blood stirs drowsily within us as we walk
about.

There is a grand ball at the Master's house
on founder's day, when the new-fashioned
world comes to the old-fashioned place, makes
a great noise, wakens it up for that one day,
and then leaves it to drowse heavily again for
twelve months more. The Master's house is
on the right hand after you come in by the
porch; an ancient gate leads to its portals.
The Master, according to the words of the
foundation, should be a learned, discreet, and
meek man, unmarried, and aged, when
appointed, above forty years. He should neither
have nor accept of any place of preferment or
benefit either in church or commonwealth,
whereby he might be drawn from his
residence, care, and charge of the Hospital;
and if he do, in such case he shall leave that
place, or be displaced if he refuse to. leave it.
His salary was fixed at fifty pounds, a very
reasonable sum in those days, and about nine
times the annual allowance to each of the
Poor Brethren. The said Master was at first
intended to be any grave and proper man,
whether churchman or not, but on the
election of the third of the first masters, the
governors ordained " that no person be
admitted as master who is not a learned and
grave divine, a licensed preacher, unbeneficed,
unmarried, and a constant resident."

The Master's house, as it now stands, looks
very much like a piece of the year 1611. Who
is the unbeneficed divine residing here, devoting
his whole care to the superintendence of the
household of Poor Brethren? He is the
venerable churchman, whose archdeaconry of
London, whose post of canon residentiary of
St. Pauls, whose onerous duties as rector
of St. Giles's, Cripplegate, whose chaplaincy
to the Bishop of London, whose almonership
of St. Pauls, (the whole yielding between two
and three thousand pounds per annum,) are
not considered incompatible with the receipt
of an additional eight hundred a-year as
Master of the Charterhouse, together with
residence and partial board. The residence
is humble in external pretensions, but inside
luxuriously fitted, having thirty- three rooms,
including all domestic offices; it is, in fact,
one of the best ecclesiastical nests in London.

Then, there is an old monastic wall on
our right hand as we go on, and behind it
are the registrar's offices, and an excellent
and convenient house. The salary of the
registrar has risen, with the changed value
of money and improved administration of
the place, from thirty to six hundred
pounds a-year. From an archway, between
the houses of the Master and the registrar,
you pass up to the apartments of the chapel-
reader, whose original salary of eight pounds
has become two hundred; while the forty
pounds a year, which made the preacher
passing rich two centuries ago, are now four
hundred; in addition to a handsome house
containing sixteen or seventeen rooms.

If we pass by the door leading to the
reader's chambers, under the archway, we
shall come to the chapel, cloisters, and the
great hall, built for lay purposes in the reign
of Henry the Eighth, and afterwards fitted
up as a banqueting-hall by the ill-fated Duke
of Norfolk. In the good old times this handsome
hall had, of course, a mud floor covered
with rushes; and, when the rushes were
abolished, the Poor Brethren — for it was and
is their dining hall — dined over the simple
dirt. Within the last few years, however, the
floor has been boarded. In still farther
obedience to the march of mind, the old
custom of eating from wooden trenchers is
abolished; the existence of pottery is recognised,
and glass is substituted for the old
clumsy mugs; the benches of the Brethren
are replaced by chairs.

The outer world is not a blank, then, in the
Charterhouse. The officers and Brethren
used to dine together in this hall; but, as the
officers ate poultry and drank wine, while the
Brothers had plain meat and table beer, and
as also the hour at which the Brothers dine—
three o'clock — is too early for their " betters,"
the official dinner was transferred to Brooke
Hall, an adjoining smaller building, where
the officials dine together very comfortably
every day at half- past five.

In a corner of the great hall are boards, on
which are pasted notices for the benefit of the
Poor Brothers. When we read these, we
were troubled with a few misgivings; but we
will postpone for the present any observation
upon their contents. Up stairs one goes to
the governor's room, a handsome tapestried
apartment, a relic of the palace of the before-
mentioned Duke of Norfolk. Then there are,
in the chapel, monuments of course, brasses
and all that sort of thing, and a tremendous
founder's tomb.

If we pass on, we shall come to scattered
buildings, old or new, with numbered doors,
through which we reach the residences of the
Poor Brothers of the Charterhouse, each of
whom has one room, with a closet in it to
contain his coals and other housekeeping
supplies. We may see as many as we are
able of these eighty chambers, and we shall
find no two alike; because the furnishing of
each depends on the amount of capital of his
own, which each tenant has been able to
expend. Some affect mahogany, and have a
carpet with a little painting and gilding on
their walls; others have bare boards and a
plain deal table. At the present time we
shall see little saucepans on most of their
grates, for the kitchen is closed during alterations,
and they are left to be their own cooks.

We have taken a little pains to ascertain
what is the present condition of a Poor
Brother of the Charterhouse.

He is, or we should rather say, in the true
spirit of the charity, he ought to be, a
decayed gentleman a merchant, artist, author,
or the like — upon whose merits the world has