Transcriber’s note
Variable spelling and hyphenation have been retained. Minor punctuation
inconsistencies have been silently repaired. A list of the changes made
can be found at the end of the book. Formatting and special characters
are indicated as follows:
_italic_
MODERN LITERATURE:
_A NOVEL._
VOL. III.
Printed by A. Strahan, Printers-Street.
MODERN LITERATURE:
_A NOVEL_,
IN THREE VOLUMES.
VOL. III.
By ROBERT BISSET, L.L.D.
Non ignota loquor.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR T. N. LONGMAN AND O. REES,
PATERNOSTER-ROW.
1804.
CONTENTS
OF
THE THIRD VOLUME.
CHAP. I.
_Excursion of Hamilton with his Wife and Sister. Approaches to Windsor.
Prospect from the Keep. Ideas suggested by Association. Apartments
of the Castle. Paintings. The Terrace. Royal Family. The King on his
own private Grounds. Combination of Objects that render this Scene
interesting and impressive. Approach to Oxford in the Dusk of the
Evening. Full View of this City and its Colleges. Blenheim. Bybury.
Fair Maid of the Inn. Strolling Players. Our Hero learns that Hamlet
had been performed by the Preacher O’Rourke. His Conversation with
Ophelia. More Insight into Methodistical Itinerancy. They proceed to
Tetbury. O’Rourke preaches from an inverted Tub. Affinity between
the Doctrines of Methodism and Mahomedism. The Preacher announces
a Collection. He solves Cases of Conscience. Motives and Modes of
Solution. Fees to the Ghostly Monitor. For want of them a poor
inoffensive Creature driven to despair. A Stranger arrives in pursuit
of the Preacher, who had converted and seduced his Wife. An Account of
the Love Lectures of Itinerant Methodism. The Devotions of the Preacher
interrupted by the Constable. Ophelia enraged at his Inconstancy,
unfolds the Proceedings of the Preacher. His Box is searched. The Watch
is found close by a Book of spiritual Hymns. The Preacher escapes from
Custody, and with him a silver Tankard._ Page 1
CHAP. II.
_The Travellers proceed to Bristol. Clifton. Hotwells. Road from
Bristol to Bath. Description of Bath. Charming Situation. Charitable
and beneficent Institutions. But too much a Scene of Gambling and
Methodistical Adventurers. Principle of these two Classes the same.
Of the two, Methodism the more conducive to Gallantry. Conjecture
that Ovid would have approved of Methodists in one Respect. A
Digression concerning the Scottish Missionaries. Hamilton meets with an
Acquaintance. Mr. Manchester accompanies them to the Rooms. Account of
the Company. A fashionable Clergyman. Ingenious Scheme for dramatizing
the Pulpit, and rendering Action and Spouting a Substitute for Genius,
Learning, and Eloquence. Pulpit Exhibitions of Parson Gilliflower.
Rendezvous of the Preacher and Gambler for comparing their Proceeds.
Hamilton and his Companions leave Bath. Incident at Cherril Downs. They
relieve a Lady in great Distress, and convey her to Marlborough._
Page 60
CHAP. III.
_History of the distressed Lady. Her former Happiness as the Wife of a
worthy and estimable Man. Acquaintance with the Countess of Cheatwell;
who introduces Mrs. Raymond to her own particular Friends. Mrs. Raymond
begins to have a Relish for those Parties: tries her Luck at Gaming.
She begins with great Success. The Tide of Fortune changes. She
becomes acquainted with a very elegant Youth. She is dunned for Debts:
encounters the said Youth at Play, in hopes of liquidating the same.
Grievously disappointed. He extricates her from her Embarrassments,
and takes her Note by way of Form. Where Cash fails, Means of paying
Gaming Debts. Discoveries. Mrs. Raymond flies from Society. Immediate
Causes of the Situation from which she was relieved by the Travellers.
Hamilton discovers her to be the Sister of Sir Edward Hamden. She is
prevailed on to accompany the Party to London. They leave Marlborough.
Description of the Forest, and of Tottenham-Park._ Page 93
CHAP. IV.
_Interview of Hamilton with Sir Edward Hamden. Affection of the
Brother for the Sister, and the Husband for his Wife. Penitence of
Mrs. Raymond. Matters are accommodated. Hamilton returns to his great
Work. Plan and Progress of the Execution. Publication: establishes the
Author’s fame. Praised by Men of Genius, Friends to the Constitution
and the Public. Dispraised by literary Dunces. Eager Rage of the Dunce,
Doctor Dicky Scribble. He wastes much Time in abusing the Production
of Hamilton from Coffee-House to Coffee-House. The Efforts of the
Dunce are impotent against proved Genius. The Reviews praise the
Work, except one, the Property of a Bookseller, who was bringing out
another Work on the same Subject. Dejection of Charlotte Hamilton.
Aspiring Views of Mortimer, tainted by the Dissipation of the French
Capital. He captivates Miss Louisa Primrose, whose Fortune he wishes
to espouse: frankly avows his Situation and Sentiments in a Letter to
Charlotte. She instantly releases him from his Engagements. He marries
Miss Primrose and her Five Thousand a Year. Increasing Intimacy between
Hamden and Hamilton. Literature and Politics of that Time. Burke and
Paine. Under Classes of literary Men Votaries of Revolution. Rise
and Progress of certain Literary Occupations. Decayed Shopkeepers
and Mechanics often take to writing. Various Stages of such, from
Collectors of Rout Intelligence up to Newspaper Reporters. Thence
to Political Pamphleteers and Philosophers. Stages of a Magazine
Writer. Vast Numbers that become literary Journeymen, without having
served an Apprenticeship. Trade of an Editor. Unoccupied Counsellors
and Physicians seek for Briefs and Fees in the literary Line. Action
and Re-action of superficial Literature and mischievous Politics.
Instances. Causes favourable to the Diffusion of an innovating Spirit
among the Vulgar and Ignorant. Principles, Sentiments, and Views of
such Revolutionists. Perverting and inflammatory Writings. St. Leon.
