my System was completed, though, or else we should No-no, we had no capital then. But I've counted every reasonable combination, Dick, everything I ever saw happen-and you'll admit that I've seen a good deal-I've played countless games on paper, and I've always won. Come over with me, and see me break the banks, one after the other. By heaven, Dick, I shall be far richer than you!" "I should like to go. But, no-I think I had better not leave my own place just now. But there, you don't understand the position of things." "I understand," said Lafleur, "that the position of Mr. Dick Mortiboy is considerably altered for the better. I supposeBut, Dick, really I did not think you would have been so quick in throwing over old friends." "I have thrown over no old friends. Did I not honestly redeem my word, and hand you the capital you asked for?” "You did. That is not quite all, though. Did we not discuss the System all the way across the Atlantic? Were you not as keen as I about it? Who but you thought of coming over to England? Why did we come? To get out of your father this very sum-not to hand over to me, Dick, but to enable us to go away together, and break the banks in our old partnership. And now, when all is gained, you care nothing about it. Is it what I expected from you, Dick? I counted on your seeing my victories as much as on making them." This was true. He wanted Dick's admiration and praise. He wanted to feel a man's envy. Because, you see," answered his partner, "a good deal more is gained than we bargained for. I no longer care to gamble. What does it mean if you care nothing about winning or losing? Upon my word, Lafleur, I would almost as soon, if it were not for the habit of the thing, dance a waltz without any music as play at cards without caring to win. Life when you're rich is quite a different sort of thing to what we experienced in the old days. It's slower, to begin with. You find that everybody is your friend, in the second place. Then you discover that, instead of looking about to do good to yourself, you've got to fuss and worry about doing good to other people." "Fancy Dick Mortiboy doing good to anybody!" Queer, isn't it? But true. They tell me I'm doing good, so I suppose I am. Then, after all, you can't eat and drink more than a certain amount. You don't want to have more than a dogcart and a ridinghorse. You can't be always giving dinners and things. What are you to do with your money? You've always got the missionaries left, to be sure; but you're an ass if you give them anything." "By Jove-I should think so, indeed!" said Lafleur. "Then what are you to do with yourself and your money? I make a few bets, but I don't care much about it. I play a game of billiards, but it doesn't matter whether I win or lose. Life's lost its excitements, Lafleur. The old days are gone." "In England, you can always go on the turf. There is plenty of money to be lost there." "I never cared much about horse-races, unless I was riding in them myself. I dare say I shall go on the turf, though, for a little excitement. I don't know what I shall do, Lafleur. When life becomes insupportable, I shall go across the water again, I think, and stay till I am tired of that, and want a change. But as for cards-why, what excitement is equal to that of playing for your very dinner, as we have done before now? How can one get up any pleasure in a game when it does not really signify how it ends?" "You always think of the end. But think of the play, Dick. Think of working out your own plan, and going down with it, and fleecing everybody-eh? Is there no excitement there?" "There would be if I wanted the money. Not now. I never cared to win from those who couldn't afford to lose, Lafleur." "I know. You were always soft-hearted, Dick. Now, if a man plays with me, I play to win. It is his look-out whether he can afford to pay or not. I play to win. I've got no more feeling, Dick, over cards than the green table itself." The candour of this admission of Lafleur's was equalled by its truth. Dick sighed, and leaned his head upon his hand. "By Jove, they were good times, some of them. Do you remember that very day, after the St. Louis cleaning out, how we woke up in the morning without a cent between us?" Lafleur nodded. Some reminiscences of Dick's were unpleasant. But he seemed warming back to his old tone, and Lafleur wanted to take him over to Hombourg with him. "I will see," said Dick. "I will not promise to go with you. Twelve years, Lafleur, we have fought our battles side by side. I remember the words of my oath to you as "You went to the billiard-rooms. I went well as if I spoke them yesterday::- If I to the Monty Saloon. And when we met can help you, I will help you. If I have again in the evening we had got six hundred any luck, you shall have half. If I ever dollars. That was the day when I fought have any money, you shall have half.' Was the Peruvian. It was a near thing. I'll never it not so? Yet you have only had five thoufight a duel blindfolded again. I thought I sand pounds of all my money. It is because heard his steps, and I let fly. He had it in my father's money is not mine, really. I the right arm-broke the bone. Then he only hold it. I have it for certain purposes fired with the left hand-being a blood--I hardly know what yet. I could not keep thirsty rascal-and hit Cæsar, the black my word in its literal sense." waiter, in the calf. I remember how we laughed. Then we went on to Cairo. Upon my word, Lafleur, when I think of those days, my blood boils. All fair play, too. Every man trying to cheat his neighbour. Good, honest gambling, with a bowie knife ready at your neck.' "All fair play," echoed Lafleur, with the faintest smile on his lips. "It was better than the blockade running, after all; though there were some very pretty days in that. It was better than I say, after all, don't you think the best moment of our lives was when we stood on board the little schooner, dripping wet, after our swim from the reef of Palmiste?" At another time, Lafleur would have resented this recollection of an extremely disagreeable episode in his life. Now he laughed. 