Chapter IV (2)

But though revolutionary politics diffused themselves over great numbers of the ignorant votaries of literature, they extended to many others of a very contrary description, and efforts of talents and erudition were wasted in supporting extravagant paradoxes, pernicious principles, and wild theories, that could have informed and instructed mankind by valuable reasonings and inculcations; and our hero had occasion to see the effect of the Turgot theory of the perfectibility of man fully exemplified. The English champion of this doctrine was St. Leon, a writer of very considerable ingenuity, who, with the œconomique philosophy of the French school, undertook to join some of the metaphysical tenets of David Hume, as they were interpreted by St. Leon himself, especially his opinions on the foundations of morality; and whereas Mr. Hume has asserted, that the qualities and actions which the mind approves as virtuous, are those which are found either agreeable or useful to society, St. Leon asserted, that in every individual action the merit depends on its being performed by the agent, with a view to the aggregate benefit of all sentient beings, or, as he phrases it, what is best upon the whole. On this best upon the whole, together with the perfectibility of man, he constituted a very singular system that he delivered to the world, in a book which made a very extensive impression on minds predisposed for boundless innovation. Our hero was at great pains to make himself master of a production in which the establishment of the most extravagant nonsense was the end, for compassing which, acuteness and ingenuity were the means, and he was at a loss whether most to wonder at the folly of the propositions which were to be demonstrated, or the skill and ability of the intermediations; and he could not help thinking that St. Leon richly deserved to rank with the ancient Pyrrho, with the modern Hobbes, Spinosa, Mandeville, or any others who misemployed brilliant talents, in framing absurd or mischievous hypotheses. Powers which a refined state of society only could have produced, were by St. Leon exerted in recommending the rudest barbarity and incivilization. Metaphysical acuteness, and concatenated argumentation, were exercised in controverting truths, which the grossest stupidity can perceive to be undeniable, while profound wisdom regards them as the foundation of society. Polished elegance of composition attempted to effect the restoration of chaotic ignorance, chaste purity of language recommended the promiscuous intercourse of the sexes, the calmness of philosophical disquisition inculcated the destruction of peace and of order, in the overthrow of property and of law; the ardent pursuer of the happiness of mankind sought to destroy the tendered endearments and best affections of the human heart. The votary of benevolence endeavoured to destroy the sentiments and actions which conduce most powerfully to the well-being of the human race. Man he asserted to be perfectible; and professed to stimulate him to the attainment of that perfection which he affirmed to be in his power; but instead of affording new motives to intellectual and moral improvement, he inculcated a system that would have degraded him to the level of beasts. To complete the downfal of human nature from that reason and conscience by which it has been distinguished from the brute creation, he projected to annihilate religion. Lest the fine-spun deductions of abused logic should be unsuccessful in conveying doctrines so absurd, and practices so destructive, the powers of fancy are super-added to render them picturesque and impressive. Subtle sophistry alone could hardly establish the inutility of criminal justice, but an affecting fable setting forth the punishment of innocence, and the escape of guilt, strongly interests the feelings; and the emotions of the heart are mistaken for the conclusions of the head. A fictitious tale of an individual case is so skilfully managed, as, to many, to appear a fair and general exhibition of penal law, and its operation. Virtuous sensibility is excited against the necessary muniments of property, and the correctives of crimes. Such was the mis-application of great literary powers, that sprung from the boundless love of innovation. Speculative men have often, in theory, supported principles inconsistent with the common sense of mankind, and the well-being of society, without reducing their speculations to practice! A reader of these singular works must have reprobated doctrines that tended, if admitted, to destroy our respect for marriage, property, promises; our conviction of the immortality of the soul; the ties of natural affection, gratitude, friendship; every cement of civil and social duty; to overturn monarchy, laws, government, and every political institution. But it might have been supposed that the author merely advanced paradoxes for the sake of displaying ingenuity; that he himself was convinced, as much as any other, endowed with reason must be, of the total incompatibility of such _ravings_ with any thing that could actually exist. But he followed his speculation by a practical model, and exhibited as a pattern of perfection a real character, who, according to his account, systematically deviated from the chief virtues of her sex. This singular example of female perfection, whom the writer exhorted her sex throughout the world to imitate, was a concubine. But of her various qualifications, a few specimens may serve--First we have her chastity; Miss resorted to France, and became a kept-mistress; this, according to her panegyrist, was a species of connection for which _her heart secretly panted_, and which had the effect of diffusing an immediate tranquillity and cheerfulness over her manners. The beneficial consequences accruing to