OUR hero arriving at Cambridge was entrusted to the care of the head
of a college, the old intimate friend of his uncle, and entered as
a pensioner. Hamilton had carried with him a stock of classical
literature that equalled the proficiency of any cotemporary youth
from even Westminster or the other great schools. He also had made
some progress in mathematics. This happened to be what Cantabs call a
good year; among the fresh men there were a great proportion of hard
students. Our hero made one of the number, and made a distinguished
figure in the various exercises. He excelled both in Latin and English
composition in prose and verse, and made several essays at poetry
that displayed a fancy both strong and brilliant. His satiric vein,
which grew with his age, was not unemployed. Enraged against Mr. Fox
for coalescing with a statesman whom in the judgment of Hamilton he
had execrated so justly, he for a time forgot his attachment to the
transcendent orator, and wrote a ludicrous poem in the measure of
Hamilton’s Bawn, containing a brilliancy and force of imagery with a
satiric poignancy not unworthy of a Sheridan. This essay was the more
highly relished at Cambridge because it sided with Mr. Pitt, the proud
political boast of that university. But these sportive exercises of
his genius were far from chiefly employing the talents of our youth.
According to the inculcations of his preceptors, and the example of
the most admired students, he applied himself with peculiar vigour
to mathematics; and as he approached the year of his graduation,
was farther stimulated by the hopes of academical honours. He also
added metaphysics on a more extensive scale than is usual at English
universities, and did not neglect ethics and political œconomy. He
imbibed the high spirit of liberty which Cambridge breathes, was a bold
and constitutional whig, and a great friend to Smith’s doctrines of
free trade. He approved greatly of Mr. Pitt’s principle of commercial
politics, the expediency of exchanging surplus for supply; and wrote in
one of the periodical publications an essay on the Irish propositions,
which was very highly valued by both parties, both for the vigour of
reasoning and eloquence of impression. Some of his academical friends,
to whom he communicated this production, strongly advised him to
superadd the lighter graces of rhetoric; and by their advice he read
Cicero, Quintilian, and Blair. This last work was the subject of his
studies during one of the vacations while he visited his friends in
Yorkshire.
There he passed about two months, delighted and astonished them by his
powers and attainments. Care had been bestowed on his accomplishments
as well as his erudition. His mother saw with pleasure he was the
best dancer at Doncaster ball. His father having introduced him to
the officers of his own corps quartered at Leeds, he was universally
allowed to be one of the finest men on the parade. Old Maxwell vowed
that he ought to be at the head of the grenadier company. The young
farmers acknowledged that at foot-ball, wrestling, and cudgel-playing,
young Mr. Hamilton was a match for any man in the West Riding. The
young damsels bore witness to the handsomeness of his face, the
sweetness and spirit of his eyes, and the fineness of his figure; not
forgetting the charmingness of his dancing. William himself, though
sensible of the power of beauty, was not smitten, at least deeply, by
any young lady. With very considerable sensibility, he had little of
the delicate and sentimental: he liked a pretty girl when he saw her,
and another pretty girl when he saw her; but without being the votary
of languishing and pining love.
