CHAPTER VII.
Beforeall these affairs were brought to the close which we have recorded, our hero was returned to Cambridge, to prepare for his ensuing graduation. He renewed his mathematical studies, but sometimes could not help reflecting on poor Jenny Collings more than either Sir Isaac Newton or Maclaurin. The exertion of his faculties, however, and not desponding regret, were the means by which he could make any atonement.—The intenseness of his former application had now rendered only revision necessary. The important period arrived, he stood the various contests, and attained the honour of senior wrangler, the highest that a bachelor of arts can reach, andwas generally esteemed one of the ablest and most promising young men that Cambridge had raised for many years.
He now set out for London, where his father had intended he should be brought up to the law. He was accordingly entered at Lincolns Inn, and began the usual course of studies. He had not been long in his new situation, when one morning, sitting ruminating on his future prospects, a gentle knock was heard at the door; he opened it himself, and a female fainted in his arms. Instantly recognizing Jenny Collings, he carried her into his apartment, and at length brought her to herself. Having recovered her recollection, she gently reproached him for his omission, in having suffered a whole month to pass since he left Cambridge, without writing to her. He declared he had written to her twice, andwas much surprised he had received no answer. “Where did you address to me?”—“At Doncaster, to be sure: I wrote to you, my dear Jenny, that I hoped I should in a few weeks have affairs properly arranged for receiving you here.”—“Good God,” said she, “I dare say our letters have been opened, and every thing discovered, which I hoped to conceal. I wrote to you last from Sheffield, having, as I before mentioned, bade adieu to Doncaster.” Hamilton having declared he never had received the intelligence; he now inquired tenderly into her adventures and situation. She acknowledged with a faint blush and downcast eyes, that in the subject of his anxious interrogatories, which she had never answered, his apprehensions had been but too well founded. Conscious of her condition, she had with a broken heart communicated it toher widowed mother, whose chief hope she had been. Mrs. Collings, borne down by former afflictions, had not once reproached her for the grievous addition which her conduct had made; and by her forbearance had cut her to the heart. “I have,” said Jenny, “two younger sisters, to whom she intended me as an example, and hoped I would be a support. I know she must look on me as having blasted all her expectations. Two days ago she came into the room where we were, and looking at us alternately, burst out into a fit of crying, which tore my very soul. I thought her tears and sobs a reproach to me. I could not bear them. I left the room, went to my own, and resolved to seek my fortune in the capital. I had six guineas hoarded up, from different presents of relations, and also of ladies who were pleased with my attention to their orders. I left the halfinclosed in a farewell letter to my mother, and with the rest sallied out unobserved to the office of a stage coach, that passed about that time, found a seat, and this morning arrived in town.—Knowing from yourself that you were to be in Lincolns Inn, I hurried hither.”
“My dearest Collings,” said our hero, “whatever I can do to atone for the injury, and to gratify affection, shall be performed. My means are not great, but I trust they will increase. I understand there is a considerable market for literary efforts in this place; I am not without hopes of rising by such exercises; and my dear Jenny shall share all the fruits of my labours.” “Mr. Hamilton,” said the young lady, “in what way you mean that proposal, I am very anxious to know: in one way, in my rank, and after my indiscretion, I cannot flatter myself it is intended; in another, thoughmy conduct justifies it, still I am grieved that you should make such an offer.” Here she burst into a paroxysm of affliction, exclaiming in hysterical shrieks: “I am ruined, but will not be your mistress.” Our hero, tenderly affected, disavowed any such intention, and, with a high sense of retributive justice, and of compassion for a misfortune caused by himself, went farther than in the calm moments of prudence he would have proposed, and actually declared that he would by marriage atone for the evil. Miss Collings answered, “No, sir, I am charmed to find that the man whom I have trusted so far beyond the bounds of prudence and honour should prove himself worthy of any trust that can be honourably reposed in; but I will not avail myself of a generosity that would be ruinous to yourself. Poor Jenny Collings, the daughter of a lowly mechanic,shall not be the wife of the noble gentleman that she doats on to distraction. I know my own business well, and can by it earn the means of subsisting myself, and lending aid to my mother and her orphan children. Mr. Hamilton, I love you too well to hear an offer dictated by pity, or at best the feeling gratitude of a kind heart.” “No, upon my soul,” said Hamilton, “’tis love for the woman who possesses so many charms, and, highest of them all, such an affection for myself.”
