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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35193-8.txt b/35193-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2d5529 --- /dev/null +++ b/35193-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2104 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Season at Harrogate, by Barbara Hofland + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Season at Harrogate + +Author: Barbara Hofland + +Release Date: February 7, 2011 [EBook #35193] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SEASON AT HARROGATE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + + + + + A + + SEASON + + AT + + HARROGATE; + + IN A + + SERIES OF POETICAL EPISTLES, + + FROM + + _Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to his Mother_, + + IN DERBYSHIRE: + + With useful and copious NOTES, descriptive of the Objects most worthy of + Attention in the Vicinity of Harrogate. + + * * * * * + + Laugh where we must, be candid where we can. + + Pope. + + * * * * * + + Knaresbrough: + + _PRINTED BY G. WILSON,_ + + AND SOLD BY + + R. WILSON, KNARESBROUGH, AND HARROGATE; + + Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row, London; + Robinson, Heaton, I. & I. Nicholls, and Baines, Leeds; Wolstenholme, and + Todd, York; Hunsley and Thomas, Doncaster; Langdale, Rippon; Edwards, + Halifax; Miss Gales, Sheffield; and Wright, Liverpool. + + 1812. + + + + + Entered at Stationers' Hall. + + + + + ADVERTISEMENT. + + +That admirable production of Mr. Anstey's the "New Bath Guide," may +justly be considered the parent of a numerous progeny of watering place +bagatelles, each of which has some resemblance to its father, though not +one of them can boast the wit, humour, or poetical talent which so +eminently distinguishes those celebrated letters. + +The youngest of this race is now presented to the Public with that +timidity which arises from conscious imperfection, devoid of the fear +which rivalry has endeavoured to excite, and persecution may seek to +perpetuate. Neither nurtured by patronage nor dandled by fashion, +neither supported by rank nor allied to literary honours, this child of +obscurity is cast on the world in a helpless, yet not hopeless state, +for the good man's smile has illumed its cradle, and it possesses that +confidence derived from purity of intention, and that humility which +disarms malice, and draws the sting of criticism. + + B. HOFLAND. + + _High Harrogate_, + + _December 1, 1811._ + + + + + LETTER I. + + To Mrs. Blunderhead, + + _Low Harrogate, July 20th_. + + 'Tis now forty years and dear mother _you_ know it, + Since my great Uncle[1] Simkin set up for a poet, + And I'll venture to say that not one in the nation, + From that day to this caus'd so much admiration, + But tho' I ne'er hope on his humour to hit, + Much less catch his genius or glow with his wit, + Or blend with simplicity satire so keen, + That it laugh'd away sin, while it laugh'd away spleen, + Yet since there are many more folks in _our_ times, + Than were found about _his_, who make verses and rhymes, + I don't see a reason why I should not try, + To spread my poor fins and to swim with the fry, + You know Drewry of Derby would never refuse, + My sonnets, and stanzas, a place in the news, + Besides a great name's a great matter we know, + James Thompson our schoolmaster always said so, + And thought it the best of a hundred good reasons, + Why he should write verses as fine as 'The Seasons' + Now I being last of the Blunderhead race, + As a casuist this doctrine most warmly embrace, + And hope my dear mother the parson and you, + Whilst conning my letters will give me my due, + And say to reward all my labour and pains, + He is just like his uncle _save wanting his brains_. + But a truce to this subject of grave declamation, + My spirit's not suited to sage dissertation, + To anatomists leaving the state of my skull, + To critics their right of pronouncing me dull, + I shall merely go on with my gossiping rhyme, + To tell you my method of killing my time, + And open as well as I can all the merit, + This place of resort is allow'd to inherit. 32 + + When first I arriv'd here I didn't well know, + If at Harrogate High, or at Harrogate Low, + I should place myself snugly, but after some chatter, + With those who were knowing, I fix'd on the latter + So now my good madam behold me sat down, + With a number of invalid folks at the Crown, + But what way _invalid_ to unfold I'm not able, + Unless 'tis with cramming at Thackwray's good table, + Who with turbot, and ven'son, and poultry, and beef, + To the sick with their hunger gives instant relief, + But as to the crop-sick I very much question, + If here they find help for diseas'd indigestion, + The sight of these good things to me was unpleasant, + For you know I am ticklish and qualmish at present + But the Company laugh and declare I shall soon eat, + Three pounds of good food, tho' I now live on spoonmeat, + And in order to bring me about very quickly, + Some good looking dames neither sighing nor sickly, + Advis'd me most kindly the very first night, + To consult with a doctor as soon as 'twas light, + Then take of the water a plentiful dose, + Said they "the well's nigh" so I find by my nose, + "But pray gentle ladies declare in a trice, + "The doctor of whom I must ask this advice?" 56 + + This question once put t'would surprise you dear mother, + How they answer'd at once each more loud than the other, + "There's not one of them all that my fancy so takes" + "Cried a lady in black" "as my good Doctor Jaques," + Says the next "Mr. Richardson's wonderful clever, + Tho' so busy dear heart there's no catching him ever," + Cries a third "if you really want medical skill, + Mr. Wormald will cure you if any man will," + "And I know" "said a fourth" "that whatever may ail ye, + "You're sure of relief if you see Doctor Cayley." + + Afraid of offending each charming adviser, + By a pref'rence that said "ma'am your neighbour is wiser," + I obey'd the loud mandate of Gen'ral O'Flurry, + And this morning consulted with one Doctor Murray + Who sans ruffles, sans wig, and sans avis supercilious, + Has pronounc'd on my case and declares I am bilious, + In my next dearest mother some news I will tell, + Of these wonderful waters when drank at the well + So wishing you ne'er may have need of such liquor + Conclude me yours truly--with love to the vicar. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 1: Simkin Bl--nd--rh----d Esq. Author of the New Bath Guide.] + + + + + LETTER II. + + _Low Harrogate, July 24th._ + + + Oh! how my dear mother shall pen, ink, and paper + Convey to your mind a true sense of the vapour, + Which hov'ring around this new Acheron serves, + To torture and wound your olfactory nerves, + And gives you presentiment piercing and strong, + Of its pungent effects when receiv'd on the tongue. + + Of rotten eggs, brimstone, and salts make a hash, + And 'twill form something like this delectable mash + Nothing else in this world I will wager a pasty, + So good in effect, ever tasted so nasty. + But ah! tis the pencil of Bunb'ry alone, + By which the sweet stream and its pow'rs can be shewn, + Nor does the whole kingdom afford I am sure, + One scene like this well for a caricature, + All ages, and sexes, all ranks, and degree, + All forms, and all sizes distorted you see, + Some grinning, some splutt'ring, some pulling wry faces, + In short 'tis a mart for all sorts of grimaces, + But all you conceive, of age, infancy, youth, + In contortion and whim must fall short of the truth, + One screws up his lips like the mouth of a purse, + While his neighbour's fierce grin gives the threat of a curse, + And a third gasping begs with his eyes turn'd to heaven, + That his stomach will keep what so lately was given + But feeling the rebel will spurn at his pray'r, + Throws the rest of his bumper away in despair. + But woe to the wight of more delicate notions, + When he sees how the well-women deal out their potions, + This levelling tribe of a democrat race, + From the red nos'd postillion, up to her Grace + Feeds each from one glass, without washing, or rincing, + And the sybil but laughs if you make any wincing, + From the modest who issue from cheap Mrs. Binns' + To the great ones who drive from High Harrogate Inns, + Where a difference far more essential is found, + From the sick, to the well, the same cup travels round, + From breath that would poison a Hottentot king + To breath that is sweeter than violets in spring, + But as sulphur prohibits all sorts of infection, + The rational say "there's no proper objection, 116 + To mingling _en masse_ with all sorts of diseases, + Tho' the stomach may make what objection she pleases." + + Now turn my dear mother with me and survey + This company blended of grave and of gay, + See Alderman Gobble, and Counsellor Puffing, + Who came to this well as a penance for stuffing, + And poor Captain Brandylove come to recruit, + Swears the Cognac grape was the forbidden fruit, + Here gentlemen jockies who ride into fevers, + And surfeits obtain from their noble endeavours, + Such as Timothy Twig'em Esquire of our town, + And my Lord Spatterdashit that peer of renown, + And Sir Gilbert O'Fetlock with coach driving coat, + With many more whips of distinction and note, + Come swarming around just to take off their glasses, + Make matches for horses, and bets upon asses. + + But here come a group whose deplorable faces, + E'en surfeit itself would illumine with graces, + See poor Major Liverless come from Bombay, + To send his sharp bile and black jaundice away, + And gripe the contractor, who ruin'd his health, + While he sold (silly booby) his conscience for wealth + For Escarides every physician will tell, + There's no med'cine on earth like the Harrogate well, + But the worm which gnaws gripe will ne'er yield to its mixture, + 'Tis lodg'd in the heart an indelible fixture, + But truce to my preaching--who makes his approach + In such dashing array, and so splendid a coach? + 'Tis the great Doctor Solomon stooping to take, + A dose of this water by way of a freak, 148 + Tho' all the world knows that his own balmy bottle, + (More warm to the heart and more sweet to the throttle) + Not only cures patients but makes 'em so merry, + One spoonful is worth a whole bottle of sherry. + + All hail to Britannia! her plentiful hive, + Has taught many bees like this doctor to thrive, + But from all I can learn not one quack shares her honey, + More deserving than this, since he's free with his money, + "Easy come easy go" is his motto I'm told, + Tho' his daughters are portion'd with ingots of gold + But I scorn upon men any more to descant, + For the Blunderheads always were very gallant, + And if beauty and fashion e'er claim'd admiration, + From the heart of a man since the days of creation, + I'm sure at this time there's the very best reason, + To exult in the beauty that blooms here this season, + E'en now on parade I delighted behold, + Five elegant sisters of exquisite mould, + There too are the C--tt--rs sweet innocent creatures, + With peace in their bosoms and love in their features + And the beautiful L--nds and the L--kes too appear + Like goddesses dropt from a delicate sphere; + Yet mid the assemblage M--cd--nald we trace, + No charmer that equals thy form or thy face, + Tho' W--m--ld such majesty dwells in thy mien, + And in W--ts--n's mild eyes such true sweetness is seen, + That really my muse is perplex'd to declare, + How one can excel where so many are fair, + Oh woman! _dear_ woman! without you all nature, + Would be to my mind like a draught of this water, + And may he whose cold heart and dull head would disprove, + The magic of beauty the solace of love, + And seek from rude man your soft claims to dissever, + Be condemn'd without mercy to drink it for ever, + Ye are stars of the night! ye are gems of the morn! + Ye are dew-drops whose lustre illumines the thorn! + And rayless that night is--that morning unblest, + Where no beam in your eye lights up bliss in the breast, + And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in the heart + Till the sweet lip of woman assuages the smart, + 'Tis her's o'er the couch of misfortune to bend, + In fondness a lover, in firmness a friend, + And prosperity's hour be it ever confest, + From woman receives both refinement and zest, + And adorn'd by the bays or enwreath'd with the willow + Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow. + But ah! my good mother this subject I find, + Has quite run away with my paper and mind, + For in themes so bewitching so many thoughts pop in + The mania of scribbling finds no place to stop in, + But in praising the ladies you can't think me rude, + So adieu till my next--'tis high time to conclude. + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER III. + + _Low Harrogate, July 30th._ + + + With pleasure dear mother commence I this letter + To tell you already I find myself better, + To the praise of the well be it known I am able, + To pick up my crumbs with the best at the table, + And now think the landlord a very wise man, + For placing thereon all the dishes he can, + No longer fastidious or squeamish or dainty, + I like all I see and rejoice that there's plenty, + But since I wrote last by my doctor's prescription, + I've had a warm bath of which take my description + Fair Derwent how oft in thy pure limpid wave, + Delighted I lov'd in full freedom to lave, + While on thy green banks in soft herbage reposing, + The swains and their flocks, were contentedly dosing + And the landscape around, and above the blue sky + Shed new life on the heart while they solac'd the eye + Little thought I in those days so sunny and smiling, + What a different thing was a Harrogate boiling, + And astonish'd I saw when I came to my doffing[2], + A tub of hot water made just like a coffin, + In which the good woman who tended the bath, + Declar'd I must lie down as straight as a lath, + Just keeping my face above water that so, + I might better inhale the fine fume from below, + "But mistress," 'quoth I in a trembling condition,' + "I hope you'll allow me one small requisition, + Since scrophula, leprosy, herpes, and scurvy, + Have all in this coffin been roll'd topsy-turvy, 232 + In a physical sense I presume it is meet, + That each guest should be wrapt in a clean winding sheet," + "Oh no! my good sir for whatever's your case, + You can never catch any thing bad in this place, + And that being settled on solid foundation, + We Harrogate bath-women spurn innovation." + So caviller like I submitted to pow'r, + And was coddled in troth for the third of an hour. + But that very same night to atone for it all, + I figur'd away the first man at the ball, + For the president being both idle and lusty, + Conceiv'd that his pow'rs "ą la danse" were grown rusty, + And consign'd all his rights in this gay exhibition, + To myself as a man of more able condition, + But oh! how it griev'd me dear mother to find, + So very few beaux were to dancing inclin'd; + Constellations of beauty all night shone in vain, + Condemn'd as fix'd stars unremov'd to remain, + Whose influence benignant ne'er reach'd from their sphere, + To warm the cold heels of the gentlemen here, + Captain--r--r consider'd a man of high ton, + All dancing declin'd till the ball was just done, + And then he made shift just to drawl on his legs, + As a lame Chelsea pensioner does when he begs, + But in spite of his ennui and indolent air + He dances _divinely_ the ladies declare. 258 + Of these tho' a great many caper'd away, + Yet many sat still who were lovely as they, + Fair F--z--r was there, and the beautiful P--k--r + With the elegant H--tt--n as lovely tho' darker, + The gay A--x--nd--r and R--g--rs the pretty, + And M--w--r the graceful, and B--ley the witty. + Some came from the Granby and some from the Dragon, + But these are all belles that our own house may brag on, + For at present the Crown is much fuller than any, + Tho' the Inns at High Harrogate boast a good many + The Crescent our neighbour is full to o'erflowing, + And numbers I see to the White Hart are going. + As bad as the times are John Bull makes a shift, + To give the gay world an effectual lift, + And so long as these places can live by their trading + We may smile at Napoleon's threats of invading. + + The place of all places for lounging away, + In amusement and style the first half of the day, + Is at each of the Libraries[3]; where you may find, + Books, music, fine prints, in short all things combin'd, + Which those who have taste are delighted to cherish + And those who have none yet affect much to relish, + Politicians, and ladies, bucks, authors, and peers, + The busy all eyes, and the idle all ears, 284 + May here every morning be seen in perfection, + Like the books, or the news, just laid out for inspection, + So to Wilson's I go every morning inquiring, + "What arrivals there are?"----and the papers desiring, + And look with a deep and significant phiz, + For Peninsula news, or a boxing match quiz, + Nay at times I converse on a poem or play, + And utter no less 'cause I've nothing to say, + Rememb'ring in all kinds of difficult cases, + To make out my meaning by shrugs and grimaces, + Thus a man without reading may give an opinion, + And snatch for an hour dilletanti dominion, + From what sources great critics may judge I can't tell + But I always find mine are produc'd at the well, + When my breakfast eats good and the waters agree + Capel Loft's sugar-candy's not sweeter than me, + This morning I dazzled the minds of the crowd, + By pronouncing Lord Byron "a poet" aloud, + Of Strangford and Moore then condemned the sweet flummery, + Talk'd of Southey the chaste, and the matchless Montgomery, + Call'd Campbell the elegant, Wordsworth the wild + And the great Walter Scott Inspiration's own child; + Then prais'd the sweet bard tho' unknown be his name, + Who gave Talavera's dread battles to fame, + Thus 'mongst reading-room gents I set up for a judge, + And an eulogist too (when the waters will budge) + But if on my stomach they happen to rest, + With such critical spleen is my humour opprest, + Whether minister, gen'ral, or author I seize on, + Be assur'd that I charge him at least with high-treason, + And it then would surprise ye to hear me debate, + On the faults of the war and the crimes of the state, + On wonderful plans for complete reformation, + And fearful predictions for folks of high station, + Then too the grand censor on writers I sit, + And fulminate laws 'gainst pretenders to wit, 320 + Or deeply regret these degenerate times, + Produce prose without sense, without poetry rhymes + Step on to consider the faults of the stage + And conclude there's not one decent thing in the age. + Thus as sung my great uncle "our evil, and good, + "By few is conceiv'd, and by few understood," + If unwisely we praise, or unfeelingly blame + Now shudd'ring with ague, now burning with flame, + Tho' ignorance gener'lly causes this fault, + Yet _here_ 'tis the mixture of sulphur and salt + Which nine times in ten will improve on our nature + As it clears a complexion or softens a feature, + And that without doubt you'll allow is the reason, + Why so many matches are made here each season, + And who knows dear ma'am but this wonderful water + May gain me a sweet wife and yourself a dear daughter? + And at Robey's likewise ev'ry morning I'm shown + Since not to know _him_, would prove I was unknown + Banker, Jeweller, Friseur, and Toyman, his trade is + He's all things for the beaux and still more for the ladies, + But no wonder they like him so much in this place, + For good temper and honesty dwell in his face, + And his shop is so stor'd with all things that are pretty, + He has skimm'd the first cream from Pall Mall and the city. + But from pictures of lounges I'll now give you rest, + For the dinner bell rings and I am not half drest. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 2: Doffing, undressing, _vide_ Johnson--a word much used in +Derbyshire.] + +[Footnote 3: Wilson's, and Hargroves.] + + + + + LETTER IV. + + _Rippon, August 5th._ + + + Since I wrote to you last my dear mother I've been + To see all the lions which are to be seen + Around this gay place--where 'tis much in the fashion, + Small parties to form for this sweet recreation, + So we lately set out on a very fine day, + Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' to pay, 342 + But a painter alone to your eye can disclose, + A view of the scene as before us it rose, + Presenting a coup d'oeil so simple and sweet, + Yet so grand, so sublime, and in fact so complete, + That I fancied the river as winding around, + Was enclosing the spot as if consecrate ground + And this castle crown'd scene will ne'er rise to my mind, + Without claiming a sigh that I've left it behind, + Thro' a beautiful grove we were led to be shewn, + The fam'd Dropping-Well which turns all things to stone, + Yet in silver ton'd tinkling the Naiad departs, + Like ladies whose tears only harden their hearts. + From thence to the cell[4] of a saint we ascended, + By sage antiquarians most highly commended, + Then climb'd to the Fort where an honest old pair, + Would give you more pleasure than any thing there + Tho' their mutual labours have spread o'er the soil, + Astonishing proofs of their patience and toil. + We trac'd the bold ruins still proudly sublime, + Which yielding to man have found mercy from time, + And adorn the sweet scenes they were rais'd to protect, + With picturesque beauty more fine from defect; + Delighted to find wheresoever we roved + "His[5] Honour of Scriven" revered and beloved + As e'er his forefathers have been in those ages, + When the smile of the lord was more priz'd than his wages, + When the sire of the land in the heart of each vassal + Found a bulwark more strong than the walls of his castle---- + From Knaresbro' to Plumpton our party proceeded + A spot that no trav'ller should pass by unheeded, 374 + 'Tis a miniature landscape redeem'd from the waste + As a species of show-box by nature and taste, + Of small rocks and small groves and a pretty small lake, + Where small parties aquatic excursions may take, + And fancy they view in perspective the shores, + Where Loch Lomond smiles or Geneva deplores.-- + So well my first jaunt had agreed with my mood, + That I went to see Harewood the first day I cou'd, 380 + But here my description must certainly fail as, + I have not one talent for painting a palace, + But to draw the proud mansion and bring it to view + Will surely dear mother be needless to you, + Since at Chatsworth we Derbyshire folks have all been, + You will judge I am certain of all that I mean, + When I tell you groves, gardens, fine water, and hall, + Seem the gift of good Genii to spangle this ball. + + To Studley far-fam'd for its beauty we went 389 + And gaz'd on those beauties with placid content, + Tho' some of the amateurs fancied that art, + In planning these grounds had o'er acted her part, + But who hallow'd Fountains thy threshold shall pass + And remember the ponds with their trimmings of grass? + No! rapt in the scene which presents contemplation, + Such objects of interest and deep veneration, + We gaze on the arch whence the ivy descending, + Usurps the rich shrine where the lamp was once pending, + Where the wild currant blooms and the mountain ash bows, + There knelt the great abbot and offer'd his vows, 400 + And where the green beech his proud branches displays + Sweet incense ascended with anthems of praise. + + Oh visions of old as around me ye roll! + Exalting, delighting, ennobling the soul, + Impress on my mem'ry if not on my rhyme + The pleasure I took in these scenes at the time, + For sure 'twas a pity that feelings so fine + Should evap'rate the moment we set off to dine, + Reducing at once the fine flights of the brain, + To the vulgar subjection of hunger, and pain, + Unlike to those heroes we read of in books, + Who living on sentiment scorn meat and cooks, + Fight, conquer, make love to a princess, and win her, + Without ever asking the aid of a dinner, + And heroines we see thro' five volumes can go, + Immers'd in all sorts of distraction and woe, + Without wetting their lips, thus bestowing the lie, + On the proverb which says that "true sorrow is dry." + But be that their affair 'twas no part of our plan, + For our beaux grew voracious, our ladies look'd wan + So we set off for Rippon with stomachs so hearty, + 'Twas well Mrs. Robinson knew of the party, + She gave us a treat which so gladden'd our sight, + That we quickly determin'd to stay here all night + So I thought it was best just to empty my head, + Of its "perilous stuff" ere I ventur'd to bed, + Lest the walk I have taken with gazing and peeping + Should injure my nerves and prevent me from sleeping, + And conceiving a nap is a sound acquisition, + Have sought it (like many) by long composition. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 4: Saint Robert's Chapel.] + +[Footnote 5: Sir Thomas Slingsby, commonly styled "His Honour" by the +peasantry in his neighbourhood.] + + + + + LETTER V. + + _Rippon, August 6th._ + + + As soon as Aurora came sun-rob'd and flaunting, + Our party arose to continue their jaunting, + But think not our hurry to run after pleasure, + Could make us forget a good breakfast to treasure, + Tho' we talk'd of fine colouring, site and vertū, + Yet we gave the hot rolls and the muffins their due; + And even those misses, "who died to be moving," + Bare martyrdom well while the toast they were proving; + Our wisdom and foretl ought admit no denial, + Since our strength was about to experience a trial; + For a medical work in the very first chapter, + Declares that "exhaustion arises from rapture," + And that 'vessels well laden may prove the occasion, + Of giving the head a complete gravitation,' 444 + Ye Naiads and Wood-nymphs, ye Sylphs, and ye Gnomes, + Who flirt on the sun-beams, or languish in tombs, + Who skim o'er the foam on the flow'r wave your pinion, + The brilliant machinery of pages Darwinian. + Oh would that your legions so tiny and taper, + Would light on my pen and illumine my paper; + Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall thy praises, + And paint all the beauties I found in thy mazes, + Those mazes where nature and art have combin'd, + To spread all the charms they together could find. + 'Tis fairy land all, yet majestic and great, + Where Solitude sweetly reposes in state, + And smiles on her mansion with features so mild, + We conceive her most pleas'd where the scene is most wild; + Here gurgles the Eure, thro' a thousand meanders, + And unrivall'd cascades swell the stream as it wanders, + Affording such pictures for light, form, and shade, + As Claude might have gaz'd on, or Roussin pourtray'd, + Or Wilson who gave to his country a name, + To rival the proudest possessors of fame. + But alas my poor muse to this subject must knuckle, + Since her song never reaches to more than a chuckle. + Her flame is unlit, and unfledg'd is her wing, + Untun'd too her lyre, for it has but one string; + Therefore 'tis in vain, I sit down to my desk, + To paint the sublime, or the true picturesque, + For my muse is unworthy poor ignorant Vandal, + To pipe on the genius of Hackfall's old sandal. + + So imagine dear mother whatever you please, + Of rocks, rivers, waterfalls, temples, and trees, + And now with the grotto, the dell, and the dingle, + Sweet Masham must rise and its sylvan scene mingle; + While Swinton appears in the far distant shade, + By Danby and taste, a new paradise made. + While thus you're employ'd, I'll my pegasus whip on, + For once more the dinner is waiting at Rippon. 482 + + With tongues like the lark, and with cheeks like the ruby, + See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby, + Where we saw a fine gall'ry of gods, and a goddess, + Dressed quite ą la mode, with short coats and strait boddice. + An empress in robes, and likewise a hero, + Caligula's bust, and a scarified Nero; + I believe they were all very ancient and fine, + For our connoisseur party cried "charming! divine!" + Talk'd much of contour and the taste of the Greeks, + Said the art was now lost or but found in antiques; + But just to refute the false blame of the scorner, + I pointed to two modern boys in a corner, + Who proved without saying a word in their favour, + Our sculptors make cupids as lovely as ever. + + Having view'd the sarcophagus too and admir'd it, + The tapestry came next as the ladies desir'd it; + But fine as I thought it, I soon was withdrawn, + By a glance of the family crossing the lawn; + For in that I saw beauty enough I am sure, + To enchant and delight the most nice amateur, + Nor was it the less to my untutored notion, 498 + 'Cause glowing with life and completed by motion; + But I said not a word, (tho' 'twas hard to refrain,) + Lest the dead should be call'd up in judgment again. + At Rippon next morning we went to the Minster, + But no lady amongst us or matron or spinster, + Propos'd the fam'd Needle of Wilfred to enter, + Tho' all to the Bone-house were willing to venture; + Where one lectur'd shrewdly on Gall's craniology, + And turn'd o'er the skulls without fear or apology; + But so pretty she look'd as she handed them round, + No doubt can I have but her learning's profound; + So chang'd are the ladies since your day good mother, + They are all literati, in one way or other; + But in all my life long, I ne'er saw so much on't, + As during this journey when each gave a touch on't, + At Fountains they spoke of memento and data, + And dirtied their hands to examine the strata. + At Hackfall they seized on the weeds and the grasses, + To determine the genus and settle the classes; + Spoke much of alembics and oxygen gas, + Nor suffered a stone unexamined to pass; + Unmindful meantime of the scene that was nigh, + To awake the full heart and entrance the fond eye, + And to gaze on a speck when a world was before 'em, + Seem'd foolish to me tho' so much I adore 'em; + And I could'nt help thinking good madam between us, + Philosophy's seldom the study of Venus; + 'Tis hers the bright flame of the poet to swell, + Lead the gay mystic dance or resound the sweet shell, + To guide the soft pencil with delicate finger, + And scatter life's roses whilst o'er them we linger, + Concentring the charms we should never dispart, + The gifts of the mind with the truth of the heart. + + But no longer I'll venture this subject to dash on, + Since I know the dear creatures but follow the fashion, + Nor should I have dar'd just to touch on this thistle, + But just to wind up my long winded epistle. 