His cousin Susan had not yet forgotten her sweet William, as she styled
him. Not but that she had flirted with a cornet of horse, a lieutenant
of marines, the young laird of Mospaul, and some others of late. She
had from being giddy taken rather a serious cast, and it seems from
the following cause. One Roger O’Rourke, a native of Carrickfergus,
had come to Edinburgh to push his fortune, with one coat, one shirt,
one fiddle, and no pair of breeches, and had been employed as a
performer by a dancing-master. Being himself a muscular active fellow
and a capital hand at an Irish jigg, in summer, when his master’s
business was slack, he resolved to try his hand, or rather his legs, in
delivering instructions himself through country villages. In the course
of his itinerancy, he had arrived at Etterick, and had the honour to
give lessons to Miss, in order, as the laird phrased it, to keep her
in exercise. The following winter he had been induced by a female
acquaintance to visit the Methodist chapel, where, as this friend
instructed him, he would hear the choicest doctrines for poor frail
sinners. O’Rourke soon became a convert to tenets which he found very
accommodating, and readily entered into a compromise to swallow all
their articles of faith and keep to his own articles of practice. Being
a fellow of lively fancy, an enterprizing and adventurous disposition;
he having during that winter heard the sermons, joined in the private
devotions, partaken of the love-feasts, given and received the holy
kiss, experienced the communion of saints, in short, served the
apprenticeship of Methodism, he determined to set up as a journeyman,
and the following summer to have two strings to his bow,--dancing and
preaching. Our strapping missionary set out and was not long a visiting
the mansion of Etterick; but with his dress and appearance very greatly
changed. For whereas in the former year, he had been a smart fellow,
with a bonnet and green ribbon, a short green coat, tartan waistcoat,
and trowsers, he had now a slouched hat, a complete suit of black,
which he had got through the munificence of a taylor’s lady, that
described him to her husband as a powerful labourer in the vineyard
of the Lord. Miss, who had regarded her dancing-master with much
complacency, scarcely recognized him under this metamorphosis; and, at
first, when informed of the double capacity in which he proposed to
act, treated him with ridicule. Her mother, however, was of a different
opinion; that good lady was not without a pre-disposition to Methodism.
She had spent some part of the preceding winter at Glasgow, and was
much pleased with the sublimated Calvinism which she there heard; as
she, indeed, always had been the friend of faith without works. She
had at Edinburgh attended the chapel of Lady Glenorchy, or, as it was
usually called, _the Lady’s Kirk_; and, finally, she had quarrelled
with the parson of her own parish, because he had given shelter to a
servant whom she had been pleased to buffet and discharge, though not
in the wrong. Being, therefore, not disinclined to undergo conversion,
she chid her daughter for treating so sacred things lightly. Suke,
having reconsidered the matter, reflected, that, though the outward man
was different, the inward was the same; she even complimented him on
the change; in his trowsers, she said, he had looked too _robustious_,
in his blacks he was more genteel. Under this instructor Miss Sukey
made rapid progress in grace; she had learned all the spiritual terms,
and had read Whitfield’s and many others’ Sermons, and, through the
ministry of the fervent Roger, had very nearly reached the goal of
female saintship[2]; when, behold, a letter arrived from a friend
at Doncaster, that knew nothing of Miss Sukey’s spiritual change;
describing the appearance of William Hamilton at the ball, and setting
forth his charms, and the many young ladies whom they had captivated.
The evangelical pastor and this wandering sheep (not, like Miss
Prudence, little, but of the _Tiviot-dale_ breed,) were sitting on a
sofa, discussing the doctrine of spiritual love, which he elucidated
by apt illustrations; he had exemplified the kiss of peace, and was
imprinting on her lips the kiss of joy, when a foot on the stair made
them withdraw from the closeness of their devotions, afraid lest their
holy zeal, being misconstrued, might be a stumbling-block to the
ungodly; and she had reached the window, when a servant brought the
letter. Miss Sukey having read and reread this epistle, her affection
for Hamilton immediately rekindled in her combustible bosom. Roger and
his kiss of joy had no longer any joy for her. She resolved that her
father and mother should immediately accompany her to Yorkshire. Again
looking at the dear letter, she observed a postscript which had before
escaped her, mentioning that it was remarked that the excellent old
Mrs. Sourkrout had been of late declining much; she ran to her mother
and shewed her this postscript, and did not fail to recollect a dream
which she had about her grandmamma:--she had seen that beloved lady
lying on her death-bed, reproaching her daughter and grand-daughter
for neglecting her in her last moments. Her conscience could not be
at ease unless they posted instantly to the house of their parent. The
mother, who was incapable of refusing any requisition to her daughter,
granted this the more readily, as she wished to take cognizance of the
old lady’s progress in grace. The laird, who was generally passive
on such occasions, did not object to the intended expedition; and,
when his wife and daughter had left the room, ringing for his chief
confidant and counsellor, the footman, with much glee squeezed him
by the hand, saying, “Andrew, my boy, the everlasting dowager is
going at length; by the Lord she has had a tough time of it; when we
have her once under ground, we shall have a ranting night of it at
Maggy Wood’s.” They prepared to set out immediately; Roger accosted
Miss as she came into the hall equipped for her journey, but to his
astonishment received no answer. She hurried into the carriage, was
followed by her parents, and they drove off, leaving the preacher to
account for this sudden change; all he could learn from the servants
was that the old lady was at the point of death, for so Andrew had
reported. He wished Providence had deferred this intelligence a little
longer: meanwhile he addressed himself to the hearts of other devotees.