Doctrines, Character, and Works of a Metaphysical Treatise, for
assimilating Man to Beasts. Means proposed for turning Man to such
Likeness. Novel of, against Laws and Punishments, and for Thieves and
Robbers. Specimen of Biography by the same. Jemima, short History
of. She sets up a new Code of Laws for Female Conduct. Reasons which
rendered her Doctrines and Exhortations palatable to many Women.
Meeting of her Votaries. Visitors who are not Votaries admitted.
Among others Hamilton. Progress of her Disciples in the new Morality.
Proposed Abolition of Religion. Institution of an Order of Females
for spreading the new Philosophy, comprehending a burlesque Imitation
of Bishops. Two arch Infidel Females and Twenty-four Infidels. Jemima
unanimously appointed Primate of the Order, and Mary second Primate.
Claims and Pretensions of other Female Infidels to be Members of the
Twenty-four. Respective Merits examined and explained. Individuals
and Classes to whom Jemima proposes the Thanks of the Meeting
for their co-operating Services. Praises bestowed on Teachers of
Boarding-Schools, Novel Writers, and Circulating Library Keepers. On
Parents in a low Estate, who give their Daughters Boarding-School
Education. Conduciveness of Nonsense to Infidelity and the new
Philosophy. Exclamations of Jemima against her most formidable
Adversary, in the old Language denominated Common Sense. Meeting breaks
up. Hamilton’s View of Jemima’s Theory and Inculcations. Domestic
Occurrences. Birth of a Son to our Hero. Passion of Sir Edward Hamden
for Charlotte Hamilton. Her Objections: are overcome. Marriage._
Page 124
CHAP. V.
_Adventures of O’Rourke. He revisits his Country, but not the Scenes
of his former Exploits: becomes a Popish Priest as well as Methodist
Preacher, and also follows some of his old Occupations. He arrives
at Dublin. Natural, but fatal Catastrophe of this Preacher and
Practitioner. Grief of his Wife on hearing of his melancholy End.
Death of her Child and the Widow O’Rourke. Christian Resignation of
the old Laird. He rests his sole Hopes in our Hero. Settlement of his
Estates. Intelligence of these Changes is sent by him to Hamilton, whom
he strongly urges to come immediately to Etterick. Hamilton re-visits
Scotland: is chosen Member for the County. His Uncle accompanies him
to London. His first Speech in Parliament. Admiration of all Parties.
Attention paid him by the first Men in the House. Behaviour of his
Uncle during the Speech. His exulting Joy on the Reception his Nephew
experienced. His Expression of that Joy. The Story brought to a
Conclusion. Parting View of the principal Characters._ Page 227
MODERN LITERATURE.
CHAPTER I.
HAMILTON, possessed of his lovely and beloved Maria, was stimulated to
more constant and vigorous intellectual exertions than at any former
period of his life. He consulted with his friends, and balanced with
himself, whether he should persevere in the study of the law, or
entirely devote himself to literature. To the latter his inclinations
prompted; but the former appeared the more conducive to his interest.
The ability and industry which would enable an Erskine to acquire
twelve thousand in one year, could scarcely earn so much to a
Robertson or a Gibbon in the course of a literary life. He had been the
means of preventing Maria from affiancing herself to opulence; ought
not he to attempt to supply the defect? His friends thinking that no
attainments were beyond his reach, if directed to the study of the
law, very strongly urged him to be called to the bar. He at length
determined to persevere in his legal studies, but at the same time to
carry on his other pursuits. He made very great progress in the work
which he had undertaken, and by the approach of winter an octavo volume
was ready for publication.
Maria, considering the world as centered in her husband, desired no
amusements or pleasures that could interfere with his engagements,
duties, and ardent wish to fulfil them speedily and effectually; and
except two or three plays, a party to Vauxhall, jaunts for a day to
some of the adjacent villages, she was entirely domesticated. About the
middle of August, however, William finding that his labours were so far
advanced as to afford him respite for a few weeks, proposed to carry
his wife and Charlotte an excursion, by a route of which the greater
part would be new to him, and all beyond the first stage to his fair
fellow travellers. The ladies had never seen Windsor; this, therefore,
was the first object of their destination. On a Sunday morning
early they took the road to Hounslow; changing horses at Cranford
Bridge, they hurried over the bleak and dreary heath; and turning
Colnbroke, were gladdened with the prospect of the grand and commanding
battlements of Windsor Castle, amidst scenery striking and magnificent,
at once uniform and diversified; VARIED in the distribution and
assortment of the beautiful, the romantic, the sublime, ONE in the
interest and impressiveness of the whole. The first care of their
conductor was to give them a complete and comprehensive view of the
situation and prospects of the royal residence. He therefore led them
to the super-eminent elevation of the round tower; where such an extent
of space opens on every side to the astonished spectator, and exhibits
such a multiplicity of objects, as fill him with amazement, which
subsiding sufficiently to permit distinct attention to the several
compartments, is changed into delight. After viewing in succession
the verdant and wooded ridge of St. Leonard’s Hill; the more gentle
eminences, that diversified with dales, line the approaches from the
great park; the romantic environs of Runymede, the sacred theatre
of vindicated rights; the pastoral scenery of Frogmore; the rich
fertility of the northern view long level, by its mantling corns that
had now assumed their ripened yellow hue, diversifying the verdure
of the southern prospect; fringed with distant woods, and bounded
by acclivities, which, without lessening the interest of the nearer
scenery, served to limit contemplation to definite objects. Immediately
under the eye occupied in that direction, the nurse of British learning
raised her venerable head; the Thames, meandring through those woods
and dales and lawns, and washing the glittering towers and hills with
its gilded streams, beautiful itself, and enhanced every other beauty,
and, like the poet’s magic pen, whatever it touched adorned.
