HERSELF, till the son arrived at the age of thirteen.

Young William passed HIS time, from morning till night, with persons
who taught him to walk, to ride, to talk, to think like a man--a
foolish man, instead of a wise child, as nature designed him to be.

This unfortunate youth was never permitted to have one conception of
his own--all were taught him--he was never once asked, "What he
thought;" but men were paid to tell "how to think." He was taught
to revere such and such persons, however unworthy of his reverence;
to believe such and such things, however unworthy of his credit:
and to act so and so, on such and such occasions, however unworthy
of his feelings.

Such were the lessons of the tutors assigned him by his father--
those masters whom his mother gave him did him less mischief; for
though they distorted his limbs and made his manners effeminate,
they did not interfere beyond the body.

Mr. Norwynne (the family name of his father, and though but a
school-boy, he was called Mister) could talk on history, on
politics, and on religion; surprisingly to all who never listened to
a parrot or magpie--for he merely repeated what had been told to him
without one reflection upon the sense or probability of his report.
He had been praised for his memory; and to continue that praise, he
was so anxious to retain every sentence he had heard, or he had
read, that the poor creature had no time for one native idea, but
could only re-deliver his tutors' lessons to his father, and his
father's to his tutors. But, whatever he said or did, was the
admiration of all who came to the house of the dean, and who knew he