"Geoffrey, you will never know how much I love you—more, my poor boy, than I dare own. But rest assured that you shall never want a mother's love while I live."
Well and conscientiously did she perform her promise. She has long been dead, but time will never efface from my mind a tender recollection of her kindness. Since I arrived at man's estate, I have knelt beside her grave, and moistened the turf which enfolds that warm, noble heart with grateful tears.
She had, as I before stated, one son—the first-born and only survivor of a large family. This boy was a great source of anxiety to his mother; a sullen, unmanageable, ill-tempered child. Cruel and cowardly, he united with the cold, selfish disposition of the father, a jealous, proud and vindictive spirit peculiarly his own. It was impossible to keep on friendly terms with Theophilus Moncton: he was always taking affronts, and ever on the alert to dispute and contradict every word or opinion advanced by another. He would take offence at every look and gesture, which he fancied derogatory to his dignity; and if you refused to speak to him, he considered that you did not pay him proper respect—that you slighted and insulted him.
He was afraid of his father, for whom he entertained little esteem or affection; and to his gentle mother he was always surly and disobedient; ridiculing her maternal admonitions, and thwarting and opposing her commands, because he knew that his opposition pained and annoyed her.
Me—he hated; and not only told me so to my face, both in public and private, but encouraged the servants to treat me with insolence and neglect. This class of individuals are seldom actuated by high and generous motives; and anxious to court the favour of their wealthy master's heir, they soon found that the best way to worm themselves into his good graces, was to treat me with disrespect. The taunts and blows of my tyrannical cousin, though hard to bear, never wounded me so keenly as the sneers and whispered remarks of these worldly, low-bred domestics. Their conduct clenched the iron of dependence into my very soul.
It was vain for my aunt to remonstrate with her son on his ungenerous conduct: her authority with him was a mere cipher, he had his father upon his side, and for my aunt's sake, I forebore to complain.
THE TUTOR.
My uncle did not send us to school, but engaged a young man of humble birth, but good classical attainments, to act in the capacity of tutor to his son, and as an act of especial favour, which fact was duly impressed upon me from day to day, I was allowed the benefit of his instructions.
Mr. Jones, though a good practical teacher, was a weak, mean creature, possessing the very soul of a sneak. He soon discovered that the best way to please his elder pupil was to neglect and treat me ill. He had been engaged on a very moderate salary to teach one lad, and he was greatly annoyed when Mr. Moncton introduced me into his presence, coldly remarking, "that I was an orphan son of his brother—a lad thrown upon his charity, and it would add very little to Mr. Jones's labours to associate me with Theophilus in his studies."