66 Yes," he said, "perhaps it was a moment of relief, after a mauvais quart d'heure. It was then that we swore our partnership." "It was," said Dick. "We've kept to our terms ever since. Lafleur, the time has come for our separation. I can no longer lead the old life. All that is done with. We are adventurers no more. I have my fortune; you possess your capital and your System." "I shall soon be as rich as you with it," said Lafleur, confidently. "We are partners no longer, then? It is dissolved, Lafleur. I've got the best of it; but don't say Dick Mortiboy ever turned his back upon a friend. If you have not money enough, let me know. Take more." "I have plenty. I cannot fail. It is impossible. But I want you to come to Hombourg with me. See me succeed, Dick-see me triumph with my System. That is all I ask." "Dick, I don't ask you," said Lafleur. "I have told you I am satisfied." "Then you give me back my word?" said Dick. "I solemnly give it back, Dick," was the reply. He held out his hand, which Dick grasped. He heaved a great sigh. Their partnership was dissolved. His oath had been heavy upon him, for Dick's word was sacred-the only sacred thing he knew. The vast fortune into which he had so unexpectedly fallen, with all its duties and responsibilities, which Dick was already beginning to realize, was so complicated an affair, that, in the most perfect honesty, he could not literally fulfil his promise. He did the next best thing. He gave Lafleur all he asked for. He was prepared to give him as much again—three times as much, if necessary. But he was glad to get back his word-returned to him like a paid cheque, or a duly honoured bill. Is it not clear that Dick is progressing in civilization? He has recognized the voice of public opinion. He has remarked that the force of circumstances compels him, whether he will or no, to lead an outwardly decorous life. He has recognized, dimly as yet, that this vast property cannot be made ducks and drakes of, flung away, spent recklessly, as he fondly promised himself when he undeceived his father. He sees that it is like the root-work of some great trees, spreading out branches in all directions, small and great branches: to tear up and destroy them would be to change the fortunes of thousands, to ruin, to revolutionize, to devastate. Things must be as they are. He is now free: he has got back his word, and is clear of Lafleur. This is a great gain. There is still, however, one link which holds him with the past. It is IN -POLLY! THE CHARTERHOUSE. N a recent paper on Thomas Sutton, and the noble charity which he left behind him, we promised to advert more fully, in a subsequent issue, to the manner in which the government of the fine old hospital of the Charterhouse is managed at the present time. In pursuance of our purpose, therefore, we now propose to lay before our readers a few of the more prominent facts connected with the internal economy of the institution, which we think deserving of more public attention than they seem lately at least to have received. Before proceeding to the matter in hand, it may be as well, perhaps, to briefly recapitulate the terms of the founder's original intention in establishing the Charterhouse, which were carried out as nearly as possible after Sutton's death by the early governors of the charity. At the third meeting of the governors, held on the 10th of December, 1613, it was decided that the decayed old men, or "poor brothers," as they were henceforth to be entitled, should be eighty in number. Following out the wishes of the brave old merchant prince as closely as circumstances would permit, it was also resolved that candidates, to be eligible as "poor brothers," should be "ancient gentlemen, having the same tender breeding with their elder brothers, but only the slender fortunes of a younger brother;-gentlemen too generous to beg, and not made for work-whose ingenuous natures might be most sensible of want, and least able to relieve it-and who would be cast away and brought to misery, or want of a comfortable subsistence, in their old age." And to still further avoid the idea that Sutton's bequest was intended for any mere ordinary paupers, it was further and more particularly defined that "these ancient gentlemen were to comprise such as had been servants to the King's Majesty, either decrepid or old captains, either at sea or land; soldiers, maimed or impotent; decayed merchants; men fallen into decay through shipwreck, casualty of fire, or such evil accident." It has been suggested, and we think with good reason, that these more exact definitions of the required antecedents of a Carthusian brother were based mainly