GEORGE HARTPOLE.

Curious fatality in the Hartpole family—Characteristic sketch of the last of the name—Description of Shrewl Castle—The chapel and cemetery—Strictures on epitaph-writing—Eccentricities of the Earl of Aldborough—His Lordship proposes his sister, Lady Hannah Stratford, asreturning-officerfor the borough of Baltinglass—Consequent disturbances—The North-Briton put on his mettle, but out-manœuvred—“Lending tothe Lord”—Successful conspiracy to marry Hartpole to the daughter of a village inn-keeper—He is stabbed by his wife, and deserts her in consequence—He forms an attachment to Miss Maria Otway, whom he marries, under the plea of his previous connexion being illegal—Unfortunate nature of this union—Separation of the parties—Hartpole’s voyage to Portugal, his return, and death—Sundry other anecdotes of the Stratford family.

In the year 1791, George Hartpole, of Shrewl Castle, Queen’s County, Ireland, had just come of age. He was the last surviving male of that name, which belonged to a popular family, highly respectable, and long established in the county. Few private gentlemen commenced life with better promise, and none better merited esteem and happiness. He was my relative by blood; and though considerably younger, the most intimate and dearest friend I had.

His father, Robert, had married a sister of the late and present Earls of Aldborough. She was the mother of George; and through this connexion originated my intercourse with that eccentric nobleman and his family.

A singular fatality had attended the Hartpole family from time immemorial. The fathers seldom survived the attainment of the age of 23 years by their elder sons, which circumstance gave rise to numerous traditionary tales of sprites and warnings.[12]

12.The country authorities were very wise, very grave, and very grim on this subject; but, after all, I suspect the most natural way of accounting for the fatality alluded to is, that the old gentlemen were commonly among thehardest liversin the country, and consequently, the gout was certain to be their companion, and generally their executioner.If wood be keptalternatelyin and out of moisture, it rots soon:—if it isalwaysin water, it never decays. A man’s constitution and rum-punch may to a degree resemble wood and water in this respect. The hardestincessantdrinkers I ever recollect lived to a great age, were generally healthy, and usually made their exit, at last, by apoplexy, without troubling either doctor, parson, or apothecary: while, on the contrary, most of those who were onlyintermittingboozers, died much earlier; theirfinisherbeing, nine times out of ten, gout in the head or stomach: a cause, however, occasionally varied by a broken neck by a fall from a horse, when riding home from a housewarming, or drowning in a ditch, whilst watering their horses after thedogh à dourish. A few were smothered in shaking bogs, whilst attending the turf-cutters, &c. &c.It required at least three days and nights incessanthard goingto kill a drinker of the first class. It cost Squire Luke Flood of Roundwood, a place situated in Queen’s County,fivedays and nights hard working at port before he couldfinisheither himself or the piper. Old Squire Lewis Moor of Cremorgan died, by way ofvariety, at seventy-six, of a violentpassion, because his wife became jealous of his proceedings with the kitchen-maid. A few died of Drogheda usquebaugh, and several ofsore ancles. I recollect, in fact, many of the most curious deaths and burials in Ireland that ever took place in any country under heaven. None of them were considered as beingmelancholy events, since everyhard goingsquire then generally took his full turn in this world, and died by somecoup de grace, as stated: however, he was commonly regretted by all his acquaintance and family, except hiseldest son.

If wood be keptalternatelyin and out of moisture, it rots soon:—if it isalwaysin water, it never decays. A man’s constitution and rum-punch may to a degree resemble wood and water in this respect. The hardestincessantdrinkers I ever recollect lived to a great age, were generally healthy, and usually made their exit, at last, by apoplexy, without troubling either doctor, parson, or apothecary: while, on the contrary, most of those who were onlyintermittingboozers, died much earlier; theirfinisherbeing, nine times out of ten, gout in the head or stomach: a cause, however, occasionally varied by a broken neck by a fall from a horse, when riding home from a housewarming, or drowning in a ditch, whilst watering their horses after thedogh à dourish. A few were smothered in shaking bogs, whilst attending the turf-cutters, &c. &c.

It required at least three days and nights incessanthard goingto kill a drinker of the first class. It cost Squire Luke Flood of Roundwood, a place situated in Queen’s County,fivedays and nights hard working at port before he couldfinisheither himself or the piper. Old Squire Lewis Moor of Cremorgan died, by way ofvariety, at seventy-six, of a violentpassion, because his wife became jealous of his proceedings with the kitchen-maid. A few died of Drogheda usquebaugh, and several ofsore ancles. I recollect, in fact, many of the most curious deaths and burials in Ireland that ever took place in any country under heaven. None of them were considered as beingmelancholy events, since everyhard goingsquire then generally took his full turn in this world, and died by somecoup de grace, as stated: however, he was commonly regretted by all his acquaintance and family, except hiseldest son.

Robert, as usual with the gentlemen of his day, was the dupe of agents, and the victim of indolence and hospitality. He had deposited his consort in the tomb of her fathers, and had continued merrily enjoying the convivialities of the world (principally in the night-time) till his son George had passed his 22nd year, and then punctually made way forthe succession, leaving George inheritor of a large territory, a moderate income, a tattered mansion, an embarrassed rent-roll, and a profound ignorance (without the consciousness of it) of business in all departments.