this _exemplary_ lady from _concubinage_ did not always last. Her keeper forsook her; she followed him to England. Afterwards she lived on a similar footing with her encomiast himself, who in a few words exhibits the practical conduct which his lessons inculcated, “We did not marry. It is difficult to recommend any thing to indiscriminate adoption, contrary to the established rules and prejudices of mankind; but certainly nothing can be so ridiculous upon the face of it, or so contrary to the genuine march of sentiments, as to require the overflowing of the soul to wait upon a ceremony; and that which, wherever delicacy and imagination exist, is of all things most sacredly private, to blow a trumpet before it, and to record the moment when it arrived at its climax.” When recording her excursion to England, her orator gives us a sample of her patriotism. “England was a country for which she expressed a repugnance that almost amounted to horror.” To her moral and political virtues, he adds the account of her religious attainments. “She had received few lessons of religion in her youth, and her religion was almost entirely of her own creation. She could not recollect the time when she had believed the doctrine of future punishments.” As she advanced in philosophy, her attendance on public worship became less and less constant, and was soon wholly discontinued. Her disregard for the ordinances of piety, drew from her champion the following reflection:--“I believe it may be admitted as a maxim, that no person of a well-furnished mind, that has shaken off the implicit subjection of youth, and is not the zealous partizan of a sect, can bring himself to conform to the public and regular routine of sermons and prayers.” Such doctrines and lessons made a very deep impression on the inferior votaries of literature. The ingenuity of the author rendered absurdity plausible in his theories, and poison palatable in his inculcations. The perfectibility of man to be consummated by a political justice, which should overthrow religion, government, property, marriage, good faith, patriotism, and all the relative duties of society, was rung in an infinite number of changes. The spirit of St. Leon was diffused through books, and pamphlets, and periodical publications. It met us at the theatre, or popt on us in the form of novels. Catching as it went the follies of its various bearers, it babbled in spouting clubs, howled from the tribune, or by its importunate prattle disturbed the tranquillity of private companies. So pernicious it is to common sense, reason, truth, virtue, order, and religion, when men of genius and learning employ their pens in spreading nonsense, absurdity, and falsehood; vice, disorder, and irreligion. If a writer of this sort were to take a cool and dispassionate view of the talents he has received, and the acts which he has done, the amount might probably be, nature has bestowed on him a mind competent to the acquisition of valuable and deep knowledge. Instruction and assiduity operating on these gifts of nature, have enabled him to communicate his conceptions, thoughts, and discoveries, agreeably, forcibly, and impressively. What has he done? He exhorted men and women to avoid the first link of a rational community, marriage, and to mingle with promiscuous intercourse, according to temporary impulse, and after the fashion of beasts. Respecting their offspring, the next gem of civil society, he exhorted them to descend below beasts, which have a care for their young. He instigated parents to disregard their children, and children their parents; he carried his proscription of natural affection through the relation of brother and sister. Lest this attempt to prevent the formation of a family, and so to arrest society in its first stage, should prove unsuccessful, he attacked it in more advanced progress, and endeavoured to destroy faith between man and man, to proscribe adherence to promises, to annihilate property, one of the great cements of society, and to banish religion, the grand security of human happiness. His practical lessons teach, that the restraints on unmarried women are not conducive to the welfare of society; that chastity is not a virtue, and concubinage a vice; that women are not likely to be better members of society, domestic, civil, and political, for being continent than prostitutes. He set up an immoral and impious model for the sex, and if all women were to follow the example of his heroine, universal profligacy and irreligion would ensue. As far, therefore, as the literary authority and power of these writings reach, they tend to increase debauchery and impiety. He has written a metaphysical work, of which the theoretical propositions are chimerical, absurd, and totally irreconcileable to human nature, as known to us by experience and induction, the only guides to just intellectual and moral speculation; and the practical doctrines, inculcated by precept and example, lead to the most unwise and immoral conduct, and to consequences that would unhinge all domestic, social, civil, political, and religious society. Such will a fair and impartial review of his literary efforts present to St. Leon the use and improvement of his talents and acquirements. That he intended such consequences, I by no means assert. I think it probable he did not. I should rather impute his work to an understanding so perverted by a favourite hypothesis, as to be unable, however acute and ingenious on other subjects, to distinguish truth whenever that hypothesis was concerned. We have no reason to suppose that St. Leon, who is in private life said not to be unamiable, would be guilty of such gratuitous wickedness, as to be intentionally a strenuous promoter of the most destructive profligacy. But whatever his intentions may have been, the tendency is the same.

