I had an assistant master once, a treasure, who remained with me six years, and then left for no reason but that I could not continue to pay him.

I liked him so much that one day, after flogging a boy in hot blood, and while (as usual) feeling sick with the revulsion of it, I then and there resolved that, however much this trade might degrade me, this Mr.Simcox should be spared the degradation whilst in my employ.

I went to his class-room and asked to have a look at his punishment-book.

He answered that he kept none.

`But,' said I, 'when you first came to me didn't I give you a book, and expressly command you, whenever you punished a boy, to write an entry, giving the boy's name, the nature of his offence, and the number of strokes with which you punished him ?' 'You did, sir,' said Simcox, 'and I have lost it.' 'Lost it!' said I.
'You but confirm me in my decision that henceforth, when any boy in this school needs caning, I will do it with my own hands.' 'Sir,' he replied, 'you have done that for these five years.