A few weeks after the event with which we closed the preceding chapter, letters arrived from Mr. Hamilton, of Etterick, containing various articles of intelligence; which, that we may introduce in proper connection to our readers, it is necessary to revert to a character of considerable notoriety in these memoirs, the methodistical preacher and moral practitioner, Mr. Roger O’Rourke. This personage having, as we have already recorded, departed from Tetbury in company with a silver tankard belonging to the landlord, and some other articles, which his dexterity had picked up from his entertainers at the love feast, departed from public roads, and skulked about the forest of Dean for several days; but having there seen a woodman, whom he recollected to have met at Gloucester, and fearing to be traced, he again crossed the country into Wiltshire. On Cherril Downs he came up with a solitary lady; and was the identical person who robbed and frightened Mrs. Raymond. He had seen the travellers; and, though at a distance, recognized the air and figure of Hamilton: therefore he made the best of his way. Not doubting that a hue and cry would be immediately raised after him, he, with extraordinary expedition, made his way to Dorsetshire; thence, turning to the right, he proceeded into North Devon, and arrived at Biddeford. There he found a vessel about to depart for St. David’s, in Wales; and, having no want of money, took his passage for that port; whence he hoped to find some conveyance to Cork or Waterford, where he expected to be safe from the pursuit of the English laws; and should be also at a great distance from Dundalk, and other scenes of his former pastimes in the north. In a short time, he procured a conveyance, reached Cork, tried his hand at methodism, but found the men of Munster little disposed to leave their favourite popery for any other theory: as he could not convert them to his theology, his next best project was to convert himself to their theology. He declared himself a catholic, ready and willing to become an united Irishman; or to join in whatever was going forward. He professed he had been brought up to the catholic church, treated the fathers of that persuasion with plenty of whisky, merry jokes, and other gratifications agreeable to their reverences; being enabled to live freely and expensively by the liberality of a rich quaker’s widow: her the spirit moved to yearn unto him as one that she wished to make her lord and master, as soon as three months of mourning should be expired; and, during the remaining two and a half, she admitted him to all the privileges of a husband, except the name. O’Rourke would have willingly turned quaker, or any thing else, for the lady’s fortune; but, afraid that his former marriage might be discovered, before the time stipulated by Mrs. Stiffrump, he bethought himself of chousing her of her property without any legal contract; and, turning priest to enjoy the spoils among the fair penitents who, he presumed, would flock to his confessional, having been always eminent for his influence among the female votaries of any religion that he happened for the time to profess. He won so much upon the holy fathers, that in a month he was admitted one of their order; but not before he had the misfortune to discover that the widow possessed only the income of her late husband’s property; the reversion being secured to his relations. Though this revenue was considerable, yet it was far short of the profusion of O’Rourke: the lady’s current cash was exhausted; and her lover, finding she could not by anticipation receive a supply, took with him her last twenty pounds, a gold watch, and other trinkets, and without any farther ceremony left her for ever. He now officiated as a priest, and traversed the country, confessing the women; and exhorting the men to what he called the emancipation of Ireland. At length, he visited Dublin, and money falling short, devised various schemes for levying contributions among saints and other sinners. Finding no want of methodists in the metropolis of Ireland, which that, as well as other follies of Britain, fail not to visit, he privately professed himself a methodist believer, and publicly a popish priest; through the two he earned a tolerable livelihood. He now became acquainted with a noted courtezan, who was at great pains to win such a lover, because she thought her other gallants might by his strength and size be over-awed to such contributions as she might chuse to require. She succeeded with Roger, and became so completely mistress over him, that he ran into extravagant expences. Our preacher had not regularly followed the occupation of visiting the highways; but he had not let his arms entirely rust for want of practice. At Cork, in the country, and in Dublin, he had repeatedly collected supplies for pressing exigencies; but was too fond of ease and pleasure to take to that avocation, unless when he was run out of money.
