The Dominie proves Stapleton’s “human natur’” to be correct—The red-coat proves too much of a match for the blue—Mary sells Tom, and Tom sells what is left of him, for a shilling—We never know the value of anything till we have lost it.
I had often ruminated in what manner I could render the Dominie more comfortable. I felt that to him I was as much indebted as to any living being, and one day I ventured to open the subject; but his reply was decided.
“I see, Jacob, my son, what thou wouldst wish: but it must not be. Man is but a creature of habit; habit becomes to him not only necessity but luxury. For five-and-forty years have I toiled, instilling precepts and forcing knowledge into the brains of those who have never proved so apt as thou. Truly, it hath been a painful task, yet can I not relinquish it. I might, at one time, that is, during the first ten years, have met the offer with gratitude; for I felt the humiliation and annoyance of wearying myself with the rudiments, when I would fain have commented upon the various peculiarities of style in the ancient Greek and Latin authors; but now, all that has passed away. The eternal round of concord, prosody, and syntax has charms for me from habit: the rule of three is preferable to the problems of Euclid, and even the Latin grammar has its delights. In short, I have a hujus pleasure in hic, haec, hoc; (cluck cluck;) and even the flourishing of the twigs of that tree of knowledge, the birch, hath become a pleasurable occupation to me, if not to those upon whom it is inflicted. I am like an old horse, who hath so long gone round and round in a mill, that he cannot walk straight forward; and, if it pleases the Almighty, I will die in harness. Still I thank thee, Jacob; and thank God that thou hast again proved the goodness of thy heart, and given me one more reason to rejoice in thee and in thy love; but thine offer, if accepted, would not add to my happiness; for what feeling can be more consolatory to an old man near into his grave than the reflection that his life, if not distinguished, has at least been useful?”
I had not for some time received a visit from Tom; and, surprised at this, I went down to his father’s to make inquiry about him. I found the old couple sitting in-doors; the weather was fine, but old Tom was not at his work; even the old woman’s netting was thrown aside.
“Where is Tom?” inquired I, after wishing them good morning.
“Oh deary me!” cried the old woman, putting her apron up to her eyes; “that wicked good-for-nothing girl!”
“Good heavens! what is the matter?” inquired I of old Tom.
“The matter, Jacob,” replied old Tom, stretching out his two wooden legs, and placing his hands upon his knees, “is, that Tom has ’listed for a sodger.”
“’Listed for a soldier!”
“Yes; that’s as sartain as it’s true; and what’s worse, I’m told the regiment is ordered to the West Indies. So, what with fever o’ mind and yellow fever, he’s food for the land crabs, that’s sartain. I think now,” continued the old man, brushing a tear from his eye with his fore-finger, “that I see his bones bleaching under the palisades; for I know the place well.”