Part 12

"When I wrote you that note, doctor," said Mr. Heath with a weak smile, "I did not expect so soon to have the pleasure of a visit from you. I believe I was careful to state that what I wanted to see you about was not of a professional nature."

"Precisely," said the doctor, nodding his head in acquiescence.

"Hence I trust it has not interfered with any of your engagements?"

"Not at all," replied the doctor.

It seemed as if Mr. Heath were reluctant to approach the object for which he had summoned Dr. Wattletop, for he remained a few moments in silence with his fingers to his forehead in meditation, while the other watched him curiously. At length he abruptly said, "You are a freethinker, I am told, doctor?"

The physician, somewhat taken aback by this unexpected question, replied: "Well, it depends altogether upon your definition of the term. If you mean by freethinker, one who exercises his reason in an independent way, I certainly am."

"Do you, for instance, doctor, believe in eternal punishment?"

"No, certainly not," said the doctor, very decidedly.

"It's a fearful thought," ejaculated rather than spoke Mr. Heath, as a shudder seemed to pass over his frame.

"Fearful? It's wicked, abominable, impious. To suppose that a beneficent God would condemn a weak mortal to a doom cruel beyond conception, would punish in a way that even imperfect man would not, under any provocation, is simply monstrous. Fortunately there are but few who really believe in such a doctrine, and those who do, are, I find, perfectly satisfied that they will escape, even if the rest of the world is sent to perdition."

"Doctor," said Mr. Heath, "you will be very much surprised when I tell you that although I have been a communicant of the Episcopal Church for twenty years, and have conformed strictly to its forms and observances, I have no settled religious belief."

"Not a bit surprised, Mr. Heath, not a bit. In fact, I believe that fully three-quarters of the attendants at Church are in the same condition. Indeed, when I think of the indifference with which the most solemn and important truths are received, the mechanical piety of so-called devotees, and the facility with which they are swayed by trivial weaknesses, foibles, and vanities, I believe I am understating the proportion of practical unbelievers to the earnest and consistent professors. I have found this as my experience of men, that while all dread falling below what we may call the average of morality, the mass are indifferent about rising above it. In other words, while no one desires to be worse than his neighbor, no one cares about being any better. This accounts for the force of example, and the frequency of the tu-quoque style of argument. It is true there are exceptions, earnest men and women full of enthusiastic zeal, but if anything, these exceptions prove the rule."

"Mr. Abbott explains this indifference and the present low state of morality to a want of spirituality in the Church," remarked Mr. Heath.

"Want of fiddlesticks," replied the doctor. "Want of consistency is the trouble. Example--example is the great teacher, and in fact the only teacher. If you and I are inconsistent or unjust, we infect the rest and the contagion spreads, and no doctrinal exposition can countervail."

"Permit me, doctor, to offer you some refreshment," said Mr. Heath, rising to ring the bell, perhaps to change the topic of conversation, which now diverged into commonplaces.

Presently a domestic returned bearing a liqueur case.

"Will you please help yourself, doctor. Here is some Sherry--or if you prefer it, Monongahela."

While the doctor was dealing himself a liberal allowance of the whiskey, Mr. Heath resumed his seat and his meditative expression. Finally he drew himself closer to the doctor's chair, as if to beseech his attention, and said, "You and I, doctor, have arrived at that stage of existence when the illusions of youth have vanished--when all the feverish ambitions and vanities have lost their sway over us, and when we can look calmly at the approach of death. I will confess to you, doctor, that until lately I have not realized the insufficiency of this life; never until the loss of my son. As I stood beside his grave I recalled the words of Burke under similar circumstances: 'What shadows we are and what shadows we pursue!' This sense of disgust--of intense _ennui_ of existence is dreadful--unbearable.... What is coming? Where can I get light as to the future? Where lean for assistance?"

This apostrophe was interjected, and as if called forth by the speaker's sorrow.

A pause, and he resumed:

"Doctor, as one of my own age, and as a man in whose intellect, judgment, and heart I have the fullest confidence, I desire to make you my father-confessor. I crave sympathy and counsel. Perhaps I should apologize for burthening you with my trials and sorrows, but pity me--pity me!" He laid his hand on the physician's knee with such an appealing look, that the latter was touched. "Whom else can I consult with--whom turn to? I am at sea yawing like a rudderless ship."

The doctor, who had been not a little surprised at the tenor of his host's conversation, expressed his condolence, and proffered his assistance in any way that it might be found serviceable. Mr. Heath looked for a moment as if he were about to confide something--then checked himself, and rising leaned on the mantle-piece in a pensive attitude. Dr. Wattletop took this for an indication that the conference was at an end, but the Monongahela being excellent, he lingered to refill his glass. Meanwhile Mr. Heath again sat down and addressed him:

"You say, doctor, that you do not believe in eternal punishment, because, as I understand you, it is irreconcilable with reason."

