A Season at Harrogate Part 2

LETTER VIII.

_High Harrogate, August 26th._

This week in such various amus.e.m.e.nt 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 a.s.sign'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 h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.sions of woman when gaming, Unmask'd, and uns.e.x'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 h.e.l.l, What plagues and what pestilence met in their rambling, To form this detestable pa.s.sion 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 p.r.o.nounc'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, Amus.e.m.e.nt--no kin, but a mere foster brother.

As the young one grew up she full early display'd, Her sire's inclination for sc.r.a.ping 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 pa.s.sions, 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 n.o.bly 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 compet.i.tors 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 pa.s.sion 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 a.s.semble 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 subst.i.tute 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 pa.s.s'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, a.s.sur'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 pa.s.sion 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 cl.u.s.ters 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 a.s.sur'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 grat.i.tude'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 a.s.sur'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 encompa.s.sed 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 bra.s.s, 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 compa.s.s. 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.