Tales and Novels Volume VII Part 4

Therefore, leave me to follow the thing up properly with the uncle, and do you never let it sleep with the nephew: sometimes a bold stroke, sometimes a delicate touch, just as the occasion serves, or as may suit the company present--all that I trust to your own address and judgment."

"Trust nothing, sir, to my address or judgment; for in these things I have neither. I always act just from impulse and feeling, right or wrong--I have no talents for _finesse_--leave them all to Cunningham--that's his trade, and he likes it, luckily: and you should be content with having one such genius in your family--no family could bear two."

"Come, come, pray be serious, Buckhurst. If you have not or will not use any common sense and address to advance yourself, leave that to me. You see how I have pushed up Cunningham already, and all I ask of you is to be quiet, and let me push you up."

"Oh! dear sir, I am very much obliged to you: if that is all, I will be quite quiet--so that I am not to do any thing shabby or dirty for it.

I should be vastly glad to get a good place, and be provided for handsomely."

"No doubt; and let me tell you that many I could name have, with inferior claims, and without any natural connexion or relationship, from the mere favour of proper friends, obtained church benefices of much greater value than the living we have in our eye: you know--"

"I do not know, indeed," said Buckhurst; "I protest I have no living in my eye."

"What! not know that the living of Chipping-Friars is in the gift of Colonel Hauton--and the present inc.u.mbent has had one paralytic stroke already. There's a prospect for you, Buckhurst!"

"To be frank with you, sir, I have no taste for the church."

"No taste for nine hundred a year, Buckhurst? No desire for fortune, Mr.

Philosopher?"

"Pardon me, a very strong taste for that, sir--not a bit of a philosopher--as much in love with fortune as any man, young or old: is there no way to fortune but through the church?"

"None for you so sure and so easy, all circ.u.mstances considered," said his father. "I have planned and settled it, and you have nothing to do but to get yourself ordained as soon as possible. I shall write to my friend the bishop for that purpose this very night."

"Let me beg; father, that you will not be so precipitate. Upon my word, sir, I cannot go into orders. I am not--in short, I am not fit for the church."

The father stared with an expression between anger and astonishment.

"Have not you gone through the university?"

"Yes, sir:--but--but I am scarcely sober, and _staid_, and moral enough for the church. Such a wild fellow as I am, I really could not in conscience--I would not upon any account, for any living upon earth, or any emolument, go into the church, unless I thought I should do credit to it."

"And why should not you do credit to the church? I don't see that you are wilder than your neighbours, and need not be more scrupulous. There is G----, who at your age was wild enough, but he took up in time, and is now a plump dean. Then there is the bishop that is just made: I remember him such a youth as you are. Come, come, these are idle scruples. Let me hear no more, my dear Buckhurst, of your conscience."

"Dear sir, I never pleaded my conscience on any occasion before--you know that I am no puritan--but really on this point I have some conscience, and I beg you not to press me farther. You have other sons; and if you cannot spare Cunningham, that treasure of diplomacy!--there's John; surely you might contrive to spare him for the church."

"Spare him I would, and welcome. But you know I could never get John into orders."

"Why not, sir? John, I'll swear, would have no objection to the church, provided you could get him a good fat living."

"But I am not talking of _his_ objections. To be sure he would make no objection to a good fat living, nor would any body in his senses, except yourself. But I ask you how I could possibly get your brother John into the church? John's a dunce,--and you know it."

"n.o.body better, sir: but are there no dunces in the church?--And as you are so good as to think that I'm no wilder than my neighbours, you surely will not say that my brother is more a dunce than his neighbours.

Put him into the hands of a clever grinder or crammer, and they would soon cram the necessary portion of Latin and Greek into him, and they would get him through the university for us readily enough; and a degree once obtained, he might snap his fingers at Latin and Greek all the rest of his life. Once in orders, and he might sit down upon his fat living, or lie down content, all his days, only taking care to have some poor devil of a curate up and about, doing duty for him."

"So I find you have no great scruples for your brother, whatever you may have for yourself?"

"Sir, I am not the keeper of my brother's conscience--Indeed, if I were, you might congratulate me in the words of Sir B. R. upon the possession of a sinecure place."

