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 was an only child. Indeed, considering the labour that was taken to spoil him, he was rather a commendable youth; for, with the pedantic folly of his teachers, the blind affection of his father and mother, the obsequiousness of the servants, and flattery of the visitors, it was some credit to him that he was not an idiot, or a brute--though when he imitated the manners of a man, he had something of the latter in his appearance; for he would grin and bow to a lady, catch her fan in haste when it fell, and hand her to her coach, as thoroughly void of all the sentiment which gives grace to such tricks, as a monkey. CHAPTER X. One morning in winter, just as the dean, his wife, and darling child, had finished their breakfast at their house in London, a servant brought in a letter to his master, and said "the man waited for an answer." "Who is the man?" cried the dean, with all that terrifying dignity with which he never failed to address his inferiors, especially such as waited on his person. The servant replied with a servility of tone equal to the haughty one of his master, "he did not know; but that the man looked like a sailor, and had a boy with him." "A begging letter, no doubt," cried Lady Clementina. "Take it back," said the dean, "and bid him send up word who he is, and what is his errand." The servant went; and returning said, "He comes from on board a ship; his captain sent him, and his errand is, he believes, to leave a boy he has brought with him." "A boy!" cried the dean: "what have I to do with a boy? I expect no boy. What boy? What age?" "He looks about twelve or thirteen," replied the servant. "He is mistaken in the house," said the dean. "Let me look at the letter again." He did look at it, and saw plainly it was directed to himself. Upon a second glance, he had so perfect a recollection of the hand, as to open it instantaneously; and, after ordering the servant to withdraw, he read the following:-- "ZOCOTORA ISLAND, _April_ 6.