The travellers had proceeded with such expedition that, having left
Selkirk at three o’clock in the afternoon, they the next evening at
nine arrived at Doncaster, and, very little to the satisfaction of the
laird, found Mrs. Sourkrout engaged at whist and in high spirits, in
the very act of receiving three tricks for a revoke. She was agreeably
surprised by a visit of which she had no apprehension of the motives.
But, though she was not so ill as the laird had expected, she was
so much emaciated he was not without hopes of soon laying her under
ground. The dowager asked Miss Suke if they had taken the colonel’s
in their way, and if she had seen her cousin William? She answered in
the negative; but learned with much satisfaction, that he was expected
in town the following day to the races. The next day came, William
made his appearance, and paid his compliments to Miss with the ease
of good-humoured indifference. Miss was in raptures with her charming
cousin, as she did not scruple openly to call him, but could not help
finding that though he behaved with polite attention he exhibited no
marks of mutual regard. She watched his eyes as they followed various
belles; and though she did not see them fixed long upon one object,
she saw the expression was much more animated towards several objects
than to herself. The third day, she observed our hero very earnestly
ogling a smart young milliner that came to the inn with preparations
for the ensuing ball, and that as she left the room William went out
also; softly following them to the stairs, Miss saw them meet, and
William bestow on her a kind caress not unlike Roger O’Rourke’s kiss
of joy. Though various opportunities had offered, he had never made
the least advances to such a freedom with Miss Sukey. After a minute
the fair companion of Hamilton caught a view of the listener, and
hurried away. Hamilton, who had not seen her motive, hastened after
her to the street. Meanwhile Miss Sukey retired to consult a favourite
servant who had followed them by the stage-coach; she was directed to
watch the motions of the dresser of caps and her supposed admirer,
which she could the more easily do as she had seen both without being
known to either. Betty executed her commission, and observed both at
a small distance in a lane that opened to a large garden belonging to
the inn. This intelligence she communicated to her young mistress,
and they set out to reconnoitre. As the garden was full of bushes and
trees, it was not difficult to see without being seen, or to hear
without being heard. Hamilton was a young man of honour and principle,
and consequently could not deliberately plan the seduction of an
innocent female, nor even intentionally engage her affections and so
distress her heart: but he was by no means averse to intrigues, when
he conceived the object not to come under that description. Jenny
Collings, the daughter to a Sheffield manufacturer, after having
been an apprentice in her native town, was now assistant to one of
the chief milliners in Doncaster. She was a pretty lively girl, with
what are called roguish eyes; fond of admiration, thoughtless, giddy,
with no little appearance of levity. Hamilton had repeatedly seen her,
and, from her volatile manners and appearance, had formed a conjecture
that really did not do her justice. Under that impression he at first
addressed his glances, which she, pleased with the attention of so
fine a youth, had so returned as to convey a different impression from
that which she intended, and to confirm him in his opinion. He had
taken an opportunity before that morning of signifying his attachment,
not doubting that she perfectly understood its nature and object. She
encouraged his advances by a repetition of her unguarded behaviour,
and in this disposition they now met as before seen and reported by
Betty.
Our hero and his companion had arrived at an alcove at a remote part
of the garden, and were engaged in conversation, mingled with that
dalliance which, favoured by opportunity, is between the sexes so
dangerously progressive; when Miss Sukey and Bet posted themselves
behind the recess, to explore the secret transactions between the
parties. The lovers were wound up to a very interesting pitch, and
poor Jenny was about to pay the price of her levity, when her guardian
angel, assuming the shape of a female actuated by curiosity, saved her
from the impending danger. Both Betty and Miss Sukey had heard the
enraptured whisperings of ardent attack, the soft sighs and imperfect
repulses of feeble and yielding defence, when Miss Sukey espied a
cranny in the summer-house, through which she did not doubt she might
more thoroughly ascertain facts. Bending forward over a bush to reach
this place of contemplation, and, in her eagerness, not minding her
balance, she fell plump against the boards into the bush, and set up a
scream. The lovers hastily withdrew, and Jenny had time to recollect
her many engagements for the day to the various belles of Doncaster,
to decorate and equip them for the important evening. She hurried
home without adverting to the perils which she had avoided. Hamilton
having parted with his companion betook himself to the place whence the
interrupting voice had issued, and there met with Miss Sukey and her
attendant. Miss, totally unused to dissimulation, pouted and frowned.
