Her cheeks were of the oval kind; and in her right she had a dimple, which the least smile discovered. Her chin had certainly its share in forming the beauty of her face; but it was difficult to say it was either large or small, though, perhaps, it was rather of the former kind.--Her mind was every way equal to her person; nay, the latter borrowed some charms of the former: for when she smiled, the sweetness of her temper diffused that glory over her countenance, which no regularity of features can give.” The young lady could not misapprehend the scope of this recitation, and could not avoid blushing. Meanwhile the jolting of the coach upon the rugged stones of Stamford awakened others of the company, and during the next two stages the conversation was more mixed and general. The parson continuing drowsy, the discourse was chiefly carried on by our hero and the young lady’s father. In the course of their talk, Hamilton found that the gentleman’s name was Mortimer, and that he had an estate in the North Riding of Yorkshire, to which his daughter and he were now proceeding. “Pray, sir,” said Hamilton, “is not the name of the place Oakgrove, near Northallerton?” “The same,” replied Mr. Mortimer, with surprise. “Then you are the father of my most intimate friend: we were four years together at Cambridge.” “What, do you know my son Jack? Then I dare say, sir, your name is Hamilton.” “The very same, sir.” “You are a wonderful favourite with our Jack; is he not, Maria?” but before Maria answered, and she was in no haste, the old gentleman, very unjustly imputing her silence to forgetfulness, with a view to refresh her memory said, “Don’t you remember, girl, that when Jack used to be descanting on his friend, you would say to him, Don’t talk so much to me, brother, about that Mr. Hamilton, so handsome, so brave, so witty, and so every thing; or you will make me in love with him by hearsay.” This reminiscence, delivered by the mere undesigning frankness of an open and honest country gentleman, overspread Maria with blushes, the exact source of which she would have found it very difficult to define. Her father afterwards once or twice unintentionally added to her confusion, and especially when she appeared absent and in a reverie, by slapping her shoulders and chucking her chin, and asking what was become of all her sprightliness; why she did not speak. “Your brother’s friend here will think you a mere mope.” Maria, who from the conveyance of his eyes had received strong expression of very different sentiments, had little apprehensions of that interpretation, but was still farther confused by the appeal. The parson being now completely awake, very agreeably relieved Maria, by a dissertation, in which he demonstrated, that after fatigue one is greatly disposed to sleep, and that sleep is very refreshing.