The house and park, too, of
the neighboring squire, the father of the cruel Sacharissa, had shrunk
in size and diminished in magnificence. The distant hills no longer
appeared so far off, and, alas! no longer awakened ideas of a fairy
land beyond.
As I was rambling pensively through a neighboring meadow, in which I
had many a time gathered primroses, I met the very pedagogue who had
been the tyrant and dread of my boyhood. I had sometimes vowed to
myself, when suffering under his rod, that I would have my revenge if
ever I met him when I had grown to be a man. The time had come; but I
had no disposition to keep my vow. The few years which had matured me
into a vigorous man had shrunk him into decrepitude. He appeared to
have had a paralytic stroke. I looked at him, and wondered that this
poor helpless mortal could have been an object of terror to me! That I
should have watched with anxiety the glance of that failing eye, or
dreaded the power of that trembling hand! He tottered feebly along the
path, and had some difficulty in getting over a stile. I ran and
assisted him. He looked at me with surprise, but did not recognize me,
and made a low bow of humility and thanks. I had no disposition to make
myself known, for I felt that I had nothing to boast of. The pains he
had taken and the pains he had inflicted had been equally useless. His
repeated predictions were fully verified, and I felt that little Jack
Buckthorne, the idle boy, had grown up to be a very good-for-nothing
man.
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