Betty, with the pert flippancy and consequential self-importance of
a waiting-maid exalted into confidence, first asked what he had
done with his sweetheart, and then, putting her hand in her side
and elevating her face, declared that a gentleman such as he _oft_
to be ashamed of himself for keeping company with _sich_ nasty low
trollops. Hamilton walked on as if unconscious to what circumstance
the sage remarks of Madam Betty had alluded. Miss Sukey and Mrs. Betty
having returned to the house, the pin-sticker expatiated with great
severity on the wickedness of Hamilton, and finally declared him
totally unworthy of the regard of her young lady. “Ah! my dear Miss
Sukey, were I to give my humble opinion, I think he is nothing to come
into _compolisom_ with Mr. O’Rourke. Mr. Roger is both more taller
and more properer; he has the fear of God before his eyes, he is in
a state of grace, and is moreover the best built, best shouldered,
and best limbed man one can see in a summer’s day; he is _consarned_
for the good of your soul. If you had seen him how grievously he took
to it when you went away without once speaking to him, you would have
bepitied the poor youth. Were I as you, Madam, I would give over all
thought of your ungrateful cousin and give my mind up to Mr. O’Rourke.
He converted you to a state of grace, and enlightened you with the
knowledge of the gospel. He would be a loving and a cherishing husband,
and not be running after such gilflirts under your nose.” Betty was
not altogether disinterested in this praise. Roger, by his piety and
other qualifications, had made a very deep impression upon this young
woman. He had protested to her that she was the real object of his
affection, and that his attentions to Miss Sukey were only bestowed
on her account. Roger’s Methodism, like that of many others, admitted
a very great laxity in moral practice and the duties of social life.
Betty, who had already given him every testimony in her power of her
love and affection, desired his promotion and aggrandisement; and was
not without the hopes that he might marry the heiress of Etterick,
while she might in private share with him some of the benefits of this
affinity. Besides remote views, she was not without the apprehension of
more urgent circumstances, which for the convenience and welfare of her
and _hers_ required an addition to the worldly substance of Mr. Roger
O’Rourke. She, therefore, very anxiously endeavoured to detach Miss
Sukey from Hamilton. The disappointed affection and pride of Miss Sukey
co-operated with the instances of Mrs. Betty, and the cold deportment
of Hamilton at the ball conduced powerfully to the same purpose.
Our hero had no motive to pretend sentiments and affections which he
did not feel. He was disgusted with Miss’s appearance and general
demeanour; and not knowing, because not regarding, her sentiments
towards himself, he had imputed the adventure in the garden to the
influence of prying and impertinent curiosity, and had from that time
treated her with an undisguised contempt, which those who most deserve
can least bear.--Meanwhile he continued to bestow attention on Jenny
Collings, and they had frequent private interviews. Hamilton did not
intend to seduce,--Jenny did not intend to be seduced;--but the result
was the same as if there had been the deepest premeditation on either
side. So true it is that instances occur in the history of love as well
as of politics in which _killing is no murder_[3]. Designed seduction,
if followed to all its probable effects of vice and misery, is one of
the greatest crimes that can be committed; and exceeded in hurtfulness
by few affecting private individuals only, except murder. But there
are gradations in the one as in the other, according to the degree
of intention: there is a poison which undermines and destroys the
vitals of virtue; an assassination, which attacks it in its unguarded
and defenceless seasons; culpable homicide, in which without _malice
propense_ both parties are to blame, and chance-medley the effect of
unfortunate situations and collisions of passions. From such recontres
female virtue is more frequently in danger than from any other. Many
persons who are peaceable enough when sober, are prone to fight when
heated with liquor: such ought to abstain from too plenteous libations.