To a spectator of genius, a prospect does not merely present
the objects that assail his eyes; its chief effect is often by
association. Destitute of sensibility and fancy a beholder must be,
who reaching the top of Portsdown hill, and descrying the distant Isle
of Wight, or the Fareham forest, the former a more prominent, and the
latter a more beautiful object, than the flat environs of Portsmouth,
would not chiefly regard the town he was approaching, not as a place
containing a certain number of buildings, but as the grand receptacle
of English strength. Hamilton viewing Windsor transcending every place
that he had beheld in the various excellencies of external nature,
cultivated, but not overwhelmed by art, now regarded it in a different
light; as the seat of royalty, subjecting to the survey of its owner
almost every different characteristic of English rural beauty. In
its agricultural and pastoral objects it involves the grand inlet of
transcending commerce; there its benignant possessor can, with the
exultation of conscious patriotism, happy in the accomplishment of its
benevolent purposes, say--“these are the pastures and farms of ability,
enterprize, and industry, fostered by freedom that is regulated by
order, and which having produced opulence, with skilful taste employs
part of it in super-adding ornament to utility, and an opulence
diffused through various ranks, giving to the mechanic and the peasant
those neat and comfortable houses which constitute the many flourishing
hamlets and villages that present themselves to the gladdened eye.
Before us glides the Thames, wafting merchandize between my inland
country and my metropolis, and, even here, long before it imbibes the
ocean, it presents a growing scene of the industry and traffic which
so eminently distinguish its matured course beyond all other rivers.”
“Here,” said our hero, pointing to the chapel, “our Sovereign seeks,
in religion, the best support of moderate and virtuous royalty. There
learning employs her stores in inuring youth to sound knowledge, just
principles, and sentiments which must ever support mingled loyalty and
freedom.”
From this general survey they now descended to particularization.
They viewed the apartments of the castle, which are decorated with
such magnificence of diversified ornaments; contain so numerous an
assemblage and exquisite a selection of monuments of the fine arts;
combine the best productions of the Flemish and Italian schools, and
also shew that English genius taking that course, can excel as well as
in any other. From the royal suite of rooms they now betook themselves
to the Terrace, to view the SOVEREIGN A PRIVATE GENTLEMAN ON HIS
OWN GROUNDS, frankly mingling with his people, and deriving pleasure
from the many and strong testimonies of loyalty, delighted with
contemplating the welfare and happiness of its objects. They saw him
accompanied by his queen, and surrounded by his family. The scenery,
the music, the company, and above all, the royal party, rendered the
effect peculiarly impressive. Our travellers spent the whole of that
day at Windsor: the following morning they took a ride round the great
park, and afterwards visited Eton College. After an early dinner they
took the road to Oxford; they were charmed with the romantic beauties
between Salt Hill and Henley, where having stopped half an hour, it
was the dusk of the evening, when the spires and cathedrals of Oxford
presented themselves in solemn grandeur through the gloom of the
twilight. The next morning they walked out to survey the venerable
city. It was the season of the vacation, and stillness appeared to
prevail throughout; every scene seemed retired and sequestered--the
chosen abodes of profound reflection and philosophy--
“----Deep solitudes and awful cells,
Where ever pensive contemplation dwells.”
These were reservoirs of theoretic wisdom, whence issued streams that
being guided by practical skill and experience, produced most important
benefits to society. Here our hero recalled to his mind a reflection he
had made at Cambridge, of the benefit that arose from the commixture
of religious with literary institutions. He mentioned this remark to
his intelligent fellow travellers, and finding a copy of Newte’s
tour, read to them a very striking passage on the subject. “Oxford
and Cambridge,” says that very able writer, “may be justly considered
not only as venerable monuments of ancient times, but as a kind of
garrison, established by public authority, for the preservation of
loyalty, literature, and religion. If our universities may be thought,
in some respects, to check and retard the progress of knowledge,
by means of fixed forms, laws, and customs, it is at least equally
certain, that they are salutary bulwarks against the precipitate and
desolating spirit of innovation. The reverence paid by our ancestors
to piety and to learning, strikes us in Oxford as by a sensation,
and shews how fit objects these are of esteem and veneration, to the
common sense of mankind. For different nations, and races of princes
and kings, have concurred, in the course of many centuries, to pay
homage to the shrine of saints and the seats of the muses. It is not an
easy matter to prevent or shake off a respect for any noble or royal
family, whose antient representatives, the founders and benefactors
of the different colleges and halls, are brought to remembrance by
pictures, statues, charters, and stately edifices. These take fast hold
of the ductile mind of the students, and are associated in their memory
with many of the most pleasing ideas that have ever occupied their
minds. From impressions of this kind, a love of their early haunts and
companions, naturally associated together in their imaginations, is
nourished in the breasts of the generous youth, and also an attachment
to their king and country. Take away these memorials of antiquity,
those noble and royal testimonies of respect to sanctity of life,
and proficiency in learning, remove every sensible object, by which
sentiments of early friendship, loyalty, and patriotism are kindled
and inflamed in young minds, and disperse our young gentlemen in other
countries for their education, or even in separate little academies and
schools in our own, and you weaken one of the great pillars by which
the constitution and spirit of England is supported and perpetuated.”
They now proceeded to view the different colleges and libraries. When
they were in Pembroke College, our hero observed, that as one of the
chief glories of English literature had been educated at this seminary,
as a monument that they had fostered so very eminent a pupil, they
should erect a statue to Samuel Johnson. They passed several hours
in the Bodleian library; they viewed also the various chapels, and
were particularly pleased with some of the paintings. The city and
university in general impressed our travellers with reverence and
awe, and the contemplation furnished to our hero various ideas that
he afterwards found useful in his literary pursuits. Having remained
a day and two nights at Oxford, they set off for Woodstock to view
Blenheim, one of the most signal monuments of national gratitude to an
illustrious hero for discomfiting the ambitious enemies of his country.
