indicated by the astute prompter and future satirist; and the insight thus given into his boyish character on one side is noteworthy. But there was another side to it, as my next anecdote, for which the Rev. Charles Oldfield was (alas, that I must say 66 was," for his genial presence has passed from us) my authority. A curly-headed, innocent gown-boy, of the sort which Thackeray loved to contemplate and delineate, came fresh from home with his pocket superfluously full of guineatips, administered by loving aunts, grandmammas, et hoc genus omne. Among the bigger boys was a contemporaneous cadet of the Sheridan family, although I know not in what degree of relationship to the famous Richard Brinsley, whose genius (splendide mendax) for borrowing and forgetting to repay was still proverbial when this century was young. So he fastens, like a young boa-constrictor, on this tender guinea-pig, and borrows first one guinea one week, then another the next, and how many more I know not. However, Thackeray-whether the little one was his fag, or was found by him crying in a corner-somehow found this out, and said to the fleeced innocent: "Why, you little spoony, what made you lend this money to Sheridan ? Don't you know you'll never see it again?" Oh," pleaded the plucked doveling, "he did beg me so for it; and he told me he'd be so certain to pay me back as soon "All gammon and spinach !" put in Thackeray here. "What have you got left? Hand it over to me, and you shall have half-a-crown a week as long as it lasts; or else Sheridan will sack you clean." "And there he was, going about," added Thackeray to Oldfield, "with the Sheridan blood in him-the young marauder !" Those who knew Thackeray best will appreciate the halfplayful indignation, caustic yet not unkindly, which he flung into the last words. Here, again, I remember precisely, and "tell it as 'twas told to me." Oldfield, though my colleague then, was much my senior, and had caned me, when quite young, at another early school. Perhaps this added to the impressiveness of his later words.

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as ever-"

I leave my anecdotes to point their own moral, if any be discernible. Again I cite Oldfield. For a "lark" and a lounge on leave days there was a phrenological shop

in the Strand, which I almost fancy lasted until my own time, kept by a Frenchman, one Deville, or Delille, I think. Thither with a "pal" or two would Thackeray betake himself, and anxiously inquire how much he had increased in "philophlebotomy" since his "bump" of that useful quality was last thumbed by the professor of this key to all sciences. This intellectual recreation of poking fun at the Frenchman came in his way, I was told, as he was going up to Cambridge, or, at any rate, lasted till then. For, on his shaking hands with the Professor at parting, the latter said: "Monsieur vill come

next year-I vill tell him if he have study classique or mattematique, by feel of his bump." My informant went on to say that in the next Long Vacation Thackeray actually reappeared to consult the oracle and challenge its verdict. It pronounced for one or the other, Oldfield did not remember which; but the answer of the facetious patient was "Sold! I haven't opened a page of either."

But when Vanity Fair was rapidly making him a famous man, Oldfield, taking his cue from a then recent number of that work, wrote to ask him to dine one Saturday in "Crook Hall," which was a sort of ward-room mess for the officers of

the "Grey Friars." What the legend was about Crook the Great, I presume, who gave it its name, I was never able to learn; and the question was of no more use puzzling over than the origin of Stonehenge. There we represented among us all the faculties, with a modest soupçon of the fine arts. The port wine there was apt to be a little fiery; but on Saturdays, when the master-or abbot, shail we call him?-often graced the refectory with his presence, a choicer bin would be broached, as grateful memory recalls. So writes Oldfield to Thackeray : "Come and dine, and look up old friends and young, and see how Georgy Osborne' is getting on." Thackeray could not come ; but wrote back a highly illustrated epistle, as his wont was when in the humor, "... As for Georgy Osborne,' who cares for him now that the Marquis of Steyne has cut him? * And does dis

6

* What incident in Vanity Fair this allusion recalls I can't remember, and must refer the gentle reader to the text of that great work, disclaiming responsibility in case none be found to match.

cipline flourish still? And what's the weekly consumption of birches? This is how it used to be in our time. . . ."

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And here followed, in vivid pen-andink, a penal group of a gigantic and terrible head-master, with a broad trenchercap and sweeping tassel, clerical "bands" down to his waist, and wielding a sheaf of birch twigs, bristly looking and budded, which cast a yard-long shadow. Facing him was that severe justiciary, the Gown-boy monitor," whose trenchercap was a picturesque ruin in the pointed style, holding a diminutive urchin awaiting "admonition," a finger in his eye and his nether garments a good deal dishevelled. If I remember right, the "flogging block" had the honor of a distinct sketch all to itself, looking somewhat like a naval gun carriage of the old type, with the gun dismounted. Possibly in some album reliquary these are extant still.