536 + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + + LETTER VI. + + _High Harrogate, August 10th._ + + + Since the world and all in it are subject to changing, + I hope my dear mother you'll pardon my ranging, + Nor think it surprising to find your son plac'd + 'Mongst the very first people for fashion, and taste, + You must know that last week to read novels I took + And had stepp'd up to Wilson's to get a new book, + When who should I hear in the reading-room laughing, + But our Yeomanry Col'nel and Major O'Baffin; + So I stepp'd to the first with a very low bow, + And he was transported to see me I vow, + Call'd me neighbour, and friend, brother soldier, and all that, + Introducing the Major with plenty of small chat; + In short we became all so happy together, + They thought it was best I should just remove hither; + In fact as _High_ Harrogate's now all the go, + 'Twould be folly to stay any longer at _Low_. + The Col'nel and Lady reside at the Granby, + But the Major and I who are good friends as can be, + Prefer at the Dragon to take up our quarters; + Where the company's charming, tho' some of 'em Tartars, + And the eating's so good and the claret so fine, + 'Tis worth riding post fifty miles just to dine, + And in spite of the bustle (good madam don't frown,) + The house and the garden's as neat as your own. + + Here's a young widow Jointurewell lately come dashing, + But the Countess of Allwit's the woman for splashing, + Her bays in their coach are as constantly prancing, + As the widow's black eyes on the strangers are glancing. + The fam'd ----r----n---- he is this moment arriving, + To strangers well known by the style of his driving + For he sports his own mail his own trumpet he blows, + So he well may be known wheresoever he goes, + He's the soul of good humour, of frolic, and whim, + And High Harrogate owes half its pleasures to him. + Lady Shufflecut's here and her husband Sir Ned, + She games all the night while he's snoring in bed, + And tho' handsome and young he's so idle all day, + That he seldom assists in her labours at play; + So the lady transacts all the business alone, + Tho' he on her efforts subsists 'tis well known, + Her friend Lady Sweepstakes oft comes for a rubber, + And gen'rally finds some one willing to drub her, + But tied by her Lord to play only for guineas, + She bites while she's bit and then laughs at the ninnies; + Who in losing their time have egregiously blundered, + In but taking ten pounds where they hoped for a hundred; + For wit and good humour this lady can boast, + And her temper can keep when her money is lost. + + We've a dashing buck Parson among us a creature, + I can never describe since 'tis quite out of nature, + Tho' the race is antique for I'm sure 'tis the same, + That St. Paul has declar'd can take "glory in shame," + For he's constantly gaming or quizzing the church, + Where he holds two good livings but leaves in the lurch, + Tho' the "fusty old bishop" has sought to restore him, + To residence, duty, and "stupid decorum." 590 + + In other bad men I am sorry to say, + We wink at the sin when the humour is gay, + And trusting the evil's not sunk in their hearts + Their errors o'erlook for their temper or parts; + But he who embracing an holy profession, + Thus robs some good man of a needful possession; + While conscious his heart is abandon'd and vicious, + Is disgustingly wicked, thence seldom pernicious; + So a beacon of warning this coxcomb supplies, + Since few men will follow what all men despise; + And bad as the world is he stands by himself, + We have good ones enow to lay him on the shelf; + Who e'en in this place of profuse dissipation, + Still honour themselves, and adorn their vocation. + + The comical Banker from C--t--r is here, + Whom Blackett retail'd to us often last year, + His humour is droll and his tongue like a sickle, + Cuts so sharp, and so smooth, that you bleed while you tickle; + Lady Shufflecut oft from his spleen gets a hit, + But she pockets his money which pays for his wit, + As beauties the ----nds are at present the rage, + And one has two strings to her bow I'll engage, + But I'm sorry to say that the elegant Julie, + Has the fault of the day and forgets to love truly, + For a fine showy rake whose pretension to merit, + Is a far distant title he ne'er may inherit, + She forsakes a most excellent well manner'd youth, + Who deserves her no less for his virtue than truth. + How soon will she learn from her new master's teaching, + "She has cast off a pearl", but I've no time for preaching; + So I only shall mention one family more, + Tho' I wish to describe you at least half-a-score; + 'Tis an old fashion'd gentleman drest like a show, + As his grandfather was just a cent'ry ago, + While his wife in like habit obedient to him, + Tho' still a fine woman complies with the whim, + But his daughter an elegant lovely young creature, + Steals a spice of the mode in her dress tho' not nature, + For a being so lively, yet modest, and charming, + So simple so wild to the heart so alarming, 630 + This world or its customs e'er form'd I believe, + From the very first days of our grandmother Eve. + + From a Cumberland castle I find they have crept, + Where from ages to ages their ancestors slept; + And 'tis vastly amusing to see how they look, + On the Harrogate world, as a new open'd book, + Where many new faces appear to delight 'em, + But many new manners to wound and affright 'em + The old man is shock'd to find gamesters in orders, + And barons whose names are well known on the Borders, + Now the rivals of grooms a degen'rate race, + The days and the deeds of their grandsires disgrace, + Nor less does he mourn o'er the ladies undrest, + While his delicate daughter, tho' silent's distrest; + But his lady bewails with an innocent sigh, + That women should gamble, should flirt, or look sly, + And declares when they wish to do any thing odd, + They should ask their liege lords for a smile and a nod, + A practice she thinks in a great many cases, + Would save much confusion 'mongst knaves, queens, and aces; + So contracted her conscience, illiberal her notion, + She fancies submission allied to devotion, + And thinks (as she promis'd it once) that a wife, + Should remember her vow all the days of her life, + The Dragonite ladies all laugh loud enough, + At her doctrine, her caps, and her long ruffled cuff, + Declaring her creed like her dress is replete, + With all that is outré, antique, obsolete, + 'Tis the very worst part, of the very old school, + Detested by instinct----exploded by rule---- + Lady Shufflecut vows she'll to Coventry send her, + And the Countess declares not a soul shall defend her, + Mrs. Rantipole wishes all women so silly, + Were tied by the neck to the heels of her filly, + But somehow I feel in the midst of this pother, + I should much like a wife who had _had_ such a mother, + With this hint dearest madam I'll bid you good bye, + Most likely you're tir'd and in truth so am I. 668 + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER VII. + + _High Harrogate, August 16th._ + + + You'll rejoice my kind mother to hear once again, + I've been shooting with pleasure and health in my train, + The Major and I went a sporting together, + Traversing whole regions of sweet mountain heather, + And brought back such a number of very fine grouse + They charm'd all the ladies and pleas'd all the house, + But unluckily just in the bar while I stopp'd, + To present Mrs. Goodlad the fruits I had cropp'd, + A fine powder'd Cockney just took up my gun, + Crying "shooting dear sar must be wery good fun, + "Pray vitch is the lock sar? and vitch is the handle?" + When off went the piece like the snuff of a candle, + My unfortunate fingers at once caught the powder, + While the poor little Londonite felt at his shou'der + I could'nt help laughing in spite of my smart, + To see how he trembled and shook to the heart, + Declaring "'pon honour 'tvas wery absurd, + "That the gun should go off vithout saying a vord." + The ladies sweet creatures all full of compassion, + Put my hand in a sling which they said was the fashion, + And who would not gladly put up with a scar, + To pass for a vet'ran just come from the war? + So in order to make of the matter the best, + I prepared for the ball tho' I grinn'd while I drest, + For that night to the Granby the people were flying + And you know my dear mother I dance while I'm dying. + In fact we enjoy'd a most excellent ball, + And a very fine supper to finish it all, + Where elegance, plenty, and order presided, + A trio that ought to be never divided. 698 + + Lady A----hb----rt--n lovely and young was + the grace, With her three pretty sisters who gladden'd the place, + The H----pb--ne was there--a Minerva restor'd + As at Athens she reign'd not less lov'd than ador'd, + With a partner I met whose dancing quite charm'd me, + While her wit and good humour delighted, inform'd me, + Yes indeed lovely Sw--nt--n I ne'er shall forget, + The pleasure you gave in our short tźte a tźte. + Mrs. ---- was there, once a very great beauty, + She conceives to remain such is doubtless her duty, + For by washes, and rouges, false eyebrows and hair, + The thefts of old time she contrives to repair, + Whilst whalebone and buckram combine with great pain, + What too freely he gives in due limits to rein, + Was this lady well read in the Proverbs, she'd know, + That a season for all things is found here below, + And "a time to be old" if employed as it ought, + May have blessings "the time to be young" never brought, + This leads me to mention (by association) + No people go better to church in the nation + Than we Harrogate folks, for many go here, + Never seen in such places before I much fear, + We go jostling and crowding for seats and quite free + Turn out the possessors sans céremonie, 722 + And should the poor wretches presume but to grumble, + Look down with contempt and so bid them be humble, + But though on our entrance we flounder and flout, + Be assur'd we are better before we go out, + For so many fine preachers are heard in this place, + 'Twould be shameful indeed if this were not the case; + Besides the good Pastor[6] whose locks are grown grey, + In leading his Harrogate flock the right way. + + Last night as I happen'd to ride on the Down, + Some thunder I heard and the sky 'gan to frown; + So expecting a shower my way I soon bent, + To a mean looking cottage to 'scape the descent; + And o'ertook the poor owner decrepid and sickly, + Who strove but in vain, to move forward more quickly; + So I said "honest fellow your toiling refrain, + You may yet reach your cottage untouch'd by the rain." + When struck by my voice he turn'd round to reply, + I saw with much pain the tears stand in his eye, + "I have two little girls Sir, should tempest come on, + "Most sorely they'll grieve that their daddy is gone; + "But their mother will sooth them," "their mother,"! he cried, + And his anguish gush'd forth in keen agony's tide. 743 + Alarm'd and distress'd by the wound I had given, + I dismounted and leaving my pony with Stephen, + Attended the mourner whose words weak and faint + Were rather the language of woe than complaint, + Tho' worn with disease and by mis'ry opprest, + Yet one sorrow 'bove all gave a pang to his breast, + The heart that was widow'd all evils could bear, + For sorrow is sunk in the gulph of despair! + "Many men have good wives Sir but one like my own, + I doubt even great men too seldom have known, + "When robb'd by disease of our means of subsistence, + "Her care and industry kept want at a distance; + "Her tenderness sooth'd while her labour sustain'd me, + "Nor a word pass'd her lips Sir, that ever yet pain'd me, + "To her all my burden of suffering was given, + "And it sunk her to earth while it rais'd her to Heaven," + 'Twas simplicity's tale which no words could adorn, + And I wept o'er the being thus 'reft and forlorn, + Ere I ventur'd to offer that kind of relief, + Which could sooth but one source of his manifold grief. + It was sympathy's proof and I wish for no other, + That however divided still man is man's brother; + But judge my emotion on ent'ring the cot, + Where once love and innocence hallow'd the spot, + To see love and innocence burst on my sight, + In a form more endearing and beauty more bright, + 'Twas my Cumberland maiden embracing each child + Like the Angel of pity that wept as she smil'd, + She had heard the poor babes as they wander'd around, + Lament their dear mammy laid deep in the ground, + And stole from her party tho' splendid and gay, + To wipe their sad tears and to show them their way, + Now I gaz'd!--my heart throbb'd! while a kind of devotion + Rose at once to my tongue and obstructed its motion, + May I ne'er lose the sense of that sacred sensation + Or forget her blue eyes more divine emanation! + In folly's light moment in solitude's hour, + Still dear be its memory, resistless its pow'r, + And if ever false pleasure to guilt should allure me, + May a glance on this scene from perdition secure me. + + Whatever each thought was reveal'd but in looks, + And I trust that for once they were legible books, + Which fairly translated read this way I deem, + Our compassion is mutual, be such our esteem, + We walk'd home together a road long and dreary, + But my heart trod in air, nor did Agnes seem weary, + And her mother declares she'll go with us to-morrow + To visit and comfort these children of sorrow, + And tho' with the Major engaged to my cost, + To take my revenge for some trifles I've lost; + And sweet Lady Shufflecut vow'd I should take, + A hand at her table, yet all I'll forsake, + For one gentle smile from that excellent being, + Of all this world's pleasures is best worth the seeing, + And would she but smile in the way that I want her, + The wealth of the Indies for _that_ smile I'd banter; + But adieu, my dear mother, I cannot dissemble, + That my hopes, and my fears, put me all in a tremble. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 6: Rev. R. Mitten who has lived at Harrogate more than 40 +years.] + + + + + LETTER VIII. + + _High Harrogate, August 26th._ + + + This week in such various amusement has past, + I have scarce had an hour to myself since my last, + On Monday all day we for wagers were prancing, + And concluded at night with most exquisite dancing; + Our belles and our ball every other excell'd, + And our supper the finest you ever beheld; + With Agnes I danc'd and with Agnes I sat, 801 + And enjoy'd much communion tho' but little chat. + On Tuesday we all sally'd out on the green, + To see Mr. ---- drive his dashing machine, + In a figure of eight, but alas he was cross'd, + And his coach and four bays were to --n--s--n lost! + For his horses tho' doubtlessly brutes of great sense, + Were unskill'd in the shaping or saving of pence; + But he quickly redeem'd them and mounting again, + Return'd our brisk cheers as he drove o'er the plain. + The next day we were treated with excellent races, + But alas when they clos'd there were many long faces; + And especially poor Lady Shufflecut's prov'd, + She had dabbled too much in the current she lov'd; + So profusely her bets had been offer'd around, + That her wings were close clipp'd ere she drove from the ground; + When eagerly seeking her loss to repair, + She doubled the mischief that fell to her share; + And in words cabalistic combin'd with "done, done," + The evening completed what morning begun, + And tho' till broad day-light she push'd on her chance, + Yet fortune ne'er deign'd an encouraging glance, + For Major O'Baffin and Twig'em together, + Pluck'd her poor little Ladyship down to a feather. + + What pity a female whom nature assign'd, + Such a portion of beauty in person and mind, + Whose softness and wit might have temper'd thro' life, + The sweetest ingredients we seek in a wife, + Should absorb'd in one crime make a hell of that breast, + Where dove-like benignity once form'd her nest, + For sure if all storms were together combin'd, + Of hail, rain, and tempest, steel, thunder, and wind, + The light'ning's red glare, and the volcano laming, + Will but shadow the passions of woman when gaming, + Unmask'd, and unsex'd she presents to our view, + The image of vice in her own native hue, + At the fury before us in horror we gaze, + And ask where the woman is fled in amaze? + Whence sprung this dread Demon ye sages tell, + Was she born upon earth, or transported from hell, + What plagues and what pestilence met in their rambling, + To form this detestable passion for gambling, + Society's Upas that withers the ground, + And poisons the blossoms of virtue around, + Destroying and blasting all promise of worth, + Like the curse of the locusts "that ravaged the earth." + + When Avarice with Misery alone in his cot, + Had endur'd many years an old bachelor's lot, + He sought from this partner to make a division, + By seeking himself, for a change of condition, + Concluding like many old men, that a wife, + Would banish grim Misery his cottage for life, + And the better this end so desir'd to obtain, + He fix'd on a damsel, young, splendid, and vain, + Her name Prodigality--not over nice, + The lady lov'd Avarice alone for his vice, + And reckon'd the pleasure of emptying his coffer, + Would atone for all other defects in the offer, + They marry and fly at the lady's suggestion, + A very long way from the cot of discretion, 860 + For Extravagance sold them a villa and park, + Which was stock'd by Expence with all wares like an ark, + Yet the bridegroom astonish'd beheld with great pain, + That Mis'ry was still the first man in their train, + He stalk'd o'er their garden--sat down at their table, + He perch'd on the coach, and he groan'd in the stable; + And the tongue of the lady tho' flippant and strong, + Could not keep his keen face from her dressing-room long, + Nay e'en when her first blooming daughter was born, + Old Misery stood sponsor in spite of her scorn, + And while she his rude interference was blaming, + With mighty sang froid he pronounc'd the babe "_Gaming_." + Prodigality sought for a nurse at her leisure, + And consign'd the fair imp to be dandled by pleasure, + Hence some have mistaken this child for another, + Amusement--no kin, but a mere foster brother. + As the young one grew up she full early display'd, + Her sire's inclination for scraping in trade, + Was wond'rous alert at a close calculation, + And scann'd the whole science of deep computation, + When embu'd with her father's all grasping desires, + The rashness of daring her mother inspires, + And bids her ne'er hesitate roundly to send, + A bold speculation in search of her end, 884 + Thus covetous meanness combines with profusion, + To spread o'er her actions the veil of delusion; + While Misery attends her wherever she goes, + With hosts of bad passions, and myriads of woes, + The foremost I ween is that canker-worm Care, + And the last that black fiend which proceeds from despair, + Life knows not one torment that gnaws like the first, + And the last of all _deaths_, is the death most accurst. + I hope you'll excuse this long fabling digression, + As a thing very common in bards by profession, + And to tell you the truth having been somewhat bit, + I find I have gain'd a new edge to my wit, + Yes! thanks to O'Baffin, his friendship's unriddled, + And her Ladyship's simper, with "Blunderhead's diddled." + But 'tis well I'm no worse and the wisdom they taught me, + Experience alone I'm afraid could have bought me, + For I foolishly slighted Sir J--n G--ff--d's hint, + Tho' I knew his heart sterling as gold from the mint; + I wish my good Col'nel aware of this Major, + Would take home his wife in the country to cage her, + For this Cormorant's eyes while they glanc'd on my purse, + Mark'd the Col'nel I doubt for a robb'ry far worse, + Ah mother! dear mother! I now can perceive it, + The world is far worse than I once could believe it, + When we mountaineers from the Peak make these sallies, + We meet with strange cattle in civiliz'd vallies, + And our good education I honestly own, + But fits us to mix with each other alone, + Our naiveté, simplicity, openness, truth, + The romantic attachments of warm-hearted youth, + In the world's chilling atmosphere meet with such shocks, + We had better ne'er roam from our own native rocks, + But at present away with these moral excursions, + And return we again to the list of diversions. 916 + + Next came donkey races and pony likewise, + Each nobly contending a suitable prize, + For the last a fine saddle was stuck up to view, + Which after hard riding was won by the blue, + Then we all were amus'd by men jumping in sacks, + Tho' it laid the competitors soon on their backs, + But the best sport of all since it shew'd the most skill, + Was two well lather'd pigs left to run at their will + Which who seiz'd by the tail was to have for the catching, + But the grunters in this had the best in the matching, + And I never yet saw such most excellent fun, + As they made of the fellows who ventur'd to run; + Nor do I yet think that they _fairly_ were caught, + But the company all left the place ere they ought, + For a very fine turtle that day was set out, + By a West India heiress presented sans doute, + And people of taste were impatient to try, + If Harrogate turtle with London could vie; + And 'tis with _great_ pride my good madam I tell, + 'Twas allow'd that our cook did all London excel, + I'm sure that Lord Goūt, and Sir Harry Fullfare, + Each ate three good pints of the soup for their share, + And Mrs. Gourmander with Lady Allferret, + Were equally strong in their proofs of its merit, + And as very good eating some men of deep thinking, + Have roundly declar'd calls for very good drinking; + This alliance so nat'ral we sought to pursue, + And gave to the turtle the honour its due, + And that night for the first time I stagger'd to bed, + With more wine on my stomach, than sense in my head, + But a dose of the water as soon as 'twas day, + Dispers'd all my head-ache and left me quite gay, + And 'twas well that this good panacea I took, + Or Agnes had murder'd my hopes with a look; + For at best they're so delicate poor little things, + One glance of her anger would clip all their wings, + But I nourish the nestlings as well as I'm able, + And consider each smile as an anchor and cable, + My courage sometimes rises up to my cheek, + Where it flushes and glows yet forbids me to speak; + I would give all the world to make love to _one_ woman, + With the ease Col'nel B--tem--n can do it in common, + So pointed, yet meek, sentimental, and charming, + Tho' always encroaching yet never alarming; 960 + But no wonder the Colonel shines in this way, + For practice makes perfect in all things they say, + And to maid, wife, or widow he's constantly paying, + Those tender attentions most dear, most betraying, + Unmindful I ween what vexations and smarts, + Must follow the game in this "play upon hearts." + Far different the bosom true passion inspires, + That silently loves, and devoutly admires, + It sighs not by rule nor makes speeches by measure, + Nor studies the arts of allurement at leisure, + Yet feeling all eloquent sometimes reveals, + That state of the soul which timidity seals, + And I take it the very best chance for a lover, + Is that moment when fortune his flame may discover; + Since no damsel will shrink from a peep at the breast, + Where her own lovely form is so sweetly imprest, + For should she regret that the picture's ill plac'd, + Yet she'll value the wearer for exquisite taste. + + My Agnes of late has convers'd more than common, + With a Mrs. Latouche a most excellent woman, + Whose husband like many brave fellows beside, + By his country was torn from the arms of his bride, + For three years has he left her his absence to mourn, + But she now has some hopes of his speedy return, + She visits this place with a poor ailing aunt, + Whom she tends with that kindness all invalids want, + And proves in her tenderness, faithfulness, duty, + Her virtue at least is as great as her beauty, + Twin soul with my charmer I think it no wonder, + (Tho' I'm sorry sometimes) they are seldom asunder, + I fancy whenever I see them conversing, + The wife all the worth of her lord is rehearsing, + But I dare not yet hope that my Agnes replies, + By adverting to poor Mr. Blunderhead's eyes. + But my hopes or my fears I'll no longer intrude, + For this monstrous long scrawl 'tis high time to conclude. + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER IX. + + _High Harrogate, August 30th._ + + + Dear mother I've so much to say in my letter, + Tho' the last was too long I fear this wo'nt be better, + And someway I never know how to begin, + When I've got a great many fine things to bring in; + Nor can I with truth to our mutual relief, + Declare in the first place I mean to be brief, + For I know to my sorrow no Blunderhead yet, + Could ever the talent of brevity get, + So I still must go on with my doggerel chatter, + And your pardon implore for "extraneous matter." + You must know all this summer 't has been much the rage, + For High Harrogate parties new scenes to engage, + Leaving Studley and Hackfall and huge Brimham rocks, + And assemble like swallows in emigrant flocks, + Unmindful what terrible roads they must jolt on, + To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton, + And yesterday morn a large party set out, + To partake the delights of this picturesque rout. + Fair Fenton, sweet Agnes, and lovely Latouche, + Were all drove by Sir George in his splendid barouche, + And if ever I envy'd a man so before, + I will leave you to judge--but I now say no more. + The rest in a chariot, and curricles went, + And set off pretty early by general consent, + At the Blubber-house Inn we all gladly alighted, + By the sight of an excellent breakfast invited, + Which enabled us all to endure future jumbling, + And substitute laughter for hunger, and grumbling, + When arrived at the bridge the first glimpse of the scene, + Majestic yet simple, tho' grand yet serene, + Gave presentiment sweet of the pleasure before us, + And our hearts with the music of nature kept chorus, + We just stopp'd at the Inn to enquire for a guide, + And while saunt'ring around till this want was supplied, + A Skipton chaise pass'd; whence a stranger look'd out, + To see what so many gay folks were about; + But the moment the form of his visage appear'd, + What a shriek of delight from his consort was heard, + 'Tis he! 'tis my Henry! no more could she say, + On the bosom of Agnes just fainting she lay, + While the gallant Latouche from his vehicle sprung, + And in speechless delight o'er his Ellinor hung; + While adown his brown face roll'd the gracefullest tear, + Which the hero could shed or the lover hold dear, + 'Twas a moment of bliss so intense in delight, + It concenter'd whole ages of joy in its flight, + And as Ellinor's eyes in transported amaze, + Again, and again, on her Henry would gaze, + The Elysium of extacy glow'd in their beam, + The world was forgot, and past sorrow a dream. + + And think ye that Agnes unmov'd could behold, + A scene where the bosom's best feeling's were told? + Ah no! in her cheeks heightened blushes I read, + Sensibility's whisper that moment had sped, 1050 + And told her when hearts thus congenial could meet, + Earth knows no communion more pure or more sweet, + I hail'd the blest omen, and watch'd for the hour, + Which should lead our wild wanderings to solitude's bow'r, + But long had we travers'd the ruins and grove, + Ere my lips dar'd to utter one word of my love + For such trembling anxiety hung on my breast, + Even now I scarce know what I falt'ring confest, + But _this_ I well know that my falt'ring confession, + Was deem'd by the fair one no flagrant transgression, + Tho' her words were but few yet her charming confusion, + Assur'd me forgiveness beyond all delusion, + And this young bud of hope ere the sun was gone down, + By her kindness became a fair blossom full blown + Oh morning of rapture! oh day of delight! + Oh evening full gemm'd with the spangles of night! + If e'er I forget the dear moments ye gave me, + May the world be my guide--may her follies enslave me, + May the blossom of hope from my bosom dissever, + And may Agnes be lost to my wishes for ever---- + + Do you ask me of Bolton its rocks, woods, and plains, + Where beauty enthron'd in sublimity reigns? + Where the Wharfe ever lovely, capricious, romantic, + Or murmuring glides or impetuously frantic, + Now spreads o'er the plain in majestic repose, + Now rending the rocks as a cataract flows? + Or enquire of the Priory whose ruins sublime, + Shew beauties more soft from the pressure of time, + And as their fine forms moulder gently away, + Awake veneration and love from decay? + Of Bardon's fine tow'r which proudly excelling, + The Genius of Craven might choose for his dwelling, + (For Genii and Fairies alone should be found, + To people the regions celestial around, 1084 + While a Demon of darkness might howl o'er the Strid, + And lash the fierce torrent that roar'd as he chid,) + Yes this is the region for fancy to soar, + Meditation to rove and devotion adore, + For the painter's whole soul to exist in his eye, + And the poet's on pinions new plumag'd to fly! + But alas tho' each charm I could quickly discover, + Yet expect no description but _one_ from a lover, + If to tell of the Abbey's grey stones I begin, + I shall surely contrast them with Agnes's skin; + From the rock herbage-crown'd all bespangled with dew, + I shall start to her eye's melting orbit of blue; + Nor a wave of the river can flow wildly simple, + But Agnes will rise with her smile and her dimple, + So aware of my weakness I make no pretension, + To give you description supply'd by invention, + But I've bought a whole set of fine prints which will prove, + That Bolton is meet for the birth place of love. + And in them I will shew you dear mother, those places, + The smiles of my fair one illum'd with new graces, + And when I'm so blest (may the time quickly come,) + To bring the sweet maid to a Derbyshire home, + These pictures hung round the old hall shall display, + How dear to my heart are the scenes they pourtray, + And Agnes methinks "nothing loth" will behold, + The spot where my passion first dar'd to unfold, + And fondly will point to that bank where the willow, + Re-murmur'd my vows as it bent to the billow.