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_ Mr Pontifex had set his heart on his son's becoming a fellow of a
college before he became a clergyman. This would provide for him at
once and would ensure his getting a living if none of his father's
ecclesiastical friends gave him one. The boy had done just well
enough at school to render this possible, so he was sent to one of
the smaller colleges at Cambridge and was at once set to read with
the best private tutors that could be found. A system of
examination had been adopted a year or so before Theobald took his
degree which had improved his chances of a fellowship, for whatever
ability he had was classical rather than mathematical, and this
system gave more encouragement to classical studies than had been
given hitherto.
Theobald had the sense to see that he had a chance of independence
if he worked hard, and he liked the notion of becoming a fellow. He
therefore applied himself, and in the end took a degree which made
his getting a fellowship in all probability a mere question of time.
For a while Mr Pontifex senior was really pleased, and told his son
he would present him with the works of any standard writer whom he
might select. The young man chose the works of Bacon, and Bacon
accordingly made his appearance in ten nicely bound volumes. A
little inspection, however, showed that the copy was a second hand
one.
Now that he had taken his degree the next thing to look forward to
was ordination--about which Theobald had thought little hitherto
beyond acquiescing in it as something that would come as a matter of
course some day. Now, however, it had actually come and was
asserting itself as a thing which should be only a few months off,
and this rather frightened him inasmuch as there would be no way out
of it when he was once in it. He did not like the near view of
ordination as well as the distant one, and even made some feeble
efforts to escape, as may be perceived by the following
correspondence which his son Ernest found among his father's papers
written on gilt-edged paper, in faded ink and tied neatly round with
a piece of tape, but without any note or comment. I have altered
nothing. The letters are as follows:-
"My dear Father,--I do not like opening up a question which has been
considered settled, but as the time approaches I begin to be very
doubtful how far I am fitted to be a clergyman. Not, I am thankful
to say, that I have the faintest doubts about the Church of England,
and I could subscribe cordially to every one of the thirty-nine
articles which do indeed appear to me to be the ne plus ultra of
human wisdom, and Paley, too, leaves no loop-hole for an opponent;
but I am sure I should be running counter to your wishes if I were
to conceal from you that I do not feel the inward call to be a
minister of the gospel that I shall have to say I have felt when the
Bishop ordains me. I try to get this feeling, I pray for it
earnestly, and sometimes half think that I have got it, but in a
little time it wears off, and though I have no absolute repugnance
to being a clergyman and trust that if I am one I shall endeavour to
live to the Glory of God and to advance His interests upon earth,
yet I feel that something more than this is wanted before I am fully
justified in going into the Church. I am aware that I have been a
great expense to you in spite of my scholarships, but you have ever
taught me that I should obey my conscience, and my conscience tells
me I should do wrong if I became a clergyman. God may yet give me
the spirit for which I assure you I have been and am continually
praying, but He may not, and in that case would it not be better for
me to try and look out for something else? I know that neither you
nor John wish me to go into your business, nor do I understand
anything about money matters, but is there nothing else that I can
do? I do not like to ask you to maintain me while I go in for
medicine or the bar; but when I get my fellowship, which should not
be long first, I will endeavour to cost you nothing further, and I
might make a little money by writing or taking pupils. I trust you
will not think this letter improper; nothing is further from my wish
than to cause you any uneasiness. I hope you will make allowance
for my present feelings which, indeed, spring from nothing but from
that respect for my conscience which no one has so often instilled
into me as yourself. Pray let me have a few lines shortly. I hope
your cold is better. With love to Eliza and Maria, I am, your
affectionate son,
"THEOBALD PONTIFEX."
"Dear Theobald,--I can enter into your feelings and have no wish to
quarrel with your expression of them. It is quite right and natural
that you should feel as you do except as regards one passage, the
impropriety of which you will yourself doubtless feel upon
reflection, and to which I will not further allude than to say that
it has wounded me. You should not have said 'in spite of my
scholarships.' It was only proper that if you could do anything to
assist me in bearing the heavy burden of your education, the money
should be, as it was, made over to myself. Every line in your
letter convinces me that you are under the influence of a morbid
sensitiveness which is one of the devil's favourite devices for
luring people to their destruction. I have, as you say, been at
great expense with your education. Nothing has been spared by me to
give you the advantages, which, as an English gentleman, I was
anxious to afford my son, but I am not prepared to see that expense
thrown away and to have to begin again from the beginning, merely
because you have taken some foolish scruples into your head, which
you should resist as no less unjust to yourself than to me.
"Don't give way to that restless desire for change which is the bane
of so many persons of both sexes at the present day.
"Of course you needn't be ordained: nobody will compel you; you are
perfectly free; you are twenty-three years of age, and should know
your own mind; but why not have known it sooner, instead of never so
much as breathing a hint of opposition until I have had all the
expense of sending you to the University, which I should never have
done unless I had believed you to have made up your mind about
taking orders? I have letters from you in which you express the
most perfect willingness to be ordained, and your brother and
sisters will bear me out in saying that no pressure of any sort has
been put upon you. You mistake your own mind, and are suffering
from a nervous timidity which may be very natural but may not the
less be pregnant with serious consequences to yourself. I am not at
all well, and the anxiety occasioned by your letter is naturally
preying upon me. May God guide you to a better judgement.--Your
affectionate father, G. PONTIFEX."
On the receipt of this letter Theobald plucked up his spirits. "My
father," he said to himself, "tells me I need not be ordained if I
do not like. I do not like, and therefore I will not be ordained.
But what was the meaning of the words 'pregnant with serious
consequences to yourself'? Did there lurk a threat under these
words--though it was impossible to lay hold of it or of them? Were
they not intended to produce all the effect of a threat without
being actually threatening?"
Theobald knew his father well enough to be little likely to
misapprehend his meaning, but having ventured so far on the path of
opposition, and being really anxious to get out of being ordained if
he could, he determined to venture farther. He accordingly wrote
the following:
"My dear father,--You tell me--and I heartily thank you--that no one
will compel me to be ordained. I knew you would not press
ordination upon me if my conscience was seriously opposed to it; I
have therefore resolved on giving up the idea, and believe that if
you will continue to allow me what you do at present, until I get my
fellowship, which should not be long, I will then cease putting you
to further expense. I will make up my mind as soon as possible what
profession I will adopt, and will let you know at once.--Your
affectionate son, THEOBALD PONTIFEX."
The remaining letter, written by return of post, must now be given.
It has the merit of brevity.
"Dear Theobald,--I have received yours. I am at a loss to conceive
its motive, but am very clear as to its effect. You shall not
receive a single sixpence from me till you come to your senses.
Should you persist in your folly and wickedness, I am happy to
remember that I have yet other children whose conduct I can depend
upon to be a source of credit and happiness to me.--Your
affectionate but troubled father, G. PONTIFEX."
I do not know the immediate sequel to the foregoing correspondence,
but it all came perfectly right in the end. Either Theobald's heart
failed him, or he interpreted the outward shove which his father
gave him, as the inward call for which I have no doubt he prayed
with great earnestness--for he was a firm believer in the efficacy
of prayer. And so am I under certain circumstances. Tennyson has
said that more things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams
of, but he has wisely refrained from saying whether they are good
things or bad things. It might perhaps be as well if the world were
to dream of, or even become wide awake to, some of the things that
are being wrought by prayer. But the question is avowedly
difficult. In the end Theobald got his fellowship by a stroke of
luck very soon after taking his degree, and was ordained in the
autumn of the same year, 1825. _
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