Journal as a Pedlar, 1789-90
The evening arrived, and I punctually attended. We met, and the sum of his intelligence was this, that he had got it delivered into the Duchess' own hand, but no answer had as yet appeared; that, however, he had been, and still would be, indefatigable in my interest, and intreated me to call to-morrow morning. This I promised to do, although I had already, in my own mind, interpreted her Grace's silence as a too plain answer, that once more dismissed my hopes.
I passed the rest of the evening in observing the bustle mid preparations every one was making for the Fair, which was to commence next day; and alighting on an acquaintance, a native of the town, whom I had formerly seen in the west country, we retired to an adjoining public-house, where we might have a pint and a little chat to pass the evening. Here he informed me that the ensuing market continued for three days, and to encourage pedlars and other dealers to attend, the Duchess herself made it a rule every year to take a walk through the Fair and purchase some little article from each, and that to-morrow's afternoon she would, according to her usual custom, appear in the market for that purpose. Of this intimation I meant to make some use, and resolved, that if no answer arrived prior to that time, to watch the offered opportunity, and make my address to her Grace in person. Fixt in this determination, I came home and ascended to my room, there to lose for a while, the remembrance of my cares in the downy arms of repose. As soon as the first glimpses of dawn peeped into my chamber, I rose and took a short walk to the fields, to enjoy the serenity of the morn and the richness of the prospect that every where surrounded me. There is something in the mild, agreeable period of a summer's morning, peculiarly pleasing to persons of a contemplative disposition. In that delightful season of dewy serenity, the mind is disengaged from the tumultuous cares and uproars of life, her action renewed, and her powers invigorated by the refreshing influence of sleep. The balmy fragrance that perfumes the air; the promiscuous notes of the feathered tribes, that, warbled in simple harmony from the branches, steal on the ear; the brook glittering as it murmurs along beneath the early rays; the artless whistling of the distant ploughman, and the universal smile that all nature wears around, conveys a secret, serene joy, a blissful tranquillity, that imagination wants language to describe. The soul is then, as it were, half relieved of her corporeal load. Contemplation gazes undisturbed, and Fancy, exulting Fancy, is for ever on the wing.
Then it is, that the poor, fortuneless favourites of genius steal forth amid the dewy solitudes, to admire the astonishing wonders of nature, to give a loose to the excursive faculties of imagination, and to enjoy the transporting pleasures that arise from those sublime and delightful studies; pleasures, that the grovelling sons of interest and grubs of this world, know as little of and are as incapable of enjoying, as those miserable spirits who are doomed to perpetual darkness, can the glorious regions and eternal delights of paradise.
The day was now advancing, and the country people from every quarter were thronging to the Fair. The road seemed to move with black cattle; whole flocks of sheep successively advanced to the town, and about mid-day the streets were all bustle and commotion. The rustics in hodden-gray stalked through the general hubbub, devouring with their eyes the wonderful curiosities that were exposed to view on the chapman's stalls, which now lined both sides of the streets for a considerable length.
Universal uproar prevailed everywhere among the tumultuous crowds; drums beating, pipes sounding, fiddlers playing in expectation of engagements, and all the other confusion that on like occasions every where prevail. On this hand was shouted, “Here's the rare gingerbread”—on the other, “Aberdeen new almanacks” —“A full, true and particular account of a barbarous bloody and inhuman”—“Cast your eye a little farther, there you have a grand view of the”—“Now's the time to try your luck; one in who makes two.” These, and other exclamations were distinguishable, the rest was all indistinct rumour and confusion. The town now exhibited the appearance of trade, and merchandizing was carried on with spirit. Meanwhile, my comrade and I had hung our room with shawls, silk handkerchiefs, muslins, printed cloth, ribbons, and a profusion of other gaudy finery, which, on the whole, made no inconsiderable appearance. We had erected shelfs round the room for the bulk of our goods, and from a large window that fronted the street, displayed a magnificent flag, composed of some elegant shawls, muslins, &c., elevated on a pole, and underneath on a sheet of pasteboard, was painted in conspicuous characters, “A Sale of Muslins and Prints.”
While we were thus busied in exposing and disposing of our wares, happening to throw my eye to the window, I observed a group of gazing country folks encircling some ladies of distinction, and was immediately told by one of my customers, that it was the Duchess. I flew down stairs, mingled with the crowd, and found her Grace officiously engaged in receiving some silver trinkets she had purchased from an old chapman, who seemed to treat her with the utmost deference, and as she left his stall, making a most submissive and ridiculous bow, he turned to the byestanders, and chinking the money in his hand, gave them a look, so expressive of extreme joy and secret rapture, that excited the mirth of all around. Had Hogarth been there, to have arrested the features and made them his own, his piece might have formed an everlasting fund of laughter. At this instant I pressed through the crowd, and respectfully approaching, informed her that I was the person who had sent her Grace the letter last night. She paused for a few moments, and then inquired if I had any goods in the Fair. I replied in the affirmative, and, pointing to the flag, told her I had a beautiful and elegant assortment of muslins within that room, where I would be happy to be honoured with her Grace's presence. She paused again for a moment, and saying in a tone that pierced me to the soul, “I don't want any of these things,” turned with her attendants to the next stall. You whose souls are susceptible of the finest feelings, who are elevated to rapture with the least dawnings of hope, and sunk in despondence by the slightest thwarting of your expectations, think what I felt on this occasion.