-- + "Dear Bolton adieu!" we all cried while returning, + "Whoe'er left thy glen's lovely vale without mourning." + When just as we spoke the fair rectory rose, + Like the dwelling of peace in the lap of repose, + We started with pleasure astonish'd to find, + Such a Paradise close on the Eden behind, + There Pomona's rich clusters hung sportively round, + And Flora's gay carpet enamell'd the ground. + As enchanted we gaz'd the kind owner appearing, + Address'd us with manners politely endearing, + And much we regretted the shadows of eve, + Oblig'd us reluctantly soon to take leave. 1124 + + Dinner quickly dispatch'd--to the Captain of course, + My seat I resign'd and then borrow'd a horse, + Be assur'd the barouche was most duly attended, + And from dangers (that came not) most bravely defended, + So courageous I felt, that 'twas really a pity, + We never encounter'd one troop of banditti, + No fright of the horses induc'd them to try, + Just to leap o'er a bridge tho' so many were nigh, + As the roads that would shake her 'twas folly to fly at, + I was forc'd to ride on most provokingly quiet, + In hopes that some future occasion will prove, + My prowess, and gallantry, equal my love. + + This morning I rose with the dawning of day, + On Agnes to think and contrive what to say, + And after some planning and much hesitation, + To her father I spoke on this weighty occasion: + And I gratefully own that the worthy old Squire, + Was as kind to my hopes as my heart could desire; + He confess'd 'twas his foible to value old blood, + And declar'd that my race was both ancient and good, + 'Fore the conquest he reckon'd some fifteen or twenty, + And when it took place there were Blunderheads plenty, + In the days of King Stephen 'tis known how they flourish'd, + And the wars of the Roses the pedigree nourish'd, + In Harry the eighth's time 'twas easy to trace, + The parliament owed its support to our race, + Tho' Elizabeth liked us not yet it was plain, + We came pretty handsomely in the next reign; + And continued in pow'r thro' succeeding confusion, + Till sadly eclips'd by the proud revolution, + And altho' since that period somewhat declining, + He trusted the time would return for our shining, + Tho' 'tis true that the Regent disclaims our alliance, + From his fondness for freedom, for arts, and for science. + In short he appear'd both so learned and kind, + He's the wisest and best of old men to my mind, + But adieu my dear mother I'm now on the wing, + With Agnes to taste the Chalybeate spring. + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER X. + + _High Harrogate, September 21st._ + + + For my silence these three weeks your pardon I ask, + But really dear mother all writing's a task, + Save for sonnets to Agnes I do not know when, + My run-a-way fingers laid hold of a pen, + But I trust your indulgence will freely excuse, + This natural fault in my negligent muse, + Since she now comes before you in very great sorrow, + To tell you I part with my charmer to-morrow, + Tho' the Dragon's quite full and the company gay, + And a ball at the Queen's-head is promis'd to-day, + Yet when Agnes is gone I most plainly can see, + This place will have lost all attraction for me, + And I think when the coach and my lovely one in it + Drives away, that I too must be off the next minute, + Consolation to find in my mother's kind greeting, + And forming good plans for our next pleasant meeting. + + Then fare ye well Harrogate--dear to my heart, + Be the joys you inspire and the health you impart, + May your springs ever flow an immutable treasure, + And the breeze that blows o'er you be freighted with pleasure; + Farewell to your Doctors--more skilful and kind, + Not a Spa on the Island can promise to find, + But chiefly my own must I leave with regret, + For a sigh to our parting is gratitude's debt, + His suavity, modesty, knowledge, and truth, + Where the wisdom of age, joins the candour of youth, + Have made me so truly esteem and respect him, + While I value true worth I can never neglect him. + No more must I saunter along the Parade, + Or fly for a tune to the gay Promenade, + At Wilson's exhibit my knowledge or wit, + Or step into Wright's for my picture to sit, + At Robey's or Bachelor's loiter to chuse, + A broach or a ring while I hear all the news, + Or ride on the common and gladly inhale, + The spirit of strength from the heath-scented gale + But tho' to your pleasures I now bid adieu, + Be assur'd that next year shall those pleasures renew, + Renew and exceed for on Hymen's white wing, + To these haunts so belov'd I my Agnes may bring, + The hopes of that blessing my cares shall beguile, + And I leave thee dear Harrogate now with a smile. + + + + + NOTES. + + + + + NOTES. + + +_Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' &c._ _Verse +342._--Knaresbro' is a considerable Town, situated on a rock almost +encompassed by the river Nidd. Near the town are the ruins of an ancient +magnificent castle built soon after the Conquest, and in one side of a +neighbouring rock is a cell where an hermit lived, still called St. +Robert's Chapel. The altar is cut out of one piece of solid rock, and on +it are engraved the figures of three heads, supposed to represent the +Trinity. This Robert founded himself a new order of monks, called +Robertines, but it is probable that they soon diminished to nothing, as +we do not meet with their name either in the Breviary or Baronius. + +But the greatest curiosity at Knaresbro' is the petrifying spring +commonly called the Dropping-Well. This natural curiosity is a spring +that rises about two miles from the town, and after running above a mile +under ground, comes to the top of a rock sixteen feet high, after which +it drops through in fifty or sixty places into a bason below, formed by +nature for its reception. Every drop has something of a musical sound as +if it were small stones falling on brass, and near it are many pieces of +moss reduced to a state of petrefaction; there is a fine walk on one +side of the well shaded with tall trees that makes the whole extremely +delightful. + + _Extract from British Traveller, page_ 621. + + To this brief extract the Editor begs leave to add, that the + finest views of this singularly beautiful place are obtained + from the Low-bridge, the road leading to the Upper-bridge, and + the fields which are nearly opposite the castle; the variety of + cottages and the beautiful knolls of bold and herbaged rock + which every where intersect the scenery, render it the most + picturesque and interesting which can be found in so short a + compass. But though much beauty may be discovered in a few hours + at Knaresbrough, yet its charms will not be exhausted by the + residence of a long life. + + +_To Plumpton proceeded, &c. v. 374._--This beautiful spot is rendered +extremely attractive to the visitors at Harrogate, not only on account +of its intrinsic merit, but its vicinity, as it is scarcely three miles +distant from High Harrogate. Plumpton is always most admired by those +who have seen it most frequently, being more pleasing than striking; it +is open to the public on Tuesdays and Fridays; on the road from Plumpton +a fine view of the Honourable Mr. Gordon's magnificent new mansion in +Rudding Park is obtained. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_To Harewood I went the first day I could, v. 380._ This splendid +mansion can be seen only on Saturdays; it is justly considered an object +of admiration as it unites elegance with grandeur, and utility with +beauty. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_To Studley, &c. v. 389._--The celebrated grounds of Studley have long +enjoyed a pre-eminence of fame among the northern beauties; their +characteristics are magnificence, uniformity, and neatness. The +stateliness of the trees and the luxuriance of their foliage is +unequalled, and combines with the smoothness of the water and the "clear +smooth shaven green," which surrounds it, to impress on the mind a sense +of repose rather than an emotion of surprise. In its own style, Studley +is perfect, and can never fail to delight, though it may be unable to +astonish. + + +_But who hallow'd Fountains, &c. v. 393._--The magnificent ruin of +Fountains Abbey included in the grounds of Studley, is an object of +delight and veneration in the highest degree, and will in the eye of an +artist be rendered still more so when it shall have become farther +dilapidated; the first view of it from the grounds of Studley is +extremely commanding and striking, but as a ruin it is more beautiful +and interesting in the interior views; the extent of the church and the +monastery and its offices conveys a clear idea of the power and state +enjoyed by the Benedictine monks, who resided here in all the dignity of +honour and the luxury of wealth--the dining-room and kitchen of the +higher orders and the refectory of the lower, bespeak the richness of +their revenues and their princely method of disposing of them. The +trees, shrubs, and foliage intermingled with these extensive ruins, are +the principal source of its beauties, being combined and contrasted with +the mouldering arches and nodding towers in every possible form; of +these the ivy and wild currant are the most prominent. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby, &c. v. 483._--Newby-hall +the seat of Lord Grantham, is most remarkable for possessing a very fine +Gallery built after the model of the Florentine Gallery so long the +pride of the civilized world; it contains many fine statues and three +sarcophagi, although the largest alone appears to have attracted the +attention of Mr. Blunderhead, who it is plain had but little knowledge +or taste in works of art.--The tapestry in the drawing-room is +considered incomparably fine, but the author has undoubtedly a very +handsome and sufficient excuse for leaving it so abruptly. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall, v. 453._--To those who seek in +landscape gardening for the wilder features of nature harmonized yet +unsubdued by art, this sequestered vale will present an exquisite treat +and afford to the contemplative mind a scene of such deep retirement and +romantic seclusion adorned with objects of such exquisite and concentred +beauty as must meet the eye ere they can be appreciated by the +imagination, which may people these fairy regions with every object of +terror, or delight with equal propriety. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_We went to the Minster, v. 505._--The Minster at Rippon is a fine +gothic structure, it formerly contained a narrow passage called the +Needle of St. Wilfred, used by the monks as an ordeal for female +purity.--The Bone-house contains many thousand skulls, and is generally +shewn as a curiosity. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_Fam'd Brimham rocks, &c.--v._ 1009.--These prodigious masses of natural +rock, together with a druidical temple near them, form one of the +objects of curiosity in this neighbourhood; they are distant about +eleven miles. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton. v. 1011._--Bolton-Priory +stands upon a beautiful curviture of the Wharfe, on a level sufficiently +elevated to protect it from inundation, and low enough for every purpose +of picturesque effect.--In the latter respect it has no equal among the +northern houses, perhaps not in the kingdom.--To the south all is soft +and delicious, the eye reposes upon a few rich pastures, a moderate +reach of the river sufficiently tranquil to form a mirror for the sun, +and the bounding fells beyond neither too near, nor too lofty, to +exclude even in winter any considerable portion of his rays. + +But after all, the glories of Bolton are on the north, whatever the most +fastidious taste could require to form a perfect landscape, is not only +found here, but in its proper place; in front and immediately under the +eye, is a smooth expanse of park-like inclosure, spotted with native +elm, ash, &c. of the finest growth; on the right a skirting oak wood +with jutting points of grey rock; on the left a rising copse, still +forward are the aged groves of Bolton-park the growth of centuries, and +further yet the barren and rocky distances of Simon Seat and Barden +Fell, contrasted with the warmth, fertility, and luxuriant foliage of +the valley below--about half a mile above Bolton-Priory the valley +closes, and either side of the Wharfe is overhung with deep and solemn +woods, intermingled with huge masses of perpendicular rocks which jut +out at intervals. + +This sequestered scene was inaccessible till of late, when under the +judicious direction of the Rev. W. Carr, B. D. Rector of Bolton-ridings, +were cut in the woods, and the most interesting parts laid open to the +eye, at the request of the noble proprietor, His Grace the Duke of +Devonshire. _Extract from Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven._ + + +_Howl o'er the Strid, &c.--v. 1085._--In the deep solitude of the woods +above Bolton, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel +little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous +fissure with a violence proportioned to its confinement. The place is +called the Strid from a feat sometimes exercised by persons of great +agility and little prudence, who skip from brink to brink regardless of +the destruction which awaits a faltering step. An accident caused by +this rashness has given a dreadful and sensible interest to this awful +spot, in addition to the commending one it has received by nature, and +which is immediately connected with the records of Bolton. + +In the 12th century, William Fitz Duncan at the command of David King of +Scotland, who was besieging Narham, laid waste this part of Yorkshire +with fire and sword, committing every species of cruelty which barbarity +could suggest, and humanity deplore. In fourteen years after, David +established him by force in the domain he had impoverished, and he +married Aaliza daughter and heiress of William de Meschines a +neighbouring Earl. They had a son commonly called the Boy of Egremont +(from one of his grandfather's baronies where he was born) and who +surviving his eldest brother became the sole hope of his family. + +This youth in his sixteenth year, inconsiderately bounding over this +terrific chasm with a greyhound in his leash, the affrighted animal hung +back and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent.--The forester who +accompanied young Romillé (the Boy of Egremont) returned to the Lady +Aaliza, and with a despairing countenance said, "What is good for a +bootless bene?" to which the mother apprehending some great calamity had +befallen her son, answered, "endless sorrow."--The language of this +question proves the antiquity of the story; its meaning appears to have +been, what remains when prayer is useless. + +This fatal accident induced the Lady Aaliza to translate the Priory of +Embsay, founded by her parents from thence to Bolton on account of its +proximity to the scene of her son's deplorable death. + + _Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven_. + + +N. B. Six fine coloured prints of views in Bolton have been published +from original pictures painted on the spot, by T. C. Hofland, among +which is an admirable representation of the Strid. + + +_Farewell to your Doctors, &c.--v. 1180._--Mr. Blunderhead was +undoubtedly right in this observation, as perhaps not one watering place +can boast medical men of equal ability and liberality, affording so +striking a contrast with those "condemn'd to endless fame," by the +memoirs of his celebrated uncle. + + + Finis. + + + + + G. Wilson, Printer, + Market-Place, Knaresbrough. + + + =Transcriber's Notes:= + original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in + the original + Page 16, 'objection she pleases.' changed to 'objection she pleases."' + Page 17, "off their glasses" changed to "off their glasses," + Page 30, "&c &c. &c." changed to "&c. &c. &c." + Page 44, "long winded epistle," changed to "long winded epistle." + Page 63, "&c. &c. &c" changed to "&c. &c. &c." + Page 69, "all grasping desires" changed to "all grasping desires," + Page 76, "&c. &c. &c" changed to "&c. &c. &c." + Page 84, "will behold" changed to "will behold," + Page 87, "Chalybeate spring" changed to "Chalybeate spring." + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Season at Harrogate, by Barbara Hofland + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SEASON AT HARROGATE *** + +***** This file should be named 35193-8.txt or 35193-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/9/35193/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Season at Harrogate + +Author: Barbara Hofland + +Release Date: February 7, 2011 [EBook #35193] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SEASON AT HARROGATE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h2>A</h2> + +<h2>SEASON</h2> + +<h4>AT</h4> + +<h1>HARROGATE;</h1> + +<h4>IN A</h4> + +<h3>SERIES OF POETICAL EPISTLES,</h3> + +<h4>FROM</h4> + +<h3><i>Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to his Mother</i>,</h3> + +<h3>IN DERBYSHIRE:</h3> + +<h4>With useful and copious NOTES, descriptive of the Objects most worthy of +Attention in the Vicinity of Harrogate.</h4> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h4>Laugh where we must, be candid where we can.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><div class="blockquot"><p class="right">Pope.</p></div></div> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<h3>Knaresbrough:</h3> + +<h3><i>PRINTED BY G. WILSON,</i></h3> + +<h4>AND SOLD BY</h4> + +<h3>R. WILSON, KNARESBROUGH, AND HARROGATE;</h3> + +<h4>Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row, London; +Robinson, Heaton, I. & I. Nicholls, and Baines, Leeds; Wolstenholme, and +Todd, York; Hunsley and Thomas, Doncaster; Langdale, Rippon; Edwards, +Halifax; Miss Gales, Sheffield; and Wright, Liverpool.</h4> + +<h4>1812.</h4> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> +<h2>Entered at Stationers' Hall.</h2> +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>ADVERTISEMENT.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p>That admirable production of Mr. Anstey's the "New Bath Guide," may +justly be considered the parent of a numerous progeny of watering place +bagatelles, each of which has some resemblance to its father, though not +one of them can boast the wit, humour, or poetical talent which so +eminently distinguishes those celebrated letters.</p> + +<p>The youngest of this race is now presented to the Public with that +timidity which arises from conscious imperfection, devoid of the fear +which rivalry has endeavoured to excite, and persecution may seek to +perpetuate. Neither nurtured by patronage nor dandled by fashion, +neither supported by rank nor allied to literary honours, this child of +obscurity is cast on the world in a helpless, yet not hopeless state, +for the good man's smile has illumed its cradle, and it possesses that +confidence derived from purity of intention, and that humility which +disarms malice, and draws the sting of criticism.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">B. HOFLAND.</p></div> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>High Harrogate</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>December 1, 1811.</i></span><br /> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER I.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3><span class="smcap">To Mrs. Blunderhead</span>,</h3> +<br /> +<p class="right"><i>Low Harrogate, July 20th</i>.</p><br /> + +<p> +<span class="dropcap"><small><small><sup>'</sup></small></small>T</span>is +now forty years and dear mother <i>you</i> know it,<br /> +Since my great Uncle<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> Simkin set up for a poet,<br /> +And I'll venture to say that not one in the nation,<br /> +From that day to this caus'd so much admiration,<br /> +But tho' I ne'er hope on his humour to hit,<br /> +Much less catch his genius or glow with his wit,<br /> +Or blend with simplicity satire so keen,<br /> +That it laugh'd away sin, while it laugh'd away spleen,<br /> +Yet since there are many more folks in <i>our</i> times,<br /> +Than were found about <i>his</i>, who make verses and rhymes,<br /> +I don't see a reason why I should not try,<br /> +To spread my poor fins and to swim with the fry,<br /> +You know Drewry of Derby would never refuse,<br /> +My sonnets, and stanzas, a place in the news,<br /> +Besides a great name's a great matter we know,<br /> +James Thompson our schoolmaster always said so,<br /> +And thought it the best of a hundred good reasons,<br /> +Why he should write verses as fine as 'The Seasons'<br /> +Now I being last of the Blunderhead race,<br /> +As a casuist this doctrine most warmly embrace,<br /> +And hope my dear mother the parson and you,<br /> +Whilst conning my letters will give me my due,<br /> +And say to reward all my labour and pains,<br /> +He is just like his uncle <i>save wanting his brains</i>.<br /> +But a truce to this subject of grave declamation,<br /> +My spirit's not suited to sage dissertation,<br /> +To anatomists leaving the state of my skull,<br /> +To critics their right of pronouncing me dull,<br /> +I shall merely go on with my gossiping rhyme,<br /> +To tell you my method of killing my time,<br /> +And open as well as I can all the merit,<br /> +This place of resort is allow'd to inherit. 32<br /><br /> + +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When first I arriv'd here I didn't well know,</span><br /> +If at Harrogate High, or at Harrogate Low,<br /> +I should place myself snugly, but after some chatter,<br /> +With those who were knowing, I fix'd on the latter<br /> +So now my good madam behold me sat down,<br /> +With a number of invalid folks at the Crown,<br /> +But what way <i>invalid</i> to unfold I'm not able,<br /> +Unless 'tis with cramming at Thackwray's good table,<br /> +Who with turbot, and ven'son, and poultry, and beef,<br /> +To the sick with their hunger gives instant relief,<br /> +But as to the crop-sick I very much question,<br /> +If here they find help for diseas'd indigestion,<br /> +The sight of these good things to me was unpleasant,<br /> +For you know I am ticklish and qualmish at present<br /> +But the Company laugh and declare I shall soon eat,<br /> +Three pounds of good food, tho' I now live on spoonmeat,<br /> +And in order to bring me about very quickly,<br /> +Some good looking dames neither sighing nor sickly,<br /> +Advis'd me most kindly the very first night,<br /> +To consult with a doctor as soon as 'twas light,<br /> +Then take of the water a plentiful dose,<br /> +Said they "the well's nigh" so I find by my nose,<br /> +"But pray gentle ladies declare in a trice,<br /> +"The doctor of whom I must ask this advice?" 56<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This question once put t'would surprise you dear mother,</span><br /> +How they answer'd at once each more loud than the other,<br /> +"There's not one of them all that my fancy so takes"<br /> +"Cried a lady in black" "as my good Doctor Jaques,"<br /> +Says the next "Mr. Richardson's wonderful clever,<br /> +Tho' so busy dear heart there's no catching him ever,"<br /> +Cries a third "if you really want medical skill,<br /> +Mr. Wormald will cure you if any man will,"<br /> +"And I know" "said a fourth" "that whatever may ail ye,<br /> +"You're sure of relief if you see Doctor Cayley."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Afraid of offending each charming adviser,</span><br /> +By a pref'rence that said "ma'am your neighbour is wiser,"<br /> +I obey'd the loud mandate of Gen'ral O'Flurry,<br /> +And this morning consulted with one Doctor Murray<br /> +Who sans ruffles, sans wig, and sans avis supercilious,<br /> +Has pronounc'd on my case and declares I am bilious,<br /> +In my next dearest mother some news I will tell,<br /> +Of these wonderful waters when drank at the well<br /> +So wishing you ne'er may have need of such liquor<br /> +Conclude me yours truly—with love to the vicar.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER II.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>Low Harrogate, July 24th</i>.</p><br /> + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">O</span>h! how my dear mother shall pen, ink, and paper<br /> +Convey to your mind a true sense of the vapour,<br /> +Which hov'ring around this new Acheron serves,<br /> +To torture and wound your olfactory nerves,<br /> +And gives you presentiment piercing and strong,<br /> +Of its pungent effects when receiv'd on the tongue.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of rotten eggs, brimstone, and salts make a hash,</span><br /> +And 'twill form something like this delectable mash<br /> +Nothing else in this world I will wager a pasty,<br /> +So good in effect, ever tasted so nasty.<br /> +But ah! tis the pencil of Bunb'ry alone,<br /> +By which the sweet stream and its pow'rs can be shewn,<br /> +Nor does the whole kingdom afford I am sure,<br /> +One scene like this well for a caricature,<br /> +All ages, and sexes, all ranks, and degree,<br /> +All forms, and all sizes distorted you see,<br /> +Some grinning, some splutt'ring, some pulling wry faces,<br /> +In short 'tis a mart for all sorts of grimaces,<br /> +But all you conceive, of age, infancy, youth,<br /> +In contortion and whim must fall short of the truth,<br /> +One screws up his lips like the mouth of a purse,<br /> +While his neighbour's fierce grin gives the threat of a curse,<br /> +And a third gasping begs with his eyes turn'd to heaven,<br /> +That his stomach will keep what so lately was given<br /> +But feeling the rebel will spurn at his pray'r,<br /> +Throws the rest of his bumper away in despair.<br /> +But woe to the wight of more delicate notions,<br /> +When he sees how the well-women deal out their potions,<br /> +This levelling tribe of a democrat race,<br /> +From the red nos'd postillion, up to her Grace<br /> +Feeds each from one glass, without washing, or rincing,<br /> +And the sybil but laughs if you make any wincing,<br /> +From the modest who issue from cheap Mrs. Binns'<br /> +To the great ones who drive from High Harrogate Inns,<br /> +Where a difference far more essential is found,<br /> +From the sick, to the well, the same cup travels round,<br /> +From breath that would poison a Hottentot king<br /> +To breath that is sweeter than violets in spring,<br /> +But as sulphur prohibits all sorts of infection,<br /> +The rational say "there's no proper objection, 116<br /> +To mingling <i>en masse</i> with all sorts of diseases,<br /> +Tho' the stomach may make what objection she pleases."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now turn my dear mother with me and survey</span><br /> +This company blended of grave and of gay,<br /> +See Alderman Gobble, and Counsellor Puffing,<br /> +Who came to this well as a penance for stuffing,<br /> +And poor Captain Brandylove come to recruit,<br /> +Swears the Cognac grape was the forbidden fruit,<br /> +Here gentlemen jockies who ride into fevers,<br /> +And surfeits obtain from their noble endeavours,<br /> +Such as Timothy Twig'em Esquire of our town,<br /> +And my Lord Spatterdashit that peer of renown,<br /> +And Sir Gilbert O'Fetlock with coach driving coat,<br /> +With many more whips of distinction and note,<br /> +Come swarming around just to take off their glasses,<br /> +Make matches for horses, and bets upon asses.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But here come a group whose deplorable faces,</span><br /> +E'en surfeit itself would illumine with graces,<br /> +See poor Major Liverless come from Bombay,<br /> +To send his sharp bile and black jaundice away,<br /> +And gripe the contractor, who ruin'd his health,<br /> +While he sold (silly booby) his conscience for wealth<br /> +For Escarides every physician will tell,<br /> +There's no med'cine on earth like the Harrogate well,<br /> +But the worm which gnaws gripe will ne'er yield to its mixture,<br /> +'Tis lodg'd in the heart an indelible fixture,<br /> +But truce to my preaching—who makes his approach<br /> +In such dashing array, and so splendid a coach?<br /> +'Tis the great Doctor Solomon stooping to take,<br /> +A dose of this water by way of a freak, 148<br /> +Tho' all the world knows that his own balmy bottle,<br /> +(More warm to the heart and more sweet to the throttle)<br /> +Not only cures patients but makes 'em so merry,<br /> +One spoonful is worth a whole bottle of sherry.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">All hail to Britannia! her plentiful hive,</span><br /> +Has taught many bees like this doctor to thrive,<br /> +But from all I can learn not one quack shares her honey,<br /> +More deserving than this, since he's free with his money,<br /> +"Easy come easy go" is his motto I'm told,<br /> +Tho' his daughters are portion'd with ingots of gold<br /> +But I scorn upon men any more to descant,<br /> +For the Blunderheads always were very gallant,<br /> +And if beauty and fashion e'er claim'd admiration,<br /> +From the heart of a man since the days of creation,<br /> +I'm sure at this time there's the very best reason,<br /> +To exult in the beauty that blooms here this season,<br /> +E'en now on parade I delighted behold,<br /> +Five elegant sisters of exquisite mould,<br /> +There too are the C—tt—rs sweet innocent creatures,<br /> +With peace in their bosoms and love in their features<br /> +And the beautiful L—nds and the L—kes too appear<br /> +Like goddesses dropt from a delicate sphere;<br /> +Yet mid the assemblage M—cd—nald we trace,<br /> +No charmer that equals thy form or thy face,<br /> +Tho' W—m—ld such majesty dwells in thy mien,<br /> +And in W—ts—n's mild eyes such true sweetness is seen,<br /> +That really my muse is perplex'd to declare,<br /> +How one can excel where so many are fair,<br /> +Oh woman! <i>dear</i> woman! without you all nature,<br /> +Would be to my mind like a draught of this water,<br /> +And may he whose cold heart and dull head would disprove,<br /> +The magic of beauty the solace of love,<br /> +And seek from rude man your soft claims to dissever,<br /> +Be condemn'd without mercy to drink it for ever,<br /> +Ye are stars of the night! ye are gems of the morn!