But his meditations were interrupted by a burst of boisterous laughter.
"Why Barnhurst! you are grave as an owl. What's the matter, my dear?"
Herman looked up with a start, and a half-muttered ejaculation. The Rev. Dr. Bulgin stood before him, his cloak on his arm, and a cap in his hand.
"I thought you was out of town?" cried Herman.
"So I was; a convention of divines, speeches, resolutions, and so forth, you know. But now I'm in town, and,—such an adventure, my dear boy! I must tell you of it."
Before Bulgin tells his adventure, we must look at him. A man of thirty-five years, with broad shoulders, heavy chest and unwieldy limbs; a portly man, some would call him, dressed in black, of course, and with a white cravat about his neck, which was short and fat. Draggled masses of brownish hair stray, in uneven ends, about Bulgin's face and ears; that face is round and shiny,—its hue, a greasy florid,—its brow, broad and low; its eyes large, moist and oyster-like. In a word, the upper part of Bulgin's head indicates the man of intellect; the face, the eyes, mouth, nose and all, tell the story of a nature thoroughly animal,—bestial, would be a truer word.
That head and face were but too true in their indications.
Bulgin was, in intellect, something of a god; in real life; in the gratification of appetite; in habits, strengthened by the growth of years, he was a beast. It may seem a harsh word, but it is the only one that suits Bulgin's case. He was a beast. Not a quiet ox, cropping clover at his ease, nor yet a lordly bull, madly tossing his horns in the center of a grassy field,—of course, we mean nothing of the kind,—but a beast on two legs, gifted with a strong intellect and an immortal soul, and devoting intellect and soul to the full gratification of his beastly nature. He was, withal, a good-humored beast. He enjoyed a joke. His laugh was jovial; reminding you of goblets of wine and suppers of terrapin. His manner was off-hand, free and easy—out of the pulpit, of course; in the pulpit, no one so demure, so zealous and pathetic as the Rev. Dr. Bulgin.
He regarded his ministerial office as a piece of convenient clock-work, invented some years ago, for the purpose of supplying the masses with something to believe; and men like himself, with a good salary, a fine house, plenty to eat and drink, fair social position, and free opportunity for the gratification of every appetite.
His creed was a part of this clock-work. It was his living. Therefore, everything that he wrote or uttered, in regard to religion, was true to his creed; true, eloquent, and breathing the loftiest enthusiasm. To doubt his creed, was to doubt his living. Therefore, the Rev. Dr. Bulgin did not doubt his creed, but took it as he found it, and advocated it with all the energy of his intellectual nature.