Soothing speeches and caresses unbent, in considerable degree, the resolution of Miss Collings, and though she continued firmly determined not to marry a youth whom she regarded as the first of human beings, and destined to arrive at the highest situations, yet she felt that she could not exercise the same firmness in resisting the repetition of former errors.She was resolved not to live with him, and even, if possible, to estrange herself from his knowledge: but her purpose was not immediately executed. Several days passed, the transactions of which we shall not particularize, but content ourselves with observing, that nothing is more dangerous to the votaries of penitence, than renewed intercourse with the partners of frailty. Poor Jenny, with all her virtuous intentions, passed the chief part of her time with Hamilton.—One evening she expressed an earnest inclination to see the Fair Penitent. Our hero attended her to Drury-lane, where she beheld the effects of indiscretion so strongly drawn by the poet, exhibited with such force and poignant effect, doubly poignant to the consciousCalistas. Our fair penitent had never seen Mrs. Siddons, and had no idea that it was possible for acting to approach sonear to actual life and feeling. In the scene between Calista and her parent, she, in great agitation, exclaimed, “That is no acting, heavenly God, that is natural.” In the last scene her interest was wound up to the highest pitch. When Calista is frantic, poor Collings was frantic also; when Calista died, Collings gave one shriek, and became lifeless in her lover’s arms. With much difficulty she recovered her consciousness, but not her perfect recollection, and gazing eagerly in our hero’s face, and pressing him to her arms, she said, “You are not Lothario, I was undone by myself.” At length entirely recovering the use of her reason, and becoming sensible that she had exposed herself, she was extremely distressed, and begged immediately to retire, and was conducted home to a lodging which Hamilton had provided in his neighbourhood. There she was takenvery ill; the consequence was, a very premature change in her condition.—Whilst she was recovering, our hero, aware that his finances could not easily bear this additional expence, without additional resources, resolved to exert his literary abilities, and to feel his way by gratuitous essays and newspapers, and had the satisfaction to see that his performances were received with flattering approbation. Understanding that one of the earliest stages of literary progress was reporting debates, he offered his services for that purpose. His exertions were received with applause, and procured him so much emolument as to afford his Jenny a country lodging, which he thought necessary for the re-establishment of her health. During her convalescence Miss Collings formed her plans: ardent to adhere in future to the dictates of virtue, and knowing theweakness of her heart, she resolved to withdraw entirely from her beloved Hamilton. She wrote her mother anaccountof what had happened, and also to her late employer, at Doncaster, praying an introduction to a correspondent in London, but desiring that the truth should be fairly stated, though confidentially imparted. Her employer by return of post complied with her request, sent her a letter to be delivered to an eminent milliner in London, informing her at the same time, that she had by another prepared the lady for Miss Collings’s visit. She accordingly repaired to the house of Mrs. Fashion, was kindly engaged, and (that being on a Wednesday) appointed to come to the house the following Saturday, and commence her labours on the Monday.