There are, likewise, many extremely well disposed young women, who
yet are not to be trusted with the no less intoxicating beverage of
moonlight walks, or even daylight excursions through fields and woods.
Though there may be no particular plot formed against innocence and
happiness, yet nature and passion have contrived a general plot,
which, carried on in such scenes and by such actors, rarely fails to
produce the catastrophe. As, alas! all the human race is frail, the
best and wisest of moral systems has strongly inculcated, that the
surest means of avoiding vice is to keep from temptation. Chastity
may be considered as a garrison, which may stand a very long siege,
may either repulse the assailant or make terms of honourable and
advantageous capitulation. But where discretionary capture is the
besieger’s object, a storm will rarely answer the purpose; he tries
either sap or surprize. The first of these two modes depends on the
skill of the besieger; requires time for his arts to operate, and may
be resisted by equal skill supported by firmness. As he mines, you
may countermine, and, perhaps, finding that you will not surrender at
discretion, in his eagerness to have possession, he will grant such
terms as even the bravest garrison may with honour receive. In a siege
of this kind the chief danger is from _mutiny_; there may be a strong
party well affected to the enemy, let reason, the governor, (not crush
these, for that would often be impracticable, but) win them over by
demonstrating, that firm and vigorous resistance is the only way to
insure to them the terms which they desire. But, perhaps, the most
frequent mode of capture is surprize, the outposts are unguarded, the
centinels are asleep; a reconnoitring party, which has approached the
fortress without any thoughts of a capture, is invited by this obvious
carelessness to make the attempt, and carries the castle before any
alarm is given. Let my youthful readers of the softer sex attend to
these admonitions: let them not trust too much to their own strength:
their surest strength is the caution of conscious weakness. Let parents
and guardians not only supply the garrison with stores of principles,
but strongly line all the approaches to situations from which those
principles might be blown up; and take special care firmly to secure
the outposts: then they may avoid the fortune of Jenny Collings,
who fell a victim, not to the designs of an enemy, but to her own
indiscretion and imprudence.
Our hero now greatly relaxed in the intenseness of his studies. A
cousin of his mother’s who lived by Doncaster had repeatedly asked
him to spend a month in shooting with him. Hamilton had not been
peculiarly addicted to this amusement, and had refused the offer; but
he now changed his mind, and accepted the invitation, alleging that
his Cambridge friends had often ridiculed him for his ignorance of
that diversion, and that on reflection he wished to learn it under so
skilful a master. His parents agreed to be of the party, and Hamilton
continued there during the remainder of the vacation. The sagacious
reader will not need to be informed of the real motive of chusing this
place of residence, or that he very frequently had interviews with Miss
Collings. This poor girl, though thoughtless and giddy, possessed
both sense and feeling. Hamilton, who had conceived her addicted to
intrigue, was now convinced he had totally mistaken her character, and
that he had done her an irreparable injury. Her peace of mind he saw
was gone, and felt with poignant remorse that he was himself the cause.
Her fondness for him increased almost to distraction, while regret
and pity gave a softness to his conversation and attentions, that her
wishes and hopes construed into reciprocal love. As the time approached
in which he must depart for Cambridge, finding that not only the heart
of this young woman was torn asunder, but that her reputation must
eventually suffer, he himself became a prey to dejection, contrition,
and remorse. His parents did not fail to remark his altered countenance
and spirits, but without being able to explore the cause. Meanwhile he
concerted with Miss Collings a plan which, though it might not prevent
suspicion, would hinder certain exposure. Having somewhat reconciled
Jenny to his departure, he returned to the university.