George, though not at all handsome, had completely the mien and manners of a gentleman. His features accorded well with his address, bespeaking the cordiality of a friend and the ardour of an Irishman. His disposition was mild—hisnature brave, generous, and sincere: on some occasions he was obstinate and peevish; on others, somewhat sullen and suspicious; but in his friendships, George Hartpole was immutable.

His stature was of the middle height, and his figure exhibited no appearance either of personal strength or constitutional vigour: his slender form and the languid fire of his eye indicated excitation without energy; yet his spirits were moderately good, and the most careless observer might feel convinced that he had sprung from no ordinary parentage—a circumstance which then had due influence in Ireland, where agents, artisans, and attorneys had not as yet supplanted the ancient nobility and gentry of the country.

Shrewl Castle, the hereditary residence of the Hartpoles, was in no way distinguishable from the numerous other castellated edifices now in a state of dilapidation throughout the whole island—ruins which invariably excite a retrospect of happier times, when the resident landlord, reverenced and beloved, and the cheerful tenant, fostered and protected, felt the natural advantages of their reciprocal attachment; a reflection which leads us to a sad comparison with modern usages, when the absent lord and the mercenary agent have no consideration but the rents, no solicitude but for their collection; when the deserted tenantry keep pace in decline with the deserted mansion; when the ragged cottager has no master to employ, noguardian to protect him!—pining, and sunk in the lowest state of want and wretchedness,—sanswork,sansfood,sanscovering,sansevery thing,—he rushes forlorn and desperate into the arms of destruction, which in all its various shapes stands ready to receive him. The reflection is miserable, but true:—such is Ireland since the year 1800.

Hartpole’s family residence, picturesquely seated on a verdant bank of the smooth and beautiful Barrow, had, during the revolutions of time, entirely lost the character of a fortress: patched and pieced after all the numberless orders of village architecture, it had long resigned the dignity of a castle without acquiring the comforts of a mansion: yet its gradual descent, from the stronghold of powerful chieftains to the rude dwelling of an embarrassed gentleman, could be traced even by a superficial observer. Its half-levelled battlements, its solitary and decrepit tower, and its rough, dingy walls, (giving it the appearance of a sort of habitablebuttress,) combined to portray the downfall of an ancient family.

Close bounding the site of this ambiguous heritage was situate the ancient burial-place of the Hartpole family and its followers for ages. Scattered graves, some green—some russet—denoted the recentness or remoteness of the different interments; and a few broad flag-stones indented with defaced or illegible inscriptions, and covering the remains of the early masters of the domain, justuplifted their mouldering sides from among weeds and briars, and half disclosed the only objects which could render that cemetery interesting.

One melancholy yew-tree, spreading wide its straggling branches over the tombs of its former lords and the nave of an ancient chapel, (its own hollow trunk proclaiming that it could not long survive,) seemed to await, in awful augury, the honour of expiring with the last scion of its hereditary chieftains.

To me the view of this melancholy tree always communicated a low feverish sensation, which I could not well account for. It is true, I ever disliked to contemplate the residence of the dead:[13]but that of the Hartpole race, bounding their hall of revelry, seemed to me a check upon all hilarity; and I never could raise my spirits in any room, orsleep soundly in any chamber, which overlooked that sanctuary.

13.I never could get over certain disagreeable sensations and awe at the interment ofanyperson. So strongly, indeed, have I been impressed in this way, that I formed a resolution, which (with one exception) I have strictly adhered to these forty years,—namely, never to attend the funeral even of a relative. I have now and then indulged a whim of strolling over a country church-yard, occasionally to kill time when travelling, in other instances for statistical purposes: but, in general, the intelligible and serious inscriptions on the tomb-stones are so mingled and mixed with others too ridiculous even for the brain of a stone-cutter to have devised, that the rational and preposterous, alternately counteracting each other, made a sort of equipoise; and I generally left an ordinary church-yard pretty much in the same mood in which I entered it.

The incidents which marked the life of the last owner of Shrewl Castle were singular and affecting, and on many points may tend to exhibit an instructive example. Nothing, in fact, is better calculated to influence the conduct of society, than the biography of those whose career has been conspicuously marked either by eminent virtues or peculiar events. The instance of George Hartpole may serve to prove, were proof wanting, that matrimony, as it is the most irrevocable, so is it the most precarious step in the life of mortals; and that sensations of presentiment and foreboding (as I have already more than once maintained) are not always visionary.

I was the most valued friend of this ill-fated young man. To me his whole heart was laid open;—nor was there one important circumstance of his life, one feeling of his mind, concealed from me. It is now many years since he paid his debt to nature; and, by her course, I shall not much longer tarry to regret his departure; but, whilst my pilgrimage continues, that regret cannot be extinguished.