"It is a pity, Buckhurst, that you cannot use your wit for yourself as well as for other people. Ah! Buckhurst! Buckhurst! you will, I fear, do worse in the world than any of your brothers; for wits are always _unlucky_: sharp-sighted enough to every thing else, but blind, stone blind to their own interest. Wit is folly, when one is talking of serious business."

"Well, my dear father, be _agreeable_, and I will not be witty.--In fact, in downright earnest, the sum total of the business is, that I have a great desire to go into the army, and I entreat you to procure me a commission."

"Then the sum total of the business is, that I will not; for I cannot afford to purchase you a commission, and to maintain you in the army--"

"But by using interest, perhaps, sir," said Buckhurst.

"My interest must be all for your brother John; for I tell you I can do nothing else for him but put him into the army.--He's a dunce.--I must get him a commission, and then I have done with him."

"I wish I were a dunce," said Buckhurst, sighing; "for then I might go into the army--instead of being forced into the church."

"There's no force upon your inclinations, Buckhurst," said his father in a soft tone; "I only show you that it is impossible I should maintain you in the army, and, therefore, beg you to put the army out of your head. And I don't well see what else you could do. You have not application enough for the bar, nor have I any friends among the attorneys except Sharpe, who, between you and me, might take your dinners, and leave you without a brief afterwards. You have talents, I grant," continued the commissioner, "and if you had but application, and if your uncle the judge had not died last year--"

"Oh, sir, he is dead, and we can't help it," interrupted Buckhurst. "And as for me, I never had, and never shall have, any application: so pray put the bar out of your mind."

"Very cavalier, indeed!--but I will make you serious at once, Buckhurst.

You have nothing to expect from my death--I have not a farthing to leave you--my place, you know, is only for life--your mother's fortune is all in annuity, and two girls to be provided for--and to live as we must live--up to and beyond my income--shall have nothing to leave. Though you are my eldest son, you see it is in vain to look to my death--so into the church you must go, or be a beggar--and get a living or starve.

Now I have done," concluded the commissioner, quitting his son; "and I leave you to think of what has been said."

Buckhurst thought and thought; but still his interest and his conscience were at variance, and he could not bring himself either to be virtuous or vicious enough to comply with his father's wishes. He could not decide to go into the church merely from interested motives--from that his conscience revolted; he could not determine to make himself fit to do credit to the sacred profession--against this his habits and his love of pleasure revolted. He went to his brother John, to try what could be done with him. Latin and Greek were insuperable objections with John; besides, though he had a dull imagination in general, John's fancy had been smitten with one bright idea of an epaulette, from which no considerations, fraternal, political, moral, or religious, could distract his attention.--His genius, he said, was for the army, and into the army he would go.--So to his genius, Buckhurst, in despair, was obliged to leave him.--The commissioner neglected not to push the claim which he had on Colonel Hauton, and he chose his time so well, when proper people were by, and when the colonel did not wish to have the squire, and the horse-whip, and the duel, brought before the public, that he obtained, if not a full acknowledgment of obligation, a promise of doing any thing and every thing in his power for his friend Buckhurst. Any thing and every thing were indefinite, unsatisfactory terms; and the commissioner, bold in dealing with the timid temper of the colonel, though he had been cautious with the determined character of the uncle, pressed his point--named the living of Chipping-Friars--showed how well he would be satisfied, and how well he could represent matters, if the promise were given; and at the same time made it understood how loudly he could complain, and how disgraceful his complaints might prove to the Oldborough family, if his son were treated with ingrat.i.tude. The colonel particularly dreaded that he should be suspected of want of spirit, and that his uncle should have the transaction laid before him in this improper point of view. He pondered for a few moments, and the promise for the living of Chipping-Friars was given. The commissioner, secure of this, next returned to the point with his son, and absolutely insisted upon his--going into orders. Buckhurst, who had tried wit and raillery in vain, now tried persuasion and earnest entreaties; but these were equally fruitless: his father, though an easy, good-natured man, except where his favourite plans were crossed, was peremptory, and, without using harsh words, he employed the harshest measures to force his son's compliance. Buckhurst had contracted some debts at the university, none of any great consequence, but such as he could not pay immediately.--The bets he had laid and lost upon High-Blood were also to be provided for; debts of honour claimed precedency, and must be directly discharged. His father positively refused to a.s.sist him, except upon condition of his compliance with his wishes; and so far from affording him any means of settling with his creditors, it has been proved, from the commissioner's _private_ answers to some of their applications, that he not only refused to pay a farthing for his son, but encouraged the creditors to threaten him in the strongest manner with the terrors of law and arrest. Thus pressed and embarra.s.sed, this young man, who had many honourable and religious sentiments and genuine feelings, but no power of adhering to principle or reason, was miserable beyond expression one hour--and the next he became totally forgetful that there was any thing to be thought of but the amus.e.m.e.nt of the moment. Incapable of coming to any serious decision, he walked up and down his room talking, partly to himself, and partly, for want of a better companion, to his brother John.