"Because it is irreconcilable with the attributes of the Almighty. Again, where is the sense or harmony, or even necessity of it? I can understand temporary punishment, but not everlasting punishment; that would resolve itself simply into revenge, a feeling that the Creator is incapable of harboring. No, sir, I believe there is a punishment for sin, but not an everlasting one. I believe in the harmony of Nature, and that its laws are inexorable. They cannot be infringed without suffering. I do not believe in the forgiveness of sins."

"Do not believe in the forgiveness of sins! Have you no faith, doctor?"

"Faith, Mr. Heath, is in the first place a matter of cerebral organization, and secondly of accident. Had you and I been born with crania of a certain conformation, of either Jewish, Mohammedan, or Calvinistic parents, we would have remained in the faith we were born in, whether Jewish, Mohammedan, or Calvinistic, to the end of our days. Had John Knox, for instance, been born a Hindoo, in Benares, he would have become the fiercest fakir of them all. The mass of mankind dislike the trouble of thinking, and follow the paths traced out for them in infancy. Take your friend Mumbie, as an illustration. Here is a man of average respectability, who goes to church because it is the correct thing. What are his views, think you, on the hypostatic union? It is immaterial to him whether the minister preaches from the Zendavesta or the Koran; a certain number of hours have to be spent listening to him, and then he jogs along day after day, in the same grooves, satisfied if he keeps up to the average of respectability. Faith, Mr. Heath, as connected with dogmas and formulas, is of little consequence, in my estimation. Who do you think is the better man,--the one who believes in consubstantiation, or the one who believes in transubstantiation? My good mother, who was a pious woman, brought me up in the tenets of the Established Church--hence youthful predilections and associations attach me to that fold. At one time the perusal of Paley's Natural Theology, the Bridgewater treatises, and works of that character, shook my faith, and left me a sceptic. Such works, although intended to strengthen faith, serve but to stimulate inquiry. Possessing an analytic mind, the subtle problems of Nature had a wonderful fascination for me, and in trying to solve them, I became for a time a proselyte to the unsatisfactory theories of materialistic philosophy, until, fortunately, I found in the teachings of Descartes a solid foundation for belief. No logic can successfully assail the faith that springs from intuition. Now, like Kant, I never cease to wonder at the starry heavens, but far more at the intuitive knowledge of God and the Moral Law."

"The Moral Law," echoed Mr. Heath, abstractedly. After a few moments he returned, "Does not charity cover a multitude of sins?"

"It's a convenient mantle, surely. As I said before, I do not believe sins are ever forgiven, but bring their own punishment inevitably. Here in this world they certainly do, for all sages agree on this: that happiness is only attainable through the practice of virtue, and if this be so, the converse must necessarily be true, and those who do not practise it must be unhappy. As the physical health is governed by certain hygienic laws whose infraction inevitably produces disease, so is the spiritual health governed by the moral law, whose infraction also as certainly brings suffering. To be good is to be spiritually healthy--wickedness is deformity or disease of the soul."

"Then you are not a believer in total depravity?"

"No. The thing that reconciles us to ourselves and our fellow-beings, is the knowledge that the evil we commit proceeds more from unwisdom than from depravity. Man is far more of a fool than knave."

"I must ask your indulgence, doctor, and pardon for the liberty I have taken in thus catechising you; but as I said, I am emboldened to do so by the great esteem in which I hold you, and respect I entertain for your opinions and judgment. One more question: If this idea of duty, this Moral Law, as you term it, is from God, why is it not the same in all men? A savage can slay treacherously and sleep peacefully afterwards. Is not the moral law the creation of intellect?"

"No, intellect merely unfolds and develops it. The sway of the moral law is in proportion to the quality of the soul and the degree of reason. Its power is diminished in beings of limited reason or imperfect souls; hence, in a savage or a troglodyte it is naturally less than in an enlightened man--and still less in a horse, with its deficient reason and incipient soul," explained the doctor.

Mr. Heath again rose from his seat, paced across the room, and for the first time helped himself to a glass of spirits; then turning to the doctor, expressed, with forced lightness, his thanks for the instructive exposition he had been favored with. At this intimation the doctor took his departure, muttering to himself as he descended the staircase, "Very odd--I wonder what the deuce he wanted to see me for? Wished me to be his father-confessor. Egad! I think he assumed that _rôle_ himself. If he had but asked me to feel his pulse or look at his tongue, I might have clapped a fee down against him. As it is, I have had all my trouble for nothing. That whiskey, though, was excellent--excellent."

