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.