From Woodstock a spacious portal of the Corinthian order conducted them
into the park, and opened to them the lake, the bridge, but conspicuous
beyond the rest the castle. Designed by Sir John Vanbrugh, and like the
other structures of that architect, ponderous; the palace of Blenheim,
nevertheless, exhibited regularity and proportion. Admitted into
the house they found the apartments grand and magnificent, decorated
with monuments of genius and of taste, especially paintings. To the
spectator who with the exhibitions combined the renowned founder of
the Marlborough family, the most interesting were the representations
of his heroic actions. The holy family; the offering of the Magi; our
Saviour blessing the children; filial affection exemplified in the
Roman daughter; return of our Saviour from Egypt; bearing testimony to
the genius of Rubens, or an honour to the taste and selection of any
nobleman, but have no appropriate relation to that illustrious family
more than any other. The same observation will apply to the Dorothea of
Raphael; the Pope Gregory and Female Penitent of Titian. But the most
appropriate decorations are the battles of Marlborough represented on
tapestry. The disposition of the grounds was also extremely skilful;
but to the historical or political reader the most interesting
portion was, that which either described or alluded to the exploits
and victories of John Churchill, Duke of Marlborough, and especially
the lofty column which serves as a pedestal to the statue of the
consummate general, and presents an inscription describing the talents
and qualities of the head and heart of this extraordinary personage;
the atchievements of so efficacious and singular a character, and the
effects which they had produced; the following inscription composed by
Bolingbroke, appears to be singularly adapted.--
The castle of _Blenheim_ was founded by Queen
ANNE
In the fourth year of her reign,
In the year of the christian æra 1705,
A monument designed to perpetuate the memory
of the
Signal victory
Obtained over the _French_ and _Batavians_,
Near the village of _Blenheim_,
On the banks of the Danube,
By JOHN, Duke of MARLBOROUGH,
The hero, not only of this nation, but of this age,
Whose glory was equal in the council and in the field;
Who by wisdom, justice, candour, and address,
Reconciled various and very opposite interests;
Acquired an influence
Which no rank, no authority can give,
Nor any force but that of superior virtue;
Became the fixed important centre,
Which united in one common cause,
The principal states of Europe;
Who, by military knowledge, and irresistible
valour,
In a long series of uninterrupted triumphs,
Broke the power of _France_,
When raised the highest, when exerted the most,
Rescued the empire of desolation;
Asserted and confirmed the liberties of _Europe_.
This memorial, so clear, so strong, and so appropriate, our hero
regarded as peculiarly adapted to its glorious subject.
Having viewed whatever appeared most worthy of inspection in Blenheim
castle and park, our travellers returned to Woodstock, where they
dined, and, in the evening, set off for Whitney, whence, that night,
they reached Bybury in Glocestershire. Here they found a very good
inn, and a young woman, who did not officiate as a servant, paid her
respects to the ladies; upon seeing this person, our hero thought her
very handsome, and after his Maria, one of the most charming girls he
had ever beheld; and they afterwards found, upon enquiry, that she
was reckoned the beauty of the vale of Evesham. They learned that
the most commodious apartment for supper was a public room, where
several parties were sitting at different tables. There had been,
it seems, a play in an adjoining barn; and the greater number of the
spectators were at supper in the wide and extensive theatre; but a
few of the higher order were promoted to the dining room, and our
travellers overheard some dramatic criticism. A decent substantial
looking man declared himself extremely delighted, and was proceeding
with particulars, when a great, stout, portly figure entered in a
dress which appeared to be an old sailor’s jacket bespangled with
whip-cord, and whispering something to the waiter, was shewn to a box
facing that of Hamilton. The company was at first silent, and then
began a clapping, but not so loud as to prevent the waiter’s voice
from being heard bawling, “eggs and bacon for the ghost, and a pot of
mild ale,” and soon after, “for the queen, a glass of crank hot and
strong, beef steaks and onions for Ophelia.” Hamilton having heard
this order, conceived that the gentleman in the blue jacket, though
really so abounding in flesh and blood, was intended to be the ghost
of the elder Hamlet. Accordingly he accosted him; “I find, sir, that
by being too late, these ladies and I have missed the performance of
a very excellent tragedy.” “Yes,” replied the other, “if you know any
thing of London plays, you would have been astonished with us.” “You
acted the ghost, sir.” “Yes, and Laertes.” “But had you not to change
your dress?” “No; I had no dress to change with. I should indeed have
taken off the armour, but the taylor was on the stage playing the
king.” “Where is your Hamlet?” “Gone home to supper with the sexton,
who acted the part of the grave-digger. I assure you, that bating his
now and then forgetting his part, our Hamlet is a capital actor; but
here comes the fair Ophelia bearing a mug of porter.” The mistress of
the Danish Prince was arrayed in a green jacket and a red petticoat,
that proved Monmouth-street to extend to distant parts of the kingdom.
But as she was a fine likely girl, her habiliments appeared to the best
advantage, and she sat down by a young farmer, who appeared smitten
with her charms, while she seemed nowise to discourage his addresses,
and it required no ghost to discover what would be the result. Our
hero thought he had seen her somewhere, and as some parts of the
conversation induced the ladies to retire, he entered into discourse
with the representative of Hamlet’s royal sire, and Ophelia and her
new acquaintance having left the room, he enquired whence she came.
The actor replied, that she came to Worcester several months before
with an Irishman; they called themselves Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, but
he believed that was not the real name of the man; and farther, that
he much doubted whether the woman had any title to his name, be it
what it might. The man sometimes acted and sometimes preached: he was
engaged to deliver a sermon the following day at Tetbury, where he had
made several female converts. Madam often joined him in his spiritual
exercises, for she had a good pipe, and was an excellent hand at an
hymn; and being a handsome clever lass, was as graciously received at
the love feasts and communion of saints by the men, as her holy partner
was by the women. “Pray,” said our hero, “what is this Mr. Hamilton’s
figure?” “A very tall stout fellow, with a mark on his cheek, which
he said he got in defending himself against a dozen of robbers, for
he draws a long bow.” Hamilton, as our readers will readily conceive,
concluded this sacred dramatist to be no other than his worthy
connection Mr. Roger O’Rourke, and resolved to repair to Tetbury in
sufficient time to participate of the spiritual food which this noted
cook had provided.
