Literary labours continued: The thermometer of hope still rising: The sermon and the disappointed cravings of vanity

To carry on two controversies at the same time was certainly favourable to neither; except that abuse, or something very like it, being the key common to both, the subjects were so far in unison. Politics afforded me strong temptations, but theology was still predominant. The thirty-nine articles consequently were not neglected. Memory was taxed, my own manuscripts were examined, and authorities were consulted. His lordship's library abounded in political information, but not in theological, and I had recourse to that of the British Museum.

I did not indeed compose with all the rapidity with which I wrote my first political effusion; for I had not only been rendered more cautious, but, exclusive of the conversations and employment which the peer afforded me, a regular attention was to be paid to the levees of the bishop.

To these the sedulous Enoch carefully accompanied me; for no man pursued his own interest, as far as he understood it, with greater avidity. Circumstances were unfavourable, or he would certainly have been a bishop himself. Learning, talents, and virtue might have been dispensed with, but not these and the total want of patronage.

The bishop, finding us thus continually paired, one day gave me a hint that he should be glad to see me the next time alone. Without suspecting the motive, I was careful to comply with the request; and the ensuing morning, the right reverend dignitary, no other person being present, gave me to understand that he had read my sermon with satisfaction.

After this and various other circumlocutory efforts and hints, he at last spoke more plainly. The subject was a good one, and he had an inclination to deliver it himself, at one of the cathedrals where he intended to preach. But then it must be in consequence of a positive assurance, from me, that I should act with discretion. He did not want sermons; he had enough: but this pleased him: though, if it were known it were a borrowed discourse, especially borrowed from so young a man not yet in orders, it might derogate from episcopal dignity.

Enraptured at the fund of self approbation which I collected from all this, I ardently replied, 'I knew not how to express my sense of the honour his lordship did me; that I could neither be so absurd as to offend his lordship nor so unjust as to be insensible of his favours; that I held the sacerdotal character to be too sacred to suffer any man to trifle with it, much less to be guilty of the crime myself; and that, if his lordship would oblige me by fulfilling his kind intention, my lips should be irrevocably and for ever closed. The honour would be an ample reward, and, whatever my wishes might be, it was more than I could have hoped and greater perhaps than I deserved.'

It might well be expected that at this age I should fall into a mistake common to mankind, and consider secrecy as a virtue; yet I think it strange that I did not soon detect the duplicity of my conduct, nor imagine there was any guilt in being the agent of deceit. But this proves that my morality had not yet taught me rigidly to chastise myself into truth; nor had it been in the least aided by the example of the agreeable Enoch. Perhaps I did not even, at the moment, suspect myself to be guilty of exaggeration.

Notwithstanding the caution given me, no sooner had I quitted the ghostly governor than I hastened to my little upright friend. Tell him indeed I must not: honour, shame, principle, forbade. Yet to keep the good news wholly secret would be to render the severe covenant cruel. What could be done?

Enoch perceived a part of my transport, and reproached me for not having called to take him with me. This was too fair an opportunity to miss. I answered the bishop had desired to see me alone that morning. 'Indeed!' said the suspicious pastor. 'What could be his lordship's reason for that? Have I given offence?' 'No, no,' answered I, with a condescending look to calm his fears; 'but I am not at liberty to tell you the reason. There will be no breach of confidence however in my informing you that his lordship is to preach, next Sunday sevennight, at—cathedral. Many of the clergy, as I have gathered from him, are to be present; and he intends to make doctrinal points the subject of his discourse. He expects the attendance of his friends, no doubt, and I shall be there.' 'And I too,' said Enoch, 'though I should be obliged to pay a guinea at my chapel for a substitute.'

This point gained and my vanity thus disburthened, I left the divine man, and hastened to Bruton-street, to defend subscription with ten fold vigor. My young laurels were ripening apace: they were already in bud, and were suddenly to bloom. Every new sprig of success burst forth in new arguments, new tropes, and new denunciations. My margin was loaded with the names of High Church heroes, and my manuscript began to swell to a formidable size.

Mean while the day of exultation came, and I and Enoch, with Miss and her Mamma, for I could not be satisfied with less than the whole family, repaired early to the cathedral, bribed the verger, procured ourselves places, and rallied our devout emotions as stedfastly as we could, amid the indecent riot of boys, the monotony of the responses, and the apathy of the whole choir.

In spite of all my efforts and aspirings, never was service more tedious. The blissful minute at length came! His lordship, robed, in solemn procession, moved magnificently toward the pulpit. The lawn expanded, dignity was in every fold, and what had been great before seemed immeasurable! Mamma blessed herself, at the spectacle of power so spiritualized! Miss protested it was immense! Enoch was ready to fall down and worship! I myself did little less than adore: but it was the golden calf of my own creating; it was the divine rhapsody that was immediately to burst upon and astonish the congregation.

The right reverend father in God began, and with him very unexpectedly began my dissatisfaction. His voice was thick, his delivery spiritless, and his candences ridiculous. His soul was so overlaid with brawn and dignity that, though it heaved, panted, and struggled, it could never once get vent. Speaking through his apoplectic organs, I could not understand myself: it was a mumbling hubbub, the drone of a bagpipe, and the tantalizing strum strum of a hurdy-gurdy! Never was hearer more impatient to have it begin; never was hearer better pleased to have it over! Every sentence did but increase the fever of my mind. Enoch himself perceived it, though he could not discover the cause. The orator indeed produced no emotion in him, but that was not wonderful. The effect was quite as good as he expected! He had never, I believe, been entertained at a sermon in his life; not even at his own. He went to hear sermons sometimes, because it was decorous, because he was a parson, and because it was his trade to preach them; but never with any intention to enlarge his mind or improve his morals.

His lordship however had no sooner descended than he was encircled by as many flatterers as thought they had any right to approach; among whom, to my shame be it spoken, I was one. I did not indeed applaud either his discourse or his delivery; I was not quite so depraved, nor so wholly forgetful of the feelings he had excited! but I laboured out an aukward panegyric on the important duties he had to fulfil, and on the blessing it was to a nation, when worthy persons were chosen to fill such high offices. Thus endeavouring to quiet my conscience by a quibble, and with a half faced lie make him believe what it was impossible I could mean.

The discourse too was praised abundantly. It was divine! His lordship had never delivered more serious and alarming truths! But though no man could be better convinced that in reality this was all fact, yet coming from them I knew it to be all falsehood. They could not characterize what they could not hear; and the maukish adulation curdled even upon my digestive stomach.

The lesson however certainly did me good, though it had yet but little influence upon my conduct.