only his first week here. Particular friendships are not allowed: that is, though one may feel greater sympathy for one than for another, one ought not to show it. The wrong is, not in the feeling, but in the injustice done to others by a show of that feeling. As a member of a community, equal kindness is due to all; and any extraordinary amount of kindness received by one, is taken away from the rest. So the motto is: Tous, mais pas un! And this rule applies even to brothers according to the flesh, if any such happen to be together in the Novitiate they must be to one another neither more nor less than the first novice that comes. Spiritual fraternity ought to predomin ate over natural brotherhood; the indissoluble links of religion form a far stronger chain than those ties which, springing out of corruption, are again to dissolve into corruption; Eternity is more than Time.

When I came to the Novitiate, I had been told of many most extraordinary things I should be required to do as a test of my obedience; and I was rather disappointed than otherwise, on finding that nobody ordered me to eat peas with a two-pronged fork, or to sweep out a cell with the wrong end of a broom. I was expected to tako it for granted that the orders given me were reasonable; if I did not think them so, my duty was to ask for explanations. Nothing is falser than the idea that a Jesuit is a mere machine for obeying orders. Let us say rather setting aside cases in which it would be a duty to disobey that he is a machine for understanding the true sense of the orders given, and for carrying them out in their true sense. "I have done," writes Laynez to

Loyola, "not what you ordered me, but what, had you been present, you would have ordered me.” And St Ignatius approved him. Yet the conduct of that novice who remained a whole day in the Master's room without stirring, because he had been told to remain there, and had then been forgotten, is held up to public admiration. To admiration, yes; to imitation, no. This example ought to have no more influence on the ordinary course of life than that of the other novice who on his deathbed asked permission of his Superior to quit the Novitiate, thinking that he could not possibly die without leave.

At 8.30, leaving a bottle of wine half filled, a link of a chain half formed, or a garden - weed half pulled out, all the novices run to get their book on 'Christian Perfection,' by Rodriguez. We may call it the standard ascetic work of the Novitiate; even on whole holidays, even during the vacation, it is regularly read for half an hour every day. The peculiarity consists in the manner of reading. The Frère Admoniteur goes down into the garden and opens his book; all the novices follow him at random, one after another; while he takes the lead with a rapid step, they have to walk after him at the same pace, taking care not to tread on the heels of their neighbours. is technically called tourner Rodriguez, and certainly does look very absurd. The reason for this strange manner of reading is to give the novices a sufficient amount of exercise in the morning, together with fresh air. In the afternoon there is plenty of motion: two hours of recreation, besides manual work; and three walks in the week. So, to make up for this deficiency, Frère Ad

This

moniteur has orders to move on at a brisk pace, and he does. At the end of the line, last of all, walks the Frère Substitut—a pale worn little man, nearly forty years old. He very seldom speaks of himself. All we know is that he was a solicitor, and has come here thinking to find rest from the world. And all day long he has to carry about soutanes, boots, combs, brushes, and what not, supplying all the wants of the community, and bustling about like Martha, when the repose of Mary would suit him better. Still, wan and wearied as he is, he seems very patient, and selfwill has. all but died out of him. Perhaps something tells him that he may soon find rest enough, and that in little more than a year's time all will be over for ever.

The Lecture on the Rules, or Conference, follows Rodriguez. The Master, a man of evidently sanguine, bilious temperament, though both elements of his character are well under control, comes into the room-not on tiptoe, and yet with a noiseless step-kneels down, and says a short prayer, after which he asks a novice for an abstract of what was said last time. His manner is cool, restrained; his style almost dry; and yet his voice thrills at times with suppressed emotion; his gestures are almost as few as those of an ordinary English speaker; he speaks in so low a key as not unfrequently to he inaudible, were it not for his very distinct utterance of each word. This manner of lecturing, though perhaps disappointing to one who expects the noisy pulpit eloquence of the south of France, is, however, specially calculated for those to whom the oratorical " ways and means creating a sensation have become contemptible through familiarity.

"of

VOL. CXLVI.—NO. DCCCLXXXVII.

Here emotion must spring from no other source but the subject itself and the thoughts directly connected therewith; the speaker cannot keep himself too much in the shade. Hence this attempted suppression of all feeling — this outward dryness this low pitch of the voice. The hearers, whether pupils fresh from the study of Bossuet and Cicero, barristers from the law courts, or young vicaires accustomed to criticise the sermons of their fellow-priests, might otherwise have been too sorely tempted to forget that the Conference is a lesson to be acted upon, not a performance to be judged.

The Master's voice drops; the Conference is over, and he goes out. Then follows the Repetition-a strange scene of apparent hubbub, rendered still more striking by the solemn silence in which the "still small voice" of the Master has been heard. Groups of novices, each of them with a note-book in his hand, are told off by the Admoniteur. One in each group begins reading his notes, his voice rising louder and louder as other voices rise in succession, until twelve or more are speaking at once in the room— not a large one-and the din becomes almost deafening. To an outsider this would appear excessively ridiculous; but here, intent on comparing and correcting notes, they do not even remark the clamour that is going on around them.

