Archibald Mackenzie laughed more loudly, and with affectation, at this speech: Henry and Dr. Campbell’s laughter instantly ceased.
“Do not mistake us,” said Dr. Campbell; “we did not laugh at your principles, we only laughed at your manner.”
“And are not principles of rather more consequence than manners?”
“Of infinitely more consequence,” said Dr. Campbell: “but why, to excellent principles, may we not add agreeable manners? Why should not truth be amiable, as well as respectable? You, who have such enlarged views for the good of the whole human race, are, I make no doubt, desirous that your fellow-creatures should love truth, as well as you love it yourself.”
“Certainly, I wish they did,” said Forester.
“And have your observations upon the feelings of others, and upon your own, led you to conclude, that we are most apt to like those things which always give us pain? And do you, upon this principle, wish to make truth as painful as possible, in order to increase our love for it?”
“I don’t wish to make truth painful,” said Forester; “but, at the same time, it is not my fault if people can’t bear pain. I think people who can’t bear pain, both of body and mind, cannot be good for any thing; for, in the first place, they will always,” said Forester, glancing his eye at Flora and her flower-pot,—“they will always prefer flattery to truth, as all weak people do.”
At this sarcastic reflection, which seemed to be aimed at the sex, Lady Catherine, Mrs. Campbell, and all the ladies present, except Flora, began to speak at once in their own vindication.
As soon as there was any prospect of peace, Dr. Campbell resumed his argument in the calmest voice imaginable.
“But, Mr. Forester, without troubling ourselves for the present with the affairs of the ladies, or of weak people, may I ask what degree of unnecessary pain you think it the duty of a strong person, a moral Samson, to bear?”