It was to be lamented that when young Henry had been several months in England, had been taught to read, and had, of course, in the society in which he lived, seen much of the enlightened world, yet the natural expectation of his improvement was by no means answered.

Notwithstanding the sensibility, which upon various occasions he manifested in the most captivating degree, notwithstanding the seeming gentleness of his nature upon all occasions, there now appeared, in most of his inquiries and remarks, a something which demonstrated either a stupid or troublesome disposition; either dulness of conception, or an obstinacy of perseverance in comments and in arguments which were glaringly false.

Observing his uncle one day offended with his coachman, and hearing him say to him in a very angry tone,

“You shall never drive me again”—

The moment the man quitted the room, Henry (with his eyes fixed in the deepest contemplation) repeated five or six times, in a half whisper to himself,

“You shall never drive me again.”

“You shall never drive me again.”

The dean at last called to him. “What do you mean by thus repeating my words?”

“I am trying to find out what you meant,” said Henry.

“What don’t you know?” cried his enlightened cousin. “Richard is turned away; he is never to get upon our coach-box again, never to drive any of us more.”

“And was it pleasure to drive us, cousin? I am sure I have often pitied him. It rained sometimes very hard when he was on the box; and sometimes Lady Clementina has kept him a whole hour at the door all in the cold and snow. Was that pleasure?”

“No,” replied young William.

“Was it honour, cousin?”

“No,” exclaimed his cousin with a contemptuous smile.

“Then why did my uncle say to him, as a punishment, ‘he should never’”—

“Come hither, child,” said the dean, “and let me instruct you; your father’s negligence has been inexcusable. There are in society,” continued the dean, “rich and poor; the poor are born to serve the rich.”

“And what are the rich born for?”

“To be served by the poor.”

“But suppose the poor would not serve them?”

“Then they must starve.”

“And so poor people are permitted to live only upon condition that they wait upon the rich?”

“Is that a hard condition; or if it were, they will be rewarded in a better world than this?”

“Is there a better world than this?”

“Is it possible you do not know there is?”

“I heard my father once say something about a world to come; but he stopped short, and said I was too young to understand what he meant.”

“The world to come,” returned the dean, “is where we shall go after death; and there no distinction will be made between rich and poor—all persons there will be equal.”

“Aye, now I see what makes it a better world than this. But cannot this world try to be as good as that?”

“In respect to placing all persons on a level, it is utterly impossible. God has ordained it otherwise.”

“How! has God ordained a distinction to be made, and will not make any Himself?”

The dean did not proceed in his instructions. He now began to think his brother in the right, and that the boy was too young, or too weak, to comprehend the subject.