ess and lack of love for the classics had taught me no
little Latin and Greek, and early instilled into my mind those principles
necessary for the soul's salvation. I have often thought with regret on
the pranks I played him. More than once at lesson-time have I gone off
with Hugo and young Harvey for a rabbit hunt, stealing two dogs from the
pack, and thus committing a double offence. You may be sure I was well
thrashed by Mr. Carvel, who thought the more of the latter misdoing,
though obliged to emphasize the former. The doctor would never raise his
hand against me. His study, where I recited my daily tasks, was that
small sunny room on the water side of the east wing; and I well recall
him as he sat behind his desk of a morning after prayers, his horn
spectacles perched on his high nose and his quill over his ear, and his
ink-powder and pewter stand beside him. His face would grow more serious
as I scanned my Virgil in a faltering voice, and as he descanted on a
passage my eye would wander out over the green trees and fields to the
glistening water. What cared I for "Arma virumque" at such a time? I
was watching Nebo a-fishing beyond the point, and as he waded ashore the
burden on his shoulders had a much keener interest for me than that
AEneas carried out of Troy.

My Uncle Grafton came to Dr. Hilliard's funeral, choosing this
opportunity to become reconciled to my grandfather, who he feared had not
much longer to live. Albeit Mr. Carvel was as stout and hale as ever.
None of the mourners at the doctor's grave showed more sorrow than did
Grafton. A thousand remembrances of the good old man returned to him,
and I heard him telling Mr. Carroll and some other gentlemen, with much
emotion, how he had loved his reverend preceptor, from whom he had
learned nothing but what was good. "How fortunate are you, Richard," he
once said, "to have had such a spiritual and intellectual teacher in your
youth. Would that Philip might have learned from such a one. And I
trust you can say, my lad, that you have made the best of your
advantages, though I fear you are of a wild nature, as your father was
before you." And my uncle sighed and crossed his hands behind his back.
"'Tis perhaps better that poor John is in his grave," he said. Grafton
had a word and a smile for every one about the old place, but little
else, being, as he said, but a younger son and a poor man. I was near to
forgetting the shilling he gave Scipio. 'Twas not so un