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Updated: June 2, 2025
Of course, when the miller talked of "mapping" and "summing" in a vague and diffident manner, Mr Stelling had set his mind at rest by an assurance that he understood what was wanted; for how was it possible the good man could form any reasonable judgment about the matter?
He had not yet selected the play, for having been married little more than two years, his leisure time had been much occupied with attentions to Mrs. Stelling; but he had told that fine woman what he meant to do some day, and she felt great confidence in her husband, as a man who understood everything of that sort.
Stelling, who, she felt sure, admired her cleverness, that Tom was rather amazed and alarmed at her audacity. But she was suddenly subdued by Mr. Stelling's alluding to a little girl of whom he had heard that she once ran away to the gypsies. "What a very odd little girl that must be!" said Mrs.
Stelling was not the man to enfeeble and emasculate his pupil's mind by simplifying and explaining, or to reduce the tonic effect of etymology by mixing it with smattering, extraneous information, such as is given to girls. Yet, strange to say, under this vigorous treatment Tom became more like a girl than he had ever been in his life before.
Walter Stelling was not a man who would remain among the "inferior clergy" all his life. He had a true British determination to push his way in the world, as a schoolmaster, in the first place, for there were capital masterships of grammar-schools to be had, and Mr.
But one day, when he had broken down, for the fifth time, in the supines of the third conjugation, and Mr. He paused a little to consider how he should pray about Euclid whether he should ask to see what it meant, or whether there was any other mental state which would be more applicable to the case. But at last he added: "And make Mr. Stelling say I sha'n't do Euclid any more. Amen."
But he couldn't help playing with little Laura, and liking to amuse her; he even sacrificed his percussion-caps for her sake, in despair of their ever serving a greater purpose, thinking the small flash and bang would delight her, and thereby drawing down on himself a rebuke from Mrs. Stelling for teaching her child to play with fire.
You've had a good deal of schooling, however; I suppose you're pretty well up in accounts, eh? You understand book keeping?" "No," said Tom, rather falteringly. "I was in Practice. But Mr. Stelling says I write a good hand, uncle. That's my writing," added Tom, laying on the table a copy of the list he had made yesterday. "Ah! that's good, that's good.
Stelling not to let me do Euclid; it brings on the toothache, I think." "Euclid, my lad, why, what's that?" said Mr. Tulliver. "Oh, I don't know; it's definitions, and axioms, and triangles, and things. It's a book I've got to learn in there's no sense in it." "Go, go!" said Mr. Tulliver, reprovingly; "you mustn't say so. You must learn what your master tells you.
Stelling was not biassed, as some tutors have been, by the excessive accuracy or extent of his own scholarship; and as to his views about Euclid, no opinion could have been freer from personal partiality. Mr. Stelling was very far from being led astray by enthusiasm, either religious or intellectual; on the other hand, he had no secret belief that everything was humbug.
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