George had received but a moderate education, far inadequate to his rank and expectations; and the country life of his careless father had afforded him too few conveniences for cultivating his capacity. His near alliance, however, and intercoursewith the Aldborough family, gave him considerable opportunities to counteract, in a better class of society, that tendency to rustic dissipation to which his situation had exposed him, and which, at first seductive, soon becomes habitual, and ruinous in every way to youthful morals.

Whatever were the other eccentricities or failings of Robert, Earl of Aldborough (the uncle of Hartpole), the hyperbolical ideas of importance and dignity which he had imbibed, though in many practical instances they rendered him ridiculous, still furnished him with a certain address and air of fashion which put rustic vulgarity out of his society, and, combined with a portion of classic learning and modern belles-lettres, never failed to give him an entire ascendancy over his ruder neighbours. This curious character exhibited a pretty equal proportion of ostentation and meanness.[14]

14.Hartpole, though he despised the empty arrogance of his uncle, yet saw that his Lordship knew the world well and profited by that knowledge:—he therefore occasionally paid much attention to some of my Lord’sworldlylectures; and had he observed thebestof them, though he might possibly have appeared less amiable, he would doubtless have been far more fortunate. But Hartpole could not draw the due distinction between the folly of his uncle’s ostentation and the utility of his address; disgusted with the one, he did not sufficiently practise the other; and despised the idea of acting as if he knew the world, lest he should be considered as affecting to know too much of it.

The most remarkable act of his Lordship’s life was an experiment regarding his sister, Lady Hannah Stratford. The borough of Baltinglass was in the patronage of the Stratford family; and on that subject, his brothers, John and Benjamin, never gave him a peaceable moment: they always opposed him, and generally succeeded. He was determined, however, to make a new kind of burgomaster or returning-officer, whose adherence he might religiously depend on. He therefore took hissister, Lady Hannah, down to the corporation, and recommendedheras a fit and proper returning-officer for the borough of Baltinglass! Many highly approved of her Ladyship, by way of achange, and a double return ensued—a man acting for the brothers, and the lady for the nobleman. This created a great battle. The honourable ladies of the family all got into the thick of it: some of them were well trounced—others gave as good as they received: the affair made a great uproar in Dublin, and informations were moved for and granted against some of the ladies. However, the brothers, as was just, kept the borough, and his Lordship never could make any farther hand of it.

Thehigh-ways of Lord Aldborough, and theby-ways with which he intersected them, are well exhibited by an incident that occurred to him when the country was rather disturbed in 1797. He proceeded in great state, with his carriage, outriders, &c. to visit the commanding officer of aregiment of cavalry which had just arrived in that part of the country. On entering the room, he immediately began by informing the officer “that he was the Earl of Aldborough, of Belan Castle; that he had the finest mansion, demesne, park and fish-ponds in that county, and frequently did the military gentlemen thehonourof inviting them to his dinners;”—adding, with what he thought a dignified politeness, “I have come from my castle of Belan, where I have all the conveniences and luxuries of life, for the especial purpose of saying, Major, I am glad to see the military in my county, and have made up my mind to giveyou, Major, my countenance and protection.” The Major, who happened to be rather a rough soldier and of a country not famed for the softness of its manners, could scarcely repress his indignation at his Lordship’s arrogant politeness: but when the last sentence was pronounced, he could restrain himself no longer:—“Coontenance and proteection!” repeated he contemptuously, two or three times: “as for yourproteection, Mister my Lord, Major M‘Pherson is always able to proteect himsel; and as for yourcoontenance, by heeven I would not tak it for your eerldom!”

His Lordship withdrew, and the Major related the incident as a singular piece of assurance. My Lord, however, knew the world too well to let the soldier’s answer stick against himself:—next day he invitedeveryofficer of the regiment to dinner,and so civilly, that the Major lost all credit with his brother officers for his surly reply to so hospitable a nobleman! Nay, it was even whispered among them at mess, that the Major had actuallyinventedthe story, to show off his own wit and independence;—and thus Lord Aldborough obtained complete revenge.

On another occasion, his Lordship got off better still:—being churchwarden of Baltinglass parish, he did not please the rector, Bob Carter, as to his mode of accounting for the money in the poor-boxes. The peer treated Bob (who was as hard-going, good-hearted, devil-may-care a parson as any in Ireland) with the greatest contempt. The parson, who felt no sort of personal respect for my Lord, renewed his insinuations of his Lordship’sfalse arithmetic, until the latter, highly indignant, grew wroth, and would give Bob no further satisfaction on the matter: upon which, the rector took the only revenge then in his power, by giving out asecondcharity sermon, inasmuch as the proceeds of the first had not been productive. The hint went abroad, the church was crowded, and to the infinite amusement of the congregation, Bob put forth as his text—“Whosoevergivethto thepoor, lendethto theLord.” The application was so clear, that the laugh was irresistible. Bob followed up his blow all through the sermon, and “the Lord” was considered to be completely blown; but skilfully enough, he contrived to givethe matter a turn that disconcerted even the Rev. Bob himself. After the sermon was concluded, his Lordship stood up, publicly thanked Bob for his mostexcellent textand charity sermon, and declared that he had no doubt the Lord Lieutenant or the bishop would very soon promote him, according to his extraordinary merits, which he was ready to vouch, in common with the rest of the parishioners; finally begging of him to have the sermonprinted!