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But, though he did not then dine, Thackeray, I seem to remember being told, turned up one Founder's Day," a feast long blotted in oblivion from my personal calendar, found a former chum of his own time, and singling out a name from the Gown boy's list, said, "Here's the son of dear old So-and-so; let's go and tip him," and walked off with his chum to administer "admonition" in a more soothing form.

But when The Newcomes story was running toward its end, a buzz went round Crook Hall that Thackeray the Great was actually coming to refresh his recollections at the fountain-head of genuine tradition. I had been dining out for a day or two consecutively, and my friend and colleague, Fitzcook, informed me that in my absence he had actually met him at that festive board and had the honor of being chaffed by him personally. This set me on the qui vive, and I put my name down for the officers' mess, met and dined with him, and was disappointed, not in him, but with my selfish egotism; felt shy and stupid like a twopenny sub, as I was. I think the impression prevailing in most minds-I can answer for one-was, 66 Our distinguished guest sets down every man as a snob' until he shows himself something better." I felt as if the burden of proof lay on me, and that I was by no means equal to it. But here the photo of memory is blurred. help, I wonder?

Did the port wine However, we adjourned

to my chief's, Dr. Senior's, or rather, Mrs. Senior's, drawing room for coffee, and there I saw him at full length, and could study him better. I seem to remember a good breadth of chest behind a white waistcoat, forming the frontispiece of a large well-limbed man, surmounted by a massively moulded head-piece with a fine contour of silvery hair,.and rather keen blue (I think) eyes, mitigated by largeorbed, silver-set spectacles. I only remember his beginning a story of his, I think then recent, return from America (it was in the early "fifties" that this meeting occurred)."I was on deck with the captain of the vessel, smoking a cigar -a bad habit, I'm sorry to say, that I'm given to." But I can remember no more; though, so queer a thing is memory, that very probably, if I were to hear it again by chance, I should exclaim, "I heard Mr. Thackeray tell that at Grey Friars in the year 185-."

It was understood that he was studying for the closing scenes of The Newcomes, and had been introduced specially for that purpose to one of the lay brothers of the "Orders Grey," a highly respected Captain L, who, being in reduced circumstances, had accepted a vacancy in those privileged ranks. "I'm told I'm to sit for Colonel Newcome,' "said the veteran (so the on dit) with considerable glee. The time of year was just the close of one of the school-terms, and it was arranged that Thackeray should wind up his series of visits by giving a lecture to the boys in the long room of one of the boarding houses. There we all met. I can recall fragments only; what would I not give to recover the whole ! But it is useless scrubbing at the palimpsest of memory. His exordium was, I remember, addressed, characteristically, to the little juniors, who, as the room was crowded, were packed away on shelves, with their legs humorously dangling in air at the end of

it. "You little fellows perhaps won't understand a sentence of what I'm going to say; but you don't care, you're so full of delight at the thoughts of going home to-morrow that no words of mine could make any difference, or make you feel a bit jollier." Then, turning to the elder boys, "The predecessor of my dear friend, Dr. Senior, whom I well remember in that chair, and who gave me the soundest reasons for remembering him, was the au

thor of two highly popular treatises; one the Grey Friars' Latin Grammar, the other its Greek ditto, to which amusing works we all subscribed. They ran through many editions, and, I believe, are not yet quite obsolete." Then came some facetiously pensive recollections of his days as a fag, making So-and-so's toast, and (I rather think) blacking Soand-so's boots for a leave-day outing. Then, looking round at the "Uppers, "Is there still in the purlieus of this venerable foundation a Red Cow? I'm not referring to Smithfield, or rather, to speak quite classically, Smiffel.' There was in my time. She lived up a lane" (here the titters of the "Uppers" and Sixth became a broad laugh), and to the milk of that animal many of us were strongly addicted." Then followed some remembrance of "tibbing out "-" a practice which, I presume, has quite disappeared," and a confession of furtive peccadilloes. In short, by the Red Cow hung a tale which has gone from me, I regret to say, like spilt milk.

piece of patchwork. How many times since then has the "Grey Friars" emptied and refilled-its youthful ranks rapidly, that of its teaching, etc., staff more slowly like a broad tide-stream, swift in the middle, but tardy at the banks; all the long procession,