Hamilton and his lovely companion had now been some time in bed, and
had almost fallen asleep, when they heard a very great noise over their
heads, and men speaking in a loud and furious tone. Striking a light
our hero went to inquire into the cause, and entering the room whence
the bawling issued, found two men in their shirts holding and cuffing
each other. Having, with some difficulty, parted the combatants, who
were now battered and bloody, he asked what was the ground of the
affray, and discovered that it originated in a mistake. The room it
seems belonged to the ghost; the young farmer had become the devotee
of Ophelia, either for religion or some other reason, and it had been
agreed, that they should resume their spiritual confabulations during
the solemn stillness of the night. The farmer went to the wrong door,
and approaching the supposed Ophelia, was surprized by a hoarse voice,
demanding who he was. The farmer, apprehending that another person
had anticipated his wishes, in an equal rage approached the bed, its
possessor starting up, a combat had ensued. The landlord and various
others having now come to the room, the farmer was prevailed on to
withdraw, and so the scuffle ended. Our hero returned to Maria, whom he
found joined by Charlotte, that had been alarmed by the uproar, but
quietness being restored, she departed. Next morning, our hero being
called at an early hour by his previous directions, arose. Enquiring
after the farmer, he learned, that he had huddled on his cloaths
with all possible expedition after the battle, ordered his horse,
and set off swearing at Ophelia, and still imputing his reception to
her design, and not his own blunder: therein he did that young lady
great injustice, as she was scrupulously tenacious of _such_ promises.
Hamilton now proceeding to the dining room, found Miss Ophelia sitting
alone, with breakfast apparatus and a book before her. She rose at
his entrance, and made a very affable kind of a courtsey, which she
accompanied by a no less affable smile. Hamilton asking what the book
was, was told, it was a collection of spiritual hymns, they were to be
that day sung at Tetbury, where her husband was to deliver a sermon. “I
certainly have seen you, Madam?” She rather hung down her head. “Oh, I
remember, Sir; once near the coast of Sussex, you and a very handsome
young lady were alone in the wood, the same that I saw with you last
night, and who my husband told me since you are now married to.” “And
is the gentleman that I saw with you your husband?” “Oh, you know all
about it, Sir, it is needless for me to disguise; but while the soul is
filled with true faith, what can any acts of the body signify, let us
not attend to the filthy rags of works; the more we strip ourselves of
what heathens and unbelievers call morality and virtue, the more easily
may we be covered by the splendid robes of imputed righteousness.” “Do
you, Madam, also assist in preaching?” “Very rarely; I have sometimes
held forth. I once delivered a discourse on the resemblance of human
and divine love; it was allowed by many persons, even that had not yet
received the effectual calling, that my description of human love was
very natural and strong, and we had a good many converts that very day;
for I assure you, that we have not a more powerful engine of conversion
than engaging accounts of the passion of love, such sermons do thrill
so through the heart.” “You will allow me to observe, Madam, that
your language and remarks are far beyond what I should have expected
from either an itinerant preacher or player, or the associate of my
worthy acquaintance Mr. O’Rourke. You certainly have received a liberal
education, and have moved in genteel circles.” “Mr. Hamilton,” she
replied, “I know your character well, and also some circumstances in
which you have been very particularly interested. Allow me to ask you
one question: can you see in my features or countenance a resemblance
to any person that you have known?” Our hero looked a few moments and
started. “I certainly have seen a face very like yours, but you are
not she.” “I am not; but to cut the matter short, my maiden name was
Collings, Joanna Collings, the elder sister of Jenny Collings, your
Jenny Collings, now the wife of a rich booby squire.” “I thought,” said
our hero, “that lady was the wife of a clergyman.” “She is, but has
proved herself totally unworthy of such a husband. My story, Sir, is
short and simple; but were it told, full of warning instruction.” The
ghost actor now making his appearance, interrupted this conversation,
and pointing to his wounded head, said, “Mrs. Ophelia, I have to thank
you for last night’s exploit, that clodpole was one of your lovers,
but I will work him; I will prosecute him; I will serve him with a
_scire facias_, by the Lord I will.” Ophelia retired without making
any reply. Mrs. and Miss Hamilton now entering, breakfast was speedily
dispatched, and they set off on the road to Cirencester; and having
stopped two hours to view Lord Bathurst’s house and grounds, continued
their journey to Tetbury. They learned that the preacher was to exhibit
at six o’clock in the inn yard, from a tub inverted for his convenience
and exaltation. Our hero and his companions had influence with the
waiter to have the tub placed before the windows of the parlour, which
they occupied. The preacher ascended and exhibited the very physiognomy
of O’Rourke. Ophelia was, by this time, arrived at the scene of
spiritual instruction, and officiated as precentor in the modulation of
the psalms; and after one or two extempore prayers, O’Rourke began a
sermon in somewhat better language than Hamilton would have expected,
from his knowledge of Roger’s powers and erudition. The subject was the
joys of Heaven. His explanation on this momentous topic was somewhat
on the Mahomedan establishment, and proceeded on a supposition, that
the supreme constituent of felicity would be Love. He had got various
ideas on that subject from his fair associate, but now and then made
additions of his own. “I proceed now (he said) to the accommodations of
Heaven under the words of my text, ‘pleasure for evermore.’ The best
way of judging of the joys of Heaven, is by considering what rejoices
the saints here upon earth: for instance, now we ourselves like good
eating and drinking as well as those in a state of reprobation, and do
you think we shall not have a very good table, and plenty of wine, or a
drop of whisky, or any other such necessaries as those who have got the
effectual calling relish in their present state? It will be no work and
free quarter there, and what can an honest fellow wish for more. But
the choicest pastimes will be the company of the angels.” Expatiating
particularly upon this topic, his conceptions evidently admitted a
great portion of earthly instead of Heavenly perfection. “There will be
the pretty _dare_ cratures to rejoice the hearts of the saints, with
their sparkling eyes and their sweet _lucks_, and their fine shapes,
all dressed in white muslin; and to use a _samalay_, all as one as the
curragh of Kildare, which every one allows to be one of the finest
sights in the universe; and the country is so pretty and pleasant, as
grand as the bay of Dublin, or Lochswilly, or Carrickfurgus itself,
that faces Port Patrick, as you go over to Scotland; as sweet as the
flowery banks of the Shannon, which you know is the subject of a very
fine song; part of the words are,--
Now Patty, softest of thy sex,
Let love’s sweet power prevail.”