Hartpole’s fortune on the death of his father was not large; but its increase would be great andcertain, and this rendered his adoption of any money-making profession or employment unnecessary. He accordingly purchased a commission in the army, and commenced hisentréinto a military life and general society with all the advantages of birth, property, manners, and character.

A cursory observation of the world must convince us of one painful and inexplicable truth;—that there are some men (and frequently the best) who, even from their earliest youth, appear born to be the victims of undeviating misfortune; whom Providence seems to have gifted with free-agency only to lead them to unhappiness and ruin. Ever disappointed in his most ardent hopes—frustrated in his dearest objects—his best intentions overthrown—his purest motives calumniated and abused,—no rank or station suffices to shelter suchan unfortunate:—ennuicreeps upon his hopeless mind, communicates a listless languor to a sinking constitution, and at length he almost joyfully surrenders an existence which he finds too burdensome to be supported.[15]

15.I cannot better illustrate the state of a person so chased by misery, than by quoting a few unpublished lines, the composition of a very young lady, Miss M. T., with whom, and with whose amiable family, I have the pleasure of being intimate.I am aware that I do her great injustice by quoting these particular verses—some of the mostinferiorof her writings; but they seem so much to the point, that I venture to risk her displeasure. She is not, indeed, irritable; and I promise to atone for my error by a few further quotations from her superior compositions.I.I never sought a day’s reposeBut some sharp thorn pierced my breast;I never watch’d the evening’s close,And hoped a heaven of rest;But soon a darkling cloud would comeAthwart the prospect bright,And, pale as twilight on a tomb,My hopes grew dim in night.II.Oft have I mark’d the heav’nly moonWandering her pathless wayAlong the midnight’s purple noon,More fair—more loved than day:But soon she flung her shadowy wreathO’er dark eternity,As a faint smile on the cheek of death’Twixt hope and agony.III.Oft on the rainbow’s bloom I’ve gazed,Arch’d as a gate of heaven,Till gushing showers its portals razed,And bathed the brow of even.’Tis thus young hopes illume the skyOf Life’s dark atmosphere,Yet, like the rainbow’s splendid dye,They meet and disappear.IV.Ev’n so, the mirth of man is madness;—His joy as a sepulchral light,Which shows his solitude and sadness,But chaseth not the night.

I am aware that I do her great injustice by quoting these particular verses—some of the mostinferiorof her writings; but they seem so much to the point, that I venture to risk her displeasure. She is not, indeed, irritable; and I promise to atone for my error by a few further quotations from her superior compositions.

I.I never sought a day’s reposeBut some sharp thorn pierced my breast;I never watch’d the evening’s close,And hoped a heaven of rest;But soon a darkling cloud would comeAthwart the prospect bright,And, pale as twilight on a tomb,My hopes grew dim in night.II.Oft have I mark’d the heav’nly moonWandering her pathless wayAlong the midnight’s purple noon,More fair—more loved than day:But soon she flung her shadowy wreathO’er dark eternity,As a faint smile on the cheek of death’Twixt hope and agony.III.Oft on the rainbow’s bloom I’ve gazed,Arch’d as a gate of heaven,Till gushing showers its portals razed,And bathed the brow of even.’Tis thus young hopes illume the skyOf Life’s dark atmosphere,Yet, like the rainbow’s splendid dye,They meet and disappear.IV.Ev’n so, the mirth of man is madness;—His joy as a sepulchral light,Which shows his solitude and sadness,But chaseth not the night.

I never sought a day’s reposeBut some sharp thorn pierced my breast;I never watch’d the evening’s close,And hoped a heaven of rest;But soon a darkling cloud would comeAthwart the prospect bright,And, pale as twilight on a tomb,My hopes grew dim in night.

I never sought a day’s repose

But some sharp thorn pierced my breast;

I never watch’d the evening’s close,

And hoped a heaven of rest;

But soon a darkling cloud would come

Athwart the prospect bright,

And, pale as twilight on a tomb,

My hopes grew dim in night.

II.

Oft have I mark’d the heav’nly moonWandering her pathless wayAlong the midnight’s purple noon,More fair—more loved than day:But soon she flung her shadowy wreathO’er dark eternity,As a faint smile on the cheek of death’Twixt hope and agony.

Oft have I mark’d the heav’nly moon

Wandering her pathless way

Along the midnight’s purple noon,

More fair—more loved than day:

But soon she flung her shadowy wreath

O’er dark eternity,

As a faint smile on the cheek of death

’Twixt hope and agony.

III.

Oft on the rainbow’s bloom I’ve gazed,Arch’d as a gate of heaven,Till gushing showers its portals razed,And bathed the brow of even.’Tis thus young hopes illume the skyOf Life’s dark atmosphere,Yet, like the rainbow’s splendid dye,They meet and disappear.