upon a passage in one of Lord Bacon's letters to the King, in which he says, "The next consideration may be, whether this intended hospital, as it hath a greater endowment than other hospitals have, should not likewise work upon a better subject than other poor, as that it should be converted to the relief of maimed soldiers, decayed merchants, householders aged and desolate, churchmen, and the like, whose condition being of a better sort than loose people and beggars, deserveth both a more liberal stipend and allowances, and some proper place of relief not intermingled or coupled with the baser sort of the poor." The broad and sympathetic mind of the great philosopher plainly perceived the new and noble purpose to which good Thomas Sutton had intended that the wealth he left behind him should be dedicated, and his trustees accepted the interpretation in all conscientiousness and good faith. Thomas Sutton himself, when applying for the letters patent for his hospital, stated plainly that the Charterhouse was intended to gather beneath its roof poor, aged, maimed, or impotent people, who had broken down on the respectable paths of life, and give them a dignified asylum. It was also designed to include a free school for the maintenance and education of the poor children of reputable parents; and the founder expressly declared his hope and will that the funds of the endowment should never be diverted from the use of the needy. All increases of revenue, he ordained, should be devoted either to augment the number of brethren, or to increase the amount of their allowances. How these very plain and simple intentions-especially as expressed in the last sentence-have been carried out since, we shall presently discuss. In the fresh, honest youth of this now ancient charity, the fourscore brothers seem to have been well and carefully looked after; treated with a respect due to old men of irreproachable character, who, to use a homely expression, had seen better days; treated with tender and delicate care by the officials, appointed and well paid for the purpose; and, in the terms of the act of Parliament obtained 1628-9 to secure the privileges of the foundation, "provided in a very ample manner with all things." Here, within the walls of the once famous monastery, whether under the quaint old cloisters, or beneath the shade of the ancestral elms in the green, fresh gardens, the fourscore patriarchs could while away the decaying sunsets of their days, chatting of old times, and cheerful in the thought that the few years they had yet to see would find them an honourable and undisturbed peace from the good fight they had now ceased to wage with the outside world. Worthy old Samuel Herne, in his "Domus Carthusiana," sings of the old Charterhouse days 66 Plenty here has chose her seat, Here all things needful and convenient meet; Inhabitants o' th' wat'ry element. Seeing so vast a number crowd along, A poetical way, by the bye, of saying that the "ancient gentlemen," as he calls them, of that time, unlike their present representatives, had a fish dinner once a week. Then, continues the hearty old poet- Here's nothing wild-all things increase and thrive, That which was barren now has learnt to give. Wander many a year, Until they move unto the promised Land." The fourscore patriarchs here wander still; but some of them, we think, have their doubts whether good old Samuel Herne would have written so enthusiastically of the Carthusian paradise if he had lived in the latter part of the nineteenth century instead of two hundred years ago. Certain rebellious "ancient gentlemen," at present on the foundation, loudly deny that "Plenty here has chose her seat," or that Let us glance for a moment at the real condition of a "poor brother" of the Charterhouse in this year of grace, one thousand eight hundred and seventy-two. In the first place, he is, in accordance with the rules of the charity, supposed to be a decayed gentleman. Consequently, by the same rules, he is supposed to be supplied, as we have already said, in a very ample manner, with all things necessary. Unfortunately—as we hinted in our recent notes upon Thomas Sutton-the present Carthusian brothers, although decayed, are not now, and never have been, gentlemen, even as the word in these liberal days is often broadly interpreted. Domestic servants, pushed in by the influence of their masters, who happen to have a certain command over the elections of candidates, and other worthies of perhaps equally useful but hardly "gentle" antecedents, were not the kind of people intended by the founder to enjoy the benefit of his bequest. On the compensating principle, we suppose, the necessary previous status of the eligible candidates having been lowered, the manner in which their comforts are attended to has been duly modified. Consequently, it is in the following luxurious fashion that the "ancient gentleman of to-day enjoys his declining years:-He finds that he has a small room, carpetless and cheerless, furnished from the unlimited funds of the charity with the simplest of beds and bedding, a painted deal table, a common iron fender, the most primitive of fireirons, an arm-chair, and a pair of bellows. Any other little adornments or articles of utility which his taste or wants may suggest he must find for himself—if he can. His rations are on the following scale:In the morning, he has left daily at his