Equally absurd is the physical as the moral and political philosophy of the singular St. Leon. What opinion can we entertain of a man who seriously thinks that, at some future period, the necessity of sleep to an animal may cease, who has even asserted that death may be postponed at pleasure; who maintains that inanimate nature may move without any animate cause, and even move to certain definite and beneficial purposes; that a plough may till the ground without any direction from men, and aid from horses, or any other animals; who, by confounding the qualities and operations of matter and mind, would afford pretexts for an inference, that the universe may exist and be directed in its present system and order without the guidance of an intelligent cause; who has employed his ingenuity in endeavouring to establish atheism. Whatever may be St. Leon’s private habits of life, however temperate in pleasurable indulgence, or fair and equitable in his transactions of business, his doctrines tend to disseminate profligacy and iniquity; and as his works are read in a much wider circle than his conduct is seen or known, the mischief of his precepts and exhortations is infinitely greater than the benefit of his example and practice. The author of the “Political Justice,” and the biographical vindication of concubinage, from his agreeable and persuasive manner, has spread a great quantity of poison, against which feeble is the antidote to be found in the private life and conversation of St. Leon.

That singular theorist no doubt possesses genius; subtle indeed rather than solid and vigorous, fanciful and refining without being profound. Such a man generally steers out of the walk of common sense and views, both the natural and moral world, through some other medium than plain observation and experience.

The eccentric movements of St. Leon, have done all the evil that his powers and sphere would admit. It is true, he has not done nearly so much evil as Rousseau, because though resembling that father of false morals and politics, in deviation from common sense, impressive as St. Leon is, he is far, very far beneath the author of Eloisa, in force and fertility of invention; in extent of views, and in the fascination of eloquence. The whole of his sceptical compositions, (that is the chief part of his writings) have not done nearly so much evil as the few essays of Hume, for promoting pyrrhonism and infidelity; because acute and subtle as St. Leon is, he is much farther beneath Hume in depth of philosophy and powers of reasoning, than beneath Rousseau in creative fancy and persuasive eloquence; and twenty pages of Hume could effect more towards any purpose he chose, than a thousand pages of St. Leon; and St. Leon’s chief work is a mere expatiation on a principle of Hume, carried to greater extravagance than Hume himself ever attempted; but as St. Leon has imitated Hume, in attempting to sap the foundations of morality and religion, let him remember that such writings constitute but a small part of Hume’s literary labours; and that he has left one work of unusual magnitude replete with sound wisdom, and (with certain exceptions) one of the most beneficial to mankind, that graced the eighteenth century. Meaning no sneering insult to St. Leon, I shall not affect to compare him to Hume, but immeasurably below that philosopher, as this ingenious sciolist may be, he is certainly a writer of very considerable efficiency. As he has hitherto employed his talents for the detriment of mankind, let him for once try to exert them for the benefit of mankind. A very interesting tale he has told to disparage fair fame, and high consideration in the community; to vindicate thieves and robbers; and to inculcate that the inmates of jails for crimes, are more virtuous than the most eminent characters in civil and political society; and that penal laws are an intolerable grievance to freemen: in short, to confound all distinctions between reputation and infamy, virtue and vice, innocence and guilt. Let him endeavour to write a tale of equal interest, to exhibit the necessary connection between crimes and punishment, to promote obedience to the laws; and to advance virtue and religion. The attempt might be at first aukward, but perseverance and practice would soon render it easier; and St. Leon’s powers are fully adequate to the task of impressing sense and utility, as well as absurdity and mischief.

