SIR PETER ordered his carriage and drove to the house of the stout
parson. That doughty ecclesiastic held a family living a few miles
distant from the Hall, and was the only one of the cousins with whom
Sir Peter habitually communed on his domestic affairs.
He found the Parson in his study, which exhibited tastes other than
clerical. Over the chimney-piece were ranged fencing-foils,
boxing-gloves, and staffs for the athletic exercise of single-stick;
cricket-bats and fishing-rods filled up the angles. There were sundry
prints on the walls: one of Mr. Wordsworth, flanked by two of
distinguished race-horses; one of a Leicestershire short-horn, with
which the Parson, who farmed his own glebe and bred cattle in its rich
pastures, had won a prize at the county show; and on either side of
that animal were the portraits of Hooker and Jeremy Taylor. There
were dwarf book-cases containing miscellaneous works very handsomely
bound; at the open window, a stand of flower-pots, the flowers in full
bloom. The Parson's flowers were famous.
The appearance of the whole room was that of a man who is tidy and
neat in his habits.
"Cousin," said Sir Peter, "I have come to consult you." And therewith
he related the marvellous precocity of Kenelm Chillingly. "You see
the name begins to work on him rather too much. He must go to school;
and now what school shall it be? Private or public?"
THE REV. JOHN STALWORTH.--"There is a great deal to be said for or
against either. At a public school the chances are that Kenelm will
no longer be overpowered by a sense of his own identity; he will more
probably lose identity altogether. The worst of a public school is
that a sort of common character is substituted for individual
character. The master, of course, can't attend to the separate
development of each boy's idiosyncrasy. All minds are thrown into one
great mould, and come out of it more or less in the same form. An
Etonian may be clever or stupid, but, as either, he remains
emphatically Etonian. A public school ripens talent, but its tendency
is to stifle genius. Then, too, a public school for an only son, heir
to a good estate, which will be entirely at his own disposal, is apt
to encourage reckless and extravagant habits; and your estate requires
careful management, and leaves no margin for an heir's notes-of-hand
and post-obits. On the whole, I am against a public school for
Kenelm."
"Well then, we will decide on a private one."
"Hold!" said the Parson: "a private school has its drawbacks. You
can seldom produce large fishes in small ponds. In private schools
the competition is narrowed, the energies stinted. The schoolmaster's
wife interferes, and generally coddles the boys. There is not
manliness enough in those academies; no fagging, and very little
fighting. A clever boy turns out a prig; a boy of feebler intellect
turns out a well-behaved young lady in trousers. Nothing muscular in
the system. Decidedly the namesake and descendant of Kenelm Digby
should not go to a private seminary."
"So far as I gather from your reasoning," said Sir Peter, with
characteristic placidity, "Kenelm Chillingly is not to go to school at
all."
"It does look like it," said the Parson, candidly; "but, on
consideration, there is a medium. There are schools which unite the
best qualities of public and private schools, large enough to
stimulate and develop energies mental and physical, yet not so framed
as to melt all character in one crucible. For instance, there is a
school which has at this moment one of the first scholars in Europe
for head-master,--a school which has turned out some of the most
remarkable men of the rising generation. The master sees at a glance
if a boy be clever, and takes pains with him accordingly. He is not a
mere teacher of hexameters and sapphics. His learning embraces all
literature, ancient and modern. He is a good writer and a fine
critic; admires Wordsworth. He winks at fighting: his boys know how
to use their fists; and they are not in the habit of signing
post-obits before they are fifteen. Merton School is the place for
Kenelm."
"Thank you," said Sir Peter. "It is a great comfort in life to find
somebody who can decide for one. I am an irresolute man myself, and
in ordinary matters willingly let Lady Chillingly govern me."
"I should like to see a wife govern /me/," said the stout Parson.
"But you are not married to Lady Chillingly. And now let us go into
the garden and look at your dahlias."