Oh, how different from himself! When should he learn to love his
papa and mamma as they had loved theirs? How could he hope ever to
grow up to be as good and wise as they, or even tolerably good and
wise? Alas! never. It could not be. He did not love his papa and
mamma, in spite of all their goodness both in themselves and to him.
He hated papa, and did not like mamma, and this was what none but a
bad and ungrateful boy would do after all that had been done for
him. Besides, he did not like Sunday; he did not like anything that
was really good; his tastes were low and such as he was ashamed of. He
liked people best if they sometimes swore a little, so long as it
was not at him. As for his Catechism and Bible readings he had no
heart in them. He had never attended to a sermon in his life. Even
when he had been taken to hear Mr. Vaughan at Brighton, who, as
everyone knew, preached such beautiful sermons for children, he had
been very glad when it was all over, nor did he believe he could get
through church at all if it was not for the voluntary upon the organ
and the hymns and chanting. The Catechism was awful. He had never been
able to understand what it was that he desired of his Lord God and
Heavenly Father, nor had he yet got hold of a single idea in
connection with the word Sacrament.
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