<br /> +Ye are dew-drops whose lustre illumines the thorn!<br /> +And rayless that night is—that morning unblest,<br /> +Where no beam in your eye lights up bliss in the breast,<br /> +And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in the heart<br /> +Till the sweet lip of woman assuages the smart,<br /> +'Tis her's o'er the couch of misfortune to bend,<br /> +In fondness a lover, in firmness a friend,<br /> +And prosperity's hour be it ever confest,<br /> +From woman receives both refinement and zest,<br /> +And adorn'd by the bays or enwreath'd with the willow<br /> +Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow.<br /> +But ah! my good mother this subject I find,<br /> +Has quite run away with my paper and mind,<br /> +For in themes so bewitching so many thoughts pop in<br /> +The mania of scribbling finds no place to stop in,<br /> +But in praising the ladies you can't think me rude,<br /> +So adieu till my next—'tis high time to conclude.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER III.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>Low Harrogate, July 30th</i>.</p><br /> + + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">W</span>ith pleasure dear mother commence I this letter<br /> +To tell you already I find myself better,<br /> +To the praise of the well be it known I am able,<br /> +To pick up my crumbs with the best at the table,<br /> +And now think the landlord a very wise man,<br /> +For placing thereon all the dishes he can,<br /> +No longer fastidious or squeamish or dainty,<br /> +I like all I see and rejoice that there's plenty,<br /> +But since I wrote last by my doctor's prescription,<br /> +I've had a warm bath of which take my description<br /> +Fair Derwent how oft in thy pure limpid wave,<br /> +Delighted I lov'd in full freedom to lave,<br /> +While on thy green banks in soft herbage reposing,<br /> +The swains and their flocks, were contentedly dosing<br /> +And the landscape around, and above the blue sky<br /> +Shed new life on the heart while they solac'd the eye<br /> +Little thought I in those days so sunny and smiling,<br /> +What a different thing was a Harrogate boiling,<br /> +And astonish'd I saw when I came to my doffing<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a>,<br /> +A tub of hot water made just like a coffin,<br /> +In which the good woman who tended the bath,<br /> +Declar'd I must lie down as straight as a lath,<br /> +Just keeping my face above water that so,<br /> +I might better inhale the fine fume from below,<br /> +"But mistress," 'quoth I in a trembling condition,'<br /> +"I hope you'll allow me one small requisition,<br /> +Since scrophula, leprosy, herpes, and scurvy,<br /> +Have all in this coffin been roll'd topsy-turvy, 232<br /> +In a physical sense I presume it is meet,<br /> +That each guest should be wrapt in a clean winding sheet,"<br /> +"Oh no! my good sir for whatever's your case,<br /> +You can never catch any thing bad in this place,<br /> +And that being settled on solid foundation,<br /> +We Harrogate bath-women spurn innovation."<br /> +So caviller like I submitted to pow'r,<br /> +And was coddled in troth for the third of an hour.<br /> +But that very same night to atone for it all,<br /> +I figur'd away the first man at the ball,<br /> +For the president being both idle and lusty,<br /> +Conceiv'd that his pow'rs "à la danse" were grown rusty,<br /> +And consign'd all his rights in this gay exhibition,<br /> +To myself as a man of more able condition,<br /> +But oh! how it griev'd me dear mother to find,<br /> +So very few beaux were to dancing inclin'd;<br /> +Constellations of beauty all night shone in vain,<br /> +Condemn'd as fix'd stars unremov'd to remain,<br /> +Whose influence benignant ne'er reach'd from their sphere,<br /> +To warm the cold heels of the gentlemen here,<br /> +Captain—r—r consider'd a man of high ton,<br /> +All dancing declin'd till the ball was just done,<br /> +And then he made shift just to drawl on his legs,<br /> +As a lame Chelsea pensioner does when he begs,<br /> +But in spite of his ennui and indolent air<br /> +He dances <i>divinely</i> the ladies declare. 258<br /> +Of these tho' a great many caper'd away,<br /> +Yet many sat still who were lovely as they,<br /> +Fair F—z—r was there, and the beautiful P—k—r<br /> +With the elegant H—tt—n as lovely tho' darker,<br /> +The gay A—x—nd—r and R—g—rs the pretty,<br /> +And M—w—r the graceful, and B—ley the witty.<br /> +Some came from the Granby and some from the Dragon,<br /> +But these are all belles that our own house may brag on,<br /> +For at present the Crown is much fuller than any,<br /> +Tho' the Inns at High Harrogate boast a good many<br /> +The Crescent our neighbour is full to o'erflowing,<br /> +And numbers I see to the White Hart are going.<br /> +As bad as the times are John Bull makes a shift,<br /> +To give the gay world an effectual lift,<br /> +And so long as these places can live by their trading<br /> +We may smile at Napoleon's threats of invading.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The place of all places for lounging away,</span><br /> +In amusement and style the first half of the day,<br /> +Is at each of the Libraries<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a>; where you may find,<br /> +Books, music, fine prints, in short all things combin'd,<br /> +Which those who have taste are delighted to cherish<br /> +And those who have none yet affect much to relish,<br /> +Politicians, and ladies, bucks, authors, and peers,<br /> +The busy all eyes, and the idle all ears, 284<br /> +May here every morning be seen in perfection,<br /> +Like the books, or the news, just laid out for inspection,<br /> +So to Wilson's I go every morning inquiring,<br /> +"What arrivals there are?"——and the papers desiring,<br /> +And look with a deep and significant phiz,<br /> +For Peninsula news, or a boxing match quiz,<br /> +Nay at times I converse on a poem or play,<br /> +And utter no less 'cause I've nothing to say,<br /> +Rememb'ring in all kinds of difficult cases,<br /> +To make out my meaning by shrugs and grimaces,<br /> +Thus a man without reading may give an opinion,<br /> +And snatch for an hour dilletanti dominion,<br /> +From what sources great critics may judge I can't tell<br /> +But I always find mine are produc'd at the well,<br /> +When my breakfast eats good and the waters agree<br /> +Capel Loft's sugar-candy's not sweeter than me,<br /> +This morning I dazzled the minds of the crowd,<br /> +By pronouncing Lord Byron "a poet" aloud,<br /> +Of Strangford and Moore then condemned the sweet flummery,<br /> +Talk'd of Southey the chaste, and the matchless Montgomery,<br /> +Call'd Campbell the elegant, Wordsworth the wild<br /> +And the great Walter Scott Inspiration's own child;<br /> +Then prais'd the sweet bard tho' unknown be his name,<br /> +Who gave Talavera's dread battles to fame,<br /> +Thus 'mongst reading-room gents I set up for a judge,<br /> +And an eulogist too (when the waters will budge)<br /> +But if on my stomach they happen to rest,<br /> +With such critical spleen is my humour opprest,<br /> +Whether minister, gen'ral, or author I seize on,<br /> +Be assur'd that I charge him at least with high-treason,<br /> +And it then would surprise ye to hear me debate,<br /> +On the faults of the war and the crimes of the state,<br /> +On wonderful plans for complete reformation,<br /> +And fearful predictions for folks of high station,<br /> +Then too the grand censor on writers I sit,<br /> +And fulminate laws 'gainst pretenders to wit, 320<br /> +Or deeply regret these degenerate times,<br /> +Produce prose without sense, without poetry rhymes<br /> +Step on to consider the faults of the stage<br /> +And conclude there's not one decent thing in the age.<br /> +Thus as sung my great uncle "our evil, and good,<br /> +"By few is conceiv'd, and by few understood,"<br /> +If unwisely we praise, or unfeelingly blame<br /> +Now shudd'ring with ague, now burning with flame,<br /> +Tho' ignorance gener'lly causes this fault,<br /> +Yet <i>here</i> 'tis the mixture of sulphur and salt<br /> +Which nine times in ten will improve on our nature<br /> +As it clears a complexion or softens a feature,<br /> +And that without doubt you'll allow is the reason,<br /> +Why so many matches are made here each season,<br /> +And who knows dear ma'am but this wonderful water<br /> +May gain me a sweet wife and yourself a dear daughter?<br /> +And at Robey's likewise ev'ry morning I'm shown<br /> +Since not to know <i>him</i>, would prove I was unknown<br /> +Banker, Jeweller, Friseur, and Toyman, his trade is<br /> +He's all things for the beaux and still more for the ladies,<br /> +But no wonder they like him so much in this place,<br /> +For good temper and honesty dwell in his face,<br /> +And his shop is so stor'd with all things that are pretty,<br /> +He has skimm'd the first cream from Pall Mall and the city.<br /> +But from pictures of lounges I'll now give you rest,<br /> +For the dinner bell rings and I am not half drest.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER IV.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>Rippon, August 5th</i>.</p><br /> + + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">S</span>ince I wrote to you last my dear mother I've been<br /> +To see all the lions which are to be seen<br /> +Around this gay place—where 'tis much in the fashion,<br /> +Small parties to form for this sweet recreation,<br /> +So we lately set out on a very fine day,<br /> +Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' to pay, 342<br /> +But a painter alone to your eye can disclose,<br /> +A view of the scene as before us it rose,<br /> +Presenting a coup d'oeil so simple and sweet,<br /> +Yet so grand, so sublime, and in fact so complete,<br /> +That I fancied the river as winding around,<br /> +Was enclosing the spot as if consecrate ground<br /> +And this castle crown'd scene will ne'er rise to my mind,<br /> +Without claiming a sigh that I've left it behind,<br /> +Thro' a beautiful grove we were led to be shewn,<br /> +The fam'd Dropping-Well which turns all things to stone,<br /> +Yet in silver ton'd tinkling the Naiad departs,<br /> +Like ladies whose tears only harden their hearts.<br /> +From thence to the cell<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> of a saint we ascended,<br /> +By sage antiquarians most highly commended,<br /> +Then climb'd to the Fort where an honest old pair,<br /> +Would give you more pleasure than any thing there<br /> +Tho' their mutual labours have spread o'er the soil,<br /> +Astonishing proofs of their patience and toil.<br /> +We trac'd the bold ruins still proudly sublime,<br /> +Which yielding to man have found mercy from time,<br /> +And adorn the sweet scenes they were rais'd to protect,<br /> +With picturesque beauty more fine from defect;<br /> +Delighted to find wheresoever we roved<br /> +"His<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> Honour of Scriven" revered and beloved<br /> +As e'er his forefathers have been in those ages,<br /> +When the smile of the lord was more priz'd than his wages,<br /> +When the sire of the land in the heart of each vassal<br /> +Found a bulwark more strong than the walls of his castle——<br /> +From Knaresbro' to Plumpton our party proceeded<br /> +A spot that no trav'ller should pass by unheeded, 374<br /> +'Tis a miniature landscape redeem'd from the waste<br /> +As a species of show-box by nature and taste,<br /> +Of small rocks and small groves and a pretty small lake,<br /> +Where small parties aquatic excursions may take,<br /> +And fancy they view in perspective the shores,<br /> +Where Loch Lomond smiles or Geneva deplores.—<br /> +So well my first jaunt had agreed with my mood,<br /> +That I went to see Harewood the first day I cou'd, 380<br /> +But here my description must certainly fail as,<br /> +I have not one talent for painting a palace,<br /> +But to draw the proud mansion and bring it to view<br /> +Will surely dear mother be needless to you,<br /> +Since at Chatsworth we Derbyshire folks have all been,<br /> +You will judge I am certain of all that I mean,<br /> +When I tell you groves, gardens, fine water, and hall,<br /> +Seem the gift of good Genii to spangle this ball.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To Studley far-fam'd for its beauty we went 389</span><br /> +And gaz'd on those beauties with placid content,<br /> +Tho' some of the amateurs fancied that art,<br /> +In planning these grounds had o'er acted her part,<br /> +But who hallow'd Fountains thy threshold shall pass<br /> +And remember the ponds with their trimmings of grass?<br /> +No! rapt in the scene which presents contemplation,<br /> +Such objects of interest and deep veneration,<br /> +We gaze on the arch whence the ivy descending,<br /> +Usurps the rich shrine where the lamp was once pending,<br /> +Where the wild currant blooms and the mountain ash bows,<br /> +There knelt the great abbot and offer'd his vows, 400<br /> +And where the green beech his proud branches displays<br /> +Sweet incense ascended with anthems of praise.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh visions of old as around me ye roll!</span><br /> +Exalting, delighting, ennobling the soul,<br /> +Impress on my mem'ry if not on my rhyme<br /> +The pleasure I took in these scenes at the time,<br /> +For sure 'twas a pity that feelings so fine<br /> +Should evap'rate the moment we set off to dine,<br /> +Reducing at once the fine flights of the brain,<br /> +To the vulgar subjection of hunger, and pain,<br /> +Unlike to those heroes we read of in books,<br /> +Who living on sentiment scorn meat and cooks,<br /> +Fight, conquer, make love to a princess, and win her,<br /> +Without ever asking the aid of a dinner,<br /> +And heroines we see thro' five volumes can go,<br /> +Immers'd in all sorts of distraction and woe,<br /> +Without wetting their lips, thus bestowing the lie,<br /> +On the proverb which says that "true sorrow is dry."<br /> +But be that their affair 'twas no part of our plan,<br /> +For our beaux grew voracious, our ladies look'd wan<br /> +So we set off for Rippon with stomachs so hearty,<br /> +'Twas well Mrs. Robinson knew of the party,<br /> +She gave us a treat which so gladden'd our sight,<br /> +That we quickly determin'd to stay here all night<br /> +So I thought it was best just to empty my head,<br /> +Of its "perilous stuff" ere I ventur'd to bed,<br /> +Lest the walk I have taken with gazing and peeping<br /> +Should injure my nerves and prevent me from sleeping,<br /> +And conceiving a nap is a sound acquisition,<br /> +Have sought it (like many) by long composition.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER V.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>Rippon, August 6th</i>.</p><br /> + + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">A</span>s soon as Aurora came sun-rob'd and flaunting,<br /> +Our party arose to continue their jaunting,<br /> +But think not our hurry to run after pleasure,<br /> +Could make us forget a good breakfast to treasure,<br /> +Tho' we talk'd of fine colouring, site and vertû,<br /> +Yet we gave the hot rolls and the muffins their due;<br /> +And even those misses, "who died to be moving,"<br /> +Bare martyrdom well while the toast they were proving;<br /> +Our wisdom and foretl ought admit no denial,<br /> +Since our strength was about to experience a trial;<br /> +For a medical work in the very first chapter,<br /> +Declares that "exhaustion arises from rapture,"<br /> +And that 'vessels well laden may prove the occasion,<br /> +Of giving the head a complete gravitation,' 444<br /> +Ye Naiads and Wood-nymphs, ye Sylphs, and ye Gnomes,<br /> +Who flirt on the sun-beams, or languish in tombs,<br /> +Who skim o'er the foam on the flow'r wave your pinion,<br /> +The brilliant machinery of pages Darwinian.<br /> +Oh would that your legions so tiny and taper,<br /> +Would light on my pen and illumine my paper;<br /> +Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall thy praises,<br /> +And paint all the beauties I found in thy mazes,<br /> +Those mazes where nature and art have combin'd,<br /> +To spread all the charms they together could find.<br /> +'Tis fairy land all, yet majestic and great,<br /> +Where Solitude sweetly reposes in state,<br /> +And smiles on her mansion with features so mild,<br /> +We conceive her most pleas'd where the scene is most wild;<br /> +Here gurgles the Eure, thro' a thousand meanders,<br /> +And unrivall'd cascades swell the stream as it wanders,<br /> +Affording such pictures for light, form, and shade,<br /> +As Claude might have gaz'd on, or Roussin pourtray'd,<br /> +Or Wilson who gave to his country a name,<br /> +To rival the proudest possessors of fame.<br /> +But alas my poor muse to this subject must knuckle,<br /> +Since her song never reaches to more than a chuckle.<br /> +Her flame is unlit, and unfledg'd is her wing,<br /> +Untun'd too her lyre, for it has but one string;<br /> +Therefore 'tis in vain, I sit down to my desk,<br /> +To paint the sublime, or the true picturesque,<br /> +For my muse is unworthy poor ignorant Vandal,<br /> +To pipe on the genius of Hackfall's old sandal.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">So imagine dear mother whatever you please,</span><br /> +Of rocks, rivers, waterfalls, temples, and trees,<br /> +And now with the grotto, the dell, and the dingle,<br /> +Sweet Masham must rise and its sylvan scene mingle;<br /> +While Swinton appears in the far distant shade,<br /> +By Danby and taste, a new paradise made.<br /> +While thus you're employ'd, I'll my pegasus whip on,<br /> +For once more the dinner is waiting at Rippon. 482<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With tongues like the lark, and with cheeks like the ruby,</span><br /> +See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby,<br /> +Where we saw a fine gall'ry of gods, and a goddess,<br /> +Dressed quite à la mode, with short coats and strait boddice.<br /> +An empress in robes, and likewise a hero,<br /> +Caligula's bust, and a scarified Nero;<br /> +I believe they were all very ancient and fine,<br /> +For our connoisseur party cried "charming! divine!"<br /> +Talk'd much of contour and the taste of the Greeks,<br /> +Said the art was now lost or but found in antiques;<br /> +But just to refute the false blame of the scorner,<br /> +I pointed to two modern boys in a corner,<br /> +Who proved without saying a word in their favour,<br /> +Our sculptors make cupids as lovely as ever.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Having view'd the sarcophagus too and admir'd it,</span><br /> +The tapestry came next as the ladies desir'd it;<br /> +But fine as I thought it, I soon was withdrawn,<br /> +By a glance of the family crossing the lawn;<br /> +For in that I saw beauty enough I am sure,<br /> +To enchant and delight the most nice amateur,<br /> +Nor was it the less to my untutored notion, 498<br /> +'Cause glowing with life and completed by motion;<br /> +But I said not a word, (tho' 'twas hard to refrain,)<br /> +Lest the dead should be call'd up in judgment again.<br /> +At Rippon next morning we went to the Minster,<br /> +But no lady amongst us or matron or spinster,<br /> +Propos'd the fam'd Needle of Wilfred to enter,<br /> +Tho' all to the Bone-house were willing to venture;<br /> +Where one lectur'd shrewdly on Gall's craniology,<br /> +And turn'd o'er the skulls without fear or apology;<br /> +But so pretty she look'd as she handed them round,<br /> +No doubt can I have but her learning's profound;<br /> +So chang'd are the ladies since your day good mother,<br /> +They are all literati, in one way or other;<br /> +But in all my life long, I ne'er saw so much on't,<br /> +As during this journey when each gave a touch on't,<br /> +At Fountains they spoke of memento and data,<br /> +And dirtied their hands to examine the strata.<br /> +At Hackfall they seized on the weeds and the grasses,<br /> +To determine the genus and settle the classes;<br /> +Spoke much of alembics and oxygen gas,<br /> +Nor suffered a stone unexamined to pass;<br /> +Unmindful meantime of the scene that was nigh,<br /> +To awake the full heart and entrance the fond eye,<br /> +And to gaze on a speck when a world was before 'em,<br /> +Seem'd foolish to me tho' so much I adore 'em;<br /> +And I could'nt help thinking good madam between us,<br /> +Philosophy's seldom the study of Venus;<br /> +'Tis hers the bright flame of the poet to swell,<br /> +Lead the gay mystic dance or resound the sweet shell,<br /> +To guide the soft pencil with delicate finger,<br /> +And scatter life's roses whilst o'er them we linger,<br /> +Concentring the charms we should never dispart,<br /> +The gifts of the mind with the truth of the heart.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But no longer I'll venture this subject to dash on,</span><br /> +Since I know the dear creatures but follow the fashion,<br /> +Nor should I have dar'd just to touch on this thistle,<br /> +But just to wind up my long winded epistle. 536<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER VI.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>High Harrogate, August 10th</i>.</p><br /> + + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">S</span>ince the world and all in it are subject to changing,<br /> +I hope my dear mother you'll pardon my ranging,<br /> +Nor think it surprising to find your son plac'd<br /> +'Mongst the very first people for fashion, and taste,<br /> +You must know that last week to read novels I took<br /> +And had stepp'd up to Wilson's to get a new book,<br /> +When who should I hear in the reading-room laughing,<br /> +But our Yeomanry Col'nel and Major O'Baffin;<br /> +So I stepp'd to the first with a very low bow,<br /> +And he was transported to see me I vow,<br /> +Call'd me neighbour, and friend, brother soldier, and all that,<br /> +Introducing the Major with plenty of small chat;<br /> +In short we became all so happy together,<br /> +They thought it was best I should just remove hither;<br /> +In fact as <i>High</i> Harrogate's now all the go,<br /> +'Twould be folly to stay any longer at <i>Low</i>.<br /> +The Col'nel and Lady reside at the Granby,<br /> +But the Major and I who are good friends as can be,<br /> +Prefer at the Dragon to take up our quarters;<br /> +Where the company's charming, tho' some of 'em Tartars,<br /> +And the eating's so good and the claret so fine,<br /> +'Tis worth riding post fifty miles just to dine,<br /> +And in spite of the bustle (good madam don't frown,)<br /> +The house and the garden's as neat as your own.<br /> +<br /> +Here's a young widow Jointurewell lately come dashing,<br /> +But the Countess of Allwit's the woman for splashing,<br /> +Her bays in their coach are as constantly prancing,<br /> +As the widow's black eyes on the strangers are glancing.<br /> +The fam'd ——r——n—— he is this moment arriving,<br /> +To strangers well known by the style of his driving<br /> +For he sports his own mail his own trumpet he blows,<br /> +So he well may be known wheresoever he goes,<br /> +He's the soul of good humour, of frolic, and whim,<br /> +And High Harrogate owes half its pleasures to him.<br /> +Lady Shufflecut's here and her husband Sir Ned,<br /> +She games all the night while he's snoring in bed,<br /> +And tho' handsome and young he's so idle all day,<br /> +That he seldom assists in her labours at play;<br /> +So the lady transacts all the business alone,<br /> +Tho' he on her efforts subsists 'tis well known,<br /> +Her friend Lady Sweepstakes oft comes for a rubber,<br /> +And gen'rally finds some one willing to drub her,<br /> +But tied by her Lord to play only for guineas,<br /> +She bites while she's bit and then laughs at the ninnies;<br /> +Who in losing their time have egregiously blundered,<br /> +In but taking ten pounds where they hoped for a hundred;<br /> +For wit and good humour this lady can boast,<br /> +And her temper can keep when her money is lost.<br /> +<br /> +We've a dashing buck Parson among us a creature,<br /> +I can never describe since 'tis quite out of nature,<br /> +Tho' the race is antique for I'm sure 'tis the same,<br /> +That St. Paul has declar'd can take "glory in shame,"<br /> +For he's constantly gaming or quizzing the church,<br /> +Where he holds two good livings but leaves in the lurch,<br /> +Tho' the "fusty old bishop" has sought to restore him,<br /> +To residence, duty, and "stupid decorum." 590<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In other bad men I am sorry to say,</span><br /> +We wink at the sin when the humour is gay,<br /> +And trusting the evil's not sunk in their hearts<br /> +Their errors o'erlook for their temper or parts;<br /> +But he who embracing an holy profession,<br /> +Thus robs some good man of a needful possession;<br /> +While conscious his heart is abandon'd and vicious,<br /> +Is disgustingly wicked, thence seldom pernicious;<br /> +So a beacon of warning this coxcomb supplies,<br /> +Since few men will follow what all men despise;<br /> +And bad as the world is he stands by himself,<br /> +We have good ones enow to lay him on the shelf;<br /> +Who e'en in this place of profuse dissipation,<br /> +Still honour themselves, and adorn their vocation.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The comical Banker from C—t—r is here,</span><br /> +Whom Blackett retail'd to us often last year,<br /> +His humour is droll and his tongue like a sickle,<br /> +Cuts so sharp, and so smooth, that you bleed while you tickle;<br /> +Lady Shufflecut oft from his spleen gets a hit,<br /> +But she pockets his money which pays for his wit,<br /> +As beauties the ——nds are at present the rage,<br /> +And one has two strings to her bow I'll engage,<br /> +But I'm sorry to say that the elegant Julie,<br /> +Has the fault of the day and forgets to love truly,<br /> +For a fine showy rake whose pretension to merit,<br /> +Is a far distant title he ne'er may inherit,<br /> +She forsakes a most excellent well manner'd youth,<br /> +Who deserves her no less for his virtue than truth.<br /> +How soon will she learn from her new master's teaching,<br /> +"She has cast off a pearl", but I've no time for preaching;<br /> +So I only shall mention one family more,<br /> +Tho' I wish to describe you at least half-a-score;<br /> +'Tis an old fashion'd gentleman drest like a show,<br /> +As his grandfather was just a cent'ry ago,<br /> +While his wife in like habit obedient to him,<br /> +Tho' still a fine woman complies with the whim,<br /> +But his daughter an elegant lovely young creature,<br /> +Steals a spice of the mode in her dress tho' not nature,<br /> +For a being so lively, yet modest, and charming,<br /> +So simple so wild to the heart so alarming, 630<br /> +This world or its customs e'er form'd I believe,<br /> +From the very first days of our grandmother Eve.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From a Cumberland castle I find they have crept,</span><br /> +Where from ages to ages their ancestors slept;<br /> +And 'tis vastly amusing to see how they look,<br /> +On the Harrogate world, as a new open'd book,<br /> +Where many new faces appear to delight 'em,<br /> +But many new manners to wound and affright 'em<br /> +The old man is shock'd to find gamesters in orders,<br /> +And barons whose names are well known on the Borders,<br /> +Now the rivals of grooms a degen'rate race,<br /> +The days and the deeds of their grandsires disgrace,<br /> +Nor less does he mourn o'er the ladies undrest,<br /> +While his delicate daughter, tho' silent's distrest;<br /> +But his lady bewails with an innocent sigh,<br /> +That women should gamble, should flirt, or look sly,<br /> +And declares when they wish to do any thing odd,<br /> +They should ask their liege lords for a smile and a nod,<br /> +A practice she thinks in a great many cases,<br /> +Would save much confusion 'mongst knaves, queens, and aces;<br /> +So contracted her conscience, illiberal her notion,<br /> +She fancies submission allied to devotion,<br /> +And thinks (as she promis'd it once) that a wife,<br /> +Should remember her vow all the days of her life,<br /> +The Dragonite ladies all laugh loud enough,<br /> +At her doctrine, her caps, and her long ruffled cuff,<br /> +Declaring her creed like her dress is replete,<br /> +With all that is outré, antique, obsolete,<br /> +'Tis the very worst part, of the very old school,<br /> +Detested by instinct——exploded by rule——<br /> +Lady Shufflecut vows she'll to Coventry send her,<br /> +And the Countess declares not a soul shall defend her,<br /> +Mrs. Rantipole wishes all women so silly,<br /> +Were tied by the neck to the heels of her filly,<br /> +But somehow I feel in the midst of this pother,<br /> +I should much like a wife who had <i>had</i> such a mother,<br /> +With this hint dearest madam I'll bid you good bye,<br /> +Most likely you're tir'd and in truth so am I. 668<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER VII.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>High Harrogate, August 16th</i>.</p><br /> + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">Y</span>ou'll rejoice my kind mother to hear once again,<br /> +I've been shooting with pleasure and health in my train,<br /> +The Major and I went a sporting together,<br /> +Traversing whole regions of sweet mountain heather,<br /> +And brought back such a number of very fine grouse<br /> +They charm'd all the ladies and pleas'd all the house,<br /> +But unluckily just in the bar while I stopp'd,<br /> +To present Mrs. Goodlad the fruits I had cropp'd,<br /> +A fine powder'd Cockney just took up my gun,<br /> +Crying "shooting dear sar must be wery good fun,<br /> +"Pray vitch is the lock sar? and vitch is the handle?"<br /> +When off went the piece like the snuff of a candle,<br /> +My unfortunate fingers at once caught the powder,<br /> +While the poor little Londonite felt at his shou'der<br /> +I could'nt help laughing in spite of my smart,<br /> +To see how he trembled and shook to the heart,<br /> +Declaring "'pon honour 'tvas wery absurd,<br /> +"That the gun should go off vithout saying a vord."<br /> +The ladies sweet creatures all full of compassion,<br /> +Put my hand in a sling which they said was the fashion,<br /> +And who would not gladly put up with a scar,<br /> +To pass for a vet'ran just come from the war?