CHAPTER VI.
Ourhero 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 withpeculiar 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, stronglyadvised 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 manin 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, anative 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 enteredinto 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 completesuit 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,theLady’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 toorobustious, 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 offemale 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 theTiviot-dalebreed,) 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 tothe 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 lastmoments. 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 equippedfor 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 apprehensionof 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 uponone 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 towatch 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 Sheffieldmanufacturer, 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 exaltedinto 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 heoftto be ashamed of himself for keeping company withsichnasty 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 intocompolisomwith 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 isconsarnedfor 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 bestowedon 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 andhersrequired 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 ofHamilton 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 inwhichkilling 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 withoutmalice propenseboth 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 arepeaceable 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 termsof 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 frommutiny; 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 themthe 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 poorgirl, 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 beingable 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 thespiritual 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 havemore 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 firstbowl 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.”
“Sweet Molly Mog is as soft as a bog!As wild as a kitten, &c.”
“Sweet Molly Mog is as soft as a bog!As wild as a kitten, &c.”
“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 thelaird 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 placeconvanientto 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 landladymade 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, batingthat 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 stillshorter; 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.
Havingthusestablished 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 marriedin 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 wassomewhat 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 tosome of his former avocations.—“Yesterday was married in the holy bands of matrimoney, the Rev. Roger O’Rourke,aliasRoger 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 copyliteratimandverbatim. 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.