“Pardon me, a very strong taste for that, sir--not a bit of a philosopher--as much in love with fortune as any man, young or old: is there no way to fortune but through the church?” “None for you so sure and so easy, all circumstances considered,” said his father. “I have planned and settled it, and you have nothing to do but to get yourself ordained as soon as possible. I shall write to my friend the bishop for that purpose this very night.” “Let me beg; father, that you will not be so precipitate. Upon my word, sir, I cannot go into orders. I am not--in short, I am not fit for the church.” The father stared with an expression between anger and astonishment. “Have not you gone through the university?” “Yes, sir:--but--but I am scarcely sober, and _staid_, and moral enough for the church. Such a wild fellow as I am, I really could not in conscience--I would not upon any account, for any living upon earth, or any emolument, go into the church, unless I thought I should do credit to it.” “And why should not you do credit to the church? I don’t see that you are wilder than your neighbours, and need not be more scrupulous. There is G----, who at your age was wild enough, but he took up in time, and is now a plump dean. Then there is the bishop that is just made: I remember him such a youth as you are. Come, come, these are idle scruples. Let me hear no more, my dear Buckhurst, of your conscience.” “Dear sir, I never pleaded my conscience on any occasion before--you know that I am no puritan--but really on this point I have some conscience, and I beg you not to press me farther. You have other sons; and if you cannot spare Cunningham, that treasure of diplomacy!--there’s John; surely you might contrive to spare him for the church.” “Spare him I would, and welcome. But you know I could never get John into orders.” “Why not, sir? John, I’ll swear, would have no objection to the church, provided you could get him a good fat living.” “But I am not talking of _his_ objections. To be sure he would make no objection to a good fat living, nor would any body in his senses, except yourself. But I ask you how I could possibly get your brother John into the church? John’s a dunce,--and you know it.” “Nobody better, sir: but are there no dunces in the church?--And as you are so good as to think that I’m no wilder than my neighbours, you surely will not say that my brother is more a dunce than his neighbours. Put him into the hands of a clever grinder or crammer, and they would soon cram the necessary portion of Latin and Greek into him, and they would get him through the university for us readily enough; and a degree once obtained, he might snap his fingers at Latin and Greek all the rest of his life. Once in orders, and he might sit down upon his fat living, or lie down content, all his days, only taking care to have some poor devil of a curate up and about, doing duty for him.”