And here the divine hummed the tune. “but we shall have it at the
love-feast in the evening. But to return to what we was speaking of:
Heaven is as romantic and charming as--now there is some very fine
prospects not far from this very place, that some of you may know,
that will give some idea of the face of the country in Heaven. There
is Malvern wells; this same valley of Evesham; but Clifton and King’s
Weston gives them the go-by, though I must say the Avon is rather
muddy. Ah, God help you; it is not like our clear Irish streams. Our
Bannar for instance; my little Ophelia has a very good song about that
too, which shall be forth-coming at the love-lectures: but Heaven
is most like the lake of Killarney. There will be also no want of
music in Heaven; and, I do suppose, it will be different according to
different tastes. For myself, I think the choicest instrument is the
Irish bag-pipe; and should Courtenay be gone there, we cannot have
a better hand; I shall find him out, he is a sweet countryman of my
own. I forgot to say one article in the eating way, there will be the
choicest fruits, especially potatoes. Now having described Heaven,
it may be as well to say a few words about hell, although, it being
no very agreeable subject, I shall not be after taking up much of
your time. But you that are making faces there, what are you about?
is it mocking me you are? be _asy_ now. I have a shillelah now, and a
good tough bit of a swich it is. Ay, you will do now, so I shall go
on to describe hell; with which, unless you will follow my counsel,
you, Mr. Smirker, will be better acquainted some day or other. It is
a hideous kind of a place, like the coal-pits of Staffordshire, or
to come nearer the point, like the great cavern in the Devil’s own
premises; there is a great furnace, just like the glass-houses, where
unbelievers are roasted, all as one as pigs, in the great cook-shops,
as you pass through Porrige Island; and as they are alive all the time,
they must be in a pretty kind of a combustion. There is a serjeant’s
guard of devils over every fire. Now Heaven and hell, you may perhaps
_persave_, are different kind of accommodations; and certainly, every
man that has his _seven_ senses about him must see, that the one is a
much better kind of a lodgment than the other; but as our play said
last night, ‘any fool knows that.’ The next question is, how are we to
get to Heaven? We are the boys to direct you; your parsons, and your
bishops, and them kind of people, will tell you long rigmarole stories
about practising virtue and morality, as they call it; that is a very
troublesome kind of way, and a great restraint upon a poor fellow,
and up-hill work. But we that follows the true doctrines, myself
among many others, gets you a _short cut_, all easy and down-hill,
all that you have to do is to believe.--What? you will say; why what
your preacher tells you; that is, the _whole sacret of getting to
Heaven_. If you do that, there’s nothing to hinder you to take your
glass, or any other kind of recreation that may suit your fancy. But
the best proof you can give of believing your preacher, is by shewing
your respect. There is to be a collection this evening, a word to the
wise; after the collection I shall solve cases of conscience at eight
o’clock till ten, when we meet at the love-lectures; for I am the
man to shew you the way to salvation, as sure as I stand here.” At
this instant the preacher, leaning too far forward, slipped his foot
from the edge of the tub, and came to the ground; and some prophane
scoffers having set up a laugh, the saint, in his passion, forgot
his piety, and d----d them for a parcel of scoundrels. “I see you
very well, and if I could find out which it is, I would darken his
daylights for him.” A very stout fellow, who conceived the preacher’s
looks directed to him, came forward and said, with much indignation;
“thee darken my daylights, I will vight thee vor vive guineas.”
O’Rourke, whose courage, as we have already seen, did not equal his
strength, observed, “that the challenger, though not so tall as he, was
extremely active and muscular; thought proper to mention his sacred
calling, and he hastily withdrew into the house.” Here he soon met
with our hero, who took him somewhat severely to task, for so much
longer an absence from his family than he had promised; and gave him to
understand, that if ever he expected any countenance or support from
the family or fortune of Etterick, he must entirely change his plan
of conduct. O’Rourke, who stood greatly in awe of Hamilton, made many
promises of speedy amendment; but he was, for the present, engaged by
his honour, both in playing and preaching, that he must, for a few
weeks, continue at his employments. Hamilton knew O’Rourke too well
to suppose honour could be any kind of restraint upon his actions.
Originally unprincipled and profligate, he was not likely to have
learned rectitude and moderation from his vagabond life, either as a
strolling player or as a strolling preacher; and, indeed, the little
he had heard since he fell in with his associates, entirely concurred
with this view of probability. The real truth it seems was, O’Rourke,
who detested his wife, had no intention to return to her, unless driven
by necessity; and he found his preaching and other gifts becoming
tolerably productive. His barn exhibition had, indeed, only brought him
seventeen shillings and sixpence; but the tub oratory was four times
that sum. The cases of conscience varying from sixpence to a crown per
head, averaged nineteen pence halfpenny; and as he dispatched them
very expeditiously, especially the sixpenny consultations, he managed
about twenty-four of an evening; making, if there be any truth in
calculation, one pound nineteen shillings. He besides received private
gifts on various occasions, and had already acquired the expertness of
an old practitioner, in levying supplies for the sake of distressed
brethren, and of these contributions he gave such an account as is
usual among the itinerant fraternity. But though he had no intention
of repairing to Etterick, he gave a most solemn promise to Hamilton
to be there in six weeks at farthest. Hamilton wishing for farther
acquaintance with the manner of Methodism, expressed a desire to be let
into some of the secrets of the cases of conscience, and endeavoured to
learn if it was possible to be an unobserved witness. By the ministry
of a waiter, who, being son of the sexton, abominated all that might
tend to lessen the payments to the parish church, he was concealed in a
closet adjoining the apartment of the counsellor of conscience.
The first person that applied was, by his own account, a shop-keeper.
The parson of the parish, it seems, had, by some means, discovered that
this dealer had two kinds of weights and measures; one for those that
he supposed to be very sharp, and another for them that he supposed
to be very flat. The clergyman had represented this distinction as
very iniquitous, and assured the tradesman, that if he persisted in
fraud, that punishment would sooner or later overtake him, if not in
this, at least in the next world. The man was unwilling to relinquish
a practice so very gainful; and having frequently heard, that the
circulating preachers were much more indulgent to deviations from
morality, he had repaired to the sermon of Mr. O’Rourke, and was very
much satisfied with the short cut that he described; but wishing to be
more particularly informed, applied personally to the learned O’Rourke,
having stated his case and expressed his hopes, that his practice
was not inconsistent with the true faith. The preacher replied, “I
must first ask you some questions; you have made a good round sum, I
suppose, by this kind of traffic?” “I have not been unsuccessful.”
