“Father, I obey,” murmured the obedient youth.
“Obedience is the first of virtues, and duty to parents the first of all obedience,” remarked the old man, with a tone that seemed to his son more infallible than the sentence. “Children, obey your parents, saith our religion; and if they are disobedient we give them a touch of the bamboo.” The poet at this moment looked remarkably grave. “Subjects, obey your rulers, saith the law; and if we become unruly we get a touch of the bamboo.” And the father looked as grave as his son.
“That is, I suppose, what is called being bamboo-zled,” observed Oriel Porphyry with a smile.
“It is no laughing matter to us, I can assure you,” added the old man feelingly; “but it is a fine thing for children. Our religion says, Spare the bamboo, and spoil the child: and I’m attentive to religion.”
“I wish it said, Spoil the bamboo, and——”
“Hold your tongue, Long Chi!” thundered out the parent.
“Father, I obey,” tremblingly replied the son.
“The bastinado is the best thing in the world for children,” continued the elder, frowning upon his offspring. “We are obliged to provide for their bodies, and it is but proper we should do what we can for their soles. When a schism occurs in the family, I always punish it in that way.”
“Then it becomes a sole-cism,” added the young man, sorrowfully.
The old Chinese snatched up a heavy bamboo cane with which he had been walking, and swung it furiously round his head, with the intention of dealing a severe blow upon the poet’s shoulders, but the lover of the adorable Fee Fo Fum jumped out of the way with more agility than submission, and the blow chipped off a corner of the japanned table.