Save one, the meanest of them all, "marched off into the Hades," as Thackeray says, of some stalwart regiment in his Georges. There, let us hope, Dr. Crushall and his whilom pupils-Thackeray among them-are reconciled at last. Nay, "Grey Friars" itself, in its better, i.e., its scholastic, half, has vanished from the scene it once adorned, gone out of town, like a Red Cow turned to grass. The abbot of my time, who stood outtime-honored champion of the past, laudator temporis acti-against migration, sleeps now the sleep of the just; and "Day-boys," and "Gown-boys," if they linger still as names, must be names with a lost legend, like “Crook Hall itself. More curious still, another and even older school has housed and cloistered itself in the Friars' cast-off shell. The lay brethren still, however, cling to the spot, and eat their dinners duly, and possibly grumble at them, as they did, or so the abbot used to say, of old. But who remembers now the cell in which Thackeray conversed with the military recluse, Captain L—— ? And possibly, in a lane adjacent may still survive-for such animals are gifted with longevity-the Red Cow. Or has the lane and all disappeared? I commit the question to the future Dugdale of the " Grey Friars."-National Review.

FIRST of all, a few words of personal explanation. I was eight years among the Jesuits-two as a novice, three as a student of philosophy, and three as teacher or assistant in their colleges. I left them of my own accord, though not without their consent, and after having asked their advice on the matter. Our regret was, I believe, mutual. Our relations since that time, though infrequent, have not been

unfriendly, and I am still in communion with the Church. My position is therefore characterized by perfect independence on one hand, and on the other by the want of any incitement to injure an Order with which I parted on good terms. Startling revelations will be wanting, as I have neither talent nor motive for inventing lies. Private, possibly even trivial, details-all depends upon taste-will be found in

abundance. Jesuits, so far as they are known to me, are neither good nor bad angels, but men; and it is as men that I intend to portray them. This would seemingly imply a certain amount of indiscretion, and something like a breach of confidence on my part. Some points, indeed, seemed to me so private that I hesitated about writing these pages; for all or nothing ought to be the motto of every faithful memoir. But on perusing narratives of a similar sort, composed by expelled members, and others whose knowledge of the Society must have been inferior to mine, I found all these particulars already in print, and often enough with exaggerations, alterations, and additions. This put an end to any reluctancy that I might have had before; for when I found those " family matters" long ago exposed to the public gaze, I saw that my silence was immaterial, and that it was perhaps better for me to write all.

I ought besides to observe, that the following account cannot be considered as correct except as a statement of facts in one particular Novitiate of one particular Province, and at one particular time. Many, even considerable, differences are to be found between one Province and another. I noticed that myself while spending a few days in a Spanish Novitiate during a pilgrimage that we had to make. I am told, moreover, that between the English Province and the others the difference is still more strongly marked. It is, for instance, the custom throughout the Society to give the "kiss of peace" whenever a member comes to or goes away from one of their houses. An English novice, who was visiting Pau on account of his health, came to see us, and went through the ceremony. I saw that he did not like it, and asked whether it was done in England. "Never," answered he; we only shake hands.' Now the "fraternal embrace" is explicitly alluded to in the very text of St. Ignatius's rules. So this sketch, though I can vouch for its faithfulness, might convey a very false idea, if supposed to picture any other Province or any other time.

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Any person at all acquainted with Pau knows the Rue Montpensier, and has probably noticed the Jesuits' chapel, next door to which stands the Residence and Novitiate. The chapel is a fine enough building, in the Romanesque style, re

markably well suited to the convenience of preachers; no echo whatever, and hardly any reverberation. A row of arches forms a semicircle behind the chancel, and separates the aisles from the nave, while sustaining the gallery. There, invisible behind an upper row of smaller arches, the novices pray and chant during the evening Benediction. Above and behind the high altar, within a niche as large as two or three of the gallery arches, stands a great white statue of Marie-Immaculée, with a crown of star-shaped gaslights over her head. This, when the gas is turned on for some grand festival, the aisles being illuminated with many colored lamps, and the sanctuary all ablaze with pyramids of tapers, presents an appearance which is strikingly picturesque.