<br /> +So in order to make of the matter the best,<br /> +I prepared for the ball tho' I grinn'd while I drest,<br /> +For that night to the Granby the people were flying<br /> +And you know my dear mother I dance while I'm dying.<br /> +In fact we enjoy'd a most excellent ball,<br /> +And a very fine supper to finish it all,<br /> +Where elegance, plenty, and order presided,<br /> +A trio that ought to be never divided. 698<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lady A——hb——rt—n lovely and young was</span><br /> +the grace, With her three pretty sisters who gladden'd the place,<br /> +The H——pb—ne was there—a Minerva restor'd<br /> +As at Athens she reign'd not less lov'd than ador'd,<br /> +With a partner I met whose dancing quite charm'd me,<br /> +While her wit and good humour delighted, inform'd me,<br /> +Yes indeed lovely Sw—nt—n I ne'er shall forget,<br /> +The pleasure you gave in our short tête a tête.<br /> +Mrs. —— was there, once a very great beauty,<br /> +She conceives to remain such is doubtless her duty,<br /> +For by washes, and rouges, false eyebrows and hair,<br /> +The thefts of old time she contrives to repair,<br /> +Whilst whalebone and buckram combine with great pain,<br /> +What too freely he gives in due limits to rein,<br /> +Was this lady well read in the Proverbs, she'd know,<br /> +That a season for all things is found here below,<br /> +And "a time to be old" if employed as it ought,<br /> +May have blessings "the time to be young" never brought,<br /> +This leads me to mention (by association)<br /> +No people go better to church in the nation<br /> +Than we Harrogate folks, for many go here,<br /> +Never seen in such places before I much fear,<br /> +We go jostling and crowding for seats and quite free<br /> +Turn out the possessors sans céremonie, 722<br /> +And should the poor wretches presume but to grumble,<br /> +Look down with contempt and so bid them be humble,<br /> +But though on our entrance we flounder and flout,<br /> +Be assur'd we are better before we go out,<br /> +For so many fine preachers are heard in this place,<br /> +'Twould be shameful indeed if this were not the case;<br /> +Besides the good Pastor<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> whose locks are grown grey,<br /> +In leading his Harrogate flock the right way.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Last night as I happen'd to ride on the Down,</span><br /> +Some thunder I heard and the sky 'gan to frown;<br /> +So expecting a shower my way I soon bent,<br /> +To a mean looking cottage to 'scape the descent;<br /> +And o'ertook the poor owner decrepid and sickly,<br /> +Who strove but in vain, to move forward more quickly;<br /> +So I said "honest fellow your toiling refrain,<br /> +You may yet reach your cottage untouch'd by the rain."<br /> +When struck by my voice he turn'd round to reply,<br /> +I saw with much pain the tears stand in his eye,<br /> +"I have two little girls Sir, should tempest come on,<br /> +"Most sorely they'll grieve that their daddy is gone;<br /> +"But their mother will sooth them," "their mother,"! he cried,<br /> +And his anguish gush'd forth in keen agony's tide. 743<br /> +Alarm'd and distress'd by the wound I had given,<br /> +I dismounted and leaving my pony with Stephen,<br /> +Attended the mourner whose words weak and faint<br /> +Were rather the language of woe than complaint,<br /> +Tho' worn with disease and by mis'ry opprest,<br /> +Yet one sorrow 'bove all gave a pang to his breast,<br /> +The heart that was widow'd all evils could bear,<br /> +For sorrow is sunk in the gulph of despair!<br /> +"Many men have good wives Sir but one like my own,<br /> +I doubt even great men too seldom have known,<br /> +"When robb'd by disease of our means of subsistence,<br /> +"Her care and industry kept want at a distance;<br /> +"Her tenderness sooth'd while her labour sustain'd me,<br /> +"Nor a word pass'd her lips Sir, that ever yet pain'd me,<br /> +"To her all my burden of suffering was given,<br /> +"And it sunk her to earth while it rais'd her to Heaven,"<br /> +'Twas simplicity's tale which no words could adorn,<br /> +And I wept o'er the being thus 'reft and forlorn,<br /> +Ere I ventur'd to offer that kind of relief,<br /> +Which could sooth but one source of his manifold grief.<br /> +It was sympathy's proof and I wish for no other,<br /> +That however divided still man is man's brother;<br /> +But judge my emotion on ent'ring the cot,<br /> +Where once love and innocence hallow'd the spot,<br /> +To see love and innocence burst on my sight,<br /> +In a form more endearing and beauty more bright,<br /> +'Twas my Cumberland maiden embracing each child<br /> +Like the Angel of pity that wept as she smil'd,<br /> +She had heard the poor babes as they wander'd around,<br /> +Lament their dear mammy laid deep in the ground,<br /> +And stole from her party tho' splendid and gay,<br /> +To wipe their sad tears and to show them their way,<br /> +Now I gaz'd!—my heart throbb'd! while a kind of devotion<br /> +Rose at once to my tongue and obstructed its motion,<br /> +May I ne'er lose the sense of that sacred sensation<br /> +Or forget her blue eyes more divine emanation!<br /> +In folly's light moment in solitude's hour,<br /> +Still dear be its memory, resistless its pow'r,<br /> +And if ever false pleasure to guilt should allure me,<br /> +May a glance on this scene from perdition secure me.<br /> +<br /> +Whatever each thought was reveal'd but in looks,<br /> +And I trust that for once they were legible books,<br /> +Which fairly translated read this way I deem,<br /> +Our compassion is mutual, be such our esteem,<br /> +We walk'd home together a road long and dreary,<br /> +But my heart trod in air, nor did Agnes seem weary,<br /> +And her mother declares she'll go with us to-morrow<br /> +To visit and comfort these children of sorrow,<br /> +And tho' with the Major engaged to my cost,<br /> +To take my revenge for some trifles I've lost;<br /> +And sweet Lady Shufflecut vow'd I should take,<br /> +A hand at her table, yet all I'll forsake,<br /> +For one gentle smile from that excellent being,<br /> +Of all this world's pleasures is best worth the seeing,<br /> +And would she but smile in the way that I want her,<br /> +The wealth of the Indies for <i>that</i> smile I'd banter;<br /> +But adieu, my dear mother, I cannot dissemble,<br /> +That my hopes, and my fears, put me all in a tremble.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER VIII.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>High Harrogate, August 26th</i>.</p><br /> + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">T</span>his week in such various amusement has past,<br /> +I have scarce had an hour to myself since my last,<br /> +On Monday all day we for wagers were prancing,<br /> +And concluded at night with most exquisite dancing;<br /> +Our belles and our ball every other excell'd,<br /> +And our supper the finest you ever beheld;<br /> +With Agnes I danc'd and with Agnes I sat, 801<br /> +And enjoy'd much communion tho' but little chat.<br /> +On Tuesday we all sally'd out on the green,<br /> +To see Mr. —— drive his dashing machine,<br /> +In a figure of eight, but alas he was cross'd,<br /> +And his coach and four bays were to —n—s—n lost!<br /> +For his horses tho' doubtlessly brutes of great sense,<br /> +Were unskill'd in the shaping or saving of pence;<br /> +But he quickly redeem'd them and mounting again,<br /> +Return'd our brisk cheers as he drove o'er the plain.<br /> +The next day we were treated with excellent races,<br /> +But alas when they clos'd there were many long faces;<br /> +And especially poor Lady Shufflecut's prov'd,<br /> +She had dabbled too much in the current she lov'd;<br /> +So profusely her bets had been offer'd around,<br /> +That her wings were close clipp'd ere she drove from the ground;<br /> +When eagerly seeking her loss to repair,<br /> +She doubled the mischief that fell to her share;<br /> +And in words cabalistic combin'd with "done, done,"<br /> +The evening completed what morning begun,<br /> +And tho' till broad day-light she push'd on her chance,<br /> +Yet fortune ne'er deign'd an encouraging glance,<br /> +For Major O'Baffin and Twig'em together,<br /> +Pluck'd her poor little Ladyship down to a feather.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">What pity a female whom nature assign'd,</span><br /> +Such a portion of beauty in person and mind,<br /> +Whose softness and wit might have temper'd thro' life,<br /> +The sweetest ingredients we seek in a wife,<br /> +Should absorb'd in one crime make a hell of that breast,<br /> +Where dove-like benignity once form'd her nest,<br /> +For sure if all storms were together combin'd,<br /> +Of hail, rain, and tempest, steel, thunder, and wind,<br /> +The light'ning's red glare, and the volcano laming,<br /> +Will but shadow the passions of woman when gaming,<br /> +Unmask'd, and unsex'd she presents to our view,<br /> +The image of vice in her own native hue,<br /> +At the fury before us in horror we gaze,<br /> +And ask where the woman is fled in amaze?<br /> +Whence sprung this dread Demon ye sages tell,<br /> +Was she born upon earth, or transported from hell,<br /> +What plagues and what pestilence met in their rambling,<br /> +To form this detestable passion for gambling,<br /> +Society's Upas that withers the ground,<br /> +And poisons the blossoms of virtue around,<br /> +Destroying and blasting all promise of worth,<br /> +Like the curse of the locusts "that ravaged the earth."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Avarice with Misery alone in his cot,</span><br /> +Had endur'd many years an old bachelor's lot,<br /> +He sought from this partner to make a division,<br /> +By seeking himself, for a change of condition,<br /> +Concluding like many old men, that a wife,<br /> +Would banish grim Misery his cottage for life,<br /> +And the better this end so desir'd to obtain,<br /> +He fix'd on a damsel, young, splendid, and vain,<br /> +Her name Prodigality—not over nice,<br /> +The lady lov'd Avarice alone for his vice,<br /> +And reckon'd the pleasure of emptying his coffer,<br /> +Would atone for all other defects in the offer,<br /> +They marry and fly at the lady's suggestion,<br /> +A very long way from the cot of discretion, 860<br /> +For Extravagance sold them a villa and park,<br /> +Which was stock'd by Expence with all wares like an ark,<br /> +Yet the bridegroom astonish'd beheld with great pain,<br /> +That Mis'ry was still the first man in their train,<br /> +He stalk'd o'er their garden—sat down at their table,<br /> +He perch'd on the coach, and he groan'd in the stable;<br /> +And the tongue of the lady tho' flippant and strong,<br /> +Could not keep his keen face from her dressing-room long,<br /> +Nay e'en when her first blooming daughter was born,<br /> +Old Misery stood sponsor in spite of her scorn,<br /> +And while she his rude interference was blaming,<br /> +With mighty sang froid he pronounc'd the babe "<i>Gaming</i>."<br /> +Prodigality sought for a nurse at her leisure,<br /> +And consign'd the fair imp to be dandled by pleasure,<br /> +Hence some have mistaken this child for another,<br /> +Amusement—no kin, but a mere foster brother.<br /> +As the young one grew up she full early display'd,<br /> +Her sire's inclination for scraping in trade,<br /> +Was wond'rous alert at a close calculation,<br /> +And scann'd the whole science of deep computation,<br /> +When embu'd with her father's all grasping desires,<br /> +The rashness of daring her mother inspires,<br /> +And bids her ne'er hesitate roundly to send,<br /> +A bold speculation in search of her end, 884<br /> +Thus covetous meanness combines with profusion,<br /> +To spread o'er her actions the veil of delusion;<br /> +While Misery attends her wherever she goes,<br /> +With hosts of bad passions, and myriads of woes,<br /> +The foremost I ween is that canker-worm Care,<br /> +And the last that black fiend which proceeds from despair,<br /> +Life knows not one torment that gnaws like the first,<br /> +And the last of all <i>deaths</i>, is the death most accurst.<br /> +I hope you'll excuse this long fabling digression,<br /> +As a thing very common in bards by profession,<br /> +And to tell you the truth having been somewhat bit,<br /> +I find I have gain'd a new edge to my wit,<br /> +Yes! thanks to O'Baffin, his friendship's unriddled,<br /> +And her Ladyship's simper, with "Blunderhead's diddled."<br /> +But 'tis well I'm no worse and the wisdom they taught me,<br /> +Experience alone I'm afraid could have bought me,<br /> +For I foolishly slighted Sir J—n G—ff—d's hint,<br /> +Tho' I knew his heart sterling as gold from the mint;<br /> +I wish my good Col'nel aware of this Major,<br /> +Would take home his wife in the country to cage her,<br /> +For this Cormorant's eyes while they glanc'd on my purse,<br /> +Mark'd the Col'nel I doubt for a robb'ry far worse,<br /> +Ah mother! dear mother! I now can perceive it,<br /> +The world is far worse than I once could believe it,<br /> +When we mountaineers from the Peak make these sallies,<br /> +We meet with strange cattle in civiliz'd vallies,<br /> +And our good education I honestly own,<br /> +But fits us to mix with each other alone,<br /> +Our naiveté, simplicity, openness, truth,<br /> +The romantic attachments of warm-hearted youth,<br /> +In the world's chilling atmosphere meet with such shocks,<br /> +We had better ne'er roam from our own native rocks,<br /> +But at present away with these moral excursions,<br /> +And return we again to the list of diversions. 916<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Next came donkey races and pony likewise,</span><br /> +Each nobly contending a suitable prize,<br /> +For the last a fine saddle was stuck up to view,<br /> +Which after hard riding was won by the blue,<br /> +Then we all were amus'd by men jumping in sacks,<br /> +Tho' it laid the competitors soon on their backs,<br /> +But the best sport of all since it shew'd the most skill,<br /> +Was two well lather'd pigs left to run at their will<br /> +Which who seiz'd by the tail was to have for the catching,<br /> +But the grunters in this had the best in the matching,<br /> +And I never yet saw such most excellent fun,<br /> +As they made of the fellows who ventur'd to run;<br /> +Nor do I yet think that they <i>fairly</i> were caught,<br /> +But the company all left the place ere they ought,<br /> +For a very fine turtle that day was set out,<br /> +By a West India heiress presented sans doute,<br /> +And people of taste were impatient to try,<br /> +If Harrogate turtle with London could vie;<br /> +And 'tis with <i>great</i> pride my good madam I tell,<br /> +'Twas allow'd that our cook did all London excel,<br /> +I'm sure that Lord Goût, and Sir Harry Fullfare,<br /> +Each ate three good pints of the soup for their share,<br /> +And Mrs. Gourmander with Lady Allferret,<br /> +Were equally strong in their proofs of its merit,<br /> +And as very good eating some men of deep thinking,<br /> +Have roundly declar'd calls for very good drinking;<br /> +This alliance so nat'ral we sought to pursue,<br /> +And gave to the turtle the honour its due,<br /> +And that night for the first time I stagger'd to bed,<br /> +With more wine on my stomach, than sense in my head,<br /> +But a dose of the water as soon as 'twas day,<br /> +Dispers'd all my head-ache and left me quite gay,<br /> +And 'twas well that this good panacea I took,<br /> +Or Agnes had murder'd my hopes with a look;<br /> +For at best they're so delicate poor little things,<br /> +One glance of her anger would clip all their wings,<br /> +But I nourish the nestlings as well as I'm able,<br /> +And consider each smile as an anchor and cable,<br /> +My courage sometimes rises up to my cheek,<br /> +Where it flushes and glows yet forbids me to speak;<br /> +I would give all the world to make love to <i>one</i> woman,<br /> +With the ease Col'nel B—tem—n can do it in common,<br /> +So pointed, yet meek, sentimental, and charming,<br /> +Tho' always encroaching yet never alarming; 960<br /> +But no wonder the Colonel shines in this way,<br /> +For practice makes perfect in all things they say,<br /> +And to maid, wife, or widow he's constantly paying,<br /> +Those tender attentions most dear, most betraying,<br /> +Unmindful I ween what vexations and smarts,<br /> +Must follow the game in this "play upon hearts."<br /> +Far different the bosom true passion inspires,<br /> +That silently loves, and devoutly admires,<br /> +It sighs not by rule nor makes speeches by measure,<br /> +Nor studies the arts of allurement at leisure,<br /> +Yet feeling all eloquent sometimes reveals,<br /> +That state of the soul which timidity seals,<br /> +And I take it the very best chance for a lover,<br /> +Is that moment when fortune his flame may discover;<br /> +Since no damsel will shrink from a peep at the breast,<br /> +Where her own lovely form is so sweetly imprest,<br /> +For should she regret that the picture's ill plac'd,<br /> +Yet she'll value the wearer for exquisite taste.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Agnes of late has convers'd more than common,</span><br /> +With a Mrs. Latouche a most excellent woman,<br /> +Whose husband like many brave fellows beside,<br /> +By his country was torn from the arms of his bride,<br /> +For three years has he left her his absence to mourn,<br /> +But she now has some hopes of his speedy return,<br /> +She visits this place with a poor ailing aunt,<br /> +Whom she tends with that kindness all invalids want,<br /> +And proves in her tenderness, faithfulness, duty,<br /> +Her virtue at least is as great as her beauty,<br /> +Twin soul with my charmer I think it no wonder,<br /> +(Tho' I'm sorry sometimes) they are seldom asunder,<br /> +I fancy whenever I see them conversing,<br /> +The wife all the worth of her lord is rehearsing,<br /> +But I dare not yet hope that my Agnes replies,<br /> +By adverting to poor Mr. Blunderhead's eyes.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But my hopes or my fears I'll no longer intrude,</span><br /> +For this monstrous long scrawl 'tis high time to conclude.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER IX.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>High Harrogate, August 30th</i>.</p><br /> + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">D</span>ear mother I've so much to say in my letter,<br /> +Tho' the last was too long I fear this wo'nt be better,<br /> +And someway I never know how to begin,<br /> +When I've got a great many fine things to bring in;<br /> +Nor can I with truth to our mutual relief,<br /> +Declare in the first place I mean to be brief,<br /> +For I know to my sorrow no Blunderhead yet,<br /> +Could ever the talent of brevity get,<br /> +So I still must go on with my doggerel chatter,<br /> +And your pardon implore for "extraneous matter."<br /> +You must know all this summer 't has been much the rage,<br /> +For High Harrogate parties new scenes to engage,<br /> +Leaving Studley and Hackfall and huge Brimham rocks,<br /> +And assemble like swallows in emigrant flocks,<br /> +Unmindful what terrible roads they must jolt on,<br /> +To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton,<br /> +And yesterday morn a large party set out,<br /> +To partake the delights of this picturesque rout.<br /> +Fair Fenton, sweet Agnes, and lovely Latouche,<br /> +Were all drove by Sir George in his splendid barouche,<br /> +And if ever I envy'd a man so before,<br /> +I will leave you to judge—but I now say no more.<br /> +The rest in a chariot, and curricles went,<br /> +And set off pretty early by general consent,<br /> +At the Blubber-house Inn we all gladly alighted,<br /> +By the sight of an excellent breakfast invited,<br /> +Which enabled us all to endure future jumbling,<br /> +And substitute laughter for hunger, and grumbling,<br /> +When arrived at the bridge the first glimpse of the scene,<br /> +Majestic yet simple, tho' grand yet serene,<br /> +Gave presentiment sweet of the pleasure before us,<br /> +And our hearts with the music of nature kept chorus,<br /> +We just stopp'd at the Inn to enquire for a guide,<br /> +And while saunt'ring around till this want was supplied,<br /> +A Skipton chaise pass'd; whence a stranger look'd out,<br /> +To see what so many gay folks were about;<br /> +But the moment the form of his visage appear'd,<br /> +What a shriek of delight from his consort was heard,<br /> +'Tis he! 'tis my Henry! no more could she say,<br /> +On the bosom of Agnes just fainting she lay,<br /> +While the gallant Latouche from his vehicle sprung,<br /> +And in speechless delight o'er his Ellinor hung;<br /> +While adown his brown face roll'd the gracefullest tear,<br /> +Which the hero could shed or the lover hold dear,<br /> +'Twas a moment of bliss so intense in delight,<br /> +It concenter'd whole ages of joy in its flight,<br /> +And as Ellinor's eyes in transported amaze,<br /> +Again, and again, on her Henry would gaze,<br /> +The Elysium of extacy glow'd in their beam,<br /> +The world was forgot, and past sorrow a dream.<br /> +<br /> +And think ye that Agnes unmov'd could behold,<br /> +A scene where the bosom's best feeling's were told?<br /> +Ah no! in her cheeks heightened blushes I read,<br /> +Sensibility's whisper that moment had sped, 1050<br /> +And told her when hearts thus congenial could meet,<br /> +Earth knows no communion more pure or more sweet,<br /> +I hail'd the blest omen, and watch'd for the hour,<br /> +Which should lead our wild wanderings to solitude's bow'r,<br /> +But long had we travers'd the ruins and grove,<br /> +Ere my lips dar'd to utter one word of my love<br /> +For such trembling anxiety hung on my breast,<br /> +Even now I scarce know what I falt'ring confest,<br /> +But <i>this</i> I well know that my falt'ring confession,<br /> +Was deem'd by the fair one no flagrant transgression,<br /> +Tho' her words were but few yet her charming confusion,<br /> +Assur'd me forgiveness beyond all delusion,<br /> +And this young bud of hope ere the sun was gone down,<br /> +By her kindness became a fair blossom full blown<br /> +Oh morning of rapture! oh day of delight!<br /> +Oh evening full gemm'd with the spangles of night!<br /> +If e'er I forget the dear moments ye gave me,<br /> +May the world be my guide—may her follies enslave me,<br /> +May the blossom of hope from my bosom dissever,<br /> +And may Agnes be lost to my wishes for ever——<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Do you ask me of Bolton its rocks, woods, and plains,</span><br /> +Where beauty enthron'd in sublimity reigns?<br /> +Where the Wharfe ever lovely, capricious, romantic,<br /> +Or murmuring glides or impetuously frantic,<br /> +Now spreads o'er the plain in majestic repose,<br /> +Now rending the rocks as a cataract flows?<br /> +Or enquire of the Priory whose ruins sublime,<br /> +Shew beauties more soft from the pressure of time,<br /> +And as their fine forms moulder gently away,<br /> +Awake veneration and love from decay?<br /> +Of Bardon's fine tow'r which proudly excelling,<br /> +The Genius of Craven might choose for his dwelling,<br /> +(For Genii and Fairies alone should be found,<br /> +To people the regions celestial around, 1084<br /> +While a Demon of darkness might howl o'er the Strid,<br /> +And lash the fierce torrent that roar'd as he chid,)<br /> +Yes this is the region for fancy to soar,<br /> +Meditation to rove and devotion adore,<br /> +For the painter's whole soul to exist in his eye,<br /> +And the poet's on pinions new plumag'd to fly!<br /> +But alas tho' each charm I could quickly discover,<br /> +Yet expect no description but <i>one</i> from a lover,<br /> +If to tell of the Abbey's grey stones I begin,<br /> +I shall surely contrast them with Agnes's skin;<br /> +From the rock herbage-crown'd all bespangled with dew,<br /> +I shall start to her eye's melting orbit of blue;<br /> +Nor a wave of the river can flow wildly simple,<br /> +But Agnes will rise with her smile and her dimple,<br /> +So aware of my weakness I make no pretension,<br /> +To give you description supply'd by invention,<br /> +But I've bought a whole set of fine prints which will prove,<br /> +That Bolton is meet for the birth place of love.<br /> +And in them I will shew you dear mother, those places,<br /> +The smiles of my fair one illum'd with new graces,<br /> +And when I'm so blest (may the time quickly come,)<br /> +To bring the sweet maid to a Derbyshire home,<br /> +These pictures hung round the old hall shall display,<br /> +How dear to my heart are the scenes they pourtray,<br /> +And Agnes methinks "nothing loth" will behold,<br /> +The spot where my passion first dar'd to unfold,<br /> +And fondly will point to that bank where the willow,<br /> +Re-murmur'd my vows as it bent to the billow.—<br /> +"Dear Bolton adieu!" we all cried while returning,<br /> +"Whoe'er left thy glen's lovely vale without mourning."<br /> +When just as we spoke the fair rectory rose,<br /> +Like the dwelling of peace in the lap of repose,<br /> +We started with pleasure astonish'd to find,<br /> +Such a Paradise close on the Eden behind,<br /> +There Pomona's rich clusters hung sportively round,<br /> +And Flora's gay carpet enamell'd the ground.<br /> +As enchanted we gaz'd the kind owner appearing,<br /> +Address'd us with manners politely endearing,<br /> +And much we regretted the shadows of eve,<br /> +Oblig'd us reluctantly soon to take leave. 1124<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dinner quickly dispatch'd—to the Captain of course,</span><br /> +My seat I resign'd and then borrow'd a horse,<br /> +Be assur'd the barouche was most duly attended,<br /> +And from dangers (that came not) most bravely defended,<br /> +So courageous I felt, that 'twas really a pity,<br /> +We never encounter'd one troop of banditti,<br /> +No fright of the horses induc'd them to try,<br /> +Just to leap o'er a bridge tho' so many were nigh,<br /> +As the roads that would shake her 'twas folly to fly at,<br /> +I was forc'd to ride on most provokingly quiet,<br /> +In hopes that some future occasion will prove,<br /> +My prowess, and gallantry, equal my love.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">This morning I rose with the dawning of day,</span><br /> +On Agnes to think and contrive what to say,<br /> +And after some planning and much hesitation,<br /> +To her father I spoke on this weighty occasion:<br /> +And I gratefully own that the worthy old Squire,<br /> +Was as kind to my hopes as my heart could desire;<br /> +He confess'd 'twas his foible to value old blood,<br /> +And declar'd that my race was both ancient and good,<br /> +'Fore the conquest he reckon'd some fifteen or twenty,<br /> +And when it took place there were Blunderheads plenty,<br /> +In the days of King Stephen 'tis known how they flourish'd,<br /> +And the wars of the Roses the pedigree nourish'd,<br /> +In Harry the eighth's time 'twas easy to trace,<br /> +The parliament owed its support to our race,<br /> +Tho' Elizabeth liked us not yet it was plain,<br /> +We came pretty handsomely in the next reign;<br /> +And continued in pow'r thro' succeeding confusion,<br /> +Till sadly eclips'd by the proud revolution,<br /> +And altho' since that period somewhat declining,<br /> +He trusted the time would return for our shining,<br /> +Tho' 'tis true that the Regent disclaims our alliance,<br /> +From his fondness for freedom, for arts, and for science.<br /> +In short he appear'd both so learned and kind,<br /> +He's the wisest and best of old men to my mind,<br /> +But adieu my dear mother I'm now on the wing,<br /> +With Agnes to taste the Chalybeate spring.<br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right">&c. &c. &c.</p></div> + + +<br /><br /> +<h2>LETTER X.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate.jpg" width="80" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="right"><i>High Harrogate, September 21st</i>.</p><br /> + + +<p> +<span class="dropcap">F</span>or my silence these three weeks your pardon I ask,<br /> +But really dear mother all writing's a task,<br /> +Save for sonnets to Agnes I do not know when,<br /> +My run-a-way fingers laid hold of a pen,<br /> +But I trust your indulgence will freely excuse,<br /> +This natural fault in my negligent muse,<br /> +Since she now comes before you in very great sorrow,<br /> +To tell you I part with my charmer to-morrow,<br /> +Tho' the Dragon's quite full and the company gay,<br /> +And a ball at the Queen's-head is promis'd to-day,<br /> +Yet when Agnes is gone I most plainly can see,<br /> +This place will have lost all attraction for me,<br /> +And I think when the coach and my lovely one in it<br /> +Drives away, that I too must be off the next minute,<br /> +Consolation to find in my mother's kind greeting,<br /> +And forming good plans for our next pleasant meeting.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then fare ye well Harrogate—dear to my heart,</span><br /> +Be the joys you inspire and the health you impart,<br /> +May your springs ever flow an immutable treasure,<br /> +And the breeze that blows o'er you be freighted with pleasure;<br /> +Farewell to your Doctors—more skilful and kind,<br /> +Not a Spa on the Island can promise to find,<br /> +But chiefly my own must I leave with regret,<br /> +For a sigh to our parting is gratitude's debt,<br /> +His suavity, modesty, knowledge, and truth,<br /> +Where the wisdom of age, joins the candour of youth,<br /> +Have made me so truly esteem and respect him,<br /> +While I value true worth I can never neglect him.<br /> +No more must I saunter along the Parade,<br /> +Or fly for a tune to the gay Promenade,<br /> +At Wilson's exhibit my knowledge or wit,<br /> +Or step into Wright's for my picture to sit,<br /> +At Robey's or Bachelor's loiter to chuse,<br /> +A broach or a ring while I hear all the news,<br /> +Or ride on the common and gladly inhale,<br /> +The spirit of strength from the heath-scented gale<br /> +But tho' to your pleasures I now bid adieu,<br /> +Be assur'd that next year shall those pleasures renew,<br /> +Renew and exceed for on Hymen's white wing,<br /> +To these haunts so belov'd I my Agnes may bring,<br /> +The hopes of that blessing my cares shall beguile,<br /> +And I leave thee dear Harrogate now with a smile.