It was now near the end of May, and our hero had established, through his reportingexertions, such a character and connection as insured him an engagement for the next season, should it be required; and he was preparing on a Saturday to visit his Collings, while she at the very instant was writing him a farewell letter;—when the postman’s knock called him to the door, and a letter was delivered in his mother’s hand, but hardly legible. Hastily opening it, he found these words: “My beloved William, your father is extremely ill, we fear dangerously;—lose no time,—spare no expence,—come instantly.” Though the letter had no date but Friday morning, it appeared to have been put into the Doncaster post-office, whence he concluded that they were now at Brotherton, and therefore trusted he would reach them in four and twenty hours. Having a credit on his father’s agent, he went immediately; in half an hour hewas on horseback, for the sake of expedition preferring that mode to a chaise. His father dying was the only idea present to his mind. Leaving London about twelve, in ten hours he reached Stamford; where taking chaise during the night, he met the dawning day at Newark. At Doncaster he found his father’s servant waiting with horses, and learned that he was still alive and sensible, and calling every moment, “When do you expect my dear William?” Our hero galloped, without waiting to hear more, to the vicarge, and arriving before nine, found that his father was still alive, but that he had the gout in his stomach, and that the physicians had very little hopes. One, indeed, said he thought the paroxysms somewhat abated, and that this fit might leave him, but that he would be so much reduced, that another would certainly carry him off. Our herohaving spent some minutes in the arms of his weeping mother, and venerable grand-father, the physician apprized his patient of his son’s arrival. “Do, dear doctor,” he said, “bring him to my embrace, he will do me more good than all your prescriptions.” William was introduced, and eagerly pressed by his languid father. He desired they might be left alone, and had signified to his son his highest approbation of his abilities, character, and conduct; when feeling himself exhausted, he said, he hoped he would by-and-by be able to go on. The physician now returning, his patient observed, he felt a disposition to sleep; “That,” said the other, “must be by all means encouraged.” The colonel soon fell into a slumber, which lasted several hours, and he awoke free from pain, and very much refreshed. The physician was now confirmed in his hopes, thatthe fit was over for the present, though he apprehended a very speedy return. The next morning the colonel was able to leave his bed. Resuming the conversation with his son, he opened to him the whole state of his affairs, the disposition of his property, and strongly recommended to him, his mother, sister, and younger brother. “I know, my dear son, my respite is only short, but it is very satisfactory to me, that it permits me to unfold to the chief pride of my heart, my thoughts, sentiments, prospects, and wishes. To you, my eldest son and representative, I have left the half of a very moderate fortune, and the other half divided between Eliza and Henry. Your mother, during life, is to have the half of the interest of the whole, besides the pension which she will receive as a colonel’s widow. What I have acquired will, if properly managed,prevent indigence, but will require industry to procure a comfortable independence. I firmly rely on your efforts and conduct, and have no doubt that you in your profession will, if you live, attain still higher rank and a much greater fortune than I have been able to reach in mine.” This subject, and also his wife and other children, he often resumed.
Our hero, in his eager anxiety to see his father, had entirely forgotten Miss Collings: but his apprehensions being for the time relieved, he with much concern fancied to himself the uneasiness and alarm which his absence would create, and wrote immediately an account of its cause. In five or six days he received an answer, assuring him of her unalterable love, but at the same time announcing her fixed determination never more to behold her adored Hamilton: she informed him that she had a veryadvantageous situation in her professional employment. Our hero, who notwithstanding his success still continued extremely fond of Jenny, determined, as soon as he should return to London, to discover her abode. Meanwhile the colonel was able to walk out, and for a fortnight appeared pretty well. His old friend Maxwell told him he hoped his honour had got a long furlough, and trusted he would not be called hastily from his family. The colonel shook his head, and declared he had a very different opinion. “However,” he said “with the assistance of my venerable father-in-law, I endeavour to hold myself in readiness.”
About this time the laird of Etterick, having heard that his brother was ill, hastened to pay him a visit, which he had before intended, in order to consult him on several affairs that gave him uneasiness.