First

On entering the Residence we notice a peculiar air of calm-call it monastic gloom if you are worldly-minded-that pervades the whole place. All is silent. The sun shines dimly through groundglass windows and Venetian blinds at the end of a long stone-paved corridor downstairs. No one is there but one or two priests, walking to and fro noiselessly like shadows, saying their Breviary. and second floor: corridors ditto, shadows ditto; more of the Venetian blinds and less of the sunlight. All the novices Occupy the third story; the Pères de Résidence alone live below. They are old or middle-aged for the most part; authors, confessors, preachers getting their Lent, Advent, and Mission sermons ready, and aged men "preparing themselves for death," as the Status (or annual register) used to put it, I am told: Pater X., parat se ad mortem. Nowadays, however, they would prefer to write simply senex after the name; but parat se ad mortem is an occupation, and senex is not. As everything in the chapel bore witness to opulence and taste, so everything in the Residence testifies to cleanliness and affluence. The tokens of affluence, however, stop short at the threshold of the Fathers' rooms; those of cleanliness go further. You will find in their cellslarge indeed and airy enough-only a few almost indispensable objects: A writingdesk, a lamp, a small bronze crucifix, a prie-Dieu, two, or sometimes even three rush-bottomed chairs, a curtained bedstead in a recess, a broom peeping out from a corner, and a wash-hand stand;

no carpets, flowers, mirrors, pictures, or curtains. No luxuries, in a word. All that is not strictly necessary is strictly prohibited

But we are visiting the Novitiate, not the Residence. Let us accordingly go up-stairs to the third floor, a few minutes to four A.M.

All is dark in the passage. A light is suddenly struck. The bell must ring at four precisely, as the novices, like the rest of the Society, have seven hours of sleep allotted to them; and the Frère Réglementaire is getting up betimes in order to begin his day's work. This is no sinecure; for I have reckoned that he rings the bell thirty-five times in seventeen hours. It sounds and at the first "ding dong" a series of jumps on to the floor is heard in reply. For the bell is the voice of God, as Ignatius says; and as no novice would have thought of rising without leave one instant before, so no one would, even for a second, hesitate to obey the divine call. The Frère goes down the passage with a lighted queue-de-rat in his hand, and successively lights one lamp in each room, saying as he passes, "Benedicamus Domino!" to which each and all, hurriedly dressing, washing, or shaving, reply from behind the curtains, "Deo Gratias!" Haste must be made, for all these operations, besides that of carrying dirty water to the sink, must be performed in twenty-five minutes, in order to leave five minutes free for a visit in the private chapel to the "Master of the house."

Here they come,-and first of all the most- fervent and saintly among them, Brother Seraphicus, as the novices playfully call him. It is 4.15 so he will pay a visit of a quarter of an hour. Alas! Seraphic Brother, I am afraid a shorter visit would have been preferable; you have neglected more than one duty to get these extra ten minutes. One shoe is badly laced; your tooth-brush is dry; and even your hands might be whiter. Mon Frère, with all your fervor, you will never be a son of Ignatius that old Saint has a military liking for tidiness and order. In two years you will leave the Novitiate, to become a good pious priest, but never a Jesuit. Now go in and sigh, and lean your head on one side, languishing with burning love for "Jésus Hostie!" All that is very well in its way, but-discipline must be maintained.

Second on the list comes another young Brother, half French and half Irish, of quite another type, rather dry in his orisons, and not at all given to soaring in mystic contemplation. He cannot even fancy St. Peter during the Meditation, without thinking of an old tar, with a "south-wester" on his head, and a short black pipe in the corner of his mouth. But he is irreproachably neat in all his belongings; and in fact, I think, prides himself on the rapidity with which he does all things so well. Still, pride is a sin, and, to say the truth, his demeanor is far from novice-like. He holds his head erect not with a gentle curve forward, as most of his companions do; his eyes, though not wandering, are yet far from downcast. Can he remain in the Society, when Brother Seraphicus is not good enough? Yes, and do good solid work in the colleges, too.

Here comes at last the rest of the Community, all stepping lightly on tiptoe, as the "Master of the novices'' has ordered. Were they fifty together, they must all walk along in this fashion,-which looks rather ridiculous, but is meant to inculcate respect for silence. All hurry toward the sink, carrying each in his hand the requisite vessel. Rectors, Provincials, nay, even Generals, are also bound to this rule of self-help," and not novices only; unless, indeed, they are too much engaged, and then a lay-brother does the work.

Five-and-twenty minutes have elapsed; all novices coming henceforward to the chapel must kneel down outside the door, not to disturb the others, and there is often a whole string of them outside, when a long walk on the previous day has made them so sleepy that they are not able to do everything both speedily and well. For besides their outward occupations, their mind has all the time to be busily at work. They must take their morning resolution for the day-what evil specially to avoid, and what virtue to cultivate: and then there is the Meditation to be thought about; and they must offer the coming day to God. All this not unfrequently delays them.

The hour strikes; the novices all trip up-stairs-for the private chapel is on the second floor-to meditate from 4.30 to 5.30. The subject was given out the day before, and is taken from the Exercitia