Soon after the ball before commemorated, Miss Sukey had earnestly
insisted on returning to Etterick. Old grandmamma made one of the
party: and, when the laird returned, he renewed his complaints to
his cronies, that she still was everlasting, and that the treat to
be given on her burial must be postponed, as the dowager was above
ground. His lady by this time had made great progress in bringing her
mamma to a state of grace. Miss being now returned from her wanderings
after another shepherd to the folds of Methodism, and affection for
its pastor also warmly promoted the spiritual amendment of her
grandmother. Betty lent her assistance, and nothing was wanted to
confirm the dowager in the right way, but the ministry of Roger. This
powerful engine of conversion was not wanting long. O’Rourke, having
received faithful information from his votary Betty of the state of
affairs in the Etterick family, was at the mansion-house the day after
their return. He found himself received with great cordiality by his
female devotees, and by Miss with many kind glances. He observed that
the laird regarded him very coldly, and that this displeasure was
increased by the lady, who strongly exhorted her husband to refrain
from profane company at the public-house, and to attend to the
admonitions of Mr. O’Rourke; and the laird feared lest the influence
of the preacher might abridge if not prevent his evening potations.
O’Rourke was naturally a sagacious fellow, with a great deal of
versatility and address. He could become all things to all men. He took
an opportunity of accosting the laird one afternoon in the fields,
and bestowed many encomiums on his skill in farming. The laird, who,
as O’Rourke was a favourite with the higher powers, did not chuse to
behave uncivilly at first, listened to him with indifference, but, as
O’Rourke hit his favourite subjects, at last, with complacency. He had
descanted on the excellence of a field of wheat then ready for the
sickle, and they had walked along a path by its side, when they arrived
at a stile within view of which was the ale-house, the scene of the
laird’s evening amusements. Etterick, supposing that they must now
part, paid his companion a compliment, saying, “Really, Mr. O’Rourke,
you have more sense than I thought you had, and I think you and I
may be better friends than we have been, but don’t you now tell at
home that you saw me going towards Wood’s.” “So far from that, please
your honour,” said O’Rourke, “that if you will allow me I will attend
you, but it is for the honour of your company, and not for the liquor.
Although I must say I see no harm in a cheerful glass with a friend.”
“I thought, Mr. Roger, you would think it contrary to religion.”
“Oh, not all. Our religion minds higher things, faith and grace; but
is not so ticklish as to mind a little drop of whisky.” “Whisky is
good,” replied the laird, “but rum is better;” “and so thinks myself,
please your honour.” By this time they were arrived, and the laird’s
usual companions being engaged at the harvest, they had the parlour to
themselves. The first bowl of punch passed in spiritual discourse, and
O’Rourke had assured the laird, that if he would join the methodists
in their prayers and spiritual devotions, his pleasures at other times
should not be an inch abridged. By the end of the second bowl, this new
disciple had come to a kind of compromise, that he should attend to all
the prayers and devotions which did not interfere with the club-hours.
This point of conscience being satisfactorily settled, they proceeded
in their jovial career. The acquired gravity of the saint gave way to
the natural vivacity of the Irishman. O’Rourke sang several songs, and
told several comical stories, and was actually engaged in the first
stanza of
“Sweet Molly Mog is as soft as a bog!
As wild as a kitten, &c.”
when the evening bell rang for prayers, which ever since O’Rourke’s
residence in this mansion had been regularly performed, at stated
periods, by the whole family, besides their private devotions. O’Rourke
was somewhat startled at this sound, as the punch was excellent and
the bowl nearly full; but being a ready-witted fellow, he immediately
dispatched a note to the lady, informing her that he had met his
honour; that the finger of God was evident in the meeting; and that
he was in a blessed condition of conversion. He had got the effectual
calling, and wanted only a little fillip more of the spirit of the
gospel, to make his election sure; that in a short time he would
prevail on him to come home, and join in the evening exercise. Having
sent off this epistle, our apostle gave up Molly Mog; and, to put
the laird in a right frame, expatiated on the joys of heaven and the
terrors of hell. At this last subject he declared, that sinners who
did not repent, that is to say, betake themselves to faith and grace,
would be burned by the devil until they were as black as the skin of a
roasted potatoe. “And come, here’s a bumper to your honour’s salvation,
and I shall be glad at time and place _convanient_ to lend you a lift.
You’re in a blessed disposition, and if you keep to it you’re sure of
getting to heaven among the saints and the pretty little angels; and
heaven, let me tell you, is as fine a place as the Curragh of Kildare,
or the lake of Killarney itself.” “Yes,” answered the laird, with
true Caledonian gravity, “it is a blessed mansion, where God grant we
may arrive with due speed.” “Oh,” replied Roger, “there’s no hurry.”