Mr. O’Rourke, conceiving himself by his marriage not merely the heir but the rightful proprietor of the Etterick fortune, had chosen to assume the state and importance he considered befitting such a character. Being naturally arrogant and overbearing, he treated Etterick with an insolence and contempt which he could not bear. This deportment rather gave a shake to the laird’s new religion, which, hastily built, and on a very slight foundation, had never been secure. Moreover he happened to get an insight into the preacher’s real dispositions and morals, and had evidence which he could not possibly doubt, that this saint, like many other saints, was a profligate sinner. This discovery (being a quiet and peaceable man) he did not communicate to the females of the family; but, renouncing Methodism, he immediately repaired to his old friendthe parson of the parish, and by his advice made such a settlement of his affairs as would preclude Mr. O’Rourke’s interference in any of his property. The clergyman had gone to Edinburgh to have a deed for this purpose properly and legally formed. Trustees were intended, and the blanks left for their names. The laird proposed that they should be his brother, nephew, an eminent counsellor, and Mr. Kerr the clergyman.—An event long wished for, though unexpected when it actually happened, interrupted the execution of this deed: this was the death of the dowager, who, after having spent the evening very cheerfully over a rubber at whist, and afterwards very piously in prayers and meditations, and, lastly, very heartily over a hot supper, had withdrawn to her apartment; where without any ceremony she departed this life about midnight. Herdaughter and grand-daughter hoped she was only in a fit. “By G—d,” said Roger, who had been that evening very free with his bottle, “’tis a fit that will last till the day of judgment.” The old lady having never entertained any apprehensions that death was a probable contingency, had made no will, so that all her property devolved upon Etterick. In this state of things the laird, hearing that his brother was ill, hastened to Yorkshire, and arrived when, as we have seen, the colonel was recovered. Having explained all these circumstances, and requested his brother’s acceptance of the trust, the colonel told him, he was thoroughly convinced that his life would be very short, and advised him to insert the name of Dr. Wentbridge. The advice was accepted, and a deed was executed accordingly. The laird, having of late been extremely uncomfortable athome, was in no great hurry to return; and, after frequent consultations with his friends, instructed his counsellor in Edinburgh to repair to Etterick, and inform his daughter, that for various reasons he was resolved that Mr. O’Rourke and he should not live in the same house, that a suitable allowance should be made for her establishment, but that they must remove immediately. The lady of Etterick, in addition to her spirit of methodism, had recently very much addicted herself to the spirit of brandy, and was between both in a state of perpetual intoxication, and incapable of attending to any business. When the intimation was given, O’Rourke declared he would have no objection to change quarters, but that he must have the whole of Mrs. Sourkrout’s fortune, and half the estate made over to him. The counsellor assured him that there was no such intention,but that he would inform the lady of the mansion and her daughter of the allowance which Mr. Hamilton of Etterick intended as a free gift to bestow on Mrs. O’Rourke. “Inform the lady of the mansion!” said O’Rourke, “inform a stupid old drunkard! tell me; I am the person chiefly concerned. I shall accept no less than I said, Mr. Counsellor, and if I were by that stupid old fool of a laird, I would make him agree to my terms.” The counsellor declining any farther conversation upon the subject, O’Rourke determined to set out immediately in quest of his father-in-law, not doubting but he would intimidate him to return home, and agree to whatever terms he should dictate. Adventurous without judgment, he never thought of the various obstacles he might have to encounter. He ordered the steward into his presence, and demanded an immediateaccount of the money he had in his hands. The man answered, he had settled with the laird before his departure. “Don’t tell me of the laird, I shall be laird here. What cash is there at the banker’s? I suppose about seven hundred pounds; give me a draft for five hundred. I want it immediately.” “You a draft for five hundred! I cannot give you a draft for a farthing without my master’s orders.” “Cannot you write a hand like your master’s?” “Sir,” said the steward, in indignant rage, “you may try that expedient if you please: and so good morning to you.” As the steward was a very strong athletic man, and the hero of the country for all manly exercises, the preacher, gigantic as he was, did not choose forcibly to prevent his departure. Calling for his horse, he rode to Selkirk, repaired to the bank, and being known as the son-in-lawand heir apparent of Etterick, easily