Oft on the rainbow’s bloom I’ve gazed,

Arch’d as a gate of heaven,

Till gushing showers its portals razed,

And bathed the brow of even.

’Tis thus young hopes illume the sky

Of Life’s dark atmosphere,

Yet, like the rainbow’s splendid dye,

They meet and disappear.

IV.

Ev’n so, the mirth of man is madness;—His joy as a sepulchral light,Which shows his solitude and sadness,But chaseth not the night.

Ev’n so, the mirth of man is madness;—

His joy as a sepulchral light,

Which shows his solitude and sadness,

But chaseth not the night.

Such nearly was the lot of the last of the Hartpoles. He had scarcely commenced a flattering entrance into public life, when one false and fatal step, to which he was led first by a dreadful accident, and subsequently by his own benevolent disposition, worked on by the chicanery of others, laid the foundation of all his future miseries.

While quartered with his regiment at Galway, in Ireland, his gun, on a shooting party, burst in his hand, which was so shattered, that it was long before his surgeon could decide that amputation might be dispensed with.

During the protracted period of his indisposition he was confined to his chamber at a small inn, such as Ireland then exhibited in provincial towns. The host, whose name was Sleven, had two daughters, both of whom assisted in the business. The elder, Honor, had long been celebrated as a vulgar wit and humourist, the cleverest of all her female contemporaries; and the bar, on circuits, frequented her father’s house purposely to be amused by her repartees. Her coarse person was well calculated to protect her moral conduct; and she jested and took her glass with reasonablemoderation. Besides entertaining the bar, she occasionally amused the judges also; and Lord Yelverton, the chief baron, (who admired wit inany body,) was Honor’s greatest partisan.

Such females ever appeared to me unnatural and disgusting. Ahumorousand vulgar Amazon, who forgets her own sex, can scarcely expect that ours will recollect it.

Mary, the younger sister, was of a different appearance and character. She was as mild and unassuming as, from her low occupation and habits of life, could be expected: though destitute of any kind of talent, she yet appeared as if somewhat better born than Honor, and her attention to her guests was at the same time assiduous but properly reserved; which conduct, contrasted with the masculine effrontery of the other, gave her, in my mind, a great superiority.

It must have been remarked by every person who has observed the habits and manners of provincial towns, that the distinctions of society are frequently suspended by the necessary familiarities of a contracted circle, and that inferior females frequently excite (especially among youthful military) sensations of tenderness which in a metropolis would never have been thought of—at least in the same point of view. And here the evil genius of Hartpole first commenced her incantations for his ruin.

Throughout George’s painful and harassing confinement, the more than assiduous care of Mary Sleven could not escape the observation of the too sensitive convalescent. Hartpole has often described to me the rise and progress of the giddy, romantic feeling which then seized upon him; how he used to catch her moistened eye watching his interrupted slumbers, or the progress of his recovery; and when she was conscious of being perceived, how the mantling blush would betray a degree of interest far beyond that of an ordinary attendant.

Mary wasratherwell-looking; though there was little to captivate, there was nothing about her to excite his distaste: he was not permitted to have society; and thus, being left nearly alone with this young female during many weeks of pain and solitude, and accustomed to the solicitude of a woman, (so exquisite to a man in every state ofsuffering,) Hartpole discovered in the sequel, that a feeling ofgratitudeof the highest order had sunk deeper than he wished within his bosom.

He could not but perceive, indeed, that the girl actuallylovedhim, and his vanity of course was alive to the disclosure; but his honourable principles prevented him from taking any advantage of that weakness, which she could not conceal, and whereto he could not be blind. It was in truth a dangerous situation for both. There were, as I have said, no external objects to divert George’s mind from this novel sensation; there was no one to point out its folly or interrupt its progress. Her partiality flattered him in his seclusion, and led his thoughts gradually and imperceptibly into a channel inconsistent with the welfare of himself, the honour of his family, and the becoming pride of a gentleman. It certainly was, after all, a sort of non-descript passion: it was not actuallylove.

Meanwhile the keen masculine understanding of Honor soon perceived the game which it would be wise in her to play, and conceived a project whereby to wind up Hartpole’s feeling to the pitch she wanted, and insensibly to lead his gratitude to love, and his love tomatrimony. This was Honor’s aim; but she overrated her own penetration, and deceived herself as to Hartpole’s character: sheoveractedher part, and consequently diminished its effect.

At length, awakened from his vision of romanticgratitude, and beginning to open his eyes to the views of the two women, my friend felt ashamed of his facility, and mustered up sufficient resolution to rescue himself from the toils they were spreading for his capture. He had never madeany speciesofproposalto Mary, and she could not, with just or honest hope, look to marriage with a person so greatly her superior. On his perfect recovery, he determined, by going over to England, to avoid all their machinations; and he also determined that his departure should be abrupt.

The keen and rapid eye of the designing Honor, however, soon discovered the secret of his thoughts; and guessing the extent of his resolution, she artfully impressed upon him (under the affectation of concealing it) theentireattachment of her pining sister; but at the same time communicated Mary’s resolution to be seen by him no more—“since it would be useless further to distract her devoted heart by cultivating society from which she must so soon be separated for ever.”