While St. Leon, with various coadjutors and ministers, endeavoured to effect such moral, religious, and political changes, among human beings, another very noted person laboured with equal activity, and greater ardour, to fashion one half of mankind to the new doctrines. This was Jemima, the celebrated propounder of a new theory, and a new system of practice, for the information and use of women.

Ever desirous of tracing moral effects to moral causes, Hamilton was at great pains to enquire into the parentage, education, temperament, habits, and conduct of Miss Jemima, in the hopes of being able to discover whence sprang her aberrations from common sense, and from the principles and sentiments which the experience of mankind, in all ages, has found it most beneficial to society to cherish among women. Of this female champion, he found means to learn the history, as well as the doctrines and opinions. Jemima, it seems, was a woman of strong and lively parts, and ardent feelings; who, not having found the world to her mind, proposed to model it to her wishes. She had lived to the age of thirty, without any invitation to marriage, although very strongly disposed to that state, and finding little chance of getting a man married to herself, had cast her eyes upon a man that was married to another. But the intervention of a wife, either stopped or limited the proposed converse with this object; and finding celibacy no longer tolerable, she was filled with rage at the restraints which all civilized societies have imposed upon women; the rigour of which was strongly enhanced, by the contrast that it exhibited with the free and uncontrouled range of the ladies of Otaheite. She had hitherto conformed to the absurd and aristocratical ideas respecting female reputation; but these she now resolved to renounce, and to live openly in a state for which _she had long secretly panted_[7], and having before abjured religion, without regarding its precepts, she took to herself a mate; or in the language of the vulgar, became a kept mistress. It was neither a new nor extraordinary occurrence in itself, for a woman tired of being a maid, and that had not succeeded in becoming a wife, to become a concubine; but an event intrinsically not very material, may be important in its consequences. Like Dr. Sangrado, she was not content with practicing herself according to the line which she had marked, but must prescribe the same course of medicine to all others. She must construct a theory, and write a book. But as chastity was not the only restraint which civilized society requires to be imposed on women, she proceeded at once to change their condition in the community, and in freedom of conduct, as well as the nature of their pursuits, to place them on the same footing with men. To compass this purpose, Jemima’s first care was in this her book, to instruct the understandings of the sex in the _rights of women_. These, in a few words, were _to act in every case according to their own pleasure_; and to share in all the prerogatives of men. They were to be soldiers, sailors, senators, politicians, scholars, philosophers, and rakes; they were also to be coachmen, postillions, blacksmiths, carpenters, coal-heavers, &c. She addressed herself to the love of glory, by which so many of the fair are eminently distinguished, to incite them to rivalry. She trusted the time would soon arrive, when the sex would acquire high renown in boxing matches, sword and pistol; and when nails, the weapons at present employed in deciding their contests, should be no longer in occupation. Not only the instruments of war, but the military tactics should be changed; the hair, caps, and cloaths, were to be no longer the points of attack; women were to use knock-me-down blows, tierce and cart, point give point, St. George’s guard. If a lady at a rout, for instance, happened to quarrel about an odd trick, instead of tearing her own fan, let her challenge her antagonist, “Damn your eyes, I will darken your day-lights; let us strip to our dickies this instant, as the fashion goes, the way is not far: the Countess of Coniac shall be bottle-holder; it is an office she likes.” By Jemima’s orders they might use dexterity, as well as prowess, and sometimes fall without a blow. At wrestling let them bar tripping, unless the antagonist be a man, for then it is fair. To illustrate, by example, the characters which she wished to form, as the Squaws and Otaheites were at too great a distance, she mentioned the ladies that attended the fruit-markets at Covent-Garden, and the fish-markets at Billingsgate. These, however, were far surpassed by their sisters in France, the _dames du Halles_, and the _poissardes_. The English fair above-mentioned, only unsex themselves as far as feminine softness extends; but the French fair laid aside all feminine tenderness, and being as ferocious as the most savage soldier of Attila or Kouli Khan, were much more complete models of the hardened state which Jemima proposed women to attain. To divest English women entirely of delicacy and tenderness, sanguine as the projectress was, she feared would be impracticable; but still she trusted she might have partial and considerable success.