procured cash for a draft upon Edinburgh, for a hundred pounds, and ordering a chaise, set off in pursuit of the laird. On the way he determined to appropriate to himself the whole fortune, and to leave to the laird and his wife a small annuity. He anticipated opposition to his designs upon the laird from his Yorkshire connections, and had worked himself into a very violent rage against colonel Hamilton. The second day he stopped to dine at Weatherby, where he found the landlord so much to his mind as a companion, that he indulged himself in a hearty glass, and in less than two hours they had finished a bottle of sherry and three of port. In this trim he entered his chaise, and, the wine operating on the passions before kindled, he resolved to fetch the laird away by force that very night, if anyobstruction should be made. From the quantity he had drunk, the heat of the weather, and the dustiness of the roads, being excessively thirsty, he had at every hedge-alehouse that he passed poured in large potations, and by the time he arrived at Ferrybridge was in that state of drunkenness in which a man says whatever he thinks or feels, without any regard to time, place, or company. He inquired for Brotherton, and informed the landlord, waiters, and hostlers, that he was going to fetch the fool his father-in-law from the clutches of that scoundrel colonel Hamilton. It was now the end of June; and the colonel, having continued free from any fresh attack, was sitting with his wife and son at a parlour window facing the gate, while his brother and the reverend old gentleman were amusing themselves at another window with a hit at backgammon, andold Maxwell, who had been paying them a visit, was just opening the gate to depart, when a chaise came up, and a loud, boisterous, and angry voice called out, “Pray, old fellow, is Hamilton of Etterick here?” “Old fellow!” replied Maxwell, “I do not know who the devil you are, but you’re a fellow, and a damned unmannerly fellow.” “Keep a good tongue in your head, or by Jasus I will give you a touch of the shillala, my boy.” “O! ’tis your own self, Mr. Patrick,” said Maxwell, “with a drop of whisky in your head, and therefore I make allowances. Mr. Hamilton of Etterick is here, what do you want with him?” During this dialogue our hero went to the gate, where by this time Mr. O’Rourke was alighted; and accosting him civilly, inquired his commands. “I am come after that old fool Etterick; are you one of the Hamiltons?”—“Yes.”—“ThenI am Roger O’Rourke, Esq. of Carrick, and heir apparent of the Etterick estate. You have inveigled my father-in-law from Etterick, among you, without my privity and concurrence; and I am come to bring him back. So now, honey, you have my name, designation, and business; but where is the old one, he must come off with me immediately. I have ordered a supper and beds at the Inn there by the bridge.” “You appear, sir,” said Hamilton, “not to understand what you are saying; but if you are really Mr. O’Rourke that married my cousin, if you will step in and repose, you may in the morning be better able to explain yourself.” “What the devil, do you suppose I am tipsy? Well to be sure I do feel a little comical; but where is Etterick?”—“He is within.” Our hero’s sister, a fine young girl about sixteen,had just entered the parlour from the garden, without having heard of this visitor, when the first object she beheld was O’Rourke staggering into the room. This person was about six feet four inches high, about twenty-one inches across the shoulders, with legs large and muscular in proportion. Projecting from his face was a huge Roman nose, like the proboscis of an elephant; his eyes were light grey, and beamed with vivacity mixed with stolidity, and now farther illuminated and inflamed by the liquor that he had drunk. His neck, naturally long, now manifested the full dimensions, as from the heat he had been induced to take off his cravat, and to unbutton his shirt. Thus easy and disengaged about the throat, still retaining the outward semblance of methodism, his breast was adorned with a band, stiff, straight, and perpendicular. This holy teacher of thenew light having made his way into the parlour, to the astonishment of all to whom he was a stranger, and to the amazement of Etterick, accosted that gentleman; “Laird, I am come to bring you home, that we may settle our accounts together; I have taken every thing into consideration, and have determined how all matters are to be settled: but who are all these good people in the room?” On being introduced successively, he thought it incumbent on him to pay his best compliments. Addressing Miss Hamilton, our hero’s sister, with an expression of mixed impudence, drollery, and folly, he looked in her face and said, “So you’re cousin-german to my spouse Sukey: well, you are a sweet little angel; if I had you instead of her, I should not have looked abroad. Did you ever see your cousin, my dear?”—“Yes, sir.”