Here Honor was again mistaken:—no melting looks, no softening blandishments, now intervened to oppose George’s pride or stagger his resolution. He had only to struggle withhimself; and after a day and night of calm reflection, he fully conquered the dangers of his high-flowngratitude, and departed at day-break from the inn without even desiring to see the love-lorn and secluded Mary.

The sisters were thus totally disappointed. He had paid munificently for the trouble he had given them, written a letter of grateful thanks to Mary, left her a considerable present, and set off to Dublin to take immediate shipping for England.

Hartpole now congratulated himself on his escape from the sarcasms of the world, the scorn of his family, and his own self-condemnation. He had acted with honour; he had done nothing wrong; and he had once more secured that rank in society which he had been in danger of relinquishing. In Dublin he stopped at the Marine Hotel, whence the packet was to sail at midnight, and considered himself as on the road to Stratford-place, London, which his uncle, Lord Aldborough, had built, and where his Lordship then resided.

The time of embarkation had nearly arrived when a loud shriek issued from an adjoining chamber to his, at the hotel. Ever alive to any adventure, Hartpole rushed into the room, and beheld—Mary Sleven! She was, or affected to be, fainting, and was supported by the artful Honor, who hung over her, apparently regardless of all other objects, and bemoaning, in low accents, the miserable fate of her only sister.

Bewildered both by the nature and suddenness of this rencontre, Hartpole told me that for a moment he nearly lost his sight—nay, almost his reason; but he soon saw through the scheme, and mustered up sufficient courage to withdraw withoutexplanation. He had, in fact, advanced to the door, and was on the outside step, the boat being ready to receive him, when a second and more violent shriek was heard from the room he had just quitted, accompanied by exclamations of “She’s gone! she’s gone!” Hartpole’s presence of mind entirely forsook him; he retraced his steps, and found Mary lying, as it should seem, quite senseless, in the arms of Honor: his heart relented; his evil genius profited by the advantage; and he assisted to restore her. Gradually Mary’s eyes opened; she regarded George wildly but intently, and having caught his eye, closed hers again—a languid, and, as it were, an involuntary pressure of his hand, conveying to him her sensations. He spoke kindly to her: she started at the sound, andrenewed the pressurewithincreasedforce. As she slowly and gradually revived, the scene became moreinteresting. A medical man being (by preconcert) at hand, he ordered her restorative cordials. Madeira only could at the moment be procured. She put the glass to her mouth, sipped, looked tenderly at Hartpole, and offered it him; her lips had touched it; he sipped also; the patient smiled; the doctor took a glass; Hartpole pledged him; glass followed glass, until George was bewildered! The artful Honor soon substituted another bottle: it was Hartpole’s first wine after his accident, and quickly mounted to his brain.

Thus did an hour flit away, and, meanwhile, thepacket had sailed. Another person affected also to have lost his passage while occupied about the patient, and this turned out to be aCatholic priest. Refreshments were ordered: the doctor and the priest were pressed to partake of the fare: the Madeira was replenished: the moments fled! The young man’s brain was inflamed; and it is only necessary to add, that the morning’s sun arose, not on the happy George, but on the happyMary, the wedded wife of Hartpole.

I will not attempt to describe the husband’s feelings when morning brought reflection. Every passion met its foe within his bosom: every resolve was overwhelmed by an adverse one: his sensitive mind became the field of contest for tumultuous emotions; until, worn out by its own conflicts, it sank into languor and dejection. He had lost himself! he therefore yielded to his fate, abandoned all idea of further resistance, and was led back in chains by the triumphant sisters.

None of his family or connexions would ever receive her; and George for awhile, sunk and disgraced, without losing all his attachment for the girl, had lost all his tranquillity. After two years’ struggle, however, between his feelings for her and his aspirations after a more honourable station in society, the conspiracy which had effected his ruin, being by chance discovered, arose before his eye like a spectre, and, as if through a prism, the deception appeared in the clearest colours.

A revulsion followed, and the conflict became still more keen within his breast: but, at length, his pride and resolution prevailed over his sensibility, and he determined (after providing amply for her) to take advantage of that statute which declares null and void all marriages between a Catholic and a Protestant solemnised by a popish priest. He made this determination; it was just; but, unfortunately, he lingered as to itsexecution. Her influence was not extinguished; and she succeeded in inducing him to procrastinate from time to time the fatal resolve. She could not, it is true, deny that he had been inveigled, and had made up her own mind, should he stand firm, to accept a liberal provision, and submit to a legal sentence, which indeed could not be resisted.

As the propriety of Mary’s moral conduct had never been called in question, she might, after all, be able to obtain a match more adapted to her station and to every thing except her ambition: but the coarse and vulgar Honor miscalculated all. She irritated and wound up Mary almost to madness; and in this state, her characteristic mildness forsook her; she became jealous of all other women, and hesitated not daily to lavish abuse on the passive and wretched Hartpole.