Again, after a short visit to the chapel, the novices proceed in single file to the garden, to learn a few verses of Scripture. This is the "Exercise of Memory," the only study (with that of foreign languages) permitted by St Ignatius. Foreign languages even were not allowed in my time, and for two whole years I did not speak English, though there were

2 P

some who knew that language in the Novitiate. On the whole. this "Exercise of Memory" is rather a formality than anything else. Twice a-week it is missed; the recitation is not seriously insisted upon; the novices are free to go up-stairs as soon as they think they know, and they enjoy free time as soon as they come to this conviction. And in that short space of free time, that lasts only till eleven o'clock, how much they have to do! Shoe-cleaning, clothesbrushing, reading the "Instructions " (a book that inust be got through once a-nouth), writing applications to the Librarian or the Substitute for the next volume of Rodriguez, or for a wearable hat: they unst, besides, see and confer with the Master once in a fortnight. Soon, too soon, eleven o'clock strikes.

The class of pronunciation, from eleven to half-past, is a very inportant time, particularly here; for a good accent is absolutely necessary to a public speaker, and the accent is very bad-in the South of France. The difference between ǎ and a, ŏ and ô, é, è and ê—and the nasal vowels especially, O ye Gascons are inost particularly noted and minutely dwelt upon, both by precept and example. An explanation of the rules takes up about half the time; reading and criticism by the fellow-novices occupies the other half. Now and then two or three giggles, threatening to become general fits of laughter, are occasioned by some slight mistake, or even without any visible cause; for the novices' nerves are highly strung, and they are perhaps more inclined to laughter than any other class of human beings. They are generally young, they are continually striving after supernatural gravity; they have no cares, no cause for uneasiness

or sorrow: so the veriest trifleeven a recollection of past fun-is enough to set the langhiug, sometimes in very undue places: but they cannot help it: "Noritius. animal ridens et risibile, scandalisabile, frangens citrum, fundens oleum" was the humorous quasischolastic definition of the species given by some unknown wag inauy years ago.

Before dinner there is a private examination of conscience for one quarter of an hour; before bed. time, similarly. These are, if not the most important, at least the most indispensable spiritual exercises of the day; St Ignatius would rather, in case of want of time, sacrifice the morning Meditation. And he was not satisfied with these alone; he wanted every one of the actions done to be reviewed in like manner, so as to cultivate a habit of reflection. One day he asked 'a Father how often he examined his conscience. "Every hour," said the latter. "That is very seldom," answered Ignatius.

At last the Angelus rings: it is oon, and the novices, hungry as hunters, and quite willing to obey the Divine call, rush down on tiptoe and with downcast eyes. The bill of fare cannot be reasonably complained of. Before each plate there stands half a litre-about a pint-of rin ordinaire. On festivals, one bottle of dessert wine is allowed to each table. The first dish, according to the Continental custom, is always soup or broth. Then comes boiled meat, and then roast; a dish of vegetables follows them. Between this and the dessert, consisting of cheese and some kind of fruit, there is sometimes, on festival days, either salad or a sweet dish of custard or pudding. Without special leave a novice may not refuse any of the

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 neighbouring 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 laugh 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 Séruphique 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.

Dis

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 unbending 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. cussions, 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 aweek, 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

against him they, on their part, are bound to state whatever they may have noticed amiss in his conduct. Of course, external defects alone are to be mentioned. Instead of saying, "Notre Frère is not fervent," they must point out fixed acts of seeming negligence in religious duties, which may spring from absent-mindedness quite as well as from lack of fervour. This exercise, properly practised, effectually stops all backbiting or complaints against others; while the defects are made known to the person himself, so that he can take advantage of this knowledge. It is quite an upsidedown world.

The fact that so many virtues charity, modesty, cordiality, piety, self-possession, gaiety-are requisite to pass the Recreation well, is the reason why the result is so generally unsuccessful. Some, striving to be supernatural in all things, contrive to be only unnatural and highly disagreeable in all. Others, very rightly laying down as a first principle that one must be natural, forget their position, and talk as they used to talk, before they "left the world." A few sentences having been exchanged about the weather, one novice, eager to avoid "useless words," effectually puts an end to the conversation in his group by relating, immediately and without transition, what he is reading about the torments of hell. Another has filled a little note-book with anecdotes and sentences of the Saints about the Mother of Christ: he begins the Recreation by asking his brother novices to "tell him something about Mary"; and, on their professing themselves unequal to the task, launches off for a whole hour into a sea of words learned by heart. The FrancoIrish Brother makes his companions roar with laughter at the

tricks he played on his teachers whilst at college; but by his side walks a mournful one; who, mindful of Seneca's saying, "Quoties inter homines fui, minor homo redii," and of the Eastern proverb, "Speech is silver, but silence is gold," has resolved to be silent,— and does not even look up once during the whole time. And the difficulty is greater still, because one is never allowed to choose one's companions; the first group you find is your group. They are, besides, generally formed by the Admoniteur at the beginning of the Recreation; he, according to instructions received, often puts together, as a test of temper, the most opposite characters of all. How amusing it is to see the Frère Directeur, late a lieutenant in the Mobiles during the wara rollicking, jovial lover of harmless fun, and a great hater of what he calls "mysticism," walking about day after day and week after week with the Seraphic Brother above mentioned, who never will speak of anything less holy than the Sacred Heart, the conversion of the whole world, or a scheme formed by him for administering all railways by some new religious Order, designed to stoke and convey the passengers gratis, for the love of God! If you step into the Novitiate a month later, you will find them both in the same room; when Frère Séraphique begins sighing and groaning in his meditations, Frère Directeur has orders to put a stop to this piété extérieure by a loud, dry cough.

Then there are differences of principle too. Who would fancy that in the Novitiate, on a mere question of interpretation of the Rules, there could be found a vestige of two great parties? Yet so it is. Frère Admoniteur is waxing very red in the face, and having