Peter. Why,—to please their parents, I suppose, sir.
Master. I wish them to study for the very same reason that their parents do;—that they may get knowledge. I have suspected, for some time, that you labor under a considerable mistake about these matters. You take great pleasure, I presume, in wearing home that piece of silver, hanging round your neck; and your mother takes pleasure in seeing it.
Peter. Yes, sir; she does.
Master. And why? What does the medal say to her? Of what is it a sign?
Peter. Why, that I am the best scholar in my class.
Master. Is that what it says? I think it only shows, that you have been at the head of the class oftener, during the week, than any other boy.
Peter. Well, sir; then, of course, she must think me the best scholar.
Master. She would naturally think so, for so it ought to be. But you know, Peter Sly, and I know, that a boy who has no sense of honor, no generous feelings, no strictness of principle, may get to the head of his class, and get medals for a time, without being the best scholar. You know how such a thing can be accomplished, do you not? and how the medal may be made to tell a falsehood at home? (Peter hangs his head in silence.) Shall I tell you how I have seen it done? By base tricks; by purposely leading others into mistakes; by taking advantage of every slip of the tongue; by trying to confuse a boy, who knows his lesson sufficiently well, but is timid; by equivocations that are little short of lies, and are the forerunners of unblushing lies. Now, sir, a boy who does these things, is so weak-minded that he cannot see the proper use of medals, and thinks he is sent here to get medals, instead of being sent to gain knowledge to prepare him for active life; and, under this mistake, he goes to work for the empty sign, instead of the thing itself. That shows folly. Then he becomes so intent on his object, as to care not by what unjustifiable means he obtains it. That shows wickedness,—want of principle. Have I any boy, in my school, of this description?
Peter. Yes, sir; but, forgive me. I did not think you ever observed it.
Master. The artful are very apt to believe themselves more successful than they really are. So you concluded you had deceived me, as well as wronged your companions! Your tears are unavailing, if, by them, you think I shall be persuaded to drop the subject here. You must be publicly disgraced.