Edna had been waiting below to see the doctor, and as he was about opening the street-door to leave, she approached with a look of concern: "Don't you think, doctor, that father is better--don't you see an improvement in him?"

"Yes," replied Dr. Wattletop, cautiously, as he drew on his gloves; "Yes--I think, I--he looks better--rather better."

"Oh thank you, doctor; I'm ever so much obliged to you," replied Edna, joyfully.

"Still, it will be just as well, in case you notice any change in him or new peculiarity, to advise me of it. Good-by."

XV.

Mr. Heath again sent for Dr. Wattletop. This time the interview was of a more practical character. He desired to lay before the physician certain plans in regard to the erection of a free hospital for the county. The need of such an institution had long made itself felt, and Mr. Heath had determined to build one and endow it liberally. Dr. Wattletop approved of the project, and proffered his advice and assistance. Besides the hospital, Mr. Heath announced his purpose to erect, also at his sole expense, a home for orphan and friendless children.

The doctor listened patiently, and acquiesced as Mr. Heath communicated his ideas, until turning abruptly from the discussion of the plan, he said, "Does it not strike you as a sad commentary on the condition of society, that such institutions should be made necessary?"

"How so?" inquired Mr. Heath.

"Of course I am aware of what will be said about charity, benevolence, generosity, and the like, but for my part I detest them. Man seems to have a horror of being just, and will adopt any makeshift instead. Now--"

"You surprise me, doctor," interrupted Mr. Heath, testily; "from your qualities of head and heart I expected different counsel, and encouragement from you."

"My qualities of head and heart," said the doctor, "have only taught me this: that there is but one virtue--justice; and that the other so-called virtues are but pinchbeck ones. From man's neglect and aversion to its practice spring all wretchedness and misery. I don't propose, though, to be Quixotic in my propaganda, and while the infant mind to-day is being trained in prejudice, self-glorification, conceit, and falsehoods of all kinds, my puny efforts in advocacy of a different education would avail naught. Therefore, my dear sir, now that I have entered my protest, my best efforts to aid you in carrying out your plans are at your service, and you may command me. Only let me say this, to hide nothing from you, that while what you propose doing is munificent, and as the world goes, worthy of all praise--springing as it must from kind impulses--in my judgment it is all valueless as an exemplar, or educator, in comparison with the performance of a simple act of justice."

Mr. Heath seemed to be very much displeased at the doctor's frank exposition of his opinions, and said, as he gathered up his papers, "I am afraid, Dr. Wattletop, that you and I diverge too widely in our ideas on the subject we have been discussing, and as concord is indispensable in carrying out successfully the objects I have in view, I think, upon the whole, I shall not be able to avail myself of your valuable services."

"As you please, Mr. Heath, as you please, sir," replied the doctor, rising and taking his leave; not, however, without a certain disappointment, as the recollection of the choice Monongahela he had tasted on the previous visit floated to his palate.

* * * * *

"That man," soliloquized the doctor, on his way home, as he reflected on his interview with Mr. Heath, "that man has something on his mind. Soul-sickness of some kind. What crime must he have committed, to force him to atone by such prodigal dispensations? What is the medicine for his cure, I wonder? Shall it be Sublapsarianism or Supralapsarianism, or an electuary compounded of Pædobaptism and Sabellianism? Methinks yon stalwart son of Holy Mother Church, Father Maguire, would be most successful in this case. The heroic surgery of the disciples of Loyola is often efficacious in such maladies. Strange that that honest, consistent, unselfish, truest soldier of the Cross should be the automaton of an order whose cardinal doctrine is 'passive obedience,' whose aim is to destroy free thought and enlightenment, and remand the world to the middle ages."

These latter reflections of the doctor were drawn forth by the appearance of the parish priest, who was passing by at the time. His reverence was a good-humored, blue-eyed Celt, with whom the doctor had occasional polemical encounters, and sorely tried with his latitudinarianism.