Hamilton, admiring the genius which beamed through this excentricity of pernicious inculcation, sought the acquaintance of Jemima, and was received with great complacency. She saw he was not yet a convert to her doctrines, or to those of her friends, Topsiturvy and St. Leon; she hoped that her philosophy would at length prevail over his present prejudices, that he might become a powerful cooperator in the grand work of _transmogrifying_ human nature; and she judged him peculiarly qualified for the conversion of women. Ever since Jemima undertook to form a new sect, she, in imitation of Whitfield, the coalheaver, and other _pattern makers_, held private meetings to discuss with the pupils the symptoms of conversion, their progress in the new faith, and the probability of complete proselytism. Though a woman presided at these assemblies, they did not resemble the secrecy and mystery of the Bona Dea of ancient Rome, to whose festivals no male creature was suffered to enter; and where a Clodius must disguise himself in a woman’s habit before he could be admitted. To be received into Jemima’s meetings, a Clodius need only avow his proper character, than which none could be better fitted for the practical extension of Jemima’s doctrines. To one of these meetings our hero received an invitation. He found a considerable number of guests, but chiefly females. Jemima, having unfortunately forgotten that an assembly was held at a tavern, to deliberate _after_ dinner upon politics and philosophy, the last subject not to begin till after the _sixteenth_ round of toasts, and that some of her particular friends must be of the party, had fewer visitors than usual. The first quarter of an hour shewed no kind of revolution in manners and customs, being occupied by the fair attendants in the same way as if they had been at church before the service began, that is, in critical remarks on the bonnets, cloaks, and handkerchiefs of each other; the dress, face, and figure of the men. Under the two last heads our hero received great commendation. One lady that was near him declared, in an audible whisper, that he was an Adonis, Apollo, and Hercules, in one; “but then,” said another lady, “he is married;” “married!” replied the first, with great contempt, “you, a disciple of Jemima, and a votary of St. Leon, talk of marriage! Marriage is a shameful aristocratical monopoly. Why should so charming a man be _engrossed_?”--“Pray do not talk so loud, Madam,” said the other. “There again,” said the first, “you forget the precepts of the adorable Jemima, and the divine St. Leon, that in converse between the sexes nothing is more unbecoming than secrecy.” “You yourself,” said a third, “forget the precepts of our great instructors; you used the term divine, a sound without meaning.”--“I stand corrected; but the language of old prejudice and darkness will intrude insensibly into new philosophy and light.” The second lady, observing a cloak with a very broad border of fine lace, said, in a half jest, she wished she had an opportunity of getting hold of that cloak. “What,” said the third, “would you steal?”--“Steal,” said she; “is this your progress; are not we taught that property is an absurd institution? She has a surplus of lace; I have a deficiency. Have I not a right to equalization?” Monrose, who happened to overhear this dialogue, observed, “women, you are yet only advancing, without having reached the end of your journey. I shall lend you a spur myself.”--“Thanks, Monrose, you will interpret and familiarize the profound wisdom of St. Leon. But hold, here comes our sublime instructress.”

