Gloomy meditations, or pills for the passions: More of Enoch's morality: Turl improves, yet is still unaccountable and almost profane: Consecrated things: Themistocles and vengeance: A love scene: More marriage plots: And a tragi-comic denouement: The fate of Themistocles: The manuscript in danger

I shut the door upon myself, as it were to conceal my disgrace, and for a considerable time traversed the room in an agony of contending passions. Rage, amazement, contempt of myself, abhorrence of my insidious patrons, and a thirst of vengeance devoured me. At length I was seized with a bitter sense of disappointment, and a fit of deep despondency. My calculations had been so indubitable, my progress so astonishing, and my future elevation in prospect so immeasurable, that to see myself thus puffed down, as it were, from the very pinnacle not of hope but of certainty, was more than my philosophy had yet learned to support with any shew of equanimity. I sunk on my chair, where I sat motionless, in silence, gloom, and painful meditation; groaning in spirit, as tormenting fancy conjured up the dazzling scenes, with which she had lately been so actively familiar.

I was roused from my trance at last by the recollection that I was in the house of the earl, and starting up, as if to spurn contamination from me, I hurried out, to ease my heart by relating the whole story in Suffolk street, and to procure myself an apartment.

Enoch, Mamma, and Miss were all at home. I had pre-informed the family of my engagement to dine with the bishop, and they began a full chorus of interrogatories. 'Who did I meet?' said Mamma. 'What did I think of the niece?' asked Miss. 'What did his lordship say?' inquired the holy man.

I stopped their inquisitive clamours by answering, my eyes darting rage, 'His lordship said enough to prove himself a scoundrel!' 'Heaven defend me!' exclaimed Enoch. 'Why, Mr. Trevor! are you in your senses?'—'A pitiful scoundrel! A pandar! A glutton! A lascivious hypocrite! With less honesty than a highwayman, for he would not only rob but publicly array himself in the pillage, nay and impudently pretend to do the person whom he plundered a favour!'

Enoch stood petrified. He could not have thought that frenzy itself would have dared to utter language so opprobrious against a bishop. It was treason against the cloth! The church tottered at the sounds! But the fury I felt held him in awe—'Lords!' continued I. 'Heaven preserve me from the society of a lord! I have done with them all. I am come out to seek an apartment. Kingdoms should not tempt me to remain another hour under the roof of a lord!'

If the eyes of Enoch could have stretched themselves wider, they would. The females requested me to explain myself. 'A pandar?' said Mamma. 'Ay,' added Miss; 'what did that mean, Mr. Trevor?'

The question sobered me a little: I recollected my friend the usher, and the honour of Miss Wilmot, and evaded an answer. It was repeated again with greater solicitation: scandal stood with open mouth, waiting for a fresh supply. I answered that for many reasons, and especially for a dear friend's sake, I should be silent on that head. 'A dear friend's sake?' exclaimed the suspicious matron. 'Who can that be? Who but Mr. Ellis? Why Mr. ——!'

I interrupted her in a positive tone, not without a mixture of anger, assuring her it was not Mr. Ellis; and then repeated that I was come in search of a lodging.

At that moment the bishop's servant knocked at the door; I saw him through the window; and a note was received by the foot-boy and brought to Enoch. The instant he had read the contents, he hurried away; telling me that an unexpected affair, which must not be neglected, called him out immediately.

Young as I was, unhackneyed in the ways of men, having so lately left the society of ignorant and inconsistent youth, till that hour I had imagined, though I discovered no qualities in Enoch that greatly endeared him to me, that he was sincerely my friend. His duplicity on this occasion was in my opinion a heinous crime, and I rushed out of the house, with a determination never again to enter the doors.

I precipitately walked through several streets, without asking myself where I was going. At last I happened to think of Turl, and at that moment he appeared to be the man on earth I would soonest meet. I hastened to his lodgings, found him at home, labouring as before, and, instead of feeling the same emotions of contempt for his employment, I was struck with the calm satisfaction visible in his countenance, and envied him.

I remembered his words: 'He worked to gain a living, by administering as little as he could to the false wants and vices of men; and at the same time to pursue a plan, on which he was intent'—A plan of importance no doubt; perhaps of public utility.

It was sometime before I could relate my errand. I hesitated, and struggled, and stammered, but at last said—'Mr. Turl, I yesterday thought myself surrounded by friends: I now come to you; and should you refuse to hear me, I have not a friend in the world to whom I can relate the injustice that has been done me.'—-Pray speak, Mr. Trevor. If I can do you any service, I most sincerely assure you it will add more to my own happiness, than you will easily imagine.'