In the present pressure he set off in a carter’s frock late in the evening, for an alley near a noted gaming-house. There he watched until he saw a gentleman come out alone, and at the turning of a corner he presented a pistol; the other made some resistance, but was over-powered, and forced to deliver his money. O’Rourke having accomplished his purpose, without taking any precautions to prevent pursuit, was hastening away, when a serjeant and a party came up on their way to relieve guard; the robber was running off, the gentleman gave the alarm, the soldiers pursued, the preacher, in his hurry, stumbled over a post, and being dashed on the pavement, lay for some time stunned. In such circumstances he was secured, pinioned, and carried to the guard-house, where a banker’s book, with the name of the gentleman, who was well-known to the soldiers, written on the outside, was found on him, and also a purse, which the gentleman immediately identified. The next morning he was carried before a justice, and the evidence being so unquestionable, he was committed for trial: the sessions being then sitting, he in a few days was tried, condemned, and the following week hanged, without expressing any sign of penitence; and so ended the mortal peregrinations of the methodistical apostle, Roger O’Rourke. The impartial reader, I doubt not will allow, that the catastrophe of this missionary naturally resulted from his united faith and practice; and that whoever conceives faith to supersede the necessity of moral virtue, and to permit the unbounded gratification of desires; and acting consistently with such doctrines, allows unlimited indulgence to his passions, takes one of the most direct roads to the gallows. There was said to be a dispute, whether the preacher died a methodist or a Roman. This point I have never been able to ascertain, and, indeed, regard it of no more consequence of what religious profession a hardened villain dies, than whether the hypocrite Cantwell, the disciple of methodism, or the hypocrite Tartuffe, the disciple of Romanism, the more deserved to be hanged, when both deserved it so incontrovertibly.
Having conducted the husband to his end, we must now pass over to Scotland to visit his wife. Ever since her return from England, the daughter of Etterick had been in a state of dejection and despondency, from the absence and misconduct of her husband, which last did not fail to reach her ears down to his adventures at Tetbury. Several months after her arrival at her father’s house, she lost her only child; and the addition of this new grief, joined with the former in throwing her into a consumption, from which it was soon foreseen she would never recover. A person from Selkirk was in Dublin, between the trial and execution of O’Rourke, and found means to see him in the condemned hold, and thereby to be assured that he was the identical son-in-law of the laird of Etterick; he also learned many particulars of his late history, from his fellow-convicts and the turnkeys, to whom the preacher most frankly communicated his principal exploits. In too great eagerness to communicate dismal news, the Selkirk man wrote to the laird a minute and circumstantial account of O’Rourke’s last adventures; not forgetting the impenitent obduracy with which he braved eternity. When this letter arrived, the old gentleman was taking his afternoon glass, in his daughter’s apartment, while she, in the last stage of weakness, sought some relief from the uniformity of the sick bed, by reclining in an easy chair. Her father read the letter, and having seen its result, fell back on his seat without sense or motion. Having rung for servants, to afford her parent that assistance which she was unable to give herself, she snatched up the letter by which he was so grievously affected, and soon found that she was much more intimately and fatally concerned. Profligate ruffian as he was, she deplored him not as an abandoned miscreant, but as the husband whom she had so tenderly loved. On her deeper grief, the shock was less instantaneously violent than on her father. She, with determined calmness, desired to be carried to bed; the physician not to be sent for, but the clergyman to be fetched immediately. The first order was disobeyed, but the second was directly executed. The Doctor announced to the father, now recovered to sorrow, that the dissolution of his child was inevitable; that he, and with him the whole faculty, could do no more. The clergyman, whom she had daily consulted during the progress of her malady, on what now concerned her much nearer than life, declared to her father, that since it was evidently the will of Providence she should be withdrawn from this vale of tears, never did he find a woman or man more thoroughly prepared by genuine christianity, for undergoing the aweful change. She languished out that evening, and a part of the following day, and, without a struggle, at three in the afternoon, she breathed her last; a premature and fatal victim to the excess of parental indulgence, which at so youthful an age suffered her to follow her girlish fancy, and to become the wife of a man whose merits they had never known, and had much reason to doubt.
