Nature and Art Part 6

"I said _prosecute_," cried the dean in anger. "Leave the room; you have no comprehension."

"Oh, yes, now I understand the difference of the two words; but they sound so much alike, I did not at first observe the distinction. You said, 'the innocent prosecute, but the _guilty persecute_.'" He bowed (convinced as he thought) and left the room.

After this modern star-chamber, which was left sitting, had agreed on its mode of vengeance, and the writer of the libel was made acquainted with his danger, he waited, in all humility, upon Lady Clementina, and a.s.sured her, with every appearance of sincerity,

"That she was not the person alluded to by the paragraph in question, but that the initials which she had conceived to mark out her name, were, in fact, meant to point out Lady Catherine Newland."

"But, sir," cried Lady Clementina, "what could induce you to write such a paragraph upon Lady Catherine? She _never_ plays."

"We know that, madam, or we dared not to have attacked her. Though we must circulate libels, madam, to gratify our numerous readers, yet no people are more in fear of prosecutions than authors and editors; therefore, unless we are deceived in our information, we always take care to libel the innocent--we apprehend nothing from them--their own characters support them--but the guilty are very tenacious; and what they cannot secure by fair means, they will employ force to accomplish. Dear madam, be a.s.sured I have too much regard for a wife and seven small children, who are maintained by my industry alone, to have written anything in the nature of a libel upon your ladyship."

CHAPTER XVI.

About this period the dean had just published a pamphlet in his own name, and in which that of his friend the bishop was only mentioned with thanks for hints, observations, and condescending encouragement to the author.

This pamphlet glowed with the dean's love for his country; and such a country as he described, it was impossible _not_ to love. "Salubrious air, fertile fields, wood, water, corn, gra.s.s, sheep, oxen, fish, fowl, fruit, and vegetables," were dispersed with the most prodigal hand; "valiant men, virtuous women; statesmen wise and just; tradesmen abounding in merchandise and money; husbandmen possessing peace, ease, plenty; and all ranks liberty." This brilliant description, while the dean read the work to his family, so charmed poor Henry, that he repeatedly cried out,

"I am glad I came to this country."

But it so happened that a few days after, Lady Clementina, in order to render the delicacy of her taste admired, could eat of no one dish upon the table, but found fault with them all. The dean at length said to her,

"Indeed, you are too nice; reflect upon the hundreds of poor creatures who have not a morsel or a drop of anything to subsist upon, except bread and water; and even of the first a scanty allowance, but for which they are obliged to toil six days in the week, from sun to sun."

"Pray, uncle," cried Henry, "in what country do these poor people live?"

"In this country," replied the dean.

Henry rose from his chair, ran to the chimney-piece, took up his uncle's pamphlet, and said, "I don't remember your mentioning them here."

"Perhaps I have not," answered the dean, coolly.

Still Henry turned over each leaf of the book, but he could meet only with luxurious details of "the fruits of the earth, the beasts of the field, the birds of the air, and the fishes of the sea."

"Why, here is provision enough for all the people," said Henry; "why should they want? why do not they go and take some of these things?"

"They must not," said the dean, "unless they were their own."

"What, uncle! does no part of the earth, nor anything which the earth produces, belong to the poor?"

"Certainly not."

"Why did not you say so, then, in your pamphlet?"

"Because it is what everybody knows."

"Oh, then, what you have said in your pamphlet is only what--n.o.body knows."

There appeared to the dean, in the delivery of this sentence, a satirical acrimony, which his irritability as an author could but ill forgive.

An author, it is said, has more acute feelings in respect to his works than any artist in the world besides.

Henry had some cause, on the present occasion, to think this observation just; for no sooner had he spoken the foregoing words, than his uncle took him by the hand out of the room, and, leading him to his study, there he enumerated his various faults; and having told him "it was for all those, too long permitted with impunity, and not merely for the _present_ impertinence, that he meant to punish him," ordered him to close confinement in his chamber for a week.

In the meantime, the dean's pamphlet (less hurt by Henry's critique than _he_ had been) was proceeding to the tenth edition, and the author acquiring literary reputation beyond what he had ever conferred on his friend the bishop.

The style, the energy, the eloquence of the work was echoed by every reader who could afford to buy it--some few enlightened ones excepted, who chiefly admired the author's _invention_.

CHAPTER XVII.

The dean, in the good humour which the rapid sale of his book produced, once more took his nephew to his bosom; and although the ignorance of young Henry upon the late occasions had offended him very highly, yet that self-same ignorance, evinced a short time after upon a different subject, struck his uncle as productive of a most rare and exalted virtue.

Henry had frequently, in his conversation, betrayed the total want of all knowledge in respect to religion or futurity, and the dean for this reason delayed taking him to church, till he had previously given him instructions _wherefore_ he went.

A leisure morning arrived, on which he took his nephew to his study, and implanted in his youthful mind the first unconfused idea of the Creator of the universe!

The dean was eloquent, Henry was all attention; his understanding, expanded by time to the conception of a G.o.d--and not warped by custom from the sensations which a just notion of that G.o.d inspires--dwelt with delight and wonder on the information given him--lessons which, instilled into the head of a senseless infant, too often produce, throughout his remaining life, an impious indifference to the truths revealed.

Yet, with all that astonished, that respectful sensibility which Henry showed on this great occasion, he still expressed his opinion, and put questions to the dean, with his usual simplicity, till he felt himself convinced.

"What!" cried he--after being informed of the attributes inseparable from the Supreme Being, and having received the injunction to offer prayers to Him night and morning--"What! am I permitted to speak to Power Divine?"

"At all times," replied the dean.

"How! whenever I like?"

"Whenever you like," returned the dean.

"I durst not," cried Henry, "make so free with the bishop, nor dare any of his attendants."

"The bishop," said the dean, "is the servant of G.o.d, and therefore must be treated with respect."

"With more respect than his Master?" asked Henry.

The dean not replying immediately to this question, Henry, in the rapidity of inquiry, ran on to another:--

"But what am I to say when I speak to the Almighty?"

"First, thank Him for the favours He has bestowed on you."

"What favours?"