Jemima now ascended a pulpit, from which she addressed the female part of her hearers. “Women, great objects of my care, I have learned that there are many who approve the exemption which I have proposed from the aristocratical restraints, to which the monopolizing tyranny of men has subjected our sex; who agree with me that women should be as free as light or air, but like not the toils, hardships, and dangers of a participation with the men. But let me explain to you the blessings that are mingled with these apparent hardships; ye, who are not moved by glory to a sublime rivalry with the hitherto domineering lords of the creation, to the discharge of masculine duties, should recollect that there are feminine inducements; with competition in their labours, you have uncontrouled converse with your rivals. If heroines mingle with military heroes in the ranks, they also join them in their tents. If the naval hero and heroine are stationed by the same gun, they also may be stationed in the same hammock. The hardships of honour are relieved by the softness of love. If one of my aspiring pupils should wish to become a stateswoman, and constitute part of the cabinet, may she not share the now unoccupied affections of our prime minister, as well as his counsels; or, if she do not affect the treasurer’s staff, she may be associated with the gallant _minister for the home department_. Intermingling in various other manly, active, and laborious occupations, you, my disciples, will be agreeably soothed by those companions whose hardiness you seek to emulate, when you become carpenters, brick-layers, stonemasons, tin-women, and smiths. You will participate in the pleasures, as well as occupations of social converse; journeywomen and journeymen will be as free, communicative, and joyous as are the present haymakers of the two sexes. But in literary and intellectual employments, you will often club with your rivals. The gentle novel-writer, and the fierce critic will associate like the lamb and the tyger in the age of Cumean prophecy. The masters of academies, and mistresses of boarding schools will be no longer separate professions: young men and young women will be educated together, and the sweet reciprocations of juvenile sensibility will qualify the acrimony of rivalry; and, as I trust, in that improved state of civil society, political institutions will be meliorated in proportion; no censure or punishment will follow those amiable young who themselves follow the impulses of nature. The absurdity of parental affection will, on the side of the fathers, be thoroughly eradicated, because, in the state recommended by St. Leon, there will be little possibility of ascertaining among the youthful pupils who the fathers are. In your case, my friends, there can be no uncertainty; nevertheless, by following the inimitable precept of Rousseau, you may soon forget to whom you are mothers. Send the offspring to the hospitals, and let there be a large repository of that kind near every village that abounds in boarding schools. The misses will, according to my plan, have no occasion for that concealment which they are now obliged to observe. Instructive books from the libraries, drill serjeants, and dancing masters, the theory and practice of love, may be studied and exercised as openly in and about London, as by the ladies of Otaheite.

But, my pupils, perfection is not to be immediately attained: our present business is to prepare for that high state of human regeneration. Of course, we all renounce religion, the prejudice of the unenlightened; and we all seek equality; but some degree of influence and controul may be necessary in the present imperfect state, to fit us for the total reprobation of religion, and the equalization of mankind, by mowing down every inequality of fortune, rank, talents, and virtue. I propose to imitate the absurd institutions of the English church in one instance. There shall be two chief overseers, and twenty-four overseers of our sex, for the purpose of changing the heretofore approved characters of women, and diffusing among them a proper contempt for religion and virtue, especially the sneaking virtues of modesty and chastity. The candidates for these offices shall be persons, who, to the utmost of their means and opportunities, have endeavoured to eradicate these absurd principles of female conduct. Who may be Primate will be the first consideration.” “That can require no deliberation,” was the universal cry. “Jemima must be the Primate.” Jemima acquiesced. “I have next to consider who should be my colleague. There is a person now engaged in exhibiting to admiration the most noted females, who have anticipated my doctrines by systematic deviation, from the rules imposed upon women by aristocratic man: her name is Mary.” She was appointed colleague by acclamation. “As to the overseers,” proceeded Jemima, “they may be found among various classes; but chiefly the writers of sentimental and loving novels, great repositories of instruction; governesses and usheresses, who convey such and other inciting works to their youthful charge; and also parents in humble circumstances, who send their children to boarding-schools, to learn what is to them useless, and not to learn what is to them useful. These pupils becoming totally unfit for the absurdity of marriage, and chaste converse, thereby become fit for concubinage, unchaste converse, and the promiscuous intercourse which St. Leon so strongly recommends by precept; and I am proud to say, I still more strongly recommend by both precept and example. It would be tedious, at present, to go over twenty-four; and the more so, as so many in this age of increasing light, have such claims, as it might be difficult to adjust with a due regard to equity and merit. One person, however, I must mention. Mrs. Sonnet, though not supreme in ability, yet has an activity and good will in the cause, that entitles her to high consideration. All her novels have proposed to decry existing institutions, exalt the philosophers of France, and to debase what is called female virtue, by an attempt to shew that it depends on accident, and not principle. Mrs. Egotist also, though not strictly one of our votaries, yet tends to promote our interests. With great skill and ingenuity she softens what the unenlightened call adultery, by stiling it ‘the error of too susceptible a heart;’ also by holding forth disobedient children as objects of praise and admiration, she advances our favourite doctrine of the absurdity of filial duty: most of her heroes and heroines uniformly and steadily pursue, that rule of conduct which their parents strongly exhort them to avoid. Thus friendly to the dissolution of domestic authority, and what the blind call duties, Mrs. Egotist is no less ardent to decry civil, ecclesiastical, and political authority, to represent Bishops, and rulers of every kind as wicked, and most vehemently to reprobate the execrable and abominable constitution, which we are obliged to suffer in Britain. Yes, Charlotte, according to the new polity of Jemima, you must have a mitre. There is a copartnery of either one or two old ladies, and a young one for writing novels, neither of them are professedly my votaries, and, indeed, are _professedly_ the contrary. But there is one most inveterate foe of the new philosophy, known by the name of Common Sense, and till he can be destroyed, the new philosophy will never be fully established. Miss Twostools can bring every page of her works, and her mother about seven-eighths of hers, to bear witness of their hostility to Common Sense. Admirable in that view is the story of an old Lord, who supposes himself to have a wolf in his belly; no less admirable the many adventures of his grandson, who, to be fitted for the peerage, was committed to the care of the clerk of the parish, and met so many marvellous adventures as never did, or could happen to any human being. Mrs. and Miss Twostools are both too weak for the mitre; but for their good-will may be appointed _bell-women_ to the cause.” Jemima ran over many other names, such as Miss Harry Clarendon, Miss Derwent Priory, and numberless others that our hero forgot. At length the meeting broke up, and many of the disciples filed off in pairs, probably to study rivalry with the other sex.

