“I do not doubt your capability, Mr. Easy; but unfortunately you will always have a difficulty which you never can get over. Excuse me, I know what you are capable of, and the boy would indeed be happy with such a preceptor, but—if I must speak plain—you must be aware as well as I am, that the maternal fondness of Mrs. Easy will always be a bar to your intention. He is already so spoiled by her, that he will not obey; and without obedience you cannot inculcate.”

“I grant, my dear sir, that there is a difficulty on that point; but maternal weakness must then be overcome by paternal severity.”

“May I ask how, Mr. Easy? for it appears to me impossible.”

“Impossible! By heavens, I’ll make him obey, or I’ll—”—Here Mr. Easy stopped before the word “flog” was fairly out of his mouth—“I’ll know the reason why, Dr. Middleton.”

Dr. Middleton checked his inclination to laugh, and replied, “That you would hit upon some scheme, by which you would obtain the necessary power over him, I have no doubt; but what will be the consequence? The boy will consider his mother as a protector, and you as a tyrant. He will have an aversion to you, and with that aversion he will never pay respect and attention to your valuable precepts when he arrives at an age to understand them. Now it appears to me that this difficulty which you have raised may be got over. I know a very worthy clergyman who does not use the birch; but I will write, and put the direct question to him; and then if your boy is removed from the danger arising from Mrs. Easy’s over-indulgence, in a short time he will be ready for your more important tuition.”

“I think,” replied Mr. Easy, after a pause, “that what you say merits consideration. I acknowledge that in consequence of Mrs. Easy’s nonsensical indulgence, the boy is unruly, and will not obey me at present; and if your friend does not apply the rod, I will think seriously of sending my son John to him to learn the elements.”

The Doctor had gained his point by flattering the philosopher.

In a day he returned with a letter from the pedagogue in answer to one supposed to be sent to him, in which the use of the birch was indignantly disclaimed, and Mr. Easy announced to his wife, when they met that day at tea-time, his intentions with regard to his son John.

“To school, Mr. Easy? what, send Johnny to school! a mere infant to school!”

“Surely, my dear, you must be aware that at nine years it is high time that he learnt to read.”

“Why he almost reads already, Mr. Easy; surely I can teach him that. Does he not, Sarah?”

“Lord bless him, yes, ma’am, he was saying his letters yesterday.”

“Oh, Mr. Easy, what can have put this in your head? Johnny dear, come here—tell me now what’s the letter A? You were singing it in the garden this morning.”

“I want some sugar,” replied Johnny, stretching his arm over the table to the sugar-basin, which was out of his reach.

“Well, my love, you shall have a great lump if you will tell me what’s the letter A.”

“A was an archer, and shot at a frog,” replied Johnny in a surly tone.

“There now, Mr. Easy; and he can go through the whole alphabet—can’t he, Sarah?”

“That he can, the dear—can’t you, Johnny dear?”


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