It was only when they forced his head into the waters of knowledge, that he refused to drink.

He devoured all the books at home from Inchbald's Theatre to White's Farriery; he ransacked the neighbouring book-cases.

He found at Clavering an old cargo of French novels, which he read with all his might; and he would sit for hours perched upon the topmost bar of Doctor Portman's library steps with a folio on his knees, whether it were Hakluyt's Travels, Hobbes's Leviathan, Augustini Opera, or Chaucer's Poems.

He and the Vicar were very good friends, and from his Reverence, Pen learned that honest taste for port wine which distinguished him through life.

And as for that dear good woman, Mrs.Portman, who was not in the least jealous, though her Doctor avowed himself in love with Mrs.Pendennis, whom he pronounced to be by far the finest lady in the county--all her grief was, as she looked up fondly at Pen perched on the book-ladder, that her daughter, Minny, was too old for him--as indeed she was--Miss Myra Portman being at that period only two years younger than Pen's mother, and weighing as much as Pen and Mrs.Pendennis together.
Are these details insipid?
Look back, good friend, at your own youth, and ask how was that?
I like to think of a well-nurtured boy, brave and gentle, warm-hearted and loving, and looking the world in the face with kind honest eyes.