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dishes, though he may reduce his share to an all but infinitesimal quantity. Look at this pale young man pouring three drops of wine into a glass of water—and at that one, paler still, helping himself to one leaf of salad only, after having put a microscopic bit of meat on his plate! His neighbour, a kind-hearted though surly original, with a huge nose and a very dyspeptic stomach, is furious at the poor fellow’s excessive penance, that ruins his health; he tosses the rest of the salad into his own plate, and eats it all up, with his head defiantly on one side, in mute protestation; for usually he does not care for salad, nor indeed for anything in the way of food. “You see I am not afraid to eat!” The neighhouring novices, who have somehow or other managed to see all without looking up, are vastly amused at the sight. During dinner-time those novices who (with permission, of course) wish to accuse themselves of some fault—a glass broken, negligence in duties, useless words, &c.—do so, kneeling in the middle of the refectory; after which “the reader drones from the pulpit.” Scripture first, as by right; then Church History, by Abbé Darras, very brilliantly written, sometimes too brilliantly. When, for instance, he ends a phrase with a metaphor like this, “C'est un point d’interrogation suspendu à travers les siècles,” the novices, satirical creatures! venture to lavgh at the author’s affectation and bad taste. The more they are kept apart from literature and politics, the more easily they are impressed by whatever concerns either. Frère Séraphique is constantly praying for the conversion of Bismarck; others are offering communions, prayers, and penances, in order that Don Carlos may take Bilbao (which he is now blockading), or Henry V. be seated on the French throne.

Dinner over, the Holy Sacrament is again visited, in order to prepare for the most difficult exercise of the day—the Recreation. Why I call it the most difficult will presently appear. To pass it correctly, an all but impossible combination of virtues is required. Its aim is “the unhending of the spirit,” in order to rest awhile from the constraint produced by the self-communion of the morning, and to give the mind fresh vigour for the exercises of the afternoon. At the same time, it is recommended to remain perfectly self-possessed from beginning to end, keeping a strict watch over the lips, the eyes, and the whole demeanour, lest anything should be said or done unworthy of one’s high calling. It is recommended to speak of pious subjects, though not in too serious a manner. Discussions, tiring to the mind and too often irritating to the temper, are to be avoided. Jokes are not well looked upon, as they are apt to be remembered when the Recreation is done, and cause distractions; besides, Christ and His apostles, whom Jesuits ought to imitate, cannot be imagined as joking together. No conversation about studies, literature, or science is allowed; and it is still more severely forbidden to criticise the conduct of any Brother or Father. Such criticism is however not only allowed, but enjoined, on another occasion—in presence of the criticised person. I allude to the “Exercise of Charity,” which ought regularly to take place once a-week, instead of the Conference. A novice, designated by the Master, goes down on his knees in the middle of the lecture-room, and listens to all that the others, when questioned, have to say