* * * * *

Mr. Heath next convoked the clergymen of the various denominations in Belton, and invited their co-operation in carrying out his philanthropic projects. They readily acceded to his wishes, and expressed their entire concurrence in his plans. Of course these praiseworthy acts of Mr. Heath met with general commendation, and as they involved the expenditure of very large sums of money, elicited many encomiums on his munificence and beneficence. In fact, he was giving evidence in every way of what the Rev. Mr. Sniffen called a "change of heart." There was an unmistakable earnestness now in his attendance at worship, and a lowering of his crest that denoted an attempt to walk in the paths of humility. There was also a perceptible amelioration in his health, arising probably from the diversion of thought called forth by his benevolent schemes. Edna noticed these gratifying changes in her father's physical condition with joy, and he seemed to appreciate her filial attention and solicitude by increased affection for her. His sole pleasure now was in her society, and as warmer days came he enjoyed long drives in company with her. Edna had a pair of fleet ponies which she drove like an experienced whip, and her basket-phaeton was often seen on golden afternoons scouring along the banks of the beautiful Passaic, or through the wooded hills of Pompton, with her father languidly reclining beside her, and a dapper groom in the rumble.

One evening, as they were returning home from a drive, and were within a few rods of the gateway, a man who had been lying on the sward by the road-side staggered to his feet, and motioned as if he wished to speak to them. He was a rough fellow, a tramp, and evidently intoxicated. Edna, somewhat alarmed, would have whipped up the ponies, but the man stood in front of them gesticulating, and for fear of hurting him, she drew in the reins and stopped. The groom, leaping from his seat, was about to deal harshly with the interloper, when at a sign from his master he desisted. The fellow, with an unsteady gait, approached Mr. Heath, and held out his hand, saying: "I told 'em, old man, I told 'em wanted to see you. That chap at the gate over there wouldn't let me in. Told 'im you was my friend--best friend ever had in the world--ain't that so, old man? How you been, old top--all right, eh?"

The under-gardener, who acted as lodge-keeper, here advanced, and explained that the man had made several attempts to force himself in the grounds, saying that he was acquainted with Mr. Heath, and wished to see him on business.

"Sho I did--sho I did--'portant business, I said, 'portant business, old man," repeated the fellow.

At the apparition of this stranger, Mr. Heath's features became livid--his lingers grasped the side of the phaeton nervously, and for a moment he seemed unable to utter a word. Edna fortunately was too much occupied in watching the intruder and cause of all the trouble, to heed her father's agitation, while he with a strong effort collected himself.

"Wouldn't b'lieve me--told 'em you was my friend--best friend, eh, old man? That's so, that's so," repeated the man with drunken persistency, while Mr. Heath alighting, bade Edna rather peremptorily to drive on, and with a hasty gesture waved the gardener away.

The stranger was a red-bearded man of powerful build, within about ten years of Mr. Heath's age. His aspect was coarse and vulgar, and his garments worn and filthy. Judging from the tattooing on the backs of his hands, and his red, rugose neck, he was probably a seafarer. Mr. Heath led him, not without some trouble, up to the house and into the library, where they remained closeted together all the evening. Meals were brought up to them, and the household saw no more of the man, for he apparently disappeared before the next morning.

Although Edna was not a little surprised at this occurrence, and at her father's bearing towards the stranger, she made no allusion to him, and Mr. Heath anticipated any remarks from his sister by saying that the man was an unfortunate being with a family dependent upon him for support, whom he had several times assisted, and who presumed to return. "I doubt whether it is really a charity to help such people," added Mr. Heath, with affected carelessness. "Still one cannot resist these appeals, especially when an innocent family of small children is likely to suffer, for a slave to drink seldom reforms."

"Has he a large family?" asked Mrs. Applegate.

"Yes, yes, I believe so," replied Mr. Heath, manifesting annoyance at being questioned. "I know nothing at all about him but what he says."

This closed the conversation on that subject, but Mr. Heath's weak nerves were so shaken by the incident, that for several days after he remained at home, and refused any longer to accompany his daughter in her walks or rides. A fortnight or so later, Mrs. Applegate, who was reading the newspaper, incidentally remarked:

"I see that they have caught that Peterson, the pirate."

Mr. Heath, who was reclining in an easy-chair, started as if a bolt had struck him. "What! Who?" he exclaimed.

"Dear me, Rufus, how you startled me! I merely said that that dreadful murderer that they called Peterson, the pirate, and who escaped from jail, has been caught. You must remember the time there was about it. It was a little after John's death. I remember there was a story going around that his name was not Peterson, but Klove, and that he formerly lived in Belton. Old Mrs. Cosgrove told me then that she remembered him very well, and that his mother was a washerwoman. She said, too, that he was a thief when a boy, and ran away to sea after robbing his master."

"Mrs. Cosgrove is a silly gossip, Susan," said Mr. Heath, impatiently. "The boy was not a thief."

"Indeed--why, Rufus, I heard from--"

"Never mind; it's of no consequence, and we will not argue the matter," interrupted Mr. Heath. "Let me look at the paper a moment."

* * * * *