—“I don’t suppose you thinkher a great beauty; but how the devil should she with such a father and mother?” Our hero endeavoured to change this discourse, and at last succeeded; and O’Rourke happening to sit down near old Mr. Wentbridge, asked him whether he had not e’er a barrel of good ale among his other tithe pigs. A jug was produced, which gave him perfect satisfaction. At supper Mr. O’Rourke unfolded the purposes of his journey; he proposed, he said, to take the estates into his own possession; he would act very generous. The whole property was not more than three thousand five hundred a year; he would content himself with the three thousand, and allow, as he expressed himself, the five hundred to the proprietor during life. The rest of the company, considering this modest proposition as the effect of intoxication, suffered it to pass without remark. Thenext morning, Mr. O’Rourke being now refreshed by sleep, and exempt from the fumes of liquor, though still possessed by the maggots of folly, applied to the laird, and seriously proposed to him to relinquish his estate, and retire upon an annuity. It was, he said, much more becoming that a young man in the vigour of life should enjoy such a property, than an old man with one foot in the grave. The laird, though totally unmoved by this reasoning, yet standing in some awe of O’Rourke, very mildly informed him, that if he would open his pretensions to the colonel, or his son William, he would receive a complete answer, as they were entirely in the secret of all his plans and intentions. “I don’t see,” said O’Rourke, “any business they have with it. You have acted like a fool as you always do in trusting any one but me.” The laird, whose quietness was the result of indolence,and not of timidity, fired at this insolence, and he answered: “You are a very ignorant and impertinent fellow. I consider my daughter and family disgraced by a connection with a strolling adventurer.” “Do you know,” said the other, loudly, “whom you are talking to, you silly old fool?” “Old I am,” replied the laird, “but not so old as to bear an insult from a low scoundrel. So, sir, leave this room instantly. I shall take care of my unfortunate daughter, but for you, a single shilling of mine shall never pass through your hands again.” “O, I see,” said O’Rourke, “it is all as I suspected, that old villain, colonel Hamilton, has for his own purposes been working on your poor weak head.” Etterick, incensed at this, proceeded to such violence as his feebleness would admit; and the fellow, with unmanly rage exerting his strength, pushedthe old man against the wall, and he was severely bruised. The noise brought our hero into the room. “Heaven,” said he, “what’s the meaning of all this?” “’Tis the old fool’s own fault;” said O’Rourke; “he’s let me into some of your tricks, but you won’t cheat me.” “Tricks, and cheat!” said our hero, breasting the other. “Be easy now,” said O’Rourke, “or by Jasus I’ll throw you down by the old one there. I say your father and you have been acting like villains.” To such a charge Hamilton could only make one answer, which he instantaneously did by a blow, that drove the preacher to the farther end of the room; and, before he could recollect himself, followed it with a second, which hitting his temples levelled him with the ground. The whole family was alarmed, the colonel and even the old clergyman could not help approving William’s conduct.Meanwhile the reverend missionary recovered, and was blustering and threatening vengeance upon his antagonist, when the old clergyman interposed, and William called that if he would follow him to the green he would give him all the satisfaction he could take. O’Rourke, though very strong, was not much addicted to fighting, unless he considered his adversary much his under match, and could have dispensed with this invitation: hoping, however, to intimidate his opponent by a display of his size and muscles, (an artifice which had frequently succeeded in former rencounters,) he went down and stripped. Our hero was not slow in imitating his example; and old Maxwell, who was present, exultingly swore, that young Mr Hamilton was the more muscular man of the two. The conflict began; our hero, who was really somewhat superiorto his adversary in strength and activity, was far before him in cool intrepidity and skill. The Irishman, wild and furious, struck at random; the Englishman, parrying his blows, reserved his own efforts, only irritating the savage impetuosity of the other by fetching blood. When the preacher was exhausted by ill-directed exertions, Hamilton began with such tremendous force, that his adversary, who had little of what amateurs call bottom, after the first knockdown blow, called for quarter, and Hamilton coolly returned into the house. As it had been resolved not to admit O’Rourke again into the vicarage, he was conducted to a public house in the neighbourhood. Our hero, with Dr. Wentbridge, who arrived that morning, called on him in the course of the day, to learn more fully the purpose of his visit, and to explain to him that every expectationof his having now or hereafter any share of the property, or management of the Etterick estate, was totally groundless. They carried with