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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