The laird now whistling, the landlady made her appearance. The laird
inquired what was to pay, and being informed, ordered another bowl,
observing that it was an established rule of the house never to pay
the reckoning over an empty bowl. “And a very good rule it is,” said
the saint: “but as we are in haste, I think we had better have larger
glasses.” Mrs. Wood having joined the company, Roger inquired into the
state of her religion, and finding her rather a stray sheep, undertook
for her guidance, declaring that his heart warmed to so comely and
handsome a woman, and that nothing in his power should be wanting for
her conversion. His honour being gone on a little before, the spiritual
guide saluted the dame with a holy kiss, overtook his comrade, returned
to the mansion-house, and prayed with even more than usual fervour.
The laird joined most sincerely; and, bating that he fell asleep and
snoared in the middle, went through with becoming zeal. The ladies
would have rebuked him for this musical accompaniment, but his friend
Roger took his part, representing that some allowance must be made
for a novice. They now sat down to supper. Our apostle read a lecture
upon temperance, not long,--as it only lasted while he eat a couple of
pounds of minced collops, with onions and potatoes in proportion: he
drank another tumbler, and having recommended himself to the private
prayers of his several disciples, he retired to his own apartment, and
was at the usual time visited by the punctual Betty.
The next day he met the laird, attended him to the former place of
spiritual communion, and in the course of a week made him a complete
convert. The conversion of the landlady was still shorter; nor were
other proselytes wanting on whom his persuasives had equal influence:
so that the preaching coal-heaver himself never in so short a time shot
more sinners into the cellar of repentance, than this worthy instructor
Roger O’Rourke.
Having _thus_ established the holiness of methodism throughout Etterick
and its dependencies, Mr. O’Rourke now began the improvement of his
doctrines. He made ardent love to Miss Sukey, though generally arrayed
in scripture phraseology. “Come, kiss me,” he would say, “with the
kisses of thy lips, for thy love is sweeter than wine.” It was at
length concerted between Mr. Roger and Miss Sukey, that they should be
privately married _in the sight of heaven_; Miss did doubt that her
influence with her parents, added to the influence of Mr. O’Rourke and
his methodism, might reconcile them to the connection. The pastor was
partly of the same opinion, but reserved to himself the privilege,
should he be deceived, of decamping and leaving his present seraglio
of saints, preaching the new light in other parts, or betaking himself
to such other calling as might best suit his purposes. Accordingly the
nuptials were concluded in the manner agreed.
In a few weeks Mr. O’Rourke, having now brought himself into very high
favour with the father, mother, and grandmother, ventured to disclose
his passion for Miss; and, addressing himself to their worldly as well
as their heavenly feelings, assured them he was a gentleman born, and
next heir to a great estate, which he should possess as soon as his two
cousins and their respective sons and daughters should be in the dust.
Although this reversionary prospect was somewhat distant, yet it was
a great comfort to the laird, that Mr. Roger O’Rourke was a gentleman.
Mrs. Sourkrout and her daughter had also the satisfaction to learn
that Mr. O’Rourke’s great grandfather by the mother’s side had been a
bishop; and though it is true he had been popish, still he had a title
to wear a mitre on his carriage. These considerations having all the
evidence in their favour which the testimony of the narrator could
bestow, made a deep impression on the worthy saints, and combined with
their evangelical sympathy in inclining them to admit the suit of this
holy gentleman. Ere long they agreed to his proposals, and the marriage
was duly solemnized. The bridegroom having a dash of vanity, determined
to publish this alliance in the newspapers, which he did in the
following terms, involving in them an allusion to some of his former
avocations.--“Yesterday was married in the holy bands of matrimoney,
the Rev. Roger O’Rourke, _alias_ Roger O’Rourke, esq. to Miss Susan
Hamilton, the only daughter of Duncan Hamilton, esq. by Grizzle his
wife, to the great joy of the ancient and honourable families and
parties consarned.”--This notification the printer took from the copy
_literatim_ and _verbatim_. The nuptials being concluded, the family,
comprehending this new member, returned to Etterick, excepting Betty,
who procured leave of absence, being, she said, going to visit her
parents in the north.