'At least you jest in earnest now,' I said, thinking to weather him on another tack. 'Even you must grant that there are other things but that worth the life-search—exempli gratia, Fame.'
'How do I know that?' he answered; 'for how shall Fame satisfy a man when he has got it? Why, look you, Fame is a thing begets hunger for itself faster than a dead dog breeds maggots. There was never a fame-glutton yet but went to his grave fasting.'
''Tis because they hunger after earthly fame,' said I. 'Seek something higher. If you cannot pursue God, yet at least you may search out wisdom. That is earnest enough.'
'Wisdom! wisdom!' cried Harry. 'Why, what is that? In truth, I think that Folly is the only Wisdom, and there's no such profitable travelling as a voyage in the Ship of Fools. In a thousand times to one he who pursues Wisdom shall find he has no quarry but Folly, while he that runs merrily after Folly shall find on a sudden that he is carrying Wisdom in his hand. Who shall say, amidst the ruins of these broken times, where Folly shall be sought and where Wisdom shall be found?'
'I know there is great confusion in the times,' said I, 'but still there is at least sure ground left for a scholar who will pursue diligently the arts and sciences.'
'Who can tell even that?' answered Harry. 'Read Cornelius Agrippa, if you know him not. Read his Vanity and Uncertainty of Arts and Sciences, and you shall find wisdom there that will prove you, by most nice argument and sharp reasons, that knowledge is the very pestilence that puts all mankind to ruin, that chases away all innocence, condemns all truth, and places errors on the highest thrones.'
'Oh, Harry, Harry!' I cried in despair, 'you are Italianate past all praying for.'
'Well, then, if you cannot pray with me, laugh with me, jest with me,' he answered. 'Are we not all the puppets and playthings that God has made for His laughter, while He sits at His feast. Let him who would be wise make haste to laugh at himself with God, and at all men with their little humours. Hola! Quester! Monk! hola, hola!' he shouted then to his hounds that stayed behind, and bringing his hand with a ringing clap upon his gelding's shoulder, broke gaily into a canter across the stretch of sheep-cropped turf that lay before us.
What could I do with such a man? To me he was all and more than I had dreaded he would become when he travelled into Italy. In my eyes he was but one more added to the long list of atheists and epicures which that wicked and beautiful land has filled.
Still, I would not desist from my efforts to win him back to what I deemed the only true path. Amidst the ruins of his faith I searched for some unbroken stones, wherewith I might lay the foundations of a new sanctuary for his soul. I tried to make him see the horrors and dangers of the Popish religion, and so teach him to love and cling to our Christian faith as its most stalwart opponent. The last time that ever I attacked him was when I thought by dwelling on the idolatry of Rome to gain my end, seeing how wholly opposed it was to his own wide and spiritual conceptions. But it was all to little purpose.