As a father, Etterick was tenderly afflicted by the death of his daughter, and in such melancholy circumstances. Nevertheless, when the first shock being over, allowed time and opportunity for reflexion, he could not help acknowledging to himself, and to his friends, the clergyman and physician, that he had very strong grounds of consolation. At first he had been hurried and surprized to consent to the marriage of his child, rather than persuaded and induced, and during many years had regarded the connection with abhorrence. The family of Etterick had been always distinguished for honour and reputation, and its present representative had a very high idea of its dignity. Kind and affectionate he had loved his grandchild, but could not help repining, that the child of such a miscreant eventually was to be proprietor of Etterick. His nephew, Hamilton, he loved and admired to adoration; and now would sometimes dwell on the elevation of the house of Etterick, when William should be its head: and the fourth day after Mrs. O’Rourke’s decease, when the clergyman was administering the soothing comforts of religion, the laird heard him with the most profound gravity, and after some cessation, asked if there was not a talk about a vacancy in the county: “Willie, now that he is heir of Etterick, I think might stand a good chance; and if he were in parliament, would be an extraordinary honour to our family.” The clergyman saw that the laird, though he sorrowed, did not sorrow like those without hope.
At the desire of the old gentleman, he wrote to Hamilton an account of these events, and urged him to lose no time in repairing to Scotland. The laird was willing and ready to resign to him three-fourths of the estate and personal property. The former, by the rise of rents, was now upwards of six thousand a-year; the latter, by the œconomy of Etterick, added to the fortune of the Sourkrouts, was at least forty thousand pounds. This was the substance of the letter that was sent to our hero.
The morning on which it arrived in London, Hamilton received, by appointment, a bookseller, who was come to make a bargain with him, concerning a work of three volumes 8vo. The bookseller was strictly honest, but very hard. Hamilton knowing his own powers and fame, demanded four hundred pounds per volume: the other began with offering two hundred and fifty; and as Hamilton would not hear of this proposal, rose to three hundred; still the author would not bend. The bookseller knowing Hamilton did not depend entirely on his efforts, and that it was his own interest to advance in his offer, even to Hamilton’s demands, said—“Mr. Hamilton, you are a liberal gentleman, as well as an able writer, do come down somewhat; now let us split the difference.” Hamilton mused, and appeared to the other not unlikely to yield, when a servant entering, delivered him a letter with a black seal, and the Selkirk post mark. Requesting his visitor’s permission to peruse the epistle, he opened it, and was evidently much affected by the contents. After several minutes of silence, and thoughtfulness, he at length said, “Well, Sir, you have been my chief employer, were the first who highly appreciated my productions, and you have paid me well and regularly, I shall execute for you the work you propose; I shall not split the difference with you; you shall have the performance at three hundred pounds per volume.” The other, after heartily thanking him for his liberality, appeared curious to know what connection it had with the letter. Our hero, in general, explained the change that had taken place; but his determination to finish the work, for the sake of an employer, by whom he had been always handsomely treated. The bookseller taking his leave, Maria, who knew nothing of the intelligence from Scotland, came to the study, and asked how he had settled with the bookseller: he mentioned the terms.—“I thought,” she said, “you were resolved to have four hundred pounds.”—“I was,” he replied, “but I changed my mind; for a reason that I shall by and by explain to you, and of which my dear Maria will approve.”—“That,” she replied, “I am convinced I shall. How long a time do you think the work will require?”—“A year and a half may finish it, and leave me time for periodical labours. Last year our income, besides our own four hundred, was six hundred, and this year it will be more.”—“Yes,” said Maria, “it was in all a thousand, and I dare say will be twelve hundred; and if we cannot be happy on such a revenue, with our growing prospects from my uncle, and your grandfather and uncle Wentbridge, we should be dissatisfied with the fortunes of my brother and Louisa, your sister and Sir Edward Hambden.”—“It is not impossible,” said our hero, “but we may have to try a similar experiment, to ascertain our content or discontent. I have no doubt but our fortune will very soon surpass your brother’s, and be in a fair way of equalling Sir Edward’s.” Maria stared. “I don’t understand you, my dear, what do you mean? you are certainly castle-building.”—“The castle is already built; and now, Maria, I have a very important piece of intelligence to communicate to you.” He accordingly explained to her the information he had just received, and gave her the letter to peruse.