These words, though few, were uttered with an uncommon glow of benevolence. My heart was full, my passions, like the arrow in the bent bow, were with force restrained, and I snatched his hand and pressed it with great fervour. 'May you never want a friend, Mr. Turl,' said I; 'and may you never find a false one! Your opinions differ from mine, but I see and feel you are a man of virtue.'

I paused a moment, and continued. 'That you are a man of principle is fortunate, because, in what I have to relate, the name and character of a lady is concerned: the sister of a man whom, a very few years since, I loved and revered.'—'You may state the facts without mentioning her name.'—'I have no doubt of your honour.'—'I have no curiosity, and it will be the safest and wisest way.'

I then gave him a succinct history of the whole transactions, between me, Enoch, the bishop and the earl; for I was almost as angry with the first as with the other two. He heard me to the end, and asked such questions for elucidation as he thought necessary.

He then said—'Mr. Trevor, you are already acquainted with the plainness, and what you perhaps have thought the bluntness, of my character. I have but one rule: I speak all that I think worthy of being spoken, and if I offend it is never from intention. What you have related of these lordly men does not in the least astonish me. Their vices are as odious as you have described them. Your great mistake is in supposing yourself blameless. You have chiefly erred in entertaining too high an opinion of your own powers, and in cherishing something like a selfish blindness to the principles of the persons, with whom you have been concerned. Your indiscriminate approbation of all you wrote raised your expectations to extravagance. Your inordinate appetite for applause made you varnish over the picture which the earl gave you of himself; though it must otherwise have been revolting to a virtuous mind: and your expectation of preferment so entirely lulled your moral feelings to sleep, that you could be a spectator of the picture you have drawn of the bishop, the day you dined with him, yet go the next morning to accept, if not to solicit, his patronage. You have committed other mistakes, which I think it best at present to leave unnoticed. In the remarks I have made, I have had no intention to give pain, but to awaken virtue. At present you are angry: and why?'

'Why!' exclaimed I, with mingled astonishment and indignation. 'A peer of the realm to be thus profligate in principle, and not excite my anger!'—'What is a peer of the realm, but a man educated in vice, nurtured in prejudice from his earliest childhood, and daily breathing the same infectious air he first respired! A being to be pitied!'—'Despised!'—'I was but three days in this earl's house. The false colouring given me by his agent first induced me to enter it; but I was soon undeceived.'—

'Well but, a churchman! A divine! A bishop! A man consecrated to one of the highest of earthly dignities!' 'Consecrated? There are many solemn but pernicious pantomimes acted in this world!'—'Suffer me to say, Mr. Turl, that to speak irreverently of consecrated things does not become a man of your understanding.' 'I can make no answer to such an accusation, Mr. Trevor, except that I must speak and think as that understanding directs me. Enlighten it and I will speak better. But what is it in a bishop that is consecrated? Is it his body, or his mind? What can be understood by his body? Is it the whole mass? Imagine its contents! Holy? "An ounce of civet, good apothecary!" That mass itself is daily changing: is the new body, which the indulgence of gluttonous sensuality supplies, as holy as the old? If it be his mind that is consecrated, what is mind, but a succession of thoughts? By what magic are future thoughts consecrated? Has a bishop no unholy thoughts? Can pride, lust, avarice, and ambition, can all the sins of the decalogue be consecrated? Are some thoughts consecrated and some not? By whom or how is the selection made? What strange farrago of impossibilities have these holy dealers in occult divinity jumbled together? Can the God of reason be the God of lies?'

There was so much unanswerable truth in these arguments, that I listened in speechless amazement. At last I replied, 'I am almost afraid to hear you, Mr. Turl.'—'Yes; it is cowardice that keeps mankind fettered in ignorance.'—'Well but, this bishop? Does he not live in a state of concubinage?'—'The scene of sensuality that you have painted makes the affirmative probable.'—'And my defence of the articles? I will publish it immediately; with a preface stating the whole transaction.'—'You will be to blame.'—'Why so?'—You may be better employed.'—'What! than in exposing vice?'—'The employment is petty; and what is worse, it is inefficient. The frequent consequence of attacking the errors of individuals is the increase of those errors. Such attacks are apt to deprave both the assailant and the assailed. They begin in anger, continue in falsehood, and end in fury. They harden vice, wound virtue, and poison genius. I repeat, you may be better employed, Mr. Trevor.'—'And is your rule absolute?'—'The exceptions are certainly few. Exhibit pictures of general vice, and the vicious will find themselves there; or, if they will not, their friends will.'—'This Enoch, too!—'Is I believe a mean and selfish character; though I by no means think the action at which you have taken offence is the strongest proof of his duplicity. To decide justly, we must hear both parties. He saw your passions inflamed. It was probable you would have opposed his going to the bishop; though, if he in any manner interfered, to go was an act of duty.'