<br /> +</p> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>NOTES.</h2> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<h2>NOTES.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 80%;"> +<img src="images/ornate2.jpg" width="78" height="14" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + + +<p><i>Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' &c.</i> <i>Verse +342.</i>—Knaresbro' is a considerable Town, situated on a rock almost +encompassed by the river Nidd. Near the town are the ruins of an ancient +magnificent castle built soon after the Conquest, and in one side of a +neighbouring rock is a cell where an hermit lived, still called St. +Robert's Chapel. The altar is cut out of one piece of solid rock, and on +it are engraved the figures of three heads, supposed to represent the +Trinity. This Robert founded himself a new order of monks, called +Robertines, but it is probable that they soon diminished to nothing, as +we do not meet with their name either in the Breviary or Baronius.</p> + +<p>But the greatest curiosity at Knaresbro' is the petrifying spring +commonly called the Dropping-Well. This natural curiosity is a spring +that rises about two miles from the town, and after running above a mile +under ground, comes to the top of a rock sixteen feet high, after which +it drops through in fifty or sixty places into a bason below, formed by +nature for its reception. Every drop has something of a musical sound as +if it were small stones falling on brass, and near it are many pieces of +moss reduced to a state of petrefaction; there is a fine walk on one +side of the well shaded with tall trees that makes the whole extremely +delightful.</p> + +<h4><i>Extract from British Traveller, page</i> 621.</h4> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>To this brief extract the Editor begs leave to add, that the +finest views of this singularly beautiful place are obtained +from the Low-bridge, the road leading to the Upper-bridge, and +the fields which are nearly opposite the castle; the variety of +cottages and the beautiful knolls of bold and herbaged rock +which every where intersect the scenery, render it the most +picturesque and interesting which can be found in so short a +compass. But though much beauty may be discovered in a few hours +at Knaresbrough, yet its charms will not be exhausted by the +residence of a long life.</p></div> + +<p><i>To Plumpton proceeded, &c. v. 374.</i>—This beautiful spot is rendered +extremely attractive to the visitors at Harrogate, not only on account +of its intrinsic merit, but its vicinity, as it is scarcely three miles +distant from High Harrogate. Plumpton is always most admired by those +who have seen it most frequently, being more pleasing than striking; it +is open to the public on Tuesdays and Fridays; on the road from Plumpton +a fine view of the Honourable Mr. Gordon's magnificent new mansion in +Rudding Park is obtained.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>To Harewood I went the first day I could, v. 380.</i> This splendid +mansion can be seen only on Saturdays; it is justly considered an object +of admiration as it unites elegance with grandeur, and utility with +beauty.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>To Studley, &c. v. 389.</i>—The celebrated grounds of Studley have long +enjoyed a pre-eminence of fame among the northern beauties; their +characteristics are magnificence, uniformity, and neatness. The +stateliness of the trees and the luxuriance of their foliage is +unequalled, and combines with the smoothness of the water and the "clear +smooth shaven green," which surrounds it, to impress on the mind a sense +of repose rather than an emotion of surprise. In its own style, Studley +is perfect, and can never fail to delight, though it may be unable to +astonish.</p> + + +<p><i>But who hallow'd Fountains, &c. v. 393.</i>—The magnificent ruin of +Fountains Abbey included in the grounds of Studley, is an object of +delight and veneration in the highest degree, and will in the eye of an +artist be rendered still more so when it shall have become farther +dilapidated; the first view of it from the grounds of Studley is +extremely commanding and striking, but as a ruin it is more beautiful +and interesting in the interior views; the extent of the church and the +monastery and its offices conveys a clear idea of the power and state +enjoyed by the Benedictine monks, who resided here in all the dignity of +honour and the luxury of wealth—the dining-room and kitchen of the +higher orders and the refectory of the lower, bespeak the richness of +their revenues and their princely method of disposing of them. The +trees, shrubs, and foliage intermingled with these extensive ruins, are +the principal source of its beauties, being combined and contrasted with +the mouldering arches and nodding towers in every possible form; of +these the ivy and wild currant are the most prominent.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby, &c. v. 483.</i>—Newby-hall +the seat of Lord Grantham, is most remarkable for possessing a very fine +Gallery built after the model of the Florentine Gallery so long the +pride of the civilized world; it contains many fine statues and three +sarcophagi, although the largest alone appears to have attracted the +attention of Mr. Blunderhead, who it is plain had but little knowledge +or taste in works of art.—The tapestry in the drawing-room is +considered incomparably fine, but the author has undoubtedly a very +handsome and sufficient excuse for leaving it so abruptly.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall, v. 453.</i>—To those who seek in +landscape gardening for the wilder features of nature harmonized yet +unsubdued by art, this sequestered vale will present an exquisite treat +and afford to the contemplative mind a scene of such deep retirement and +romantic seclusion adorned with objects of such exquisite and concentred +beauty as must meet the eye ere they can be appreciated by the +imagination, which may people these fairy regions with every object of +terror, or delight with equal propriety.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>We went to the Minster, v. 505.</i>—The Minster at Rippon is a fine +gothic structure, it formerly contained a narrow passage called the +Needle of St. Wilfred, used by the monks as an ordeal for female +purity.—The Bone-house contains many thousand skulls, and is generally +shewn as a curiosity.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>Fam'd Brimham rocks, &c.—v.</i> 1009.—These prodigious masses of natural +rock, together with a druidical temple near them, form one of the +objects of curiosity in this neighbourhood; they are distant about +eleven miles.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Editor's Note</i>.</p></div> + +<p><i>To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton. v. +1011.</i>—Bolton-Priory stands upon a beautiful curviture of the Wharfe, +on a level sufficiently elevated to protect it from inundation, and low +enough for every purpose of picturesque effect.—In the latter respect +it has no equal among the northern houses, perhaps not in the +kingdom.—To the south all is soft and delicious, the eye reposes upon a +few rich pastures, a moderate reach of the river sufficiently tranquil +to form a mirror for the sun, and the bounding fells beyond neither too +near, nor too lofty, to exclude even in winter any considerable portion +of his rays.</p> + +<p>But after all, the glories of Bolton are on the north, whatever the most +fastidious taste could require to form a perfect landscape, is not only +found here, but in its proper place; in front and immediately under the +eye, is a smooth expanse of park-like inclosure, spotted with native +elm, ash, &c. of the finest growth; on the right a skirting oak wood +with jutting points of grey rock; on the left a rising copse, still +forward are the aged groves of Bolton-park the growth of centuries, and +further yet the barren and rocky distances of Simon Seat and Barden +Fell, contrasted with the warmth, fertility, and luxuriant foliage of +the valley below—about half a mile above Bolton-Priory the valley +closes, and either side of the Wharfe is overhung with deep and solemn +woods, intermingled with huge masses of perpendicular rocks which jut +out at intervals.</p> + +<p>This sequestered scene was inaccessible till of late, when under the +judicious direction of the Rev. W. Carr, B. D. Rector of Bolton-ridings, +were cut in the woods, and the most interesting parts laid open to the +eye, at the request of the noble proprietor, His Grace the Duke of +Devonshire.<br /> +<i>Extract from Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven.</i></p> + + +<p><i>Howl o'er the Strid, &c.—v. 1085.</i>—In the deep solitude of the woods +above Bolton, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel +little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous +fissure with a violence proportioned to its confinement. The place is +called the Strid from a feat sometimes exercised by persons of great +agility and little prudence, who skip from brink to brink regardless of +the destruction which awaits a faltering step. An accident caused by +this rashness has given a dreadful and sensible interest to this awful +spot, in addition to the commending one it has received by nature, and +which is immediately connected with the records of Bolton.</p> + +<p>In the 12th century, William Fitz Duncan at the command of David King of +Scotland, who was besieging Narham, laid waste this part of Yorkshire +with fire and sword, committing every species of cruelty which barbarity +could suggest, and humanity deplore. In fourteen years after, David +established him by force in the domain he had impoverished, and he +married Aaliza daughter and heiress of William de Meschines a +neighbouring Earl. They had a son commonly called the Boy of Egremont +(from one of his grandfather's baronies where he was born) and who +surviving his eldest brother became the sole hope of his family.</p> + +<p>This youth in his sixteenth year, inconsiderately bounding over this +terrific chasm with a greyhound in his leash, the affrighted animal hung +back and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent.—The forester who +accompanied young Romillé (the Boy of Egremont) returned to the Lady +Aaliza, and with a despairing countenance said, "What is good for a +bootless bene?" to which the mother apprehending some great calamity had +befallen her son, answered, "endless sorrow."—The language of this +question proves the antiquity of the story; its meaning appears to have +been, what remains when prayer is useless.</p> + +<p>This fatal accident induced the Lady Aaliza to translate the Priory of +Embsay, founded by her parents from thence to Bolton on account of its +proximity to the scene of her son's deplorable death.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="right"><i>Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven</i>.</p></div> + + +<p>N. B. Six fine coloured prints of views in Bolton have been published +from original pictures painted on the spot, by T. C. Hofland, among +which is an admirable representation of the Strid.</p> + + +<p><i>Farewell to your Doctors, &c.—v. 1180.</i>—Mr. Blunderhead was +undoubtedly right in this observation, as perhaps not one watering place +can boast medical men of equal ability and liberality, affording so +striking a contrast with those "condemn'd to endless fame," by the +memoirs of his celebrated uncle.</p> + + +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> +<h3>Finis.</h3> +<hr style="width: 25%;" /> + + +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h4>G. Wilson, Printer,<br /> +Market-Place, Knaresbrough.</h4> + + +<br /><br /> +<div class="footnotes"> +<h4>FOOTNOTES:</h4> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Simkin Bl—nd—rh——d Esq. Author of the New Bath Guide.</div><br /> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Doffing, undressing, <i>vide</i> Johnson—a word much used in<br /> +Derbyshire.</div><br /> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Wilson's, and Hargroves.</div><br /> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Saint Robert's Chapel.</div><br /> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Sir Thomas Slingsby, commonly styled "His Honour" by the<br /> +peasantry in his neighbourhood.</div><br /> + +<div class="footnote"><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a> +<a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Rev. R. Mitten who has lived at Harrogate more than 40<br /> +years.</div><br /> + +</div> + + +<br /><br /> +<b>Transcriber's Notes:</b><br /> +original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in +the original<br /> +Page 16, 'objection she pleases.' changed to 'objection she pleases."'<br /> +Page 17, "off their glasses" changed to "off their glasses,"<br /> +Page 30, "&c. &c. &c." changed to "&c. &c. &c."<br /> +Page 44, "long winded epistle," changed to "long winded epistle."<br /> +Page 63, "&c. &c. &c" changed to "&c. &c. &c."<br /> +Page 69, "all grasping desires" changed to "all grasping desires,"<br /> +Page 76, "&c. &c. &c" changed to "&c. &c. &c."<br /> +Page 84, "will behold" changed to "will behold,"<br /> +Page 87, "Chalybeate spring" changed to "Chalybeate spring." + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Season at Harrogate, by Barbara Hofland + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SEASON AT HARROGATE *** + +***** This file should be named 35193-h.htm or 35193-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/9/35193/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Season at Harrogate + +Author: Barbara Hofland + +Release Date: February 7, 2011 [EBook #35193] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SEASON AT HARROGATE *** + + + + +Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + + + + + A + + SEASON + + AT + + HARROGATE; + + IN A + + SERIES OF POETICAL EPISTLES, + + FROM + + _Benjamin Blunderhead, Esquire, to his Mother_, + + IN DERBYSHIRE: + + With useful and copious NOTES, descriptive of the Objects most worthy of + Attention in the Vicinity of Harrogate. + + * * * * * + + Laugh where we must, be candid where we can. + + Pope. + + * * * * * + + Knaresbrough: + + _PRINTED BY G. WILSON,_ + + AND SOLD BY + + R. WILSON, KNARESBROUGH, AND HARROGATE; + + Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, Paternoster Row, London; + Robinson, Heaton, I. & I. Nicholls, and Baines, Leeds; Wolstenholme, and + Todd, York; Hunsley and Thomas, Doncaster; Langdale, Rippon; Edwards, + Halifax; Miss Gales, Sheffield; and Wright, Liverpool. + + 1812. + + + + + Entered at Stationers' Hall. + + + + + ADVERTISEMENT. + + +That admirable production of Mr. Anstey's the "New Bath Guide," may +justly be considered the parent of a numerous progeny of watering place +bagatelles, each of which has some resemblance to its father, though not +one of them can boast the wit, humour, or poetical talent which so +eminently distinguishes those celebrated letters. + +The youngest of this race is now presented to the Public with that +timidity which arises from conscious imperfection, devoid of the fear +which rivalry has endeavoured to excite, and persecution may seek to +perpetuate. Neither nurtured by patronage nor dandled by fashion, +neither supported by rank nor allied to literary honours, this child of +obscurity is cast on the world in a helpless, yet not hopeless state, +for the good man's smile has illumed its cradle, and it possesses that +confidence derived from purity of intention, and that humility which +disarms malice, and draws the sting of criticism. + + B. HOFLAND. + + _High Harrogate_, + + _December 1, 1811._ + + + + + LETTER I. + + To Mrs. Blunderhead, + + _Low Harrogate, July 20th_. + + 'Tis now forty years and dear mother _you_ know it, + Since my great Uncle[1] Simkin set up for a poet, + And I'll venture to say that not one in the nation, + From that day to this caus'd so much admiration, + But tho' I ne'er hope on his humour to hit, + Much less catch his genius or glow with his wit, + Or blend with simplicity satire so keen, + That it laugh'd away sin, while it laugh'd away spleen, + Yet since there are many more folks in _our_ times, + Than were found about _his_, who make verses and rhymes, + I don't see a reason why I should not try, + To spread my poor fins and to swim with the fry, + You know Drewry of Derby would never refuse, + My sonnets, and stanzas, a place in the news, + Besides a great name's a great matter we know, + James Thompson our schoolmaster always said so, + And thought it the best of a hundred good reasons, + Why he should write verses as fine as 'The Seasons' + Now I being last of the Blunderhead race, + As a casuist this doctrine most warmly embrace, + And hope my dear mother the parson and you, + Whilst conning my letters will give me my due, + And say to reward all my labour and pains, + He is just like his uncle _save wanting his brains_. + But a truce to this subject of grave declamation, + My spirit's not suited to sage dissertation, + To anatomists leaving the state of my skull, + To critics their right of pronouncing me dull, + I shall merely go on with my gossiping rhyme, + To tell you my method of killing my time, + And open as well as I can all the merit, + This place of resort is allow'd to inherit. 32 + + When first I arriv'd here I didn't well know, + If at Harrogate High, or at Harrogate Low, + I should place myself snugly, but after some chatter, + With those who were knowing, I fix'd on the latter + So now my good madam behold me sat down, + With a number of invalid folks at the Crown, + But what way _invalid_ to unfold I'm not able, + Unless 'tis with cramming at Thackwray's good table, + Who with turbot, and ven'son, and poultry, and beef, + To the sick with their hunger gives instant relief, + But as to the crop-sick I very much question, + If here they find help for diseas'd indigestion, + The sight of these good things to me was unpleasant, + For you know I am ticklish and qualmish at present + But the Company laugh and declare I shall soon eat, + Three pounds of good food, tho' I now live on spoonmeat, + And in order to bring me about very quickly, + Some good looking dames neither sighing nor sickly, + Advis'd me most kindly the very first night, + To consult with a doctor as soon as 'twas light, + Then take of the water a plentiful dose, + Said they "the well's nigh" so I find by my nose, + "But pray gentle ladies declare in a trice, + "The doctor of whom I must ask this advice?" 56 + + This question once put t'would surprise you dear mother, + How they answer'd at once each more loud than the other, + "There's not one of them all that my fancy so takes" + "Cried a lady in black" "as my good Doctor Jaques," + Says the next "Mr. Richardson's wonderful clever, + Tho' so busy dear heart there's no catching him ever," + Cries a third "if you really want medical skill, + Mr. Wormald will cure you if any man will," + "And I know" "said a fourth" "that whatever may ail ye, + "You're sure of relief if you see Doctor Cayley." + + Afraid of offending each charming adviser, + By a pref'rence that said "ma'am your neighbour is wiser," + I obey'd the loud mandate of Gen'ral O'Flurry, + And this morning consulted with one Doctor Murray + Who sans ruffles, sans wig, and sans avis supercilious, + Has pronounc'd on my case and declares I am bilious, + In my next dearest mother some news I will tell, + Of these wonderful waters when drank at the well + So wishing you ne'er may have need of such liquor + Conclude me yours truly--with love to the vicar. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 1: Simkin Bl--nd--rh----d Esq. Author of the New Bath Guide.] + + + + + LETTER II. + + _Low Harrogate, July 24th._ + + + Oh! how my dear mother shall pen, ink, and paper + Convey to your mind a true sense of the vapour, + Which hov'ring around this new Acheron serves, + To torture and wound your olfactory nerves, + And gives you presentiment piercing and strong, + Of its pungent effects when receiv'd on the tongue. + + Of rotten eggs, brimstone, and salts make a hash, + And 'twill form something like this delectable mash + Nothing else in this world I will wager a pasty, + So good in effect, ever tasted so nasty. + But ah! tis the pencil of Bunb'ry alone, + By which the sweet stream and its pow'rs can be shewn, + Nor does the whole kingdom afford I am sure, + One scene like this well for a caricature, + All ages, and sexes, all ranks, and degree, + All forms, and all sizes distorted you see, + Some grinning, some splutt'ring, some pulling wry faces, + In short 'tis a mart for all sorts of grimaces, + But all you conceive, of age, infancy, youth, + In contortion and whim must fall short of the truth, + One screws up his lips like the mouth of a purse, + While his neighbour's fierce grin gives the threat of a curse, + And a third gasping begs with his eyes turn'd to heaven, + That his stomach will keep what so lately was given + But feeling the rebel will spurn at his pray'r, + Throws the rest of his bumper away in despair. + But woe to the wight of more delicate notions, + When he sees how the well-women deal out their potions, + This levelling tribe of a democrat race, + From the red nos'd postillion, up to her Grace + Feeds each from one glass, without washing, or rincing, + And the sybil but laughs if you make any wincing, + From the modest who issue from cheap Mrs. Binns' + To the great ones who drive from High Harrogate Inns, + Where a difference far more essential is found, + From the sick, to the well, the same cup travels round, + From breath that would poison a Hottentot king + To breath that is sweeter than violets in spring, + But as sulphur prohibits all sorts of infection, + The rational say "there's no proper objection, 116 + To mingling _en masse_ with all sorts of diseases, + Tho' the stomach may make what objection she pleases." + + Now turn my dear mother with me and survey + This company blended of grave and of gay, + See Alderman Gobble, and Counsellor Puffing, + Who came to this well as a penance for stuffing, + And poor Captain Brandylove come to recruit, + Swears the Cognac grape was the forbidden fruit, + Here gentlemen jockies who ride into fevers, + And surfeits obtain from their noble endeavours, + Such as Timothy Twig'em Esquire of our town, + And my Lord Spatterdashit that peer of renown, + And Sir Gilbert O'Fetlock with coach driving coat, + With many more whips of distinction and note, + Come swarming around just to take off their glasses, + Make matches for horses, and bets upon asses. + + But here come a group whose deplorable faces, + E'en surfeit itself would illumine with graces, + See poor Major Liverless come from Bombay, + To send his sharp bile and black jaundice away, + And gripe the contractor, who ruin'd his health, + While he sold (silly booby) his conscience for wealth + For Escarides every physician will tell, + There's no med'cine on earth like the Harrogate well, + But the worm which gnaws gripe will ne'er yield to its mixture, + 'Tis lodg'd in the heart an indelible fixture, + But truce to my preaching--who makes his approach + In such dashing array, and so splendid a coach? + 'Tis the great Doctor Solomon stooping to take, + A dose of this water by way of a freak, 148 + Tho' all the world knows that his own balmy bottle, + (More warm to the heart and more sweet to the throttle) + Not only cures patients but makes 'em so merry, + One spoonful is worth a whole bottle of sherry. + + All hail to Britannia! her plentiful hive, + Has taught many bees like this doctor to thrive, + But from all I can learn not one quack shares her honey, + More deserving than this, since he's free with his money, + "Easy come easy go" is his motto I'm told, + Tho' his daughters are portion'd with ingots of gold + But I scorn upon men any more to descant, + For the Blunderheads always were very gallant, + And if beauty and fashion e'er claim'd admiration, + From the heart of a man since the days of creation, + I'm sure at this time there's the very best reason, + To exult in the beauty that blooms here this season, + E'en now on parade I delighted behold, + Five elegant sisters of exquisite mould, + There too are the C--tt--rs sweet innocent creatures, + With peace in their bosoms and love in their features + And the beautiful L--nds and the L--kes too appear + Like goddesses dropt from a delicate sphere; + Yet mid the assemblage M--cd--nald we trace, + No charmer that equals thy form or thy face, + Tho' W--m--ld such majesty dwells in thy mien, + And in W--ts--n's mild eyes such true sweetness is seen, + That really my muse is perplex'd to declare, + How one can excel where so many are fair, + Oh woman! _dear_ woman! without you all nature, + Would be to my mind like a draught of this water, + And may he whose cold heart and dull head would disprove, + The magic of beauty the solace of love, + And seek from rude man your soft claims to dissever, + Be condemn'd without mercy to drink it for ever, + Ye are stars of the night! ye are gems of the morn! + Ye are dew-drops whose lustre illumines the thorn! + And rayless that night is--that morning unblest, + Where no beam in your eye lights up bliss in the breast, + And the sharp thorn of sorrow sinks deep in the heart + Till the sweet lip of woman assuages the smart, + 'Tis her's o'er the couch of misfortune to bend, + In fondness a lover, in firmness a friend, + And prosperity's hour be it ever confest, + From woman receives both refinement and zest, + And adorn'd by the bays or enwreath'd with the willow + Her smile is our meed, and her bosom our pillow. + But ah! my good mother this subject I find, + Has quite run away with my paper and mind, + For in themes so bewitching so many thoughts pop in + The mania of scribbling finds no place to stop in, + But in praising the ladies you can't think me rude, + So adieu till my next--'tis high time to conclude. + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER III. + + _Low Harrogate, July 30th._ + + + With pleasure dear mother commence I this letter + To tell you already I find myself better, + To the praise of the well be it known I am able, + To pick up my crumbs with the best at the table, + And now think the landlord a very wise man, + For placing thereon all the dishes he can, + No longer fastidious or squeamish or dainty, + I like all I see and rejoice that there's plenty, + But since I wrote last by my doctor's prescription, + I've had a warm bath of which take my description + Fair Derwent how oft in thy pure limpid wave, + Delighted I lov'd in full freedom to lave, + While on thy green banks in soft herbage reposing, + The swains and their flocks, were contentedly dosing + And the landscape around, and above the blue sky + Shed new life on the heart while they solac'd the eye + Little thought I in those days so sunny and smiling, + What a different thing was a Harrogate boiling, + And astonish'd I saw when I came to my doffing[2], + A tub of hot water made just like a coffin, + In which the good woman who tended the bath, + Declar'd I must lie down as straight as a lath, + Just keeping my face above water that so, + I might better inhale the fine fume from below, + "But mistress," 'quoth I in a trembling condition,' + "I hope you'll allow me one small requisition, + Since scrophula, leprosy, herpes, and scurvy, + Have all in this coffin been roll'd topsy-turvy, 232 + In a physical sense I presume it is meet, + That each guest should be wrapt in a clean winding sheet," + "Oh no! my good sir for whatever's your case, + You can never catch any thing bad in this place, + And that being settled on solid foundation, + We Harrogate bath-women spurn innovation." + So caviller like I submitted to pow'r, + And was coddled in troth for the third of an hour. + But that very same night to atone for it all, + I figur'd away the first man at the ball, + For the president being both idle and lusty, + Conceiv'd that his pow'rs "a la danse" were grown rusty, + And consign'd all his rights in this gay exhibition, + To myself as a man of more able condition, + But oh! how it griev'd me dear mother to find, + So very few beaux were to dancing inclin'd; + Constellations of beauty all night shone in vain, + Condemn'd as fix'd stars unremov'd to remain, + Whose influence benignant ne'er reach'd from their sphere, + To warm the cold heels of the gentlemen here, + Captain--r--r consider'd a man of high ton, + All dancing declin'd till the ball was just done, + And then he made shift just to drawl on his legs, + As a lame Chelsea pensioner does when he begs, + But in spite of his ennui and indolent air + He dances _divinely_ the ladies declare. 258 + Of these tho' a great many caper'd away, + Yet many sat still who were lovely as they, + Fair F--z--r was there, and the beautiful P--k--r + With the elegant H--tt--n as lovely tho' darker, + The gay A--x--nd--r and R--g--rs the pretty, + And M--w--r the graceful, and B--ley the witty. + Some came from the Granby and some from the Dragon, + But these are all belles that our own house may brag on, + For at present the Crown is much fuller than any, + Tho' the Inns at High Harrogate boast a good many + The Crescent our neighbour is full to o'erflowing, + And numbers I see to the White Hart are going. + As bad as the times are John Bull makes a shift, + To give the gay world an effectual lift, + And so long as these places can live by their trading + We may smile at Napoleon's threats of invading. + + The place of all places for lounging away, + In amusement and style the first half of the day, + Is at each of the Libraries[3]; where you may find, + Books, music, fine prints, in short all things combin'd, + Which those who have taste are delighted to cherish + And those who have none yet affect much to relish, + Politicians, and ladies, bucks, authors, and peers, + The busy all eyes, and the idle all ears, 284 + May here every morning be seen in perfection, + Like the books, or the news, just laid out for inspection, + So to Wilson's I go every morning inquiring, + "What arrivals there are?"