served, with great
solemnity and emphasis, that "man is a compound of wisdom and folly;"
upon which Master Simon, who had hold of my arm, pressed very hard
upon it, and whispered in my ear "That's a devilish shrewd remark!"
THE SCHOOLMASTER.
There will be no mosse stick to the stone of Sisiphus, no
grasse hang on the heeles of Mercury, no butter cleave on the
bread of a traveller. For as the eagle at every flight loseth
a feather, which maketh her bauld in her age, so the traveller
in every country loseth some fleece, which maketh him a beggar
in his youth, by buying that for a pound which he cannot sell
again for a penny--repentance.
--LILLY'S _Euphues_.
Among the worthies of the village that enjoy the peculiar confidence
of Master Simon, is one who has struck my fancy so much that I have
thought him worthy of a separate notice. It is Slingsby, the
schoolmaster, a thin, elderly man, rather threadbare and slovenly,
somewhat indolent in manner, and with an easy, good-humoured look, not
often met with in his craft. I have been interested in his favour by a
few anecdotes which I have picked up concerning him.
He is a native of the village, and was a contemporary and playmate of
Ready-Money Jack in the days of their boyhood. Indeed, they carried on
a kind of league of mutual good offices. Slingsby was rather puny, and
withal somewhat of a coward, but very apt at his learning; Jack, on
the contrary, was a bully-boy out of doors, but a sad laggard at his
books. Slingsby helped Jack, therefore, to all his lessons; Jack
fought all Slingsby's battles; and they were inseparable friends. This
mutual kindness continued even after they left the school,
notwithstanding the dissimilarity of their characters. Jack took to
ploughing and reaping, and prepared himself to till his paternal
acres; while the other loitered negligently on in the path of
learning, until he penetrated even into the confines of Latin and
mathematics.
In an unlucky hour, however, he took to reading voyages and travels,
and was smitten with a desire to see the world. This desire increased
upon him as he grew up; so, early one bright, sunny morning, he put
all his effects in a knapsack, slung it on his back, took staff in
hand, and called in his way to take leave of his early schoolmate.
Jack was just going out with the plough: the friends shook hands over
the farm-house gate; Jack drove his team a-field, and Slingsby
whistled
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