The reasonings of Turl in part allayed the fever of my mind, but by no means persuaded me to desist from the design of inflicting exemplary disgrace on the earl and the prelate.

Though a stern opposer of many of my principles, his manners were attentive, winning, and friendly. Being better acquainted with the town than I was, he undertook to procure me a neat and cheap apartment in his own neighbourhood, and in half an hour succeeded.

To this my effects were immediately removed. I was even too angry to comply with the forms of good breeding so far as to leave my compliments for the earl: I departed without ceremony, and retired to my chamber to contemplate my change of situation.

After mature consideration, the plan on which I determined was, immediately to publish the fourth letter of Themistocles, already written; to continue to write under the same signature; and in the continuation to expose the political profligacy of the earl. Themistocles was accordingly sent that very day.

I next intended accurately to revise my defence of the articles, as soon as I should recover the copy from the bishop; to turn the conversation with Turl occasionally on that subject, that I might refute his objections; and then to publish the work. For ordination I would apply elsewhere, being determined never to suffer pollution by the unholy touch of that prelate.

The next morning, my passions being calmed by sleep and I having reflected on what Turl had said, a sense of justice told me that I ought to visit Enoch at least once more; in which decision my curiosity concurred. I went, and found him at home, but dressing.

The mother and daughter were at the same employment: but Miss, imagining it was my knock, sent her attendant to inquire, and immediately huddled on her bed-gown and mob-cap to come down to me. Her tongue was eager to do its office.

'Lord! Mr. Trevor! We have had such doings! Papa and mamma and I have been at it almost ever since! But don't you fear: I am your true friend, and I have made mamma your friend, and she insists upon it that papa shall be your friend too; and so he is forced to comply: though the bishop had convinced him that you are a very imprudent young gentleman; and my papa will have it you don't understand common sense; and that you have ruined yourself, though you had the finest opportunity on earth; and that you will ruin every body that takes your part! You can't think how surprised and how angry he is, that you should oppose your will to an earl, and a bishop, and lose the means of making your fortune, and perhaps of making your friends' fortunes too: for there it is that the shoe pinches; because I understand the bishop is very kind to papa at present; and, if he should take your part, papa says he will never see him again. But mamma and I argued, what of that? Would the bishop give papa a good living, said mamma? And what if he would, says I? Shall we give up those that we love best in the world, because it is the will and pleasure of a bishop! No, indeed! I don't know that bishops are better than other people, for my part; and perhaps not so good as those that are to be given up. So mamma told me to be silent; but she took my part, and I took yours, and I assure you, for all what they both said, I did not spare the bishop! So my papa fell into a passion, and pretended that I was too forward; and I assure you he accused me of having my likings. I don't know whether he did not make me blush! But I answered for all that, and said well, and if I have, who can help having their likings? I have heard you and my mamma say often enough that you both had had your likings; and that you did not like one another; and that that was the reason that you quarrel like cat and dog; and so if people will be happy they must marry according to their likings. So said my mamma well but, Eliza, have you any reason to think that Mr. Trevor has any notions of marriage? So I boldly answered yes, I had; for you know, Mr. Trevor, what passed between us at the play-house, and the kind squeeze of the hand you gave me at parting with me: and so why should I be afraid to speak, and tell the truth? And so mamma says it shall all be cleared up!'

Her eagerness would admit of no interruption, till it was checked for a moment by the entrance of Enoch, and the mamma. I suspected a part of what was to come, and never in my life had I felt so much embarrassment. 'Well Eliza,' said the matron, 'have you and Mr. Trevor been talking? Have you come to an explanation?'

I would have answered, but Miss was an age too quick for me. 'Yes, mamma; we have explained every thing to the full and whole. I have told it all over to him just now, every syllable the same as I told it to you, and he does not contradict a word of it.'

