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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 upstairs as soon as they think they know, and they enjoy free time as soon as they come to this couviction. And in that short space of free time, that lasts only till eleven o'clock, how much they have to do! Shoe-cleaning, clothes-brushing, reading the “Instructions” (a book that must be got throngh once a-mouth), writing applications to the Librarian or the Substitute for the next volume of Rodriguez, or for a wearable hat: they must, 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 important 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 ă and â, ŏ aud ô, é, è and ê—and the nasal vowels especially, O ye Gascons!—are most 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 countinually striving after supernatural gravity; they have no cares, no cause for uneasiness or sorrow: so the veriest trifle—even a recollection of past fun—is enough to set them laughing, sometimes in very undue places: but they cannot help it: “Novitius animal ridens et risibile, scandilsabile, frangens citrum, fundes oleum” was the humorous quasi-scholastic definition of the species given by some unknown wag many years ago.

Before dinner there is a private examination of conscience for one quarter of an hour; before bedtime, 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 tine, 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 noon, and the novices, hungry as hunters, and quite willing to obey the Divine call, rush down on tip-toe 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 vin ordinaire. On festivals, one bottle of dessert wine is allowed to each table. The first dish, according to the Continental custown, is always soup or broth. Then comes boiled meat, and then roast; a dish of vegctables 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 novice may not refuse any of the