shall advance ; but 
 his guide, by his gestures, seems to beckon him 
 onward." 
 
 While Golefield uttered these words, himself 
 and his companion placed themselves behind a 
 huge mass of broken rock, with the fragments of 
 which the whole haunt around was strewed; the 
 heaps being here and there tufted with rude brier 
 and wild grass ; being the same spot where we re- 
 member old Mike to have risen, phantom-like, to 
 the wondering eyes of our hero sometime ago. 
 
 " It is the spot," resumed Golefield, " where 
 the ' ancient mariner' makes his abode. The old 
 man and I are friends ; and it is not unfrequently 
 1 stroll alone to this weird habitation to bring him 
 a trifling present, in the shape of some ' creature 
 comfort,' and ask in return one of his strange tales 
 for it.'' 
 
 '• I never heard one of them yet, and have a sin- 
 gular curiosity to do so," said Routhmore. 
 
 '' Oh, you shall hear. . . ." 
 
 But at this moment Golefield's words were in-
 
 354 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 terrupted, as he started at the sudden appearance 
 of Mike himself; when, after a few moments' 
 pause, he resumed — 
 
 '' What, Mike, is it you ? We were just speak- 
 ing of you ; and lo ! like a spirit, you have heard our 
 * invocation,' and have risen to gratify us with a 
 sight of yourself. My friend here was anxious to 
 hear that strange tale that won my fancy so, and 
 which I have longed to listen to again when you 
 would vouchsafe to recite it to me." 
 
 " Words — mere words !" ejaculated the old man ; 
 " to you at least," he added, significantly, as he 
 dropped his voice. " Mere sunshine," he pro- 
 ceeded, " for your fancy's disport ! — mere hues of 
 fable ! — and he that tells you the tale accounted but 
 a crazy, fond chronicler of dreams. . . ." 
 
 [. . . " Nay, nay, Mike," interposed Golefield; 
 while the old mariner proceeded to mutter to him- 
 self—] 
 
 " But there are some, I trow, who will know 
 that these words are not mere sounds, nor the fears 
 of Mike mere fable ! . . . Well, gentlemen, what 
 would ye in this abode of loneliness ? ... Ye have 
 stumbled here on one who has little to offer you 
 to yield it cheerfulness, when he tells you that, 
 wilderness as it is, it is not so much so to him as is 
 the world of heartlessness and regrets from which 
 he seeks refuge in it. Those broken fragments
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 355 
 
 are not so forlorn as broken hearts and hopes ! — 
 those wayward heaps not more obstacles in our 
 path than the contradictions that cross the track of 
 life ! That little flowret smiling on the top of 
 yonder rock, what is it but the hope that must soon 
 wither, and which relieves — but in mockery, and for 
 a fleeting moment — the barrenness of destiny ? . . . 
 What would you with one who can say little more 
 cheering than this ? — whose poor thoughts are all he 
 possesses to people this wild withal ; and such as 
 they are, little likely to win ye to tarry in its cheer- 
 less mazes with him !" 
 
 As the old man was speaking, both Golefield and 
 Routhmore thought they heard a footstep pass 
 rapidly from the spot in a contrary direction to that 
 in which they were sitting ; and it occurred to Gole- 
 field (who was better acquainted with the old man's 
 subtle character than his comrade) that possibly he 
 might have been seeking, in the words he had just 
 uttered, to engage their attention in order to faci- 
 litate the withdrawal from the spot of the stranger 
 in whose company they had lately seen him ap- 
 proach it. Such a conjecture was reasonable, since 
 secrecy seemed to be the object of that person, — to 
 judge, at least, by his early withdrawal from the 
 church that morning, and his hesitation, not long 
 ago, in proceeding down the cliff steps when he 
 descried Golefield and his companion. Then,
 
 356 ADVENTURES OF 
 
 again, it occurred to Golefield that possibly this 
 person might have been shewn by old Mike to his 
 cell already mentioned in the rock-side, and where 
 Golefield had ere now visited the weird mariner ; 
 accordingly, he resolved on proceeding to the cell, 
 if Mike should offer no objection. Here he thought 
 he should at length meet the venerable stranger 
 that had excited his interest ; and with this view he 
 shaped his reply to Mike's words — 
 
 " Nay, Mike, these thoughts, which you say are all 
 you possess to people this dreary waste withal,render 
 it to me more cheering and of more interest than 
 any scene of giddy stir or noisome din that life can 
 offer. Nor deem that the words you utter are re- 
 garded by me as so much disport, and food for 
 raillery at your expense. Not so ; they make me 
 love and marvel at the man who has endured so 
 much, and felt so deeply. . . . And this my friend 
 here feels as I do. " 
 
 Routhmore smiled and bowed assent, as Golefield 
 continued — 
 
 " So, what say you ? shall we to the cell ?" . . . 
 
 «' Well, well," said the old man ; " be it as you 
 will. You may think it a light task, haply, to me 
 to recount the adventure or the peril my tales lead 
 through." And here Mike paused, and looked 
 searchingly at them, when he resumed, in a manner 
 as earnest and wild as it was sudden — '^ The ship
 
 JAMES HATFIELD. 357 
 
 that leaves her tranquil haven to encounter the 
 buffets of wind and wave — the terror of the hurri- 
 cane — launches not forth on a tempest more stormy 
 than that which meets the spirit of the old mariner 
 in recalling the memories you ask him to awaken. 
 Would they could sleep ! — but woe worth the day 
 that gave them birth ! Their regret is not more 
 for the past than the future fear of which they 
 portray the forewarn ings." 
 
 His two companions interchanged looks as they 
 smiled at the old mariner's characteristic supersti- 
 tion. Meantime he strode before them to the chasm 
 in the rock-side where his cell was situate, casting, 
 however, a glance in the direction where the foot- 
 steps had been heard by his present comrades to 
 recede. All was vacant and silent : no human form 
 was traceable — no step but their own awakened the 
 echoes of the solitary haunt.
 
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