door a loaf containing twelve ounces of bread, and two ounces of butter. These he must, according to his discretion, spread over breakfast, lunch, tea, and supper. That is his supply of provisions for the day, dinner excepted. The dinner, of the plainest sort, is eaten by the poor brothers in company in the common hall, punctually at three. If a minute behind the fixed time, the dilatory “Here all things needful and convenient meet "ancient must forfeit his dinner for that day. for the poor brothers, at least, whatever be the happier lot of certain over-paid and under-worked officials in the famous hospital. The only other public reunions of the brothers for the day are at chapel. Every brother is required to cross the quadrangles to chapel at least once a day, even in the bitterest weather-snow, hail, or rain-under the penalty of threepence fine for each attendance. non-kind-that, as the benefits to the recipients originally intended grew in course of time small by degrees and beautifully less, so the funds, increasing year by year, make more luxurious the league of favoured officials, who take care to entrench themselves from the public scrutiny within a most charming irresponsibility. On Sunday, the tariff of fines runs higher. There are two services, which the brother must attend-otherwise two shillings fine, at the rate of one shilling penalty for each service neglected. For the rest of his creature comforts, when left to himself, he has coals and candles allowed him to a duly moderate extent. But as every brother is expected to be in bed at eleven o'clock, the candles are withdrawn between the months of March and September-old and decayed men not being supposed, on any emergency, to require nightlights within the forbidden months. And lastly, he has the munificent allowance of forty pounds a-year to spend as he likes. The amount is really thirty-six pounds; but as the house is supposed to be cleared of its pensioners for a month in every year, for painting and repairs, the brother, while enjoying his forced holiday, has an allowance of four guineas-that is to say, a guinea a-week-wherewith to pay for lodgings, living, travelling expenses, and the rest. We had almost forgotten to throw in a sympathising word for another class in the Charterhouse-namely, the nurses who attend upon the old gentlemen. These are expected to be at their posts from seven in the morning until five in the afternoon. No rations are allowed them, not even a glass of beer, during these hours. Each nurse has six rooms to keep clean, and the corresponding number of infirm old men to wait upon. For this work she receives fourteen shillings a-week, two shillings of which are deducted to form a fund on retirement. If the old and decayed brothers are waited upon somewhat cavalierly at times, who is really to blame? Now compare the position of the high and mighty officials, who-originally constituted to attend to all the wants and necessities of the eighty poor old gentlemen under their care-really look upon them, we are afraid, as "only paupers," and a discomfort to the place-which otherwise provides good salaries, and dwellings, and dinners, and daily pints of wine, to the gentlemen and ladies who are really fed upon its funds. At the Charterhouse, the fact seems to be—as it undoubtedly exists, more or less, in most other ancient charities of the same The great man of the Charterhouse is, of course, the master. The original salary of this official was fifty pounds. It is now somewhere about six hundred;-in fact, as we have before stated, few persons know what the amount really is. The allowance of a poor brother was originally five pounds. Sutton's manifest intention was that the allowance to the master should be about tenfold that of the poor brother. We have no complaint to make, under the altered circumstances of a later age, to the liberal stipend of the head of such a wealthy institution as the Charterhouse. Year by year have the funds of this place grown, until they reach something like forty thousand a-year. But why have not the pensions of the brothers been increased in proportion, according to the strict intentions of the founder? If this were done, we should find the poor brothers receiving in proportion to the master's six hundred, instead of a paltry thirty-six-for it is really nothing more the respectable and comfortable allowance of eighty pounds a-year. It is the just due of these poor old men, and we believe they are entitled to it. The The salaries of the other officials have risen in the same undue proportion. The preacher had originally forty pounds; he has now about four hundred. The payment of the manciple used to be eight pounds, to the poor brother's five pounds six and eightpence. That functionary's allowance now is two hundred pounds-if not more. duty of the manciple, in the more primitive days of the charity, was to attend the service of the kitchen, to see that all the tables were properly served at dinner, and then to take his meals with the inferior officers and grooms, or attendants, at the accustomed table; but the manciple of the present day is a far more important personage than his early predecessors in the office. In short, the importance and emoluments of the numerous officials appointed to superintend and serve eighty men and forty-four boys have grown year by year; while those really entitled to share in the increasing |