Our hero did not altogether relish this new philosophy, as the best qualified for rendering mankind happy with their present thoughts and sentiments, and in the present condition of society; he thought that the system of St. Leon and Jemima, admirably as it may be adapted to the circumstances and inclinations of asses, goats, or hogs, is not so well suited to the situation and dispositions of _all_ men. Candour, however, obliged our hero to admit, that the parts of this system were so skilfully harmonized, as to make a very consistent whole, and that universally adopted as the authors wished it would render man a most successful imitator of the brute creation; and so far as a man would be improved by attaining the likeness of a beast, he is indebted to St. Leon and Jemima, for their benevolent intentions. This was a merit which the equitable impartiality of our hero, in thought, conversation, and writing, did not fail to ascribe to the speculative and practical philosophy of the Political Justice and Rights of Woman.

From the literature which our author either pursued or estimated, the thread of the story now requires that we should return to more domestic and private occurrences. The intimacy between Hamilton and Hamden became so close, that rarely a day passed in which the baronet did not spend several hours at the house of his friend. When the return of summer sent to the country most persons whose business and fortune could permit absence from town, Sir Edward still continued in London. Even the autumnal season did not call him from the metropolis, either to the relaxation of watering places, or the diversions of the country, for both of which he had formerly shewn a high relish. It may be thought that so intense a liking for the company of a friend, as to absorb all former predelictions and pursuits, is totally inconsistent with nature; and that, farther, so frequent and long visits must be prejudicial to the object of the friendship, by encroaching on Hamilton’s time and interrupting his studies. Sentiments or conduct not to be found in human nature, I trust, make no part of this work; though if they did, and I chose to rest law upon mere precedent, noted authorities would not be wanting. It may also be supposed that disregard to the advantage of his friend would be inconsistent with the character which Hamden has uniformly maintained. For the solution of these difficulties, simple facts will suffice. Highly as Hamden prized the company and conversation of our hero, yet his value for it was not so great as to overbalance all other pursuits. His visits, long and frequent as they were, did not interfere with the business of Hamilton.

