He did not pretend to be a learned man, any more than he made any other pretense which he could not justify.

But he loved a bit of Latin, whenever he could find anybody to share it with him, and even in lack of intelligent partners he indulged sometimes in that utterance.

This was a grievance to the Squire of the parish, because he was expected to enjoy at ear-shot that which had passed out of the other ear in boyhood, with a painful echo behind it.

But the Admiral had his revenge by passing the Rector's bits of Latin on--when he could remember them--to some one entitled to an explanation, which he, with a pleasant smile, vouchsafed.

This is one of the many benefits of a classical education.
But what are such little tags, compared with the pith and marrow of the man himself?
Parson Twemlow was no prig, no pedant, and no popinjay, but a sensible, upright, honorable man, whose chief defect was a quick temper.