To pretend that Maria was so exalted and disinterested, as to grieve at the death of a cousin, who was not peculiarly engaging, with whom she was on no terms of friendship, beyond mere civility and attention; when the departure of that cousin made her husband possessor of six thousand a year, and heir to two thousand more, would be to pretend that this Maria was totally different from all other Marias in their sober senses. William and she very tenderly congratulated each other, and rang for their two children. The little boy, just entered the third year of his age, was returned from seeing the soldiers exercise, and, in a minute, they heard him in the passage, calling as well as he could, “Right, right,” and he entered in a marching step, with his gun shouldered, and fixed bayonet. He advanced to charge upon his father, but instead of parrying, as usual, and playing with the child, the father eagerly snatching him in his arms, and congratulated him on the providential change: his infant sister being brought by the servant, he solemnly prayed to Heaven that his children might prove worthy of the situation which they were now destined to fill in society; that little Maria might resemble her charming and estimable mother; and that Charles might do honour to the family which he would eventually represent. When the parents had given vent to their affections, and recovered themselves, Hamilton set out to inform his mother of the state of affairs, and to assure her, that her income should rise in proportion to his. It is needless to say, the mother heartily rejoiced at this momentous change in the situation of her adored son; but she immediately declared that she would receive no addition to her revenue, which was fully adequate to her wants and habits of life. Hamilton resolved to conquer in this point, but without contesting it at present. His mother said, she supposed he would write to her father and brother immediately; but he replied, he would deliver them the intelligence himself, having only to see Sir Edward, and set off post that afternoon for Etterick. He took her promise to be with Maria till his return, repaired to the Baronet’s, who was proudly joyful to find that such a connection and friend, was now about to move in a sphere which he was so well qualified to adorn. Returning to his house he took a hasty dinner with Maria, and set off at six o’clock; the next evening he reached Dr. Wentbridge’s, at Weatherby, just as his father and he were sitting down to an early supper, and removed their surprize at his journey, by joy for its cause. He was prevailed on to take a few hours’ sleep, and departing with the dawn of July, he, about the same time the following morning, arrived at the mansion of his ancestors. He found the old gentleman extremely anxious for his arrival: the funeral had been deferred, until Hamilton coming, should officiate as chief mourner; his uncle finding himself totally incapable of that task: it was now fixed for two days after. The old gentleman, who was very eager to invest his nephew with the bulk of his property, and the direction of his affairs, had a deed ready drawn up, conformable to what had been written to his nephew; and it was that very day properly executed. A few days after the interment, the old gentleman called together his tenants to his hall, and publicly announced his nephew as their landlord. The farmers greatly rejoiced at events which entirely relieved them from the apprehensions of having for their laird a profligate unprincipled adventurer; and though they did not know much of the new proprietor, they had heard enough of him to entertain a very high opinion of him; and this was greatly increased by his frank and engaging manners, and the graces of his face and figure. Of his person, exquisitely as it was formed, many of them chiefly admired the heighth and strength; and as they went home, well-primed with ale and whiskey, they declared that the deevil a stouter, better-bigged man than their young laird, would enter the shire town, or even walk at the cross of Embro’; and from a Scottish peasant this was a very high eulogium.