----and the papers desiring, + And look with a deep and significant phiz, + For Peninsula news, or a boxing match quiz, + Nay at times I converse on a poem or play, + And utter no less 'cause I've nothing to say, + Rememb'ring in all kinds of difficult cases, + To make out my meaning by shrugs and grimaces, + Thus a man without reading may give an opinion, + And snatch for an hour dilletanti dominion, + From what sources great critics may judge I can't tell + But I always find mine are produc'd at the well, + When my breakfast eats good and the waters agree + Capel Loft's sugar-candy's not sweeter than me, + This morning I dazzled the minds of the crowd, + By pronouncing Lord Byron "a poet" aloud, + Of Strangford and Moore then condemned the sweet flummery, + Talk'd of Southey the chaste, and the matchless Montgomery, + Call'd Campbell the elegant, Wordsworth the wild + And the great Walter Scott Inspiration's own child; + Then prais'd the sweet bard tho' unknown be his name, + Who gave Talavera's dread battles to fame, + Thus 'mongst reading-room gents I set up for a judge, + And an eulogist too (when the waters will budge) + But if on my stomach they happen to rest, + With such critical spleen is my humour opprest, + Whether minister, gen'ral, or author I seize on, + Be assur'd that I charge him at least with high-treason, + And it then would surprise ye to hear me debate, + On the faults of the war and the crimes of the state, + On wonderful plans for complete reformation, + And fearful predictions for folks of high station, + Then too the grand censor on writers I sit, + And fulminate laws 'gainst pretenders to wit, 320 + Or deeply regret these degenerate times, + Produce prose without sense, without poetry rhymes + Step on to consider the faults of the stage + And conclude there's not one decent thing in the age. + Thus as sung my great uncle "our evil, and good, + "By few is conceiv'd, and by few understood," + If unwisely we praise, or unfeelingly blame + Now shudd'ring with ague, now burning with flame, + Tho' ignorance gener'lly causes this fault, + Yet _here_ 'tis the mixture of sulphur and salt + Which nine times in ten will improve on our nature + As it clears a complexion or softens a feature, + And that without doubt you'll allow is the reason, + Why so many matches are made here each season, + And who knows dear ma'am but this wonderful water + May gain me a sweet wife and yourself a dear daughter? + And at Robey's likewise ev'ry morning I'm shown + Since not to know _him_, would prove I was unknown + Banker, Jeweller, Friseur, and Toyman, his trade is + He's all things for the beaux and still more for the ladies, + But no wonder they like him so much in this place, + For good temper and honesty dwell in his face, + And his shop is so stor'd with all things that are pretty, + He has skimm'd the first cream from Pall Mall and the city. + But from pictures of lounges I'll now give you rest, + For the dinner bell rings and I am not half drest. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 2: Doffing, undressing, _vide_ Johnson--a word much used in +Derbyshire.] + +[Footnote 3: Wilson's, and Hargroves.] + + + + + LETTER IV. + + _Rippon, August 5th._ + + + Since I wrote to you last my dear mother I've been + To see all the lions which are to be seen + Around this gay place--where 'tis much in the fashion, + Small parties to form for this sweet recreation, + So we lately set out on a very fine day, + Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' to pay, 342 + But a painter alone to your eye can disclose, + A view of the scene as before us it rose, + Presenting a coup d'oeil so simple and sweet, + Yet so grand, so sublime, and in fact so complete, + That I fancied the river as winding around, + Was enclosing the spot as if consecrate ground + And this castle crown'd scene will ne'er rise to my mind, + Without claiming a sigh that I've left it behind, + Thro' a beautiful grove we were led to be shewn, + The fam'd Dropping-Well which turns all things to stone, + Yet in silver ton'd tinkling the Naiad departs, + Like ladies whose tears only harden their hearts. + From thence to the cell[4] of a saint we ascended, + By sage antiquarians most highly commended, + Then climb'd to the Fort where an honest old pair, + Would give you more pleasure than any thing there + Tho' their mutual labours have spread o'er the soil, + Astonishing proofs of their patience and toil. + We trac'd the bold ruins still proudly sublime, + Which yielding to man have found mercy from time, + And adorn the sweet scenes they were rais'd to protect, + With picturesque beauty more fine from defect; + Delighted to find wheresoever we roved + "His[5] Honour of Scriven" revered and beloved + As e'er his forefathers have been in those ages, + When the smile of the lord was more priz'd than his wages, + When the sire of the land in the heart of each vassal + Found a bulwark more strong than the walls of his castle---- + From Knaresbro' to Plumpton our party proceeded + A spot that no trav'ller should pass by unheeded, 374 + 'Tis a miniature landscape redeem'd from the waste + As a species of show-box by nature and taste, + Of small rocks and small groves and a pretty small lake, + Where small parties aquatic excursions may take, + And fancy they view in perspective the shores, + Where Loch Lomond smiles or Geneva deplores.-- + So well my first jaunt had agreed with my mood, + That I went to see Harewood the first day I cou'd, 380 + But here my description must certainly fail as, + I have not one talent for painting a palace, + But to draw the proud mansion and bring it to view + Will surely dear mother be needless to you, + Since at Chatsworth we Derbyshire folks have all been, + You will judge I am certain of all that I mean, + When I tell you groves, gardens, fine water, and hall, + Seem the gift of good Genii to spangle this ball. + + To Studley far-fam'd for its beauty we went 389 + And gaz'd on those beauties with placid content, + Tho' some of the amateurs fancied that art, + In planning these grounds had o'er acted her part, + But who hallow'd Fountains thy threshold shall pass + And remember the ponds with their trimmings of grass? + No! rapt in the scene which presents contemplation, + Such objects of interest and deep veneration, + We gaze on the arch whence the ivy descending, + Usurps the rich shrine where the lamp was once pending, + Where the wild currant blooms and the mountain ash bows, + There knelt the great abbot and offer'd his vows, 400 + And where the green beech his proud branches displays + Sweet incense ascended with anthems of praise. + + Oh visions of old as around me ye roll! + Exalting, delighting, ennobling the soul, + Impress on my mem'ry if not on my rhyme + The pleasure I took in these scenes at the time, + For sure 'twas a pity that feelings so fine + Should evap'rate the moment we set off to dine, + Reducing at once the fine flights of the brain, + To the vulgar subjection of hunger, and pain, + Unlike to those heroes we read of in books, + Who living on sentiment scorn meat and cooks, + Fight, conquer, make love to a princess, and win her, + Without ever asking the aid of a dinner, + And heroines we see thro' five volumes can go, + Immers'd in all sorts of distraction and woe, + Without wetting their lips, thus bestowing the lie, + On the proverb which says that "true sorrow is dry." + But be that their affair 'twas no part of our plan, + For our beaux grew voracious, our ladies look'd wan + So we set off for Rippon with stomachs so hearty, + 'Twas well Mrs. Robinson knew of the party, + She gave us a treat which so gladden'd our sight, + That we quickly determin'd to stay here all night + So I thought it was best just to empty my head, + Of its "perilous stuff" ere I ventur'd to bed, + Lest the walk I have taken with gazing and peeping + Should injure my nerves and prevent me from sleeping, + And conceiving a nap is a sound acquisition, + Have sought it (like many) by long composition. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 4: Saint Robert's Chapel.] + +[Footnote 5: Sir Thomas Slingsby, commonly styled "His Honour" by the +peasantry in his neighbourhood.] + + + + + LETTER V. + + _Rippon, August 6th._ + + + As soon as Aurora came sun-rob'd and flaunting, + Our party arose to continue their jaunting, + But think not our hurry to run after pleasure, + Could make us forget a good breakfast to treasure, + Tho' we talk'd of fine colouring, site and vertu, + Yet we gave the hot rolls and the muffins their due; + And even those misses, "who died to be moving," + Bare martyrdom well while the toast they were proving; + Our wisdom and foretl ought admit no denial, + Since our strength was about to experience a trial; + For a medical work in the very first chapter, + Declares that "exhaustion arises from rapture," + And that 'vessels well laden may prove the occasion, + Of giving the head a complete gravitation,' 444 + Ye Naiads and Wood-nymphs, ye Sylphs, and ye Gnomes, + Who flirt on the sun-beams, or languish in tombs, + Who skim o'er the foam on the flow'r wave your pinion, + The brilliant machinery of pages Darwinian. + Oh would that your legions so tiny and taper, + Would light on my pen and illumine my paper; + Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall thy praises, + And paint all the beauties I found in thy mazes, + Those mazes where nature and art have combin'd, + To spread all the charms they together could find. + 'Tis fairy land all, yet majestic and great, + Where Solitude sweetly reposes in state, + And smiles on her mansion with features so mild, + We conceive her most pleas'd where the scene is most wild; + Here gurgles the Eure, thro' a thousand meanders, + And unrivall'd cascades swell the stream as it wanders, + Affording such pictures for light, form, and shade, + As Claude might have gaz'd on, or Roussin pourtray'd, + Or Wilson who gave to his country a name, + To rival the proudest possessors of fame. + But alas my poor muse to this subject must knuckle, + Since her song never reaches to more than a chuckle. + Her flame is unlit, and unfledg'd is her wing, + Untun'd too her lyre, for it has but one string; + Therefore 'tis in vain, I sit down to my desk, + To paint the sublime, or the true picturesque, + For my muse is unworthy poor ignorant Vandal, + To pipe on the genius of Hackfall's old sandal. + + So imagine dear mother whatever you please, + Of rocks, rivers, waterfalls, temples, and trees, + And now with the grotto, the dell, and the dingle, + Sweet Masham must rise and its sylvan scene mingle; + While Swinton appears in the far distant shade, + By Danby and taste, a new paradise made. + While thus you're employ'd, I'll my pegasus whip on, + For once more the dinner is waiting at Rippon. 482 + + With tongues like the lark, and with cheeks like the ruby, + See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby, + Where we saw a fine gall'ry of gods, and a goddess, + Dressed quite a la mode, with short coats and strait boddice. + An empress in robes, and likewise a hero, + Caligula's bust, and a scarified Nero; + I believe they were all very ancient and fine, + For our connoisseur party cried "charming! divine!" + Talk'd much of contour and the taste of the Greeks, + Said the art was now lost or but found in antiques; + But just to refute the false blame of the scorner, + I pointed to two modern boys in a corner, + Who proved without saying a word in their favour, + Our sculptors make cupids as lovely as ever. + + Having view'd the sarcophagus too and admir'd it, + The tapestry came next as the ladies desir'd it; + But fine as I thought it, I soon was withdrawn, + By a glance of the family crossing the lawn; + For in that I saw beauty enough I am sure, + To enchant and delight the most nice amateur, + Nor was it the less to my untutored notion, 498 + 'Cause glowing with life and completed by motion; + But I said not a word, (tho' 'twas hard to refrain,) + Lest the dead should be call'd up in judgment again. + At Rippon next morning we went to the Minster, + But no lady amongst us or matron or spinster, + Propos'd the fam'd Needle of Wilfred to enter, + Tho' all to the Bone-house were willing to venture; + Where one lectur'd shrewdly on Gall's craniology, + And turn'd o'er the skulls without fear or apology; + But so pretty she look'd as she handed them round, + No doubt can I have but her learning's profound; + So chang'd are the ladies since your day good mother, + They are all literati, in one way or other; + But in all my life long, I ne'er saw so much on't, + As during this journey when each gave a touch on't, + At Fountains they spoke of memento and data, + And dirtied their hands to examine the strata. + At Hackfall they seized on the weeds and the grasses, + To determine the genus and settle the classes; + Spoke much of alembics and oxygen gas, + Nor suffered a stone unexamined to pass; + Unmindful meantime of the scene that was nigh, + To awake the full heart and entrance the fond eye, + And to gaze on a speck when a world was before 'em, + Seem'd foolish to me tho' so much I adore 'em; + And I could'nt help thinking good madam between us, + Philosophy's seldom the study of Venus; + 'Tis hers the bright flame of the poet to swell, + Lead the gay mystic dance or resound the sweet shell, + To guide the soft pencil with delicate finger, + And scatter life's roses whilst o'er them we linger, + Concentring the charms we should never dispart, + The gifts of the mind with the truth of the heart. + + But no longer I'll venture this subject to dash on, + Since I know the dear creatures but follow the fashion, + Nor should I have dar'd just to touch on this thistle, + But just to wind up my long winded epistle. 536 + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + + LETTER VI. + + _High Harrogate, August 10th._ + + + Since the world and all in it are subject to changing, + I hope my dear mother you'll pardon my ranging, + Nor think it surprising to find your son plac'd + 'Mongst the very first people for fashion, and taste, + You must know that last week to read novels I took + And had stepp'd up to Wilson's to get a new book, + When who should I hear in the reading-room laughing, + But our Yeomanry Col'nel and Major O'Baffin; + So I stepp'd to the first with a very low bow, + And he was transported to see me I vow, + Call'd me neighbour, and friend, brother soldier, and all that, + Introducing the Major with plenty of small chat; + In short we became all so happy together, + They thought it was best I should just remove hither; + In fact as _High_ Harrogate's now all the go, + 'Twould be folly to stay any longer at _Low_. + The Col'nel and Lady reside at the Granby, + But the Major and I who are good friends as can be, + Prefer at the Dragon to take up our quarters; + Where the company's charming, tho' some of 'em Tartars, + And the eating's so good and the claret so fine, + 'Tis worth riding post fifty miles just to dine, + And in spite of the bustle (good madam don't frown,) + The house and the garden's as neat as your own. + + Here's a young widow Jointurewell lately come dashing, + But the Countess of Allwit's the woman for splashing, + Her bays in their coach are as constantly prancing, + As the widow's black eyes on the strangers are glancing. + The fam'd ----r----n---- he is this moment arriving, + To strangers well known by the style of his driving + For he sports his own mail his own trumpet he blows, + So he well may be known wheresoever he goes, + He's the soul of good humour, of frolic, and whim, + And High Harrogate owes half its pleasures to him. + Lady Shufflecut's here and her husband Sir Ned, + She games all the night while he's snoring in bed, + And tho' handsome and young he's so idle all day, + That he seldom assists in her labours at play; + So the lady transacts all the business alone, + Tho' he on her efforts subsists 'tis well known, + Her friend Lady Sweepstakes oft comes for a rubber, + And gen'rally finds some one willing to drub her, + But tied by her Lord to play only for guineas, + She bites while she's bit and then laughs at the ninnies; + Who in losing their time have egregiously blundered, + In but taking ten pounds where they hoped for a hundred; + For wit and good humour this lady can boast, + And her temper can keep when her money is lost. + + We've a dashing buck Parson among us a creature, + I can never describe since 'tis quite out of nature, + Tho' the race is antique for I'm sure 'tis the same, + That St. Paul has declar'd can take "glory in shame," + For he's constantly gaming or quizzing the church, + Where he holds two good livings but leaves in the lurch, + Tho' the "fusty old bishop" has sought to restore him, + To residence, duty, and "stupid decorum." 590 + + In other bad men I am sorry to say, + We wink at the sin when the humour is gay, + And trusting the evil's not sunk in their hearts + Their errors o'erlook for their temper or parts; + But he who embracing an holy profession, + Thus robs some good man of a needful possession; + While conscious his heart is abandon'd and vicious, + Is disgustingly wicked, thence seldom pernicious; + So a beacon of warning this coxcomb supplies, + Since few men will follow what all men despise; + And bad as the world is he stands by himself, + We have good ones enow to lay him on the shelf; + Who e'en in this place of profuse dissipation, + Still honour themselves, and adorn their vocation. + + The comical Banker from C--t--r is here, + Whom Blackett retail'd to us often last year, + His humour is droll and his tongue like a sickle, + Cuts so sharp, and so smooth, that you bleed while you tickle; + Lady Shufflecut oft from his spleen gets a hit, + But she pockets his money which pays for his wit, + As beauties the ----nds are at present the rage, + And one has two strings to her bow I'll engage, + But I'm sorry to say that the elegant Julie, + Has the fault of the day and forgets to love truly, + For a fine showy rake whose pretension to merit, + Is a far distant title he ne'er may inherit, + She forsakes a most excellent well manner'd youth, + Who deserves her no less for his virtue than truth. + How soon will she learn from her new master's teaching, + "She has cast off a pearl", but I've no time for preaching; + So I only shall mention one family more, + Tho' I wish to describe you at least half-a-score; + 'Tis an old fashion'd gentleman drest like a show, + As his grandfather was just a cent'ry ago, + While his wife in like habit obedient to him, + Tho' still a fine woman complies with the whim, + But his daughter an elegant lovely young creature, + Steals a spice of the mode in her dress tho' not nature, + For a being so lively, yet modest, and charming, + So simple so wild to the heart so alarming, 630 + This world or its customs e'er form'd I believe, + From the very first days of our grandmother Eve. + + From a Cumberland castle I find they have crept, + Where from ages to ages their ancestors slept; + And 'tis vastly amusing to see how they look, + On the Harrogate world, as a new open'd book, + Where many new faces appear to delight 'em, + But many new manners to wound and affright 'em + The old man is shock'd to find gamesters in orders, + And barons whose names are well known on the Borders, + Now the rivals of grooms a degen'rate race, + The days and the deeds of their grandsires disgrace, + Nor less does he mourn o'er the ladies undrest, + While his delicate daughter, tho' silent's distrest; + But his lady bewails with an innocent sigh, + That women should gamble, should flirt, or look sly, + And declares when they wish to do any thing odd, + They should ask their liege lords for a smile and a nod, + A practice she thinks in a great many cases, + Would save much confusion 'mongst knaves, queens, and aces; + So contracted her conscience, illiberal her notion, + She fancies submission allied to devotion, + And thinks (as she promis'd it once) that a wife, + Should remember her vow all the days of her life, + The Dragonite ladies all laugh loud enough, + At her doctrine, her caps, and her long ruffled cuff, + Declaring her creed like her dress is replete, + With all that is outre, antique, obsolete, + 'Tis the very worst part, of the very old school, + Detested by instinct----exploded by rule---- + Lady Shufflecut vows she'll to Coventry send her, + And the Countess declares not a soul shall defend her, + Mrs. Rantipole wishes all women so silly, + Were tied by the neck to the heels of her filly, + But somehow I feel in the midst of this pother, + I should much like a wife who had _had_ such a mother, + With this hint dearest madam I'll bid you good bye, + Most likely you're tir'd and in truth so am I. 668 + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER VII. + + _High Harrogate, August 16th._ + + + You'll rejoice my kind mother to hear once again, + I've been shooting with pleasure and health in my train, + The Major and I went a sporting together, + Traversing whole regions of sweet mountain heather, + And brought back such a number of very fine grouse + They charm'd all the ladies and pleas'd all the house, + But unluckily just in the bar while I stopp'd, + To present Mrs. Goodlad the fruits I had cropp'd, + A fine powder'd Cockney just took up my gun, + Crying "shooting dear sar must be wery good fun, + "Pray vitch is the lock sar? and vitch is the handle?" + When off went the piece like the snuff of a candle, + My unfortunate fingers at once caught the powder, + While the poor little Londonite felt at his shou'der + I could'nt help laughing in spite of my smart, + To see how he trembled and shook to the heart, + Declaring "'pon honour 'tvas wery absurd, + "That the gun should go off vithout saying a vord." + The ladies sweet creatures all full of compassion, + Put my hand in a sling which they said was the fashion, + And who would not gladly put up with a scar, + To pass for a vet'ran just come from the war? + So in order to make of the matter the best, + I prepared for the ball tho' I grinn'd while I drest, + For that night to the Granby the people were flying + And you know my dear mother I dance while I'm dying. + In fact we enjoy'd a most excellent ball, + And a very fine supper to finish it all, + Where elegance, plenty, and order presided, + A trio that ought to be never divided. 698 + + Lady A----hb----rt--n lovely and young was + the grace, With her three pretty sisters who gladden'd the place, + The H----pb--ne was there--a Minerva restor'd + As at Athens she reign'd not less lov'd than ador'd, + With a partner I met whose dancing quite charm'd me, + While her wit and good humour delighted, inform'd me, + Yes indeed lovely Sw--nt--n I ne'er shall forget, + The pleasure you gave in our short tete a tete. + Mrs. ---- was there, once a very great beauty, + She conceives to remain such is doubtless her duty, + For by washes, and rouges, false eyebrows and hair, + The thefts of old time she contrives to repair, + Whilst whalebone and buckram combine with great pain, + What too freely he gives in due limits to rein, + Was this lady well read in the Proverbs, she'd know, + That a season for all things is found here below, + And "a time to be old" if employed as it ought, + May have blessings "the time to be young" never brought, + This leads me to mention (by association) + No people go better to church in the nation + Than we Harrogate folks, for many go here, + Never seen in such places before I much fear, + We go jostling and crowding for seats and quite free + Turn out the possessors sans ceremonie, 722 + And should the poor wretches presume but to grumble, + Look down with contempt and so bid them be humble, + But though on our entrance we flounder and flout, + Be assur'd we are better before we go out, + For so many fine preachers are heard in this place, + 'Twould be shameful indeed if this were not the case; + Besides the good Pastor[6] whose locks are grown grey, + In leading his Harrogate flock the right way. + + Last night as I happen'd to ride on the Down, + Some thunder I heard and the sky 'gan to frown; + So expecting a shower my way I soon bent, + To a mean looking cottage to 'scape the descent; + And o'ertook the poor owner decrepid and sickly, + Who strove but in vain, to move forward more quickly; + So I said "honest fellow your toiling refrain, + You may yet reach your cottage untouch'd by the rain." + When struck by my voice he turn'd round to reply, + I saw with much pain the tears stand in his eye, + "I have two little girls Sir, should tempest come on, + "Most sorely they'll grieve that their daddy is gone; + "But their mother will sooth them," "their mother,"! he cried, + And his anguish gush'd forth in keen agony's tide. 743 + Alarm'd and distress'd by the wound I had given, + I dismounted and leaving my pony with Stephen, + Attended the mourner whose words weak and faint + Were rather the language of woe than complaint, + Tho' worn with disease and by mis'ry opprest, + Yet one sorrow 'bove all gave a pang to his breast, + The heart that was widow'd all evils could bear, + For sorrow is sunk in the gulph of despair! + "Many men have good wives Sir but one like my own, + I doubt even great men too seldom have known, + "When robb'd by disease of our means of subsistence, + "Her care and industry kept want at a distance; + "Her tenderness sooth'd while her labour sustain'd me, + "Nor a word pass'd her lips Sir, that ever yet pain'd me, + "To her all my burden of suffering was given, + "And it sunk her to earth while it rais'd her to Heaven," + 'Twas simplicity's tale which no words could adorn, + And I wept o'er the being thus 'reft and forlorn, + Ere I ventur'd to offer that kind of relief, + Which could sooth but one source of his manifold grief. + It was sympathy's proof and I wish for no other, + That however divided still man is man's brother; + But judge my emotion on ent'ring the cot, + Where once love and innocence hallow'd the spot, + To see love and innocence burst on my sight, + In a form more endearing and beauty more bright, + 'Twas my Cumberland maiden embracing each child + Like the Angel of pity that wept as she smil'd, + She had heard the poor babes as they wander'd around, + Lament their dear mammy laid deep in the ground, + And stole from her party tho' splendid and gay, + To wipe their sad tears and to show them their way, + Now I gaz'd!--my heart throbb'd! while a kind of devotion + Rose at once to my tongue and obstructed its motion, + May I ne'er lose the sense of that sacred sensation + Or forget her blue eyes more divine emanation! + In folly's light moment in solitude's hour, + Still dear be its memory, resistless its pow'r, + And if ever false pleasure to guilt should allure me, + May a glance on this scene from perdition secure me. + + Whatever each thought was reveal'd but in looks, + And I trust that for once they were legible books, + Which fairly translated read this way I deem, + Our compassion is mutual, be such our esteem, + We walk'd home together a road long and dreary, + But my heart trod in air, nor did Agnes seem weary, + And her mother declares she'll go with us to-morrow + To visit and comfort these children of sorrow, + And tho' with the Major engaged to my cost, + To take my revenge for some trifles I've lost; + And sweet Lady Shufflecut vow'd I should take, + A hand at her table, yet all I'll forsake, + For one gentle smile from that excellent being, + Of all this world's pleasures is best worth the seeing, + And would she but smile in the way that I want her, + The wealth of the Indies for _that_ smile I'd banter; + But adieu, my dear mother, I cannot dissemble, + That my hopes, and my fears, put me all in a tremble. + + &c. &c. &c. + +[Footnote 6: Rev. R. Mitten who has lived at Harrogate more than 40 +years.] + + + + + LETTER VIII. + + _High Harrogate, August 26th._ + + + This week in such various amusement has past, + I have scarce had an hour to myself since my last, + On Monday all day we for wagers were prancing, + And concluded at night with most exquisite dancing; + Our belles and our ball every other excell'd, + And our supper the finest you ever beheld; + With Agnes I danc'd and with Agnes I sat, 801 + And enjoy'd much communion tho' but little chat. + On Tuesday we all sally'd out on the green, + To see Mr. ---- drive his dashing machine, + In a figure of eight, but alas he was cross'd, + And his coach and four bays were to --n--s--n lost! + For his horses tho' doubtlessly brutes of great sense, + Were unskill'd in the shaping or saving of pence; + But he quickly redeem'd them and mounting again, + Return'd our brisk cheers as he drove o'er the plain. + The next day we were treated with excellent races, + But alas when they clos'd there were many long faces; + And especially poor Lady Shufflecut's prov'd, + She had dabbled too much in the current she lov'd; + So profusely her bets had been offer'd around, + That her wings were close clipp'd ere she drove from the ground; + When eagerly seeking her loss to repair, + She doubled the mischief that fell to her share; + And in words cabalistic combin'd with "done, done," + The evening completed what morning begun, + And tho' till broad day-light she push'd on her chance, + Yet fortune ne'er deign'd an encouraging glance, + For Major O'Baffin and Twig'em together, + Pluck'd her poor little Ladyship down to a feather. + + What pity a female whom nature assign'd, + Such a portion of beauty in person and mind, + Whose softness and wit might have temper'd thro' life, + The sweetest ingredients we seek in a wife, + Should absorb'd in one crime make a hell of that breast, + Where dove-like benignity once form'd her nest, + For sure if all storms were together combin'd, + Of hail, rain, and tempest, steel, thunder, and wind, + The light'ning's red glare, and the volcano laming, + Will but shadow the passions of woman when gaming, + Unmask'd, and unsex'd she presents to our view, + The image of vice in her own native hue, + At the fury before us in horror we gaze, + And ask where the woman is fled in amaze? + Whence sprung this dread Demon ye sages tell, + Was she born upon earth, or transported from hell, + What plagues and what pestilence met in their rambling, + To form this detestable passion for gambling, + Society's Upas that withers the ground, + And poisons the blossoms of virtue around, + Destroying and blasting all promise of worth, + Like the curse of the locusts "that ravaged the earth." + + When Avarice with Misery alone in his cot, + Had endur'd many years an old bachelor's lot, + He sought from this partner to make a division, + By seeking himself, for a change of condition, + Concluding like many old men, that a wife, + Would banish grim Misery his cottage for life, + And the better this end so desir'd to obtain, + He fix'd on a damsel, young, splendid, and vain, + Her name Prodigality--not over nice, + The lady lov'd Avarice alone for his vice, + And reckon'd the pleasure of emptying his coffer, + Would atone for all other defects in the offer, + They marry and fly at the lady's suggestion, + A very long way from the cot of discretion, 860 + For Extravagance sold them a villa and park, + Which was stock'd by Expence with all wares like an ark, + Yet the bridegroom astonish'd beheld with great pain, + That Mis'ry was still the first man in their train, + He stalk'd o'er their garden--sat down at their table, + He perch'd on the coach, and he groan'd in the stable; + And the tongue of the lady tho' flippant and strong, + Could not keep his keen face from her dressing-room long, + Nay e'en when her first blooming daughter was born, + Old Misery stood sponsor in spite of her scorn, + And while she his rude interference was blaming, + With mighty sang froid he pronounc'd the babe "_Gaming_." + Prodigality sought for a nurse at her leisure, + And consign'd the fair imp to be dandled by pleasure, + Hence some have mistaken this child for another, + Amusement--no kin, but a mere foster brother. + As the young one grew up she full early display'd, + Her sire's inclination for scraping in trade, + Was wond'rous alert at a close calculation, + And scann'd the whole science of deep computation, + When embu'd with her father's all grasping desires, + The rashness of daring her mother inspires, + And bids her ne'er hesitate roundly to send, + A bold speculation in search of her end, 884 + Thus covetous meanness combines with profusion, + To spread o'er her actions the veil of delusion; + While Misery attends her wherever she goes, + With hosts of bad passions, and myriads of woes, + The foremost I ween is that canker-worm Care, + And the last that black fiend which proceeds from despair, + Life knows not one torment that gnaws like the first, + And the last of all _deaths_, is the death most accurst. + I hope you'll excuse this long fabling digression, + As a thing very common in bards by profession, + And to tell you the truth having been somewhat bit, + I find I have gain'd a new edge to my wit, + Yes! thanks to O'Baffin, his friendship's unriddled, + And her Ladyship's simper, with "Blunderhead's diddled." + But 'tis well I'm no worse and the wisdom they taught me, + Experience alone I'm afraid could have bought me, + For I foolishly slighted Sir J--n G--ff--d's hint, + Tho' I knew his heart sterling as gold from the mint; + I wish my good Col'nel aware of this Major, + Would take home his wife in the country to cage her, + For this Cormorant's eyes while they glanc'd on my purse, + Mark'd the Col'nel I doubt for a robb'ry far worse, + Ah mother! dear mother! I now can perceive it, + The world is far worse than I once could believe it, + When we mountaineers from the Peak make these sallies, + We meet with strange cattle in civiliz'd vallies, + And our good education I honestly own, + But fits us to mix with each other alone, + Our naivete, simplicity, openness, truth, + The romantic attachments of warm-hearted youth, + In the world's chilling atmosphere meet with such shocks, + We had better ne'er roam from our own native rocks, + But at present away with these moral excursions, + And return we again to the list of diversions. 