them, for his inspection, a copy of the trust deed. O’Rourke, crestfallen by his defeat, was now totally dejected, and was as abject under disappointment as he had been arrogant and insolent in fancied prosperity. He saw that all his expectations of revelling in the riches of Etterick were forever gone, and that even if the laird were to change his mind, he had put it out of his own power. He balanced with himself, whether it would be wise to return. On the one hand there was the annuity settled on his wife, which, though only a fourth of what he had proposed to possess, might enable him to live very comfortably; on the other, his achievements in the course of his methodistical mission, some of whichwere now likely to become public, were not such as would make his reception very pleasing in that country, and especially from his own wife, whom he now regarded, as upon her he must depend. If methodistical missionaries are, perhaps, not directly beneficial to the order and virtue of a community, they promote one valuable branch of political œconomy: they are accounted extremely conducive to population; first, unhinging moral principles by establishing the all-sufficiency of faith, and the uselessness of virtuous conduct, they open the way for the uncontrolled dominion of passion; secondly, inflaming the heart with a fanatical enthusiasm, they facilitate enthusiasms of other kinds; and as the pastors have an absolute influence over the minds of their votaries, itinerant preachers, either spontaneous or missionary, are in the country deemedmore effectual and successful ministers of sedition and profligacy than packmen, strolling players, gypsies, or any other fraternity of vagabonds. This observation Mr. O’Rourke could testify from his own experience; for having at different times exercised the several professions in question, and being indefatigable in his addresses, was greater in his evangelical itinerancy than in any other. The result he was now apprehensive would be much greater than his finances could bear. Besides, his adventure at the Selkirk bank would not increase the agreeableness of his reception in that part of the country. He, therefore, thought it best to defer his return, and to try his methodistical talents in countries to which neither Scotch bailiffs nor Scotch parish officers could carry their authority. He accordingly set off towards the manufacturing towns, to exercise his ministryin its various and extensive functions. In this expedition, we shall for the present leave the holy Roger O’Rourke.
For two months the colonel continued free of his complaints, and in this time his second son, who had been mate of an Indiaman, commanded by his uncle captain Wentbridge, arrived in Britain, and hurried down to see his parents.—The colonel rejoiced extremely to see young Henry, and anticipating, from some twinges and spasms, an early and fatal return of his distemper, expressed himself thankful to Providence for allowing him, before his death, to have all his children in his presence. A fortnight more, however, passed without any important occurrence; when early one morning Mrs. Hamilton ran into William’s room, and in the greatest consternation and grief told him his father was dying. The alarm proved too wellfounded; the gout had returned to his stomach, with more violence than ever; every regimen and medicine requisite in such cases was employed, but all to no purpose. A few hours brought the malady to a fatal termination. The family was long inconsolable for the loss of such a head. By degrees, reflection and time allayed their affliction. Mrs. Hamilton, tenderly loving all her children, was most strongly attached to her eldest son, who was the exact image of his father; she could not bear the thought of parting with him. When the time approached that he must return to London, she proposed to make the metropolis her residence, and considered her finances, if œconomically managed, as adequate to such an undertaking. Her late husband, ever since his marriage, had been extremely œconomical, and, in addition to his own fifteen hundred pounds, havingreceived as much by the death of Mrs. Hamilton’s aunt and god-mother, the sum, by frugality and judicious purchases in the funds, had now risen to about sixteen thousand consols. Her moiety of the interest of which, she did not doubt, would be sufficient. Accordingly it was determined that she should remove to London, as soon as a house was procured. Old Etterick, who was become extremely fond of his nephew and niece, would have with much pleasure made one of the party; but the urgent entreaties and remonstrances of his daughter, who represented herself and her mother as heart-broken by affliction for the conduct of O’Rourke (now completely discovered), and her mother as approaching her dissolution, impelled him to take a different course. The last piece of intelligence he bore with much resignation, but thought thatdecency required his presence on that occasion, and accordingly set off for Etterick, about the middle of November. Our hero, taking a contrary direction, proceeded to London.