One morning, in Dublin, where they were residing, he came to my house in a state of trembling perturbation. He showed me a wound on his hand, and another slight one from a knife’s pointindented on his breast-bone. Mary, he said, had, in a paroxysm of rage, attempted to stab him whilst sitting at breakfast: he had, with difficulty, wrested the knife from her grasp, and left the house never to return to it. He could in fact no longer feelsafein her society; and therefore, arranging all his necessary concerns, he repaired to Edinburgh, where his regiment was quartered.

The suit for a decree of nullity was immediately commenced, but no effective proceedings were ever taken, nor any sentence in the cause pronounced, owing to events still more unfortunate to poor Hartpole.

Prior to this fatal act of George’s, I had never observed an attachment on his part toward any female, save a very temporary one to a young lady in his neighbourhood, whom few men could see without strong feelings of admiration;—the second daughter of Mr. Yates, of Moon, a gentleman of the old school, almost antediluvian in his appearance, and of good fortune in County Kildare.

The beauty of Myrtle Yates arose nearly to perfection. It was of that brilliance with which poets and romance writers endeavour to adorn the most favoured of their heroines. Had she lived of yore, the Grecian sculptor or Roman artist might have profited by charms which they could neverfancy:—she might have been the model for a Venus, or, at a later era, sat for a Madonna. Nature, indeed, seemed to have created her solely for the blandishmentsof affection; and her whole form appeared susceptible of being dissolved in love.

In a word, at twenty, Myrtle Yates was wholly irresistible; not a youth of her country, who had a heart, could boast of its insensibility; and perhaps she owed to the bewildering number of those admirers the good fortune of not devoting herself to any of them.

Yet Hartpole’s attachment to Myrtle Yates was neither deep nor lasting. He considered hertooattractive—perhaps tooyielding; and had he always adhered to the same principle of judgment, it is possible he might have yet existed.

On his return from Scotland he immediately repaired to Clifton, to drink the waters for a severe cold which could no longer be neglected, and required medical advice and a balmy atmosphere. Here fate threw in the way of this ill-fated youth another lure for his destruction, but such a one as might have entrapped even the most cautious and prudent. Love, in its genuine and rational shape, now assailed the breast of the ever-sensitive Hartpole; and an attachment sprang up fatal to his happiness, and eventually to his existence.

At Clifton, my friend made the acquaintance of a lady and gentleman, in whose only daughter were combined all the attractive qualities of youth, loveliness, and amiability. Their possessor moved in a sphere calculated to gratify his pride; and those who saw and knew the object of George’snew attachment could feel no surprise at the vehemence of his passion.

The unfortunate young man, however, sorely felt that his situation under these circumstances was even more dreadful than in the former connexion. Loving one woman to adoration, and as yet the acknowledged husband of another, it is not easy to conceive any state more distracting to a man of honour. His agitated mind had now no suspension of its misery, save when lulled into a temporary trance by the very lassitude induced by its own unhappiness.

He wrote to me, expressing the full extent of his sensations—that is, as fully as pen could convey them. But imperfect indeed must be all expression which attempts to describe intensity of feeling. It was from blots and scratches, and here and there the dried-up stain of an hieroglyphic tear, rather than from words, that I gathered the excess of his mental agony. He required of my friendship toadvisehim—a task, to the execution of which I was utterly incompetent. All I could properly advise him to, was what I knew he would not comply with; namely, to come over to Ireland, and endeavour to conquer the influence of his passion, or at least to take no decisive step in divulging it till the law had pronounced its sentence on his existing connexion.

Hartpole had strong feelings of honour as to this latter. For a length of time he could scarcelyreconcile himself to the idea of publicly annulling what he had publicly avowed; and it was only by urging on his consideration the fact, that the ceremony by a popish priest in no such case legally constituted a marriage, that he was prevailed on to seek for a decree ofnullity. Such decree was not indeed absolutelynecessary; but to have it upon record was judged advisable. Though the incipient proceedings had been taken by his proctor, they were not completed, and Mary Sleven’s marriageneverwas formally declared a nullity by the sentence of the Ecclesiastical Court, nor was she ever judicially separated from the deluded Hartpole.

Under all these circumstances, I was totally bewildered as to what ought to be my friend’s future conduct, when I was one morning greatly surprised by the sudden appearance of Hartpole at my breakfast-table, obviously in better health:—he looked very superior to what I had expected; his eye sparkled, and there was an air of satisfaction diffused both over his features and address which convinced me that some decisive step had been taken by him. He lost no time in telling me that he had actually proposed for Miss Otway to her father and mother; that she herself had consented; that Mr. and Mrs. Otway had come over to have his fortune investigated, and wished to see me with as little delay as convenient; and concluded by saying, that he was most anxious tointroduce me to the source of all his terrestrial happiness.

I could not but start on hearing all this, and declined entering at all into the business with Mr. Otway till George had given me a written license to communicate with him as I pleased. He acceded to all I desired, and the next morning I waited on that gentleman—(Mr. Cooke Otway, of Castle Otway).

I never felt more embarrassed in my life than at this interview. I had in the interim made myself master of Mr. Otway’s character, and the knowledge by no means contributed to ease my scruples or diminish my embarrassment. However, to my surprise, a very short time disposed of both, and in a way which I had heretofore conceived quite impossible.