“Have you applied any part of the proceeds to the relief of the
brethren?” “Oh yes, I pay the poor’s rates.” “Be after understanding
me, I mane to us, the believing boys.” “No, I cannot say I have, except
half-a-crown I gave to-day at the collection.” “Oh, that will not do
gra, you will not get off so asy; charity, as I demonstrated to you,
covereth a multitude of sins, therefore your best way is to give me
a small part of your profits, three or four guineas, or five, as a
_nater_ kind of a sound, which I shall employ according to the best
of my judgment.” “Five guineas is a great sum, please your reverence,
and I do not see how it can lessen the sin.” “You do’nt! then I will
shew you, my boy, how it will lessen the punishment. What would you say
if I was to go and inform against you now; you could be very easily
convicted, and I would refer it to the discovery of your parson, so
do not speak against charity to me, you see your reputation is in my
power.” The client comprehended this hint, as well as the character
of the intimator, and not choosing to run a risk, offered a couple of
guineas, which the counsellor vouchsafed to accept, and told him not
to bother himself with any concern about his weights, to read George
Whitfield’s works, Mr. Coalheave’s sermons, the Missionary Reports, the
hymns of the tabernacle, and of the new chapel hard by Sadler’s Wells,
he forgot the name, and the new magazines for supporting the cause of
the brethren, especially their poetry, composed by a brother tradesman
of your own, when work was slack in Spittlefields. This client being
departed, another made his appearance, a poor, thin, sneaking-looking
person. “Well, my friend,” said O’Rourke, “how long have you been
converted, and what are your doubts?” “Oh, I have been _convarted_
this two months, and have no doubts myself, its my wife that I want
to be convarted, as fine a likely woman as is in all Tetbury, if she
had but the effectual calling; but she meaks geam of me and the new
light, but for that matter she used to meak geam of me before I was
convarted; so I thought, Sir, I would make bold to ax if your reverence
would lend me your assistance.” “Oh, that I will.” A female voice was
now heard calling “Jerry, come along and mind your business,” and the
door opening, a tall strapping wench appeared. “Come now, Polly, hear
what this good man can do for your welfare and comfort, and do not be
obstropulous, but obedient.” The preacher having regarded her with
much complacency said, “Mr. Jerry, you may lave us, I can instruct
your spouse without your company.” Jerry withdrew, and the wife was
about to follow him, but he begged her to hear him a few minutes, she
would not find his instructions so disagreeable as she apprehended. A
parley ensued, in which he undertook to explain the doctrines of love,
and particularly the love of the brethren towards spiritual sisters.
But though his doctrine made some impression, he prematurely supposed
it more persuasive than it hitherto was; why should not the lambs of
faith play together? He now made advances which she could not possibly
misapprehend, but she not being hitherto converted to his faith,
received them as they deserved, and threatened to expose him as a wolf
in sheep’s cloathing. O’Rourke so far mollified her as to prevent
the execution of this threat, and she departed. The preacher was a
good deal ruffled at this disappointment, when a young woman entered
with a very down-cast appearance, and having unfolded her doubts and
apprehensions respecting the state of her faith; from her confession,
it appeared, that she was an innocent and exemplary young woman,
the industrious supporter of her widowed and infirm mother, but had
unfortunately been seized with this maddening enthusiasm, and fancying
herself deficient in the requisite grace, had become hypocondriac,
and conceived an attention to her business, exercised from filial
duty, as too worldly, and an encroachment on the time that ought to
be exclusively devoted to spiritual concerns. But natural affection
still operating, notwithstanding theological perversion, she wished
to find from the preacher, if industry, for the relief of a parent,
was compatible with religious duty. O’Rourke expecting from her very
little consultation fee, wanted to dispatch her as soon as possible, to
make room for more profitable and agreeable customers; and being still
enraged, he gave her a most dreadful description of her condition, and
told her, that if she did not give herself entirely up to the new
faith, she would be most assuredly damned. The poor creature, at this,
fell into an hysteric fit; which alarming the house, the confessional
was, for a time, disturbed. Our hero thinking it incumbent on him to
lessen, if possible, the misery which he had witnessed, determined, in
the morning, to call on the next clergyman and request his intervention
in behalf of this worthy but unfortunate girl.
Meanwhile he attempted to detach O’Rourke from this mischievous craft,
and by taking one from these peregrinators, somewhat to diminish the
vice, folly, or phrenzy, which results from ignorant and destructive
teachers. Having ordered supper, he enquired for the preacher, and
learned that he was gone abroad to a love-feast; and taking it for
granted, that the conviviality and other attractions of that kind of
entertainment might detain him for the evening, he deferred to execute
his resolution till the following morning. As he was supping in company
with his ladies, the waiter, who was just returned from the kitchen,
told him, that there was some rumpus about the preacher, but that he
did not know the rights of it, however he would enquire: before he was
gone for that purpose a man entered the room, pale, wildly staring, and
in a furious tone accosted our hero: “You, I understand, belong to the
same gang; you are one of the strolling company, and are in the plot.”
Hamilton begging his wife and sister not to be alarmed, very coolly and
civilly assured him, that he was in no plot to give him any uneasiness;
that there was some mistake. The stranger having surveyed both Hamilton
and the ladies, said, he apprehended he must have been misinformed,
for that from their appearance he could not conceive they would be
associates with such a scoundrel; “though he be your brother, sir, he
is a villain, and an infamous villain,” “There is no brother of mine,
at present, in the kingdom, and I am sure there is none any where to
whom your description is applicable. But I am convinced there is some
misapprehension; what is the person’s name that has offended you, and
what is he?” “His name,” said the other, “is Hamilton, is not that your
name, Sir? I know it is.” “Hamilton certainly is my name; but who is
this pretended brother of mine?” “That methodist preacher, he is your
brother, he himself has acknowledged that his brother, Mr. Hamilton,
was at the inn.” A note now came to our hero, which was conceived in
these words:--
“MY DARE SIR,
It has pleased Providence to get me into a bad scrape, so that unless
you lend a _help in_ hand to relieve me, I will be rather ill off. I
pass for your brother, so pray do not contradict it, and I promise you,
if I get out of the _clamper_, I shall never do so no more.
Your’s, to command,
ROGER O’ROURKE.”
