the boy had the impertinence to say that
the classics were much overvalued, and amongst other things that some
horrid fellow or other, some Welshman I think (thank God it was not an
Irishman), was a better poet than Ovid; the company were of course
horrified; the archdeacon, who is seventy years of age, and has seven
thousand a year, took snuff and turned away. Mrs. S--- turned up her
eyes, Mr. S---, however, told me with his usual good-nature (I suppose to
spare my feelings) that he rather enjoyed the thing, and thought it a
capital joke.'

'I think so too,' said my mother.

'I do not,' said my father; 'that a boy of his years should entertain an
opinion of his own--I mean one which militates against all established
authority--is astounding; as well might a raw recruit pretend to offer an
unfavourable opinion on the manual and platoon exercise; the idea is
preposterous; the lad is too independent by half. I never yet knew one
of an independent spirit get on in the army, the secret of success in the
army is the spirit of subordination.'

'Which is a poor spirit after all,' said my mother; 'but the child is not
in the army.'

'And it is well for him that he is not,' said my father; 'but you do not
talk wisely, the world is a field of battle, and he who leaves the ranks,
what can he expect but to be cut down? I call his present behaviour
leaving the ranks, and going vapouring about without orders; his only
chance lies in falling in again as quick as possible; does he think he
can carry the day by himself? an opinion of his own at these years--I
confess I am exceedingly uneasy about the lad.'

'You make me uneasy too,' said my mother; 'but I really think you are too
hard upon the child; he is not a bad child, after all, though not,
perhaps, all you could wish him; he is always ready to read the Bible.
Let us go in; he is in the room above us; at least he was two hours ago,
I left him there bending over his books; I wonder what he has been doing
all this time, it is now getting late; let us go in, and he shall read to
us.'

'I am getting old,' said my father; 'and I love to hear the Bible read to
me, for my own sight is something dim; yet I do not wish the child to
read to me this night, I cannot so soon forget what I have heard; but I
hear my eldest son's voice, he is now entering the gate; he shall read
the Bible to us this night. What say you?'

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE ELDEST SON--SAYING OF WILD FIN