I found Colonel Cooke Otway a strong-minded, decided, gentlemanly man, obviously with more head than heart,—sensible, and practically good-natured;—in short, one of those well-trained persons who appear to be quite off-handed, yet, on closer remark, are obviouslyin reservation.

He introduced me to Mrs. Otway, whose character required no research. It was ordinary, but amiable: she had evidently great kindness of heart, and her conduct was uniformly reported to be such as left nothing to amend either as wife or mother: she appeared to be in declining health, whilst her daughter, in the full bloom of youth andfirst blush of ripening beauty, presented a striking contrast.

I also read, as far as its hitherto slight development would admit, the character of Maria Otway. I could perceive neither the languor of love nor the restlessness of suspense at all predominant in her feelings. Perfect ease and entire resignation appeared to sit most cheerfully on her brow: she seemed voluntarily to consider the wish of her parents as the rule of her destiny; and it was perceptible that Hartpole had theloveentirely at his own disposal.

Maria united in her appearance, her manners, and her obvious disposition, most of those amiable and engaging traits which the age of eighteen can develope in a female.—Her figure, in height rather below the middle stature, had arrived at that proportionate fulness which forms the just medium between the round and slender, and without the defects of either gives the advantages of both. Her limbs, cast in the mould of perfect symmetry, moved with that ease and moderate activity which constitute the natural grace of female action. Her features small, and not justifying the epithet of “beautiful,” yet formed in their assemblage a blooming and expressive index of the young heart that ruled them: the imperfections of the profile were lost in the brilliant delicacy of the complexion which embellished it. Her blue eyes were untutored; but her smile was intoxicating; andmy friend was bound and fettered in the trammels of female witchery.

In my own judgment, Maria Otway was certainly at that time a most interesting young female: still her beauty, obviously aided by youth, health, and thoughtless happiness, was not of that animated and vigorous cast on which we so often see neither time, care, nor age make quick impression: it was, on the other hand, that soft and delicate loveliness to which years and family are such inveterate and sometimes rapid enemies.

Over such a person as Hartpole, the victory of Miss Otway’s beauty was complete; and the result of that unfortunate passion convinces me that a man (unless his judgment be superior to his sensibility) cannot commit an act of greater folly than to encourage an attachment to any woman whom he thinks every body else must admire as well as himself. George at first was inclined to resist his passion, but he did notfly from the cause of it, and he therefore fell a victim to romantic love as he had before done to romantic gratitude.

Mr. Otway at once opened the business, and told me Hartpole had referred him to me for a statement of his estates and financial situation. On this point I had come fully prepared. Hartpole’s circumstances exceeded rather than fell below Mr. Otway’s expectation.

“I am quite satisfied, my dear sir,” said he to me, with a significant nod; “you know that inIreland we always make some allowances for the Stratford consanguinity.”

I now found my embarrassment recommence, but determined, at every risk, to free myself from all future responsibility or reproach: I therefore informed Col. Otway explicitly of Hartpole’s marriage, and that no sentence had as yet been pronounced to declare that marriage a nullity, though in point of law it was so.

Having heard me throughout with the greatest complacency, he took me by the hand:—“My dear sir,” said he with a smile which at first surprised me, “I am happy to tell you that I was fully apprised, before I came to Ireland, of every circumstance you have related to me as to that woman, and had taken the opinions of several eminent practitioners on the point, each of whom gave without any hesitation exactly the same opinion you have done: my mind was therefore easy and made up on that subject before I left England, and I do not consider the circumstance any impediment to the present negotiation.”

It is not easy to describe the relief thus afforded me; though, at the same time, I must own I was somewhat astonished at this seemingnonchalance. We parted in excellent humour with each other, and I believe he was my friend to the day of his death.

The negotiation went on:Miss Slevenwas no more regarded; and after a deal of discussion, butno difference of opinion, the terms were agreed on, and settlements prepared, for a marriage, in all its results as unfortunate for the young people, andas culpable in the old, as any that ever came within my recollection.

A circumstance of singular and not very auspicious nature occurred on the first step toward the completion of that ill-starred alliance. It was necessary to procure a license from the Prerogative Court for the solemnization of the marriage in the city of Dublin, and Hartpole’s uncle, the Honourable Benjamin O’Neil Stratford (now Earl of Aldborough), attended with George upon Doctor Duigenan, then judge of the prerogative, for that purpose.

The doctor (who when irritated was the most outrageous judge that ever presided in a court of justice) was on the bench officiating upon their arrival. Benjamin conceived that his rank and intimacy with the doctor would have procured him at least common civility; but in this he was egregiously mistaken.

Benjamin O’Neil Stratford, who attended his nephew on that dangerous expedition, was endowed with several good-natured qualities, but, as folks said, rather inclined to the pleasures oflitigation. In every family which is not very popular, there is always one, of whom people in general say, “Oh! he isthe best of them:” and this wasBenjamin’s reputation as to the Stratford family.[16]

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