Hamilton now asked the other, “What his ground of complaint was against
the person in question?” “The most heinous in the world. He has robbed
me of the affection and honour of a wife, whom I loved, and even
yet love to madness; who was to me the best, fondest of women, till
seduced first to mad enthusiasm, and afterwards to dishonour by this
sophister, this profligate hypocrite, this blasphemer of religion.”
The ladies now retiring, our hero learned from the stranger, that
he was a gentleman who had a moderate estate near Tewkesbury, that
he had for several years been the husband of a farmer’s daughter
whom he had married for love, and they had lived in the most perfect
happiness. His wife possessing great sensibility, and a romantic
fancy, had, in the course of a visit at Bristol, been carried to one
of the meetings of Moravians, or other fanatic adventures there, she
had imbibed a liking for visionary absurdities, and soon became the
professed devotee of the romances of methodism. Though he saw the
change with regret, yet not apprehending the moral depravity that so
naturally results from a system which enchains the understanding, and
unmuzzles all the wild impetuosity of passion; which debases the
sentiments, and vitiates the taste, as well as depraves the conduct.
“Having seen you, Sir, and conversed with you, I am convinced I must
have done you injustice in supposing this ignorant vulgar fellow your
brother.” Without directly answering this observation or question,
our hero requested him to proceed: he accordingly went on. “When
she returned, this man, Hamilton, was an itinerant preacher through
the country. She was pleased with his devotion. I having the utmost
confidence in her affection and fidelity, though I disapproved of her
new articles of faith, yet never having contradicted her, I indulged
her propensity; alas! thinking that because the doctrines were jargon,
the practice must be harmless, though silly and absurd, but I have
since fatally discovered my error. Last night my Harriet eloped from
my house, and after various searches and enquiries, I learned that
she had left her husband and children to be a companion of this
ruffian. Tracing his course, I discovered that he was at one of the
fanatical meetings,--entered the place, accompanied by a faithful
servant,--found the villain in a small party--presented a pistol to
his head--and ordered him, on pain of immediate death, to produce my
wife. He confessed his crime, and prayed for mercy, and said, that
the lady was to meet him this night at the inn, where his brother,
Hamilton, and his spouse and his sister Charlotte now were. Leaving
him guarded, I hastened hither to charge you, Sir, with being privy to
the injury which I have received, and in which, I am now thoroughly
convinced, that I did you injustice; I am assured from your deportment,
appearance, and conversation, you cannot be the associate of such a
person, even if you have the misfortune to be his brother.”--“Which,
Heaven be praised (replied Hamilton), is not the case; but to the
disgrace of the family to which I belong, the fellow is married to a
near relation of mine.” “But,” said the other hastily, “the unhappy
woman may be now concealed in the house,” and he ran out. A message now
arrived from O’Rourke, requesting to see Mr. Hamilton in the kitchen of
the inn, to which he had been conducted by directions of the landlord,
who, having the office of chief magistrate, did not conceive that
justice would halt one whit the more, though she carried a barrel or
two of his beer with her. Hamilton, after some deliberation, descended
and found the preacher in durance, and guarded by two or three stout
fellows. He had repeatedly demanded his liberty, and indeed there was
no charge against him that could justify legal detention. “Here,” he
said, “is my brother Hamilton, who will bail me; I have not been the
least to blame, a man put a pistol to my head, and I would confess
any thing rather than be shot.” Before Hamilton could make any answer
to his repeated applications for assistance, the representative of
Ophelia entered the apartment, just as her Hamlet was most solemnly
appealing to Heaven for his innocence. With impassioned violence she
exclaimed, “innocence! a more guilty wretch disgraces not Newgate.
Here is a fellow who, pretending to religion, makes that sacred
principle the cloak for his vices; the chief purpose and effects of
his sanctified discourses and behaviour; his seduction, fraud, and
extortion.” O’Rourke endeavoured to quiet her. “My dare Joanna, won’t
you be easy now, consider, we are fellow labourers in the vineyard of
the new faith, you yourself have been my chief teacher; the saints in
all ancient times, both now and formerly, have been persecuted for
the sake of righteousness, and I must have my own share.” Here Joanna
answered in a violent passion:--“But have not you, you villain, after
all your oaths and imprecations, deserted me? have not you engaged to
give me the slip; to give me up intirely, for this your new mistress?
if you are determined to be Punch, Sir, I will be Joan, but I found
out your scheme, Sir, and I discovered them to the lady’s husband. I
found out the letter, sirrah.” “And so it was you, Mistress,” said
O’Rourke, “that exposed me to all this shame and disgrace, but I will
pound you to brick-dust for it;” and here he attempted to seize her,
but the intervention of the company confined his hands; it did not,
however, confine her tongue, and she began a very impassioned, but not
unconnected, detail of the deception, roguery, and profligacy, which
he had practised during his itinerancy. “You shall find this a worse
villainy than at Gloucester.” The servant of Mr. Benson, the gentleman
who had last suffered from O’Rourke, now made his appearance with a
regular warrant, that he had obtained for apprehending this fellow,
under suspicion of being in possession of a gold watch, the property of
Mr. Benson, which had disappeared the evening before his wife left the
house, and which Joanna had assured him it was most probable O’Rourke
must possess, with also an order to examine his box and effects. The
search was executed, and the watch was found in a corner of the trunk,
carefully wrapped up in a sermon of Huntingdon, with a book of hymns on
the one hand, Whitfield’s sermons on the other, and hard by it a book
of poems, equal in wickedness, but not in wit, to the productions of a
celebrated nobleman, who flourished in “King Charles’s merry reign;” a
pair of pistols, a cutlass, and several other articles. Hamilton, on
this discovery, assured of the fellow’s guilt, resolved to abandon him
to his fate, and to write to the clergyman of Etterick to communicate
the catastrophe to his uncle, whom he knew it would grieve more than
surprize, and gradually open it to his unfortunate cousin. With this
resolution he retired to his apartment. The next morning, one of
the first pieces of news he heard was, that Mr. O’Rourke had found
means to escape, and with him a silver tankard; and that Mr. Benson,
not having yet found his wife, was gone to Bristol in quest of the
fugitives.