'Contradict?' interrupted Enoch. 'But does he say the same?' 'No, Sir!' answered I with eagerness; that I might if possible, by a single word, put an end to the eternal clack and false deductions of this very loving young lady. 'Lord! Mr. Trevor!' exclaimed Miss, her passions all flying to her eyes, part fire and part water. 'Sure you are not in earnest? You don't mean as you say?'—'I am very serious, Miss Ellis; and am exceedingly sorry to have been so misunderstood!'—'Why will you pretend to deny, Mr. Trevor, that all that I have been rehearsing here, about the play-house; and about the kindness with which you paid your addresses to me there, and indeed elsewhere, often and before time; and about your leading me to the chair; and then your tenderly taking my hand and squeezing it; and then the look you gave with your eyes; and more than all the loving manner in which you said good night? Not to mention as before all that you said and did, sitting next to me in the play-house; enough to win the affections of any poor innocent virgin! You are not such a deceiver as that comes to I am sure, Mr. Trevor: you have a more generous and noble heart!'

Here Miss burst into a flood of tears, and mamma exclaimed—'I am very much afraid, Mr. Trevor, there have been some improper doings!'

Enoch's anger for once made him honest. 'No such a thing!' said he. 'It is the forward fool's own fault. This is neither the first, second, nor third time she has played the same pranks.'

The mother and daughter instantly raised their pipes like fifty ciphered keys in an organ, first against Enoch, then against all the male kind, and lastly turned so furiously upon me that there seemed to be danger of their tearing me piece-meal, like as the mad females of Thrace did the disconsolate Orpheus.

At length I started up in a passion, and exclaimed—'Will you hear me, ladies?' 'No! no! no!' screamed Miss. 'We won't hear a word! Don't listen to him, mamma! He is a deceiver! A faithless man! I did not think there could have been such a one in the whole world! and I am sure I warned him often enough against it. And after the true friend that I have been to you, Mr. Trevor! and have taken your part, tooth and nail! Papa himself knows I have; and would take your part, through fire and water, against the whole world! and to be so ungrateful, and so false, and faithless to me in return! Oh shame, Mr. Trevor! Is that a man? A fine manly part truly! to win a poor virgin's heart and then to forsake her!'

Finding the sobs and the rhetoric of Miss inexhaustible and every effort to elucidate fruitless, I rose, told Enoch I would explain myself to him by letter, opened the door to go, was seized by the coat by the young lady, and could not without violence, or leaving like Joseph my garment behind me, have torn myself away, if I had not been aided by Enoch; who, having according to his own story been probably present at such scenes before, had sense enough I suppose to be ashamed of his daughter's conduct.

I hurried home, snatched up my pen, and in an epistle to Enoch instantly detailed, as minutely as I could recollect them, all the circumstances of the heroine's behaviour; acknowledging that I had listened, had suffered the intercourse of knees, legs, and feet, and as she said had once pressed her hand; that for this I feared I might have been to blame; but yet, if this were treachery, I knew not very well how a young man was to conduct himself, so as not to be accused of being either rude, ridiculous, or a traitor.

While I was writing this letter, it occurred to me that perhaps there was no small portion of cunning, in the conduct of Miss; that she and her mamma had remarked my youth, and entire ignorance of the world; that Enoch himself, though more intent on what he thought deeper designs, had entertained similar ideas; that Miss had probably been never before so much delighted with the person of any man, whom she might approach; and that the females had concluded I might have been precipitately entangled in marriage, or marriage promises, by this artful management. Be that as it may: I wrote my letter, eased my conscience, and took my leave of the whole family.

Mean time, Themistocles had lain with the printer several days; while I impatiently looked for its appearance, but in vain. I then began to suspect the paper was under the influence of the earl, wrote to the editor, and read the next day, among the answers to correspondents, that the letter signed Themistocles could not be admitted in their paper: they were friends to proper strictures, but not to libels against government. My teeth gnashed with rage! I was but ill qualified, at this period, to teach the benevolent philosophy which priests of all religions affirm it is their trade to inculcate.

Neither could I procure the manuscript from the bishop. The scene in Suffolk street had occasioned me to delay sending that evening, but the next day I wrote a peremptory demand, for it to be delivered to the bearer; and prevailed on Turl to be my messenger. He returned with information, that the bishop was gone into the country! but that the letter would be sent after him immediately, and an answer might probably be received by the return of post.

I had no alternative, and three days afterward the manuscript was sent, sealed up and labeled on the back—'To be delivered to the author, when called for: his address not being known.'

Thus every new incident was a new lesson; unveiling a system, moral, political and ecclesiastical, which without such experience I could not have supposed to exist. My conversations with Turl came in aid of this experience, and they combined to shake the very high opinion I had conceived of the clerical order: but the finishing blow was yet to come.