The old gentleman expressed an ardent desire, that Maria and the children would make Etterick their summer residence; and also prevail on his niece, Lady Hambden, with her husband and mother, to join the party. Hamilton undertook to have this wish accomplished; and having finished all the business that was immediately pressing, he himself went south to conduct his family and friends. Early in September they arrived, and were so pleased with the autumnal amusements and festivities, and above all, the hospitality and kindness of the “land of cakes,” that November terminated, before Sir Edward and Lady Hambden returned with young Mortimer and Louisa, who, a month before, had arrived at Etterick house. They left the old laird recovered from his grief, and delighted with the wife and children of his nephew, while William himself he idolized. At the Michaelmas county court, it became publicly known that the member for the shire intended speedily to vacate his seat. Among the freeholders, young Mr. Hamilton of Etterick, was immediately mentioned, as a gentleman from his situation in the county, one of the fittest that could be their representative; and from his abilities, acquirements, and accomplishments, qualified to reflect lustre on his constituents. The proposition was favourably received, and Hamilton was induced to declare himself candidate. There was no opposition, and the election took place a few days before Sir Edward’s departure. As parliament that season was not to meet till the end of January, our hero, with his family and mother, passed the Christmas holidays at Etterick; and soon after new year’s day, set off for London, whither his uncle also accompanied them. On their way visiting the venerable old vicar, who was now at Brotherton parsonage, accompanied by his dutiful and attentive son, the aged patriarch proposed again to revisit London. His friends, though somewhat apprehensive of such a journey to his age, yet trusted, that by easy stages, and by every possible attention to his accommodation, he might accomplish the expedition without inconvenience. The old clergyman, by the express stipulation of his great grandson, little Hamilton, was to travel in the same carriage with that young soldier, with whom he was a mighty favourite. Old Maxwell was still alive, and delighted with little Charles, who bore a very striking resemblance to his grandfather, General Hamilton; and to his father, whom Maxwell prized no less highly, and more highly he could prize no man, than that gallant officer whom he had first taught the military exercise, and afterwards sheltered under disaster. The old man himself was in easy circumstances, but our Hamilton made particular enquiry concerning his relations, resolving and promising to use his influence and exertions for their benefit.
For some weeks after he took his seat Hamilton was silent; but a grand question arising which he thoroughly knew, he could not forbear speaking on the side of the constitution and social order. His speech astonished not only persons who were strangers to the powers of Hamilton, but even his intimate friends; and Sir Edward Hambden declared, that the genius of Hamilton rose with the theatre on which it was exerted. The information and reasoning were such as he expected; but the energetic and impressive eloquence he could not have looked for, from even a man of eminent abilities, who was not accustomed to parliamentary exhibitions. Among the audience in the gallery was the old laird, who had a great pleasure in resorting to the house, not for the eloquence he might hear there, but for seeing his nephew among the members. He had no preconception that William was to open on this occasion, and was actually engaged in a whispering conversation with one of the reporters, who was the son of a farmer on his estate, when the voice of his nephew reached his ears, and with the warmest eagerness he called out, so as to be heard through most of the gallery, “It is our ain Willie.” His friend whispered him—“Pray do not speak so loud, you may interrupt your nephew.”—“Vara weel Sandy, I’ll be as quiet as a moose. But Willie is too quiet himself, I wish he would speak better oot: the booy is blate at first.” William having for some time spoken in that low tone of voice, and modest humility of manner, which results from ingenuous sensibility, on a first appearance before the ablest assembly in the world, at length acquired more firmness, and, as he warmed, entered into all the merit and interest of his subject. With the powers of his understanding, and the movements of his heart, his voice, tones, and gestures, and, above all, his eyes, were in thorough unison. All was energy, interest, and impression. A dead stillness ruled over the house, as if a Sheridan, Fox, or a Pitt, had been speaking; not a whisper was heard, except low breathings of admiration. One indeed would whisper to his neighbour, “Vara weel laad.” Hamilton having finished, the chief orators of both parties vied with each other, in bestowing praises on this exhibition of the young member. The question being adjourned, our hero went to the lobby, to look for his uncle, and just as he met him, found himself surrounded by gentlemen, congratulating him on the fame he had established at the very outset of his parliamentary career. Mr. Dundas, to whom our hero was known, came to him, with Mr. Pitt, who testified the highest admiration of the union of knowledge, philosophy, and eloquence. “Happy I am,” said he, “Mr. Hamilton, that our cause has received such a powerful accession; and that when this venerable sage (turning to a gentleman near him) is about to withdraw from parliament, a youth enters, who has adopted his sentiments and principles, and who so powerfully treads in the steps of him, who first exposed the genuine nature of the revolutionary system.” The senator announced, by this description, grasping the hand of our hero, said, “I still have hopes of the salvation of my country; our youth are not all misled by destructive theory. Sir, your powers are extraordinary, and are exerted for your king and country, when such exertions are wanted. You have read much, and reflected more; your deductions are just as they are forcible; your feelings are the feelings of loyal and patriotic virtue; the brilliancy of your eloquence is surpassed only by its depth and its truth. Of oratory, as well as writing, you demonstrate that the principle and source is wisdom.
Sapere bene dicendi principium et fons.”