916 + + Next came donkey races and pony likewise, + Each nobly contending a suitable prize, + For the last a fine saddle was stuck up to view, + Which after hard riding was won by the blue, + Then we all were amus'd by men jumping in sacks, + Tho' it laid the competitors soon on their backs, + But the best sport of all since it shew'd the most skill, + Was two well lather'd pigs left to run at their will + Which who seiz'd by the tail was to have for the catching, + But the grunters in this had the best in the matching, + And I never yet saw such most excellent fun, + As they made of the fellows who ventur'd to run; + Nor do I yet think that they _fairly_ were caught, + But the company all left the place ere they ought, + For a very fine turtle that day was set out, + By a West India heiress presented sans doute, + And people of taste were impatient to try, + If Harrogate turtle with London could vie; + And 'tis with _great_ pride my good madam I tell, + 'Twas allow'd that our cook did all London excel, + I'm sure that Lord Gout, and Sir Harry Fullfare, + Each ate three good pints of the soup for their share, + And Mrs. Gourmander with Lady Allferret, + Were equally strong in their proofs of its merit, + And as very good eating some men of deep thinking, + Have roundly declar'd calls for very good drinking; + This alliance so nat'ral we sought to pursue, + And gave to the turtle the honour its due, + And that night for the first time I stagger'd to bed, + With more wine on my stomach, than sense in my head, + But a dose of the water as soon as 'twas day, + Dispers'd all my head-ache and left me quite gay, + And 'twas well that this good panacea I took, + Or Agnes had murder'd my hopes with a look; + For at best they're so delicate poor little things, + One glance of her anger would clip all their wings, + But I nourish the nestlings as well as I'm able, + And consider each smile as an anchor and cable, + My courage sometimes rises up to my cheek, + Where it flushes and glows yet forbids me to speak; + I would give all the world to make love to _one_ woman, + With the ease Col'nel B--tem--n can do it in common, + So pointed, yet meek, sentimental, and charming, + Tho' always encroaching yet never alarming; 960 + But no wonder the Colonel shines in this way, + For practice makes perfect in all things they say, + And to maid, wife, or widow he's constantly paying, + Those tender attentions most dear, most betraying, + Unmindful I ween what vexations and smarts, + Must follow the game in this "play upon hearts." + Far different the bosom true passion inspires, + That silently loves, and devoutly admires, + It sighs not by rule nor makes speeches by measure, + Nor studies the arts of allurement at leisure, + Yet feeling all eloquent sometimes reveals, + That state of the soul which timidity seals, + And I take it the very best chance for a lover, + Is that moment when fortune his flame may discover; + Since no damsel will shrink from a peep at the breast, + Where her own lovely form is so sweetly imprest, + For should she regret that the picture's ill plac'd, + Yet she'll value the wearer for exquisite taste. + + My Agnes of late has convers'd more than common, + With a Mrs. Latouche a most excellent woman, + Whose husband like many brave fellows beside, + By his country was torn from the arms of his bride, + For three years has he left her his absence to mourn, + But she now has some hopes of his speedy return, + She visits this place with a poor ailing aunt, + Whom she tends with that kindness all invalids want, + And proves in her tenderness, faithfulness, duty, + Her virtue at least is as great as her beauty, + Twin soul with my charmer I think it no wonder, + (Tho' I'm sorry sometimes) they are seldom asunder, + I fancy whenever I see them conversing, + The wife all the worth of her lord is rehearsing, + But I dare not yet hope that my Agnes replies, + By adverting to poor Mr. Blunderhead's eyes. + But my hopes or my fears I'll no longer intrude, + For this monstrous long scrawl 'tis high time to conclude. + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER IX. + + _High Harrogate, August 30th._ + + + Dear mother I've so much to say in my letter, + Tho' the last was too long I fear this wo'nt be better, + And someway I never know how to begin, + When I've got a great many fine things to bring in; + Nor can I with truth to our mutual relief, + Declare in the first place I mean to be brief, + For I know to my sorrow no Blunderhead yet, + Could ever the talent of brevity get, + So I still must go on with my doggerel chatter, + And your pardon implore for "extraneous matter." + You must know all this summer 't has been much the rage, + For High Harrogate parties new scenes to engage, + Leaving Studley and Hackfall and huge Brimham rocks, + And assemble like swallows in emigrant flocks, + Unmindful what terrible roads they must jolt on, + To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton, + And yesterday morn a large party set out, + To partake the delights of this picturesque rout. + Fair Fenton, sweet Agnes, and lovely Latouche, + Were all drove by Sir George in his splendid barouche, + And if ever I envy'd a man so before, + I will leave you to judge--but I now say no more. + The rest in a chariot, and curricles went, + And set off pretty early by general consent, + At the Blubber-house Inn we all gladly alighted, + By the sight of an excellent breakfast invited, + Which enabled us all to endure future jumbling, + And substitute laughter for hunger, and grumbling, + When arrived at the bridge the first glimpse of the scene, + Majestic yet simple, tho' grand yet serene, + Gave presentiment sweet of the pleasure before us, + And our hearts with the music of nature kept chorus, + We just stopp'd at the Inn to enquire for a guide, + And while saunt'ring around till this want was supplied, + A Skipton chaise pass'd; whence a stranger look'd out, + To see what so many gay folks were about; + But the moment the form of his visage appear'd, + What a shriek of delight from his consort was heard, + 'Tis he! 'tis my Henry! no more could she say, + On the bosom of Agnes just fainting she lay, + While the gallant Latouche from his vehicle sprung, + And in speechless delight o'er his Ellinor hung; + While adown his brown face roll'd the gracefullest tear, + Which the hero could shed or the lover hold dear, + 'Twas a moment of bliss so intense in delight, + It concenter'd whole ages of joy in its flight, + And as Ellinor's eyes in transported amaze, + Again, and again, on her Henry would gaze, + The Elysium of extacy glow'd in their beam, + The world was forgot, and past sorrow a dream. + + And think ye that Agnes unmov'd could behold, + A scene where the bosom's best feeling's were told? + Ah no! in her cheeks heightened blushes I read, + Sensibility's whisper that moment had sped, 1050 + And told her when hearts thus congenial could meet, + Earth knows no communion more pure or more sweet, + I hail'd the blest omen, and watch'd for the hour, + Which should lead our wild wanderings to solitude's bow'r, + But long had we travers'd the ruins and grove, + Ere my lips dar'd to utter one word of my love + For such trembling anxiety hung on my breast, + Even now I scarce know what I falt'ring confest, + But _this_ I well know that my falt'ring confession, + Was deem'd by the fair one no flagrant transgression, + Tho' her words were but few yet her charming confusion, + Assur'd me forgiveness beyond all delusion, + And this young bud of hope ere the sun was gone down, + By her kindness became a fair blossom full blown + Oh morning of rapture! oh day of delight! + Oh evening full gemm'd with the spangles of night! + If e'er I forget the dear moments ye gave me, + May the world be my guide--may her follies enslave me, + May the blossom of hope from my bosom dissever, + And may Agnes be lost to my wishes for ever---- + + Do you ask me of Bolton its rocks, woods, and plains, + Where beauty enthron'd in sublimity reigns? + Where the Wharfe ever lovely, capricious, romantic, + Or murmuring glides or impetuously frantic, + Now spreads o'er the plain in majestic repose, + Now rending the rocks as a cataract flows? + Or enquire of the Priory whose ruins sublime, + Shew beauties more soft from the pressure of time, + And as their fine forms moulder gently away, + Awake veneration and love from decay? + Of Bardon's fine tow'r which proudly excelling, + The Genius of Craven might choose for his dwelling, + (For Genii and Fairies alone should be found, + To people the regions celestial around, 1084 + While a Demon of darkness might howl o'er the Strid, + And lash the fierce torrent that roar'd as he chid,) + Yes this is the region for fancy to soar, + Meditation to rove and devotion adore, + For the painter's whole soul to exist in his eye, + And the poet's on pinions new plumag'd to fly! + But alas tho' each charm I could quickly discover, + Yet expect no description but _one_ from a lover, + If to tell of the Abbey's grey stones I begin, + I shall surely contrast them with Agnes's skin; + From the rock herbage-crown'd all bespangled with dew, + I shall start to her eye's melting orbit of blue; + Nor a wave of the river can flow wildly simple, + But Agnes will rise with her smile and her dimple, + So aware of my weakness I make no pretension, + To give you description supply'd by invention, + But I've bought a whole set of fine prints which will prove, + That Bolton is meet for the birth place of love. + And in them I will shew you dear mother, those places, + The smiles of my fair one illum'd with new graces, + And when I'm so blest (may the time quickly come,) + To bring the sweet maid to a Derbyshire home, + These pictures hung round the old hall shall display, + How dear to my heart are the scenes they pourtray, + And Agnes methinks "nothing loth" will behold, + The spot where my passion first dar'd to unfold, + And fondly will point to that bank where the willow, + Re-murmur'd my vows as it bent to the billow.-- + "Dear Bolton adieu!" we all cried while returning, + "Whoe'er left thy glen's lovely vale without mourning." + When just as we spoke the fair rectory rose, + Like the dwelling of peace in the lap of repose, + We started with pleasure astonish'd to find, + Such a Paradise close on the Eden behind, + There Pomona's rich clusters hung sportively round, + And Flora's gay carpet enamell'd the ground. + As enchanted we gaz'd the kind owner appearing, + Address'd us with manners politely endearing, + And much we regretted the shadows of eve, + Oblig'd us reluctantly soon to take leave. 1124 + + Dinner quickly dispatch'd--to the Captain of course, + My seat I resign'd and then borrow'd a horse, + Be assur'd the barouche was most duly attended, + And from dangers (that came not) most bravely defended, + So courageous I felt, that 'twas really a pity, + We never encounter'd one troop of banditti, + No fright of the horses induc'd them to try, + Just to leap o'er a bridge tho' so many were nigh, + As the roads that would shake her 'twas folly to fly at, + I was forc'd to ride on most provokingly quiet, + In hopes that some future occasion will prove, + My prowess, and gallantry, equal my love. + + This morning I rose with the dawning of day, + On Agnes to think and contrive what to say, + And after some planning and much hesitation, + To her father I spoke on this weighty occasion: + And I gratefully own that the worthy old Squire, + Was as kind to my hopes as my heart could desire; + He confess'd 'twas his foible to value old blood, + And declar'd that my race was both ancient and good, + 'Fore the conquest he reckon'd some fifteen or twenty, + And when it took place there were Blunderheads plenty, + In the days of King Stephen 'tis known how they flourish'd, + And the wars of the Roses the pedigree nourish'd, + In Harry the eighth's time 'twas easy to trace, + The parliament owed its support to our race, + Tho' Elizabeth liked us not yet it was plain, + We came pretty handsomely in the next reign; + And continued in pow'r thro' succeeding confusion, + Till sadly eclips'd by the proud revolution, + And altho' since that period somewhat declining, + He trusted the time would return for our shining, + Tho' 'tis true that the Regent disclaims our alliance, + From his fondness for freedom, for arts, and for science. + In short he appear'd both so learned and kind, + He's the wisest and best of old men to my mind, + But adieu my dear mother I'm now on the wing, + With Agnes to taste the Chalybeate spring. + + &c. &c. &c. + + + + + LETTER X. + + _High Harrogate, September 21st._ + + + For my silence these three weeks your pardon I ask, + But really dear mother all writing's a task, + Save for sonnets to Agnes I do not know when, + My run-a-way fingers laid hold of a pen, + But I trust your indulgence will freely excuse, + This natural fault in my negligent muse, + Since she now comes before you in very great sorrow, + To tell you I part with my charmer to-morrow, + Tho' the Dragon's quite full and the company gay, + And a ball at the Queen's-head is promis'd to-day, + Yet when Agnes is gone I most plainly can see, + This place will have lost all attraction for me, + And I think when the coach and my lovely one in it + Drives away, that I too must be off the next minute, + Consolation to find in my mother's kind greeting, + And forming good plans for our next pleasant meeting. + + Then fare ye well Harrogate--dear to my heart, + Be the joys you inspire and the health you impart, + May your springs ever flow an immutable treasure, + And the breeze that blows o'er you be freighted with pleasure; + Farewell to your Doctors--more skilful and kind, + Not a Spa on the Island can promise to find, + But chiefly my own must I leave with regret, + For a sigh to our parting is gratitude's debt, + His suavity, modesty, knowledge, and truth, + Where the wisdom of age, joins the candour of youth, + Have made me so truly esteem and respect him, + While I value true worth I can never neglect him. + No more must I saunter along the Parade, + Or fly for a tune to the gay Promenade, + At Wilson's exhibit my knowledge or wit, + Or step into Wright's for my picture to sit, + At Robey's or Bachelor's loiter to chuse, + A broach or a ring while I hear all the news, + Or ride on the common and gladly inhale, + The spirit of strength from the heath-scented gale + But tho' to your pleasures I now bid adieu, + Be assur'd that next year shall those pleasures renew, + Renew and exceed for on Hymen's white wing, + To these haunts so belov'd I my Agnes may bring, + The hopes of that blessing my cares shall beguile, + And I leave thee dear Harrogate now with a smile. + + + + + NOTES. + + + + + NOTES. + + +_Our respects to the beauties of Knaresbro' &c._ _Verse +342._--Knaresbro' is a considerable Town, situated on a rock almost +encompassed by the river Nidd. Near the town are the ruins of an ancient +magnificent castle built soon after the Conquest, and in one side of a +neighbouring rock is a cell where an hermit lived, still called St. +Robert's Chapel. The altar is cut out of one piece of solid rock, and on +it are engraved the figures of three heads, supposed to represent the +Trinity. This Robert founded himself a new order of monks, called +Robertines, but it is probable that they soon diminished to nothing, as +we do not meet with their name either in the Breviary or Baronius. + +But the greatest curiosity at Knaresbro' is the petrifying spring +commonly called the Dropping-Well. This natural curiosity is a spring +that rises about two miles from the town, and after running above a mile +under ground, comes to the top of a rock sixteen feet high, after which +it drops through in fifty or sixty places into a bason below, formed by +nature for its reception. Every drop has something of a musical sound as +if it were small stones falling on brass, and near it are many pieces of +moss reduced to a state of petrefaction; there is a fine walk on one +side of the well shaded with tall trees that makes the whole extremely +delightful. + + _Extract from British Traveller, page_ 621. + + To this brief extract the Editor begs leave to add, that the + finest views of this singularly beautiful place are obtained + from the Low-bridge, the road leading to the Upper-bridge, and + the fields which are nearly opposite the castle; the variety of + cottages and the beautiful knolls of bold and herbaged rock + which every where intersect the scenery, render it the most + picturesque and interesting which can be found in so short a + compass. But though much beauty may be discovered in a few hours + at Knaresbrough, yet its charms will not be exhausted by the + residence of a long life. + + +_To Plumpton proceeded, &c. v. 374._--This beautiful spot is rendered +extremely attractive to the visitors at Harrogate, not only on account +of its intrinsic merit, but its vicinity, as it is scarcely three miles +distant from High Harrogate. Plumpton is always most admired by those +who have seen it most frequently, being more pleasing than striking; it +is open to the public on Tuesdays and Fridays; on the road from Plumpton +a fine view of the Honourable Mr. Gordon's magnificent new mansion in +Rudding Park is obtained. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_To Harewood I went the first day I could, v. 380._ This splendid +mansion can be seen only on Saturdays; it is justly considered an object +of admiration as it unites elegance with grandeur, and utility with +beauty. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_To Studley, &c. v. 389._--The celebrated grounds of Studley have long +enjoyed a pre-eminence of fame among the northern beauties; their +characteristics are magnificence, uniformity, and neatness. The +stateliness of the trees and the luxuriance of their foliage is +unequalled, and combines with the smoothness of the water and the "clear +smooth shaven green," which surrounds it, to impress on the mind a sense +of repose rather than an emotion of surprise. In its own style, Studley +is perfect, and can never fail to delight, though it may be unable to +astonish. + + +_But who hallow'd Fountains, &c. v. 393._--The magnificent ruin of +Fountains Abbey included in the grounds of Studley, is an object of +delight and veneration in the highest degree, and will in the eye of an +artist be rendered still more so when it shall have become farther +dilapidated; the first view of it from the grounds of Studley is +extremely commanding and striking, but as a ruin it is more beautiful +and interesting in the interior views; the extent of the church and the +monastery and its offices conveys a clear idea of the power and state +enjoyed by the Benedictine monks, who resided here in all the dignity of +honour and the luxury of wealth--the dining-room and kitchen of the +higher orders and the refectory of the lower, bespeak the richness of +their revenues and their princely method of disposing of them. The +trees, shrubs, and foliage intermingled with these extensive ruins, are +the principal source of its beauties, being combined and contrasted with +the mouldering arches and nodding towers in every possible form; of +these the ivy and wild currant are the most prominent. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_See the Unicorn send us all merry to Newby, &c. v. 483._--Newby-hall +the seat of Lord Grantham, is most remarkable for possessing a very fine +Gallery built after the model of the Florentine Gallery so long the +pride of the civilized world; it contains many fine statues and three +sarcophagi, although the largest alone appears to have attracted the +attention of Mr. Blunderhead, who it is plain had but little knowledge +or taste in works of art.--The tapestry in the drawing-room is +considered incomparably fine, but the author has undoubtedly a very +handsome and sufficient excuse for leaving it so abruptly. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_Oh then might I sing lovely Hackfall, v. 453._--To those who seek in +landscape gardening for the wilder features of nature harmonized yet +unsubdued by art, this sequestered vale will present an exquisite treat +and afford to the contemplative mind a scene of such deep retirement and +romantic seclusion adorned with objects of such exquisite and concentred +beauty as must meet the eye ere they can be appreciated by the +imagination, which may people these fairy regions with every object of +terror, or delight with equal propriety. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_We went to the Minster, v. 505._--The Minster at Rippon is a fine +gothic structure, it formerly contained a narrow passage called the +Needle of St. Wilfred, used by the monks as an ordeal for female +purity.--The Bone-house contains many thousand skulls, and is generally +shewn as a curiosity. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_Fam'd Brimham rocks, &c.--v._ 1009.--These prodigious masses of natural +rock, together with a druidical temple near them, form one of the +objects of curiosity in this neighbourhood; they are distant about +eleven miles. + + _Editor's Note._ + + +_To view the fine grounds and the ruins of Bolton. v. 1011._--Bolton-Priory +stands upon a beautiful curviture of the Wharfe, on a level sufficiently +elevated to protect it from inundation, and low enough for every purpose +of picturesque effect.--In the latter respect it has no equal among the +northern houses, perhaps not in the kingdom.--To the south all is soft +and delicious, the eye reposes upon a few rich pastures, a moderate +reach of the river sufficiently tranquil to form a mirror for the sun, +and the bounding fells beyond neither too near, nor too lofty, to +exclude even in winter any considerable portion of his rays. + +But after all, the glories of Bolton are on the north, whatever the most +fastidious taste could require to form a perfect landscape, is not only +found here, but in its proper place; in front and immediately under the +eye, is a smooth expanse of park-like inclosure, spotted with native +elm, ash, &c. of the finest growth; on the right a skirting oak wood +with jutting points of grey rock; on the left a rising copse, still +forward are the aged groves of Bolton-park the growth of centuries, and +further yet the barren and rocky distances of Simon Seat and Barden +Fell, contrasted with the warmth, fertility, and luxuriant foliage of +the valley below--about half a mile above Bolton-Priory the valley +closes, and either side of the Wharfe is overhung with deep and solemn +woods, intermingled with huge masses of perpendicular rocks which jut +out at intervals. + +This sequestered scene was inaccessible till of late, when under the +judicious direction of the Rev. W. Carr, B. D. Rector of Bolton-ridings, +were cut in the woods, and the most interesting parts laid open to the +eye, at the request of the noble proprietor, His Grace the Duke of +Devonshire. _Extract from Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven._ + + +_Howl o'er the Strid, &c.--v. 1085._--In the deep solitude of the woods +above Bolton, the Wharfe suddenly contracts itself to a rocky channel +little more than four feet wide, and pours through the tremendous +fissure with a violence proportioned to its confinement. The place is +called the Strid from a feat sometimes exercised by persons of great +agility and little prudence, who skip from brink to brink regardless of +the destruction which awaits a faltering step. An accident caused by +this rashness has given a dreadful and sensible interest to this awful +spot, in addition to the commending one it has received by nature, and +which is immediately connected with the records of Bolton. + +In the 12th century, William Fitz Duncan at the command of David King of +Scotland, who was besieging Narham, laid waste this part of Yorkshire +with fire and sword, committing every species of cruelty which barbarity +could suggest, and humanity deplore. In fourteen years after, David +established him by force in the domain he had impoverished, and he +married Aaliza daughter and heiress of William de Meschines a +neighbouring Earl. They had a son commonly called the Boy of Egremont +(from one of his grandfather's baronies where he was born) and who +surviving his eldest brother became the sole hope of his family. + +This youth in his sixteenth year, inconsiderately bounding over this +terrific chasm with a greyhound in his leash, the affrighted animal hung +back and drew his unfortunate master into the torrent.--The forester who +accompanied young Romille (the Boy of Egremont) returned to the Lady +Aaliza, and with a despairing countenance said, "What is good for a +bootless bene?" to which the mother apprehending some great calamity had +befallen her son, answered, "endless sorrow."--The language of this +question proves the antiquity of the story; its meaning appears to have +been, what remains when prayer is useless. + +This fatal accident induced the Lady Aaliza to translate the Priory of +Embsay, founded by her parents from thence to Bolton on account of its +proximity to the scene of her son's deplorable death. + + _Dr. Whitaker's history of Craven_. + + +N. B. Six fine coloured prints of views in Bolton have been published +from original pictures painted on the spot, by T. C. Hofland, among +which is an admirable representation of the Strid. + + +_Farewell to your Doctors, &c.--v. 1180._--Mr. Blunderhead was +undoubtedly right in this observation, as perhaps not one watering place +can boast medical men of equal ability and liberality, affording so +striking a contrast with those "condemn'd to endless fame," by the +memoirs of his celebrated uncle. + + + Finis. + + + + + G. Wilson, Printer, + Market-Place, Knaresbrough. + + + =Transcriber's Notes:= + original hyphenation, spelling and grammar have been preserved as in + the original + Page 16, 'objection she pleases.' changed to 'objection she pleases."' + Page 17, "off their glasses" changed to "off their glasses," + Page 30, "&c &c. &c." changed to "&c. &c. &c." + Page 44, "long winded epistle," changed to "long winded epistle." + Page 63, "&c. &c. &c" changed to "&c. &c. &c." + Page 69, "all grasping desires" changed to "all grasping desires," + Page 76, "&c. &c. &c" changed to "&c. &c. &c." + Page 84, "will behold" changed to "will behold," + Page 87, "Chalybeate spring" changed to "Chalybeate spring." + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Season at Harrogate, by Barbara Hofland + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A SEASON AT HARROGATE *** + +***** This file should be named 35193.txt or 35193.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/9/35193/ + +Produced by David Edwards, Ross Cooling and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net (This file was produced from +images generously made available by The Internet +Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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