"So I must pay Wallis to-morrow, or he'll arrest me; and I must give my father an answer about the church to-night--for he writes to the bishop, and will wait no longer. Oh! hang it.' hang it, John! what the devil shall I do? My father won't pay a farthing for me, unless I go into the church!"

"Well, then, why can't you go into the church!" said John: "since you are through the university, the worst is over."

"But I think it so wrong, so base--for money--for emolument! I cannot do it. I am not fit for the church--I know I shall disgrace it," said Buckhurst, striking his forehead: "I cannot do it--I can not--it is against my conscience."

John stopped, as he was filling his shooting-pouch, and looked at Buckhurst (his mouth half open) with an expression of surprise at these demonstrations of sensibility. He had some sympathy for the external symptoms of pain which he saw in his brother, but no clear conception of the internal cause.

"Why, Buckhurst," said he, "if you cannot do it, you can't, you know, Buckhurst: but I don't see why you should be a disgrace to the church more than another, as my father says. If I were but through the university, I had as lieve go into the church as not--that's all I can say. And if my genius were not for the military line, there's nothing I should relish better than the living of Chipping-Friars, I'm sure. The only thing that I see against it is, that that paralytic inc.u.mbent may live many a year: but, then, you get your debts paid now by only going into orders, and that's a great point. But if it goes against your conscience--you know best--if you can't, you can't."

"After all, I can't go to jail--I can't let myself be arrested--I can't starve--I can't be a beggar," said Buckhurst; "and, as you say, I should be so easy if these cursed debts were paid--and if I got this living of nine hundred a year, how comfortable I should be! Then I could marry, by Jove! and I'd propose directly for Caroline Percy, for I'm confoundedly in love with her--such a sweet tempered, good creature!--not a girl so much admired! Colonel Hauton, and G----, and P----, and D----, asked me, 'Who is that pretty girl?'--She certainly is a very pretty girl."

"She certainly is," repeated John. "This devil of a fellow never cleans my gun."

"Not regularly handsome, neither," pursued Buckhurst; "but, as Hauton says, fascinating and new; and a new face in public is a great matter.

Such a fashionable-looking figure, too--though she has not _come out_ yet; dances charmingly--would dance divinely, if she would let herself out; and she sings and plays like an angel, fifty times better than our two precious sisters, who have been _at it_ from their cradles, with all the Signor _Squalicis_ at their elbows. Caroline Percy never exhibits in public: the mother does not like it, I suppose."

"So I suppose," said John. "Curse this flint!--flints are growing worse and worse every day--I wonder what in the world are become of all the good flints there used to be!"

"Very unlike our mother, I am sure," continued Buckhurst. "There are Georgiana and Bell at all the parties and concerts as regularly as any of the professors, standing up in the midst of the singing men and women, favouring the public in as fine a bravura style, and making as ugly faces as the best of them. Do you remember the Italian's compliment to Miss * * * * *?--I vish, miss, I had your _a.s.surance_.'"

"Very good, ha!--very fair, faith!" said John. "Do you know what I've done with my powder horn?"

"Not I--put it in the oven, may be, to dry," said Buckhurst. "But as I was saying of my dear Caroline--_My_ Caroline! she is not mine yet."

"Very true," said John.

"Very true! Why, John, you are enough to provoke a saint!"