Disappointed in his first wish of being affianced to Maria Mortimer, the baronet long resolved never to marry any other; but this resolution could not prevent him from discovering and admiring excellence that might occur in another object. So often a visitant in the house of Hamilton, he very frequently beheld the lovely Charlotte. To the charms of this young lady his admiration had done justice, even when his affections were engrossed by another. The more he conversed with her, the more he was convinced that the excellence of her mind corresponded with the beauties and graces of her face and person; and he conceived a very high esteem and admiration for the sister of his friend. He knew nothing of her attachment for Mortimer; and, having been absent from town when Charlotte received the first impressions from the conduct of her lover, he had not witnessed the dejection which it had first produced. Vigorous understanding and magnanimity, assisted by a generous pride, made powerful efforts to expel from her mind all tenderness for the man who had sacrificed love to ambition, and her exertions were gradually attended with success, while she strove to appear much less concerned and affected than she really was; and before Hamden’s return, she seemed to possess her wonted cheerfulness. Esteem for so very attractive a woman as Miss Hamilton, in such a heart as Hamden’s, was a step towards love. With a vigorous understanding, just principles, and polished knowledge, which rendered her a rational companion, he, by farther acquaintance, discovered her to possess the refined sentiments, taste, sensibility, and fascinating softness which made her heart an inestimable treasure to any one who could be so happy as to win its affections. Hamden was himself, in countenance and figure, equal to any man; as tall and finely proportioned as Mortimer, with features as regular; and a countenance that, indicating equal spirit and intelligence, expressed much more of feeling and tenderness. His manners and deportment were firm and commanding; but where such qualities were requisite in the common intercourse of life, and especially in female society, they were chiefly eminent for an engaging impressiveness that was almost irresistible. Such softness and delicacy, were it apart from the general cast and character of his mind, might appear to approach to insinuation; but combined with the penetration and strength of his intellect and undeviating integrity, evidently resulted from feeling and not from artifice! It was manly virtue; strong and steady in its principles, in its operations mellowed by tenderness, and relieving force by polished softness. The attentions of Sir Edward did not pass unperceived by Charlotte, nor altogether unfelt; she thought him at once a most worthy and amiable man. She could not avoid acknowledging to herself, that if she had known Hamden as early as Mortimer, she must of the two have preferred him; but as still some traces of her first love remained, she determined not to listen with encouragement to the addresses of another, however pleasing. The graces, virtues, accomplishments, and increasing assiduity of Hamden made such progress in the mind of Charlotte as entirely to eradicate the revolted Mortimer; and she could not avoid wishing that she had known so very charming a youth two months sooner than she did. She now did more than esteem his merit; she returned his love. At length Hamden, flattering himself that he had made an impression on the bewitching Charlotte, declared her mistress of his destiny. Charlotte heard him with confusion; and confessing a very high esteem for his character, and that his love did honour to any woman, she, with evident reluctance, told him she could not be his; and here she burst into tears. Hamden employed every means that he could devise to soothe her mind. In the course of their interview, he wrung from her an acknowledgment of reciprocal love; but still she adhered to her protestation, that she could not accept his offer. The baronet, unable to discover her objection, at length resolved to request the assistance of her brother in removing her scruples. Informed by his friend of all that had passed, our hero repaired to his sister; and, after a long conversation, he, from her affection and confidence, learned her objection to an union with a man whose passion she requited. Charlotte had conceived a notion that a young woman not only should bestow with her hand her heart, but also a heart that never had felt love for another. This romantic refinement of sentiment, her understanding, acute and powerful as it was, could not conquer. Prizing Sir Edward so very highly, she fancied that her affections, though now devoted to him, yet having once been Mortimer’s, were unworthy of his acceptance. Her brother at first ridiculed this notion, but finding it too deep and serious to bear a ludicrous exposure, he argued gravely, clearly, and forcibly on the subject; and concluded with telling her that her situation in that respect resembled her lover’s. Each had cherished other attachments; but, as the objects were out of their reach, and out of their hearts, and they were now the votaries of mutual love, there was no reasonable obstruction to her compliance with the wishes of so amiable a man. Though Charlotte did not yield to this reasoning, Hamilton saw that it was not without impression. Maria seconded the instances of her husband; still, however, they did not conquer; but they did not despair that the victory would be obtained, if not by the auxiliaries, by the commander in chief himself. Sir Edward, informed of the ground of defence which Charlotte had taken, exerted his talents and skill with so much dexterity as at length to prove successful. Mrs. Hamilton, senior, who was now on a visit to her father, was sent for express; and her brother was requested to accompany her, and to perform the ceremony; but the old gentleman declared that he himself should undertake that office for his grand-daughter, as he had done for his grand-son. His son and daughter would have dissuaded him from encountering a journey in the winter season, but the old gentleman replied, he was no more afraid of the eighty-third winter than any of its predecessors. He accordingly accompanied them to town, and had the pleasure of embracing his great grand-son, now a fine child almost a year old. In a few days after his arrival the nuptials were celebrated, and Charlotte Hamilton became Lady Hamden.

CHAP. V.

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.