Mr. Lucre's face, during the enunciation of these sentiments, glowed like a furnace thrice heated—he turned up his eyes—groaned aloud—struck the arm of his chair with his open hand—then commenced fanning his breast, as if the act were necessary to cool that evangelical indignation, in which there is said to be no sin.
“Clement,” said he, “this—this”—here he kept fanning down his choler for half a minute—“this is—astonishing—awful—monstrous—monstrous doctrine to come from the lips of a clergyman—man”—another fanning—“of the Established Church; but what is still worse, from—from—the lips of my curate! my curate! I'll trouble you to touch the bell—thank you, sir. But, Mr. Clement, the circumstance of giving utterance to such opinions, so abruptly, as if you were merely stating some common-place fact—without evincing the slightest consideration for me—without reflecting upon who and what I am—without remembering my position—my influence—the purity and orthodoxy of my doctrine—the services I have rendered to religion, and to a Protestant government—(John, a glass of water; quickly)—you forget, sir, that I have proved the Romish Church to be both damnable and idolatrous—that she is without the means of salvation—that her light is out—her candlestick removed—and that she is nothing now but darkness, and abomination, and blasphemy. Yes, sir; knowing all this, you could openly express such doctrines, without giving me a moment's notice, or anything to, prepare me for such a shock!—sir, I am very much distressed indeed; but I thank my God that this excitement—(bring it here, John; quick:)—that this excitement is Christian excitement—Christian excitement, Mr. Clement; for I am not, I trust, without thai zeal for the interests of my church, of my King, and of Protestantism at large, which becomes a man who has labored for them as I have done.”
Here, notwithstanding the excessive thirst which seemed to have fastened on him, he put the glass to his lips; but, sooth to say, like the widow's cruse, it seemed to have been gifted with the miraculous property of going from his lips as full as when it came to them.
“I assure you, Mr. Lucre,” replied Clement, “in uttering my sentiments, I most certainly had not the slightest intention of giving you offence. I spoke calmly, and candidly, and truly, what I think and feel—and I regret that I should have offended you so much; for I only expressed the common charity of our religion, which hopeth all things—is slow to condemn, and forbids us to judge, lest we be judged.”
“Clement,” said Mr. Lucre, who, to speak truth, had ascribed his excitement—what a base, servile, dishonest, hypocritical scoundrel of a word is that excitement—ready to adopt any meaning, to conceal any failing, to disguise any fact, to run any lying message whatsoever at the beck and service of falsehood or hypocrisy. If a man is drunk, in steps excitement—Lord, sir, he was only excited, a little excited;—if a man is in a rage, like Mr. Lucre, he is only excited, moved by Christian excitement—out upon it!—but, like every other slavish instrument, we must use it—had ascribed his excitement, we say, to causes that had nothing whatsoever to do in occasioning it—the bona fide one being the indirect rebuke, to him, and the class to which he belonged, that was contained in Clement's observations upon the Established Church and her ecclesiastics. “Clement,” said he, “I must be plain with you. For some time past I have really suspected the soundness of your views—I had doubts of your orthodoxy; but out of consideration for your large family, I did not press you for an explanation.”
“Then, sir,” replied Clement, “allow me to say, that as an orthodox clergyman, jealous of the purity of our creed, and anxious for the spiritual welfare of your flock, it was your duty to have done so. As for me, I shall be at all times both ready and willing to render an account of the faith that is in me. I neither fear nor deprecate investigation, sir, I assure you.”
“I certainly knew not, however, that you were so far gone in latitudinarianism, as I find, unfortunately, to be the case. I hold a responsible—a sacred situation, as a Protestant minister, Mr. Clement, and consequently cannot suffer such doctrine to spread through my flock. Besides, had you taken an active part in promoting this Reformation, as, with your learning and talents I know you could have done—I make no allusion now to your unhappy principles—had you done so it was my fixed intention to have increased your salary ten pounds per annum, out of my own pocket, notwithstanding the great claims that are upon me.”
“My legal salary, I believe, Mr. Lucre, is seventy-five pounds per annum, and the value of your benefice is one thousand four hundred. I may say the whole duty is performed by me. Out of that one thousand four hundred, I receive sixty; but I shall add nothing more—for indeed I have yet several visits to make before I go home. As to my orthodoxy, sir, you will take your own course. To my bishop I am ready to explain my opinions; they are in accordance with the Word of God; and if for entertaining them I am deprived of the slender support for which I labor, as your curate, my trust in God will not be the less.”
Mr. Lucre declined any reply, but bowed very politely, and rang the bell, to order his carriage, as a hint to Mr. Clement that the conversation was closed. The latter bowed, bade him good morning, and departed.
When Mr. Clement said he had some visits to make, we must, lest